EverMage - The Complete Series: A Fantasy Novel

by Trip Ellington

  Mithris had been throwing dueling cantrips at Eaganar throughout, desperately trying anything to distract the dark wizard. If he could only break Eaganar’s concentration…It was to no avail, and now the energy Eaganar had gathered began to resolve.

  Mithris cast his eyes about in a panic. Lightning flashed, nearly blinding him. Boulders smashed against his wards, sending sparks and chunks of debris scattering into the wind-blown smog. Thunder boomed high overhead. Lava spilled beneath his feet, radiating heat and an smoldering orange light.

  There! Mithris jerked his eyes back, not sure of what he had just seen. There it was again. A relatively tiny jet of flame broke the surface like a whale breaching at sea. It curved shallowly over the magma flow before diving back down beneath the surface. Almost immediately, an identical spurt burst upward behind the first.

  Ember!

  Mithris did not look up to see what monstrous attack Eaganar had summoned. He did not stop to think, or to pray. Throwing out his hand, stretching his arm to its utmost, he hurriedly shouted the final lines of the spell he had so recently crafted, the one he had used once before for this same purpose.

  Like an invisible lasso, magic flew out from the young wizard’s splayed fingers. The spatulate end of his summoned lariat sank into the rushing lava and closed like a massive fist round the foundation crystal which bobbed along beneath the surface.

  Mithris yanked back on that invisible cord. He need not worry about disturbing Mount Wileth, not any longer. Hot rock and explosions of long-trapped gases spewed from the mountain’s broken summit, and the lava Mithris and Eaganar hovered over ran knee-deep at least by now. From that deepening tide of fire, Mithris drew forth Ember.

  Dripping hot liquid that cooled into solid rock as it fell, only to be consumed on the instant it splashed into the spreading tide, Ember shot through the air, slipped through the layers of his wards, and slapped itself neatly into Mithris’ hand.

  The young wizard looked up in time to see Eaganar’s spell resolving. Mithris gasped at the complexity of it. Eaganar must have crafted his incantation on the fly. He had made full use of the power of Vapor, Depths, and Terra. Mithris had only seconds to act.

  Thrusting himself forward in the air, Mithris dove for the thick trunks of magic that wound themselves together to form the spell. Holding Ember in one hand, drawing on the foundation crystal’s affinity for fire and destruction, Mithris reached out with his other arm for the resolving magic.

  He tackled the flow of power, wrapping himself around it. He shouted two words. Ember flashed and burned in his hand.

  Eaganar’s spell snapped on the point of resolving. The well of power he had drawn exploded like a river of oil set aflame. The enormous fireball burned brighter than the sun, burning away the steam of melted snow and blasting back the thick smoke of eruption.

  The shockwave slapped Mithris backward, sending him spinning wildly through the air. He plummeted toward the ground far, far below. But he had cast his summoning spell again in the instant Eaganar’s spell went supernova.

  Three opalescent stones hurtled through the air, pulled on invisible strings of magic, following the battered wizard as he fell.

  Mithris managed to get himself turned around in the air. Wind whipped at his robes and his tousled hair, roaring in his ears. His heart pounded in his chest. He fell.

  Vapor, Depths, and Terra sped after him.

  Thrusting Ember in his pocket, Mithris reach out and up with both arms. The crystals fell into his hands. He nearly dropped Terra, but caught the stone. Shoving all three in his pocket, Mithris shouted his traveling spell.

  And, a split second before he would have hit the frozen ground and splattered, Mithris winked out of existence.

  ***

  He reappeared hundreds of leagues away, still falling. Splashing down into a freezing lake, he plunged to the depths.

  With burning lungs, Mithris struck out for the surface. He clawed at the water, a drowning man. Just as he was sure his lungs would burst, the young wizard’s head exploded through the surface. He spluttered and heaved for breath, bobbing on the waves of his violent splash-down.

  He was alive. He had escaped. He had the foundation crystals.

  “Yeah! I did it! I’m alive!” crowed Mithris, raising his arm over the water and pumping a triumphant fist in the air. Despite the pain of his recent battle, Mithris couldn’t help but smile.

