Nicholas Raven and the Wizards' Web - Volume 1

by Prestopnik, Thomas J.

  Mune whistled a few notes before he looked uneasily at Caldurian. “Let me modify that. Perhaps nearly swimmingly?” He quickly explained the goings-on in Kanesbury that evening–his hoodwinking of George Bane into entering the Spirit Caves, the awakening and escape of the Enâri creatures, and Gavin’s report on the bridge regarding the stray Enâri creature and his possible search for the key.

  Caldurian remained silent as he digested the news. Mune wished that the wizard would either lash out in anger or accept matters at once and deal with them. But watching Caldurian sit stoically, running every detail over and over in his mind, unnerved him mightily. On top of that, hunger and lack of sleep began to gnaw at him. Mune wanted this meeting to end quickly so that he could eat, rest and be on his way to meet Madeline. He hated disappointing Caldurian even when the bad tidings weren’t his fault.

  The wizard finally perked up, poking a stick into the glowing embers. “This adds a complication to my plans,” he said quietly. “I never anticipated disloyalty among the Enâri assigned to me, even a rebellion of one.”

  “I suppose being held prisoner for twenty years was bound to set at least one of them off,” Mune said, trying to be supportive.

  “Maybe I tried too hard to believe that their allegiance to Vellan would transfer to me over time,” he continued, almost speaking to himself. “Vellan created the Enâri race, after all. Why should I expect their devotion? I have not earned it yet.”

  Mune gazed uncomfortably at Caldurian, clearing his throat. “I was wondering...”

  The wizard turned to him, his old self again. “Yes, Mune, a job well done despite the last minute difficulty Gavin had reported. Not your fault. Now, you were wondering?”

  “Yes. As I see it, whichever Enâr broke away looking for the key, won’t the same objective be met? Won’t Vellan’s creatures be safe in the end whether you or the Enâr retrieve the key?”

  “One would think so, wouldn’t one,” Caldurian fumed, his caustic gaze bearing down on Mune. “But saving them isn’t the entire objective. The Enâri must be commanded. If even one of them runs off, believing he has the ability to control his fate, imagine what would happen if another were infected with that same wild sentiment. Then another and another. There would be chaos in the ranks!” He studied the ground and sighed. “Vellan created them, so naturally they show him total allegiance. Besides, he would never destroy his own work. But with the threat created by the wizard Frist, why, the Enâri’s very existence could conceivably be threatened by anyone.”

  Mune glanced sideways. “Even you?”

  Caldurian returned an impenetrable gaze. “I will look after Vellan’s creatures and use them as needed. But I must have their total cooperation. If holding their fate in my hands by possessing the key would help to achieve that end, well then...”

  Mune scratched his head. “Just out of curiosity, how many of the Enâri did Vellan release into your care?”

  “Five hundred strong. That was twenty years ago in order to aid my efforts in persuading King Justin into an alliance with Vellan.” He flashed a bitter smile. “And you know what a success that turned out to be. An unmitigated disaster right outside the borders of that pitiful village of Kanesbury!” His eyes burned with seething rage. “But I will get even for the humiliation those people caused me. That bumpkin of a mayor, Otto Nibbs, will have no idea. And one traitorous Enâr will not spoil my plans! I will have my revenge.” Caldurian remained lost in his own world until he noticed Mune staring curiously at him. “Was there something else you wanted to know?”

  “One thing,” he inquired, raising a finger. “How many Enâri did Vellan create?”

  Caldurian thought for a moment. “I couldn’t begin to imagine. Tens of thousands perhaps? It was thirty-five years ago when the first of their race saw the light of day. Vellan has steadily expanded their numbers over time, improving the stock, replacing those that eventually die out. But the Enâri have vastly grown. Vellan has put much of his strength and power into their kind. They are like his children, his legacy, who will live on after he is gone–if such a day is imaginable.”

  “Interesting,” Mune said. “Yet melancholy, too. But if that key were to unlock the Spirit Box–wherever that is–and release the spirit created by Frist...” He cast an inquiring eye at Caldurian. “What would happen to the Enâri living in Kargoth?”

