EverMage - The Complete Series: A Fantasy Novel

by Trip Ellington

“Not without you knowing about it,” said Rethbrin, troubled. The old wizard frowned and rubbed one hand at his chin through the scraggly white hairs of his beard. He shook his head. “No, there’s something else happening here…”

  A loud rumble sounded in the distant, followed a moment later by a sympathetic shiver of the ground below their feet. Mithris and Rethbrin both turned their eyes inland, toward the smoking peak in the far distance. Mithris swallowed nervously, then felt ashamed. He’d braved a volcano before. He had to stay focused.

  “I think the crystals sent us here,” he told Rethbrin. “All of us.”

  Rethbrin nodded. “You could have something there. No one knows what will happen when all the foundation crystals are brought together.”

  “They’re never really apart…” Mithris mused, thinking back to the earliest arguments he’d had with Vapor.

  “Eh? What’s that? Of course they are. Why, until you came along, no two of the stones had been in the same place for thousands of years!”

  “No, I know.” Mithris shook his head. He still had trouble with the concept himself. The foundation crystals were difficult to understand at times. He did his best to explain. “That’s just the part of them which projects into our reality, though. The crystals exist on all foundations at once. In the first foundation, they are never separate…What? What is it?”

  Mithris stared in confusion as the ancient wizard Rethbrin spun wildly in place, waving his arms like a madman and hooting. Had the old man suddenly lost his mind?

  “Don’t you see?” Rethbrin was excited, hopping from one foot to the other. At least he stopped twirling. It had begun to make Mithris feel dizzy. “The other foundations! That must be where we’ve landed.”

  Mithris took that in slowly.

  “You think we’ve been transported to another foundation,” he said flatly after a long moment.

  “Of course we have!” Rethbrin narrowed his eyes, looking around with renewed curiosity. “The only question is, which? Certainly not the First Foundation, we’d never survive there. Second, Third, or Fourth…which is it?”

  The old man’s voice had trailed off to a low mutter. Still talking to himself, Rethbrin went to the nearby tree and peered closely at its bark.

  “Why couldn’t it be Sixth or Seventh?” asked Mithris.

  Rethbrin whirled around. “Don’t talk nonsense, lad.”

  “No, listen,” Mithris protested. “Vapor told me there are actually seven foundations. It’s just that we don’t know about the ones which came after our own.”

  “Hmmm…” Rethbrin drew the thoughtful syllable out, tapping his bearded chin. “All right then, I’ll accept that. But why would your crystals have sent us to another foundation? Hmm? I thought you called them your friends. Allies. Would your allies do something like this, at the very moment of your victory? Hmm?”

  That troubled Mithris. He tried not to show his concern, but the old man saw it anyway and nodded. Mithris sighed. He would not have expected to miss Vapor’s voice in his head, but right now he thought he would trade most anything to hear the crystal speak again.

  “Well, we’re not getting anywhere standing here,” Rethbrin announced after an awkward length of silence. “Let’s see about finding out where we are, and from there we’ll…”

  With a trumpeting roar, a large and fearsome creature broke through the thick jungle foliage which bordered the inland edge of the beach. Rethbrin broke off, staggering back in alarm. Both wizards shouted cantrips, but of course they had no effect.

  The creature stood five paces at the shoulder, towering over the startled wizards. It had a long, lean body and a powerfully muscled tail that stretched out behind its thick hind-legs. It’s forward limbs were much smaller, situated as arms rather than legs, and tipped with gleaming claws several inches long. It’s body was covered with sleek feathers of tan and brown and off-white. It’s eyes, set wide on either side of a projecting snout, were reptilian. It’s jaws were lined with jagged teeth.

  “What is it?” cried Mithris, falling back from the creature. It stood where it had emerged, head weaving back and forth to bring its slitted yellow eyes to bear one at a time on first one wizard, then the other. It lowered its head, pawing at the ground with one clawed foot as it studied them.

  “I hardly think classification is our first priority, Mithris,” Rethbrin said breathlessly. “I suggest we run!”

  Chapter 59

  Broad leaves slapped at Mithris as he plunged through the jungle. His heart pounded. Chill sweat ran down his sides. He could hear the pounding pursuit at his back. Rethbrin snaked through the thick undergrowth just ahead of him. The rail-thin grandmaster was lithe and fast, and he slipped through openings in the foliage that seemed too small for a man, but he was winded and losing speed.

  We’re going to die, Mithris thought as he ran.

  He ducked a thick, gnarled branch and ran on. He was gaining on Rethbrin with every step. The ancient magician wouldn’t be able to keep up this pace. Mithris could hear his ragged, gasping breath.

  The creature pursuing let out an ear-splitting roar. It sounded so close, Mithris could scarcely believe he didn’t feel its fetid, hot breath on the back of his neck. He risked a backward glance, saw the triangular head surging toward him through the dense growth.

  It would be on them in another minute. They could not outrun it. The nearly impenetrable vegetation slowed its charge, but not enough.

  Mithris had defeated beasts of the other foundations before. But in each case, he had drawn on magic to aid him. He did not want to think on what might have happened if he’d been unable to cast spells against omnitors or a devinist.

  At least the creature had no magic of its own. Small blessing, that, but it told Mithris the problem was not just with him and Rethbrin. This realm, wherever it was, knew nothing of sorcery.

  The beast roared again. It was right behind him. He could feel its breath now, hear the snapping jaws inches behind him. Mithris darted to the left, around the thick bole of one of the gnarled and unfamiliar trees. He heard the monster pursue.

  His mind raced, searching for solutions. Spells kept popping into his head, cantrips he had practiced for defending himself against Eaganar and the creatures he summoned. The spells were useless.