  He had done it!

  Chapter 45

  Sodden and dripping, a weary magician made his way through the arched gate of the small city. It had taken him three hours to get here from the lake.

  Avington. He was back in Avington.

  “This is why you said I shouldn’t just Travel to a warm inn as far from Mount Wileth as I could find?” Mithris muttered beneath his breath.

  You exhausted yourself at the volcano, Mithris, said Vapor. I just didn’t want you to risk burning yourself out. Remember how helpless you felt when Tzrak managed to block you from the magic completely?

  Mithris shook his head. He was worn, and the exhaustion was far from merely physical. Though he felt he could drop on the spot and sleep for a year, there was a much greater weariness in him. He had taxed his magical ability to the utmost limits in the duels with Tzrak and Eaganar.

  Even so, he suspected Vapor had known precisely where they had landed. The crystal had known which direction he should walk; it must also have known what city Mithris would find in his path. Avington. He certainly never expected to walk these dusty streets again, not after what had happened the last time he was in Avington.

  Ileera is dead, Vapor reminded him.

  “That’s right.” Mithris squared his shoulders, nodding to the city watchman who stood beside the gate eyeing him strangely. The guard decided not to challenge him, and Mithris passed into the city where he had fought Mistress Ileera. A smile, tired but proud, spread over his lips.

  What? What are you smiling about?

  “Ileera is dead,” said Mithris, not caring if any passers-by saw him apparently talking to himself. Let them think whatever they wanted. He could take care of himself. “And now, so is Eaganar.”

  Oh. I wouldn’t be too sure about that.

  “Come on,” argued Mithris. “The way he was knocked back by the explosion, he surely fell into the volcano. He’s dead, Vapor.”

  You cast a traveling spell, and survived a surely fatal fall from the mountaintop.

  Mithris drew up short. An old woman, stooped under the weight of a large, woven basket laden with apples, bumped into him from behind. Swearing, the old woman moved to pass him with a steely-eyed glare.

  Mithris didn’t even see her. Vapor was right. Eaganar was centuries old and veteran of many duels. He would have escaped.

  He’ll come after us again, warned Vapor.

  “We’ll just have to worry about that when it comes,” said Mithris. Then, he yawned. Shaking himself after the yawn, he added, “For now, a hot meal and a bed. Come on.”

  Adjusting his sodden robes on his shoulders, Mithris strode deeper into the city of Avington.

  ***

  Singed and humiliated, the wizard Eaganar strode into his stolen tower in a fury. He flew up the stairs to the very summit. Slamming open the door, he stormed into the pinnacle chamber.

  In this room had he slain Deinre.

  This room had seen Eaganar’s greatest victory. In over fifteen centuries of wizardry, Eaganar had killed many a rival. He had stolen towers before. He had taken the work of his fallen enemies and used it to make himself great. He was the most powerful wizard in the entire world.

  So how could Deinre’s whelp of an apprentice have bested him? It was inconceivable! Yet, it had happened.

  Eaganar fumed, pacing back and forth and grinding his teeth in frustrated rage.

  The boy could shape energy directly. Deinre had worked at that for centuries. It was why Eaganar had come for the old fool. But Deinre had never succeeded, not fully, not so far as Eaganar knew. Apparently
he had come further than Eaganar suspected. The boy had done it.

  Oh, it was roughly done and surely lacked finesse. But there was no denying what Mithris had done.

  “Perhaps an apprentice no longer,” mused Eaganar, stopping his restless pacing. He frowned, deliberating a moment. Then he ran to his scrying bowl.

  The boy should be considered a wizard in his own right. Eaganar knew now that he had been overconfident. He’d thought he was dealing with an untrained fool of a boy. But this whelp could shape energy with his touch. Eaganar would have to be more careful.

  He had beaten wizards before. Scores of them. He would simply have to modify his strategy. So Mithris had four foundation crystals. No doubt he would seek the final two.

  Smiling darkly to himself, Eaganar searched the world through his scrying bowl, hunting out signs of the voidstone.