  Caldurian stroked his beard. “The five hundred troops with me, I suppose, would be destroyed in short order. Frist was a very powerful wizard, once equal to Vellan. However, I am reluctant to speculate what effect it would have on Vellan’s troops closer to home. Remember, that spirit has been incubating for twenty years, growing and multiplying in strength unfathomable. I don’t suspect that even Frist imagined his counter-creation would exist untouched for so long a period.” He raised an eyebrow. “Are you asking, Mune, if that spirit has the potency to extend itself far across Laparia? Wondering, perhaps, if it could engulf the Enâri everywhere in its phantom tendrils and obliterate the race entirely?”

  He swallowed hard. “I guess.”

  “Well,” he whispered with a gleam in his eyes, “your guess is as good as mine.”

  The wizard abruptly ended the discussion as the first thin strains of gray dawn stretched across the treetops. He invited Mune to remain by the fire as long as he wanted, though he would now leave to prepare for his meeting with Zachary Farnsworth later that evening. The wizard needed some time alone to think and disappeared deeper into the woods, but not before pointing his fingers and whispering a brief spell at a clump of dried leaves near the fire. Suddenly the leaves rematerialized into a nest of clean straw upon which rested a round loaf of bread, a chunk of dried meat, a wedge of cheese, a filled water skin–and a shiny new pair of leather boots. Mune beamed with delight and turned to thank Caldurian, but the wizard had silently vanished into the encroaching dawn.

  CHAPTER 8

  A Key to a Plan

  The second day of the Harvest Festival offered a mix of subdued celebration, endless rumor and wild speculation. Nicholas Raven’s escape, coupled with the murder of Arthur Weeks and the robbery at the gristmill, was more than enough to keep the village abuzz for weeks. But it soon came to light that Adelaide Cooper had disappeared and not a soul had a clue to her whereabouts. Constable Brindle vowed to find Adelaide, wondering if there might be a connection between her going missing and the other strange events of the previous night.

  And when everyone thought that affairs couldn’t get any more peculiar, several relatives and friends of George Bane reported him missing, too. Constable Brindle’s eyes bulged and his face went scarlet at the news. He couldn’t tolerate his villagers fleeing, disappearing or being murdered directly under his nose, especially during the Festival. More than once that day he wiped his sweaty forehead and spat on the ground in disgust.

  Gill Meddy, wanting no blame for any of the goings-on yesterday, tried to shrug off one of the worst hangovers he had ever experienced and ventured discreetly to the Spirit Caves later that morning. Though vaguely recalling the particulars of their conversation at the Iron Kettle Tavern last night, Gill was certain that many people saw him drinking there with George Bane. And who was that other gentleman from out of town lavishing them with drinks all night? Dune? Mune? Rune? Gill couldn’t recall but blamed the stranger for his predicament anyway. He needed to find George, reasoning that if he didn’t, he might be named as a suspect in his disappearance. Should that happen, he feared that accusing fingers might also point to him regarding the other scandals brewing in the village.

  To his relief, Gill found George fast asleep just inside one of the cave openings. He roused the man from his slumber and helped him into the daylight. George’s forehead was caked with blood and puffed with bruises. His clothes were dirty and torn. His eyes held a look of speechless terror which remained for many weeks. He mumbled something about ghosts and demons and a chilling blue fog, but could recall nothing more from his strange journey through the Spirit Ca
ves. He had roused himself awake several hours earlier and stumbled blindly through the caves until he reached daylight. He collapsed in joy and slept again for several hours until Gill woke him.

  On their way back to Kanesbury, Gill didn’t ask George for any more particulars about being inside the cave. That was just as well since George Bane had no intention of speaking about them. And when anyone asked where he had been, he would only say that he had had a bit too much to drink during the Festival and wandered into the woods to sleep it off. He apologized for adding to the village’s troubles. Constable Brindle happily accepted his explanation and crossed one headache off his list. Gill and George promised each other to forget that they had ever met the stranger in the Iron Kettle, shaking hands on it later over a lunch of soup, bread and milk.