  “We’ll meet again soon, Mithris,” the dark wizard hissed. “And this time, I will destroy you!”

  Chapter 46

  Atop a rocky promontory overlooking a wave-crashed shore on one side and a deep forest on the other stood a slender spire of seamless white stone. The wizard’s tower was taller than the tallest trees in the forest and more majestic in its simplistic lines than the most opulent of palaces in distant cities.

  The tower gleamed in the light of twin moons full. It was built atop a convergence of ley lines which, to the right kind of eyes, emitted fluttering shimmers of raw magic that lit the tower from beneath as if with light reflected from water.

  The youth who crouched amid the scraggly bushes some fifty paces from the low, outer wall which surrounded the tower could see that flickering illumination. He had the right kind of eyes. He was a wizard.

  Mithris hid in the darkness and shadows, garbed in dark gray robes and an enveloping cloak of rough-spun black wool. He had cast a series of portable wards around himself which blurred his image, making him difficult to see. Another simple cantrip disguised his use of magic so no other wizard would spot him by the aura of his spells. Mithris was well-hidden.

  His precautions were wise. Within the outer wall which circled the slender tower, a large pack of omnitors prowled the grounds. Beastly denizens of the second foundation who resembled an unholy mixture of ape and hyena, the omnitors were loping shadows whose feral eyes gleamed from the light only magicians could see.

  Mithris was ready for the omnitors. He had a series of cantrips ready to cast as soon as he topped the wall. By the time he landed in the grass on the other side, the omnitors would be dead. Mithris wasn’t worried about the omnitors.

  He was worried about what else Eaganar might have left behind to guard his tower. There were creatures more fearsome by far than omnitors.

  Mithris shook his head in the darkness. Whatever defenses his nemesis had left in place, the youthful wizard would discover in time. Squatting here in the brushy foliage gained him nothing. Readying himself, he broke cover and ran for the wall. Nearing it, he whispered his first cantrip.

  The spell resolved, catapulting Mithris up into the air. He landed deftly atop the stone wall, balancing on his heels and uttering his second cantrip.

  Throughout the grounds, wherever an omnitor trod, small holes opened up in the soil. These were no sinkholes, but yawning portals into the second foundation. In unison, fifty omnitors were ripped, mewling and screaming, from this world and thrown back into the twisted realm from which they came. The portals all closed just as Mithris landed in the grass at the base of the wall. He crouched down and waited, listening for any reaction to the omnitors’ desperate howls.

  A gated doorway at the tower base opened, and three devinists floated out. The wraith-like demons hovered over the ground, waving their truncated arms menacingly. Those arms ended in narrow little nubs without hands. They were far more intelligent than low creatures like the omnitors, and infinitely more dangerous.

  The wizard Mithris reacted without hesitation. Recalling a suitable spell, he flung up one hand and uttered the words. He drew strength from the leys beneath the earth, and forced it to mold itself to his design.

  Unholy fire sprang up from the devinist’s shadowy forms, instantly engulfing them in roaring flames. A strong wind blew up without warning, fanning the flames as the devinists howled and beat at themselves with their nub-ended arms. In moments, the creatures had been reduced to ashes that blew away on the now-dying wind.

  Mithris never broke stride. He walked across the courtyard without hurrying and passed through the gate from which the trio of devinists had emerged. He was in the tower. He was home.

  Mithris paused inside the threshold, closing his eyes and taking a long breath. He had not seen these halls for nearly two years, ever since the wizard Eaganar murdered his master Deinre and invaded the spire. Eaganar had hounded Mithris ever since.

  But Mithris had grown strong and learned much through his ordeal. He carried four of the most powerful artifacts in all creation. The foundation crystals were sewn to his ash-colored robe, decorating his chest and sleeves. He had studied his master’s experiments and spells. He had defeated every foe, man or beast or summoned demon, and bested Eaganar himself in a duel.

  Mithris would be hounded no longer.

  Can we please get this over with and get out of here?

  Vapor, as usual, shattered the moment. Mithris bit down on an irate reply, shaking his head ruefully. The airstone was the only one of the four crystals that could make its voice heard in his head like that. Vapor loved, ironically, taking the wind from the wizard’s sails.