  Caldurian emerged from the woods along Neeley’s Pond shortly before midnight and slipped unnoticed into Kanesbury, keeping clear of any late-night revelers. The crescent Fox and Bear moons had already set. Dressed in his black cloak with the hood draped over his head, the wizard walked swiftly and silently along dark streets and through patches of woods to the home of Zachary Farnsworth, a walking staff his only company. He extended a hand through his sleeve, rapping his bony knuckles upon the wooden door. A few moments later the door cracked open. Farnsworth peered out suspiciously, his face aglow from a lit candle he held.

  “As I’m probably the only guest you were expecting at this hour, I suggest you stop staring like a curious cat and let me in,” Caldurian whispered.

  Farnsworth quickly obliged and opened the door. Flickering candlelight illuminated Caldurian’s icy features as he swept past his host in silence, removing his hood. Farnsworth’s heart pounded as he closed the door, wondering if he would ever see the light of day.

  He led the wizard to a small den in back of the house. Red and orange flames crackled in a fireplace, casting fitful shadows against the walls. Heavy drapery covered the only window in the room. Farnsworth set the candle on a small table, indicating for Caldurian to sit on one of the two chairs in front of the fireplace. The wizard did so, leaning his staff on the side of the mantel.

  “Shall I light more candles?” Farnsworth nervously asked. “It may be too dark for your liking.”

  “On the contrary. Some business is best handled in the shadows.”

  “Very good then. A drink perhaps? Some tea or wine? Maybe ale? I have a cask of fresh–”

  Caldurian raised a hand. “No beverages are required, nor food of any kind, Mr. Farnsworth. I am here only to talk, not to be waited upon. So if you would...” The wizard pointed to the empty seat opposite him.

  Farnsworth nodded. “Uh, right then.” He sat uncomfortably in the chair, arrow straight with hands upon his knees. He tried not to stare directly into Caldurian’s eyes, several times awkwardly shifting his gaze. The firelight cast a coppery glow over the wizard’s face, making it appear both kindly and sinister at once. Farnsworth had forgotten how intimidating the man could be.

  “Shall we get to business then? I believe you have something for me.” Caldurian held out a hand, ready to take possession of the key to the Spirit Box.

  “Yes, well about that...” Farnsworth nervously cleared his throat. “Uh, might we discuss the subject for a moment?”

  “Discuss? What is there to discuss? This matter was settled months ago.”

  “Oh, I agree, sir. But one must allow for, well, unexpected circumstances.”

  “Unexpected?” Caldurian folded his fingers into a fist and slowly retracted his arm. “Unexpected, you say?” He glanced at the fire, rubbing his chin before leaning back in his chair and studying Farnsworth’s vacant expression. “Explain yourself–and be quick! I have a timetable to keep. I won’t tolerate incompetence or deception for an instant.”

  “Deception? I assure you, Caldurian, that no one is trying to deceive you. Don’t think such a thing!”

  “So then you have the key with you?”

  He exhaled deeply. “Well, not exactly, sir.”

  “Then incompetence must be your strongpoint,” the wizard coolly replied.

  “No! No! Why, I had the key just last night. Honest, I did.”

  “Where is it now?”

  Farnsworth swallowed. “Stolen.”

  “Stolen? You expect me to believe that?” Caldurian sat on the edge of the chair, his eyes burrowing into Farnsworth like hot coals. “You’ve had the key in your possession for five years, and now, one night before you’re to turn it over to me, it gets stolen? You expect me to believe that?” He jumped out of his chair with hands raised high, hovering over Farnsworth like a hungry vulture. “What kind of chicanery is this? Nobody dares to outsmart the wizard Caldurian!”

  “Believe me, I’m not!” Farnsworth wailed, balled up in the chair while shielding his face. “Just please don’t kill me! I swear I didn’t take your key! I swear it on my life!”

  Caldurian stood still over his trembling host, and then like a bird landing, he buried his arms into the folds of his cloak and sat back down. A few seconds passed before Farnsworth showed his face. He wiped away tears and sweat while quivering uncontrollably.

  “While I still have my anger in check, Mr. Farnsworth, perhaps you’d better explain what happened.”