  “Eaganar won’t be back tonight,” Mithris assured the foundation crystal. “He’s ten thousand leagues away, and busy.”

  We were a thousand leagues distant not an hour gone, argued Vapor. Wizards tend to flit back and forth so quickly, don’t they?

  “He’s busy,” Mithris repeated. He was confident the dark wizard would not return soon. With his eyes still closed, Mithris extended his awareness to the stone spire. Wizard’s towers were often… responsive to their owners, and Deinre had dwelt here for centuries. Surely in a mere two years, Eaganar could not have completely broken the tower to his will.

  We didn’t come for the tower, Vapor reminded him. We came for Tempus.

  Tempus. The timestone. Eaganar had found it first, beating Mithris to the Forsaken Tower of Krahn the Undying. Well, Mithris thought, Eaganar was welcome to that contest. Let someone else face Krahn the Undying. Mithris was perfectly content to slip into his tower while he was away and pilfer the timestone.

  “It seems too easy, though,” he mused aloud. Deinre had bequeathed Vapor to him as his last act, but Mithris had needed to go searching for the others. He’d dueled an evil wizardess for Depths, the waterstone. He had faced an ancient, paranoid wizard who summoned an earth elemental in the battle for Terra, the earthstone. And he had descended into an erupting volcano to retrieve Ember, the firestone, facing a Chaos Lord and Eaganar himself before he escaped.

  Somehow, sneaking into an empty tower and just stealing Tempus didn’t seem like an appropriate challenge.

  I liked you better when you were a whining coward, said Vapor.

  Mithris sighed. Much as he wanted to exert his influence on the tower and see if he could win it back from Eaganar before the other returned, he knew the airstone was right. He should find Tempus and get out of here. He would have to face Eaganar eventually, and once he’d avenged his master’s death the tower would quickly bond itself to him.

  Mithris cut himself short. Had he really just made plans to move into a tower? Maybe it was the nostalgia of being in a familiar place, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized even this tower couldn’t be his home. Eventually another wizard would try to take it from him.

  Turning, Mithris headed for the stairs. He knew the way. He would ascend to the pinnacle chamber.

  Chapter 47

  Encountering no further resistance on his way up, Mithris reached the uppermost floor of the tower and entered the large, circular room whic
h took up the entire summit. A bay window curved around the outer wall, offering a view out over the darkened forest. Shelves lined the rest of the wall, stocked with arcane ingredients in jars and lidded pots. A large cauldron hung over a fireplace set directly opposite the window. Free-standing braziers sat cold around the room.

  A mist-wraith waited, floating in the air before the massive, stone scrying basin. Its ghostly eyes burned crimson in the midst of its shapeless, ever-changing smoky form. The mist-wraith struck immediately, shooting across the room to attack Mithris.

  The wizard reached up and clutched Depths and Vapor, barking an incantation he had memorized for just such an occasion. Born of the third foundation it might be, but on this plane the mist-wraith’s body was water vapor. Animate, extremely powerful water vapor that could leech the life-force from his body with a single touch; but water vapor all the same. Mithris controlled the water, and Mithris controlled the air.

  The mist-wraith shrieked as its every particle was torn asunder. Its body burst in million pieces, each fragment shattering further. Its spirit, deprived of its anchor on this plane, was cast back into the under-realm from which it came.

  Mithris smiled, pleased with himself. Remembering his purpose, he began methodically searching the room. He found Tempus quickly. The timestone rested in a small, velvet-lined chest atop a narrow wooden table. Open spellbooks lay to either side of the chest, and Mithris glanced over them. Ancient studies of the foundation crystals. Mithris shook his head in amusement.

  Some of those ancient scholars knew what they were talking about, Vapor reminded him.

  “Some of them did,” admitted Mithris, who had spent months tracking down every scrap of information about the foundation crystals he could get his hands on. His studies had convinced him of one thing for certain. “But even those who possessed a single crystal to experiment with embellished their research with made-up hogwash. If Eaganar thinks he’ll find reliable answers in books, he’s mistaken.”