  “I’d like to very much, sir,” he hoarsely mumbled. “You see, since I was to be out last evening at one of the local celebrations, I decided to leave the key with my accomplice, Dooley Kramer, for safekeeping,” he lied, bitterly recalling how Dooley had swiped the key from him the night before. “You remember Dooley, don’t you? Anyway, while I’ll was out, Dooley was home visiting a friend. Arthur Weeks–that was the man’s name,” he said, rushing his words. “But when Dooley went outside to get some firewood, there was an attack inside the house and… Well, Dooley heard a scream and went back in.” Farnsworth leaned forward as if pleading with Caldurian to believe him. He explained how Arthur Weeks had been killed and the key stolen. “Dooley got beat up himself at the end, but it was dark and he couldn’t see who slugged him. By the time I arrived, Dooley was wandering dazed in the street. We figured that Nicholas Raven was the culprit, the guy you wanted us to get out of town. So that’s what we told everybody. We don’t know how the thief found out about the key, assuming it was Nicholas, since only Dooley and I knew about it.” He wiped his brow again. “But don’t worry! We never mentioned a word about it to the constable or anyone. Everyone believes that Nicholas killed Arthur out of revenge.”

  “And you expect me to believe this convoluted tale?” the wizard asked.

  “I swear it’s the truth!”

  “Why would Nicholas steal the key if he knew nothing about it? And even if he did know where it was, why would he want it?”

  “I can’t explain that, sir.”

  “You can’t?” Caldurian smirked. “Well, maybe I can.”

  Farnsworth strained to look interested, all the while wondering if Caldurian believed him. He didn’t know who really stole the key, but he prayed that the wizard believed it was someone other than himself or Dooley. Otherwise both of them would surely be joining Arthur Weeks in short order.

  “You know who took it?” Farnsworth asked, his face pale despite the golden tint of firelight.

  “I have a good idea, but I wanted to reassure myself that it wasn’t simply you trying to con me out of more than I’m already giving you.”

  “No, sir! Definitely not.” He relaxed just a little. “So if Nicholas didn’t kill Arthur Weeks and take the key, then who did?”

  “I suspect it was one of the Enâri. A renegade attempting to take matters into his own hands.”

  Farnsworth squinted in bewilderment. “One of the what?”

  Caldurian sighed. “Is your memory so inadequate that you can’t recall the name from twenty years ago? Yesterday you held the key to their very existence in your hand, only to foolishly lose it.”

  “Are you referring to those beings trapped inside the Spirit Caves? Of course I remember them,” he
said. “I just never knew they had such a fancy name. Most folks here called them ruffians or invaders. No one gives them a thought nowadays.”

  “Well, in Kargoth and places more sophisticated, they are referred to as the Enâri race. You might well remember it.”

  “Why’s that?”

  Caldurian stared into the fire, studying the snapping flames in their hypnotic dance. “Because they’ve been reawakened, prepared to fulfill Vellan’s orders.” The wizard turned his head, pinning down Farnsworth with a venomous gaze. “The glory days are back, my friend. Old players are ready to finish a game that most won’t suspect is again underway.”

  Farnsworth felt a chill run through him. “You mean to tell me that those devilish creatures are out and about?”

  “As of last night. They have been freed from their sleeping spell and now await my arrival at Barringer’s Landing.”

  “Why, they caused a wagonful of trouble in Kanesbury twenty years back. Do you plan to unleash them here again?”

  “I will put the Enâri to other uses far from here,” the wizard said. “They will assist in Vellan’s grand scheme. However, my own designs for Kanesbury will be handled much more subtly at first.”

  “I hope so. Those Enâri nearly wrecked the village last time. I don’t want any of that now. I plan to make something of myself here and want the village left in one piece. We had a deal, remember?”

  “I’ll uphold my end of the bargain as long as you do the same. Though you’re not off to an auspicious start by losing that key.”

  Farnsworth stood and added another log to the fire. “I’m sorry, but that was unanticipated. But I’ve done everything else you asked for, and a little extra.” He returned to his seat. “Nicholas Raven is gone, just like you wanted. You won’t have to worry about him showing up here any time soon,” he said with a chuckle.

  “Glad to hear it.”

  “If I might ask, why was it so important to get rid of that kid in the first place? How does he fit into your plans?”