  Mithris yelped when his ankle snagged on an exposed root he had not seen. His momentum threw him down on the ground, twisting his foot under the root painfully. Mithris pushed up but knew he was too late. The monster was on him.

  The young wizard squeezed his eyes tight and gritted his teeth against the inevitable agony of being devoured by the feathery dragon.

  The beast roared. Hot air blasted across Mithris’ exposed back. Stinging flecks of spit landed on his arms and in his hair. Mithris opened his eyes in confusion. The monster’s roar sounded more of pain than triumph.

  “Hit it again!” he heard Rethbrin shouting, somewhere close by.

  There was a thrumming sound, almost a whistle, as of something long and slender hurled fast through the air. It ended with a wet thunk and the beast howled again. The ground shook violently when it fell.

  Extracting his foot from the root, Mithris pushed himself away and rolled frantically onto his back to see what had happened. The monster lay on its side two paces from him. It had stood right over him. The first spear had driven into its hip in the moment before it struck. The second still quivered in the beast’s throat.

  Thick, slow-moving blood bubbled up around the haft of the spear, staining the feathers dark red, nearly purple.

  Rethbrin was at his side now, kneeling beside Mithris among the creeping vines and lianas. The old man took him by the shoulders in a grip the strength of which surprised the younger wizard. He looked up at his master’s master and saw the girl who stood behind Rethbrin. Mithris forgot about Rethbrin.

  “Are you whole, lad?” asked Rethbrin, sounding deeply concerned and a million leagues away.

  She was tall and slender and had raven black hair that
fell to her waist. She was about his age, he thought. She wore a supple vest of lightly tanned leather, laced up the front with thongs of slightly darker hide. Her short trousers were of the same material and fit snugly around her hips and ended just below the knee in a tight cuff. Her eyes were very large and brown and they glistened with what might be concern for his safety.

  Mithris hoped so anyway.

  “Who are you?” he asked the girl.

  Another figure stepped into view. With the same tan skin and home-cured leathers, he stood a head taller than the girl but had the same black hair—his pulled tightly back and held in a long braid that hung over one shoulder. His eyes were the same as well, and Mithris knew he was the girl’s close relative. Probably her brother.

  The man stepped over Mithris and went to the monster he had felled. Glancing back at the sprawled wizard with undisguised contempt, he retrieved his spears. He returned, carrying the two spears crossed in one hand. He knelt down opposite Rethbrin and frowned.

  “Why have you come?” he demanded.

  Mithris looked helplessly back and forth between the girl and her hostile brother. His jaw worked but the words didn’t come.

  “We hardly wished ourselves here,” Rethbrin snapped at the spearman. Even kneeling, the old man managed to draw himself up into an imposingly indignant posture. “I’m grateful for the help you’ve rendered, young man, but I must say I don’t care for the tone of your question. Now why don’t you just tell us where we are, hmm?”

  “Why are you here?” The insistent spearman glared at Rethbrin. He fingered the sharpened stone blade of one the spears with his free hand.

  “Stop it, Lothar.” The girl ran forward, one hand outstretched to the spearman.

  “Stay out of this, Melendra,” snapped Lothar, sparing a rapid flicker of his eyes in the girl’s direction. She drew up short, but her face was determined.

  “They are strangers here,” she told Lothar firmly. “Listen to the old one. He says they came not willing. Stop your posturing and hear them out.”

  “Here’s a young woman who speaks sense,” Rethbrin interjected, crossing his arms over his narrow chest and looking down his nose at Lothar as if the matter were settled. “I’d listen to her if I were you, young man.”

  Lothar ground his teeth together angrily. He glanced at his sister again and gave a curt nod. “Very well,” he relented. “We take them to the village. They can tell their story to Grimball. He’ll decide.”

  “Who’s Grimball?” Mithris finally found his voice. From the look that came over Melendra’s face, he didn’t want to know.

  Chapter 60

  Melendra and Lothar moved through the jungle with an easy grace Mithris and his grandmaster could not match. Soon enough, however, they led the way to a narrow path that cut through the jungle. Melendra took a short, fat-bladed sword from a sheath on her back and took the lead. She hacked at the encroaching jungle, shearing off broad leaves and cleaving vines to stop them reclaiming this path for the wilderness.

  Rethbrin and Mithris walked behind her and Lothar brought up the rear. Mithris could feel the spearman’s glowering eyes burning between his shoulder blades.

  The path eventually led them to a village tucked away in a hollow clearing surrounded by high rocks on all sides, accessible only through a low but narrow canyon. The rocks kept the jungle at bay. Melendra put away her machete.

  The village was a collection of simple wooden huts, the roofs thatched with dried tan palm fronds. There might have been five hundred people in all who called this place home. Their houses were small and cozy. Several large buildings dominated the center of the village. One end of the clearing in the rocks was empty, clearly set aside. There were signs of frequent bonfires there.

  The villagers all resembled Lothar and Melendra. Dark hair was ubiquitous. Dark eyes were prevalent, though some of the people they passed on the way in had lighter irises. Many wore clothes of leather and hide, while others sported rough linens and even spun wool.

  When the villagers saw Rethbrin and Mithris, they fell back with stunned expressions and watched the short procession go by without speaking. Their voices raised in a hushed susurrus when the group had passed.

  Mithris took it all in, amazed. These people appeared to have a very simple life, but it seemed like a good one. This roomy canyon must offer protection from more than just the encroaching jungle. It would keep the weather at bay, and form a barrier to any wild animals or human enemies. Fruit trees grew here and there throughout the clearing. He saw a mill set up next to a spring-fed stream at the far end of the rock-enclosed meadow.

  And they were human. These people had less variety in their features than those of any city he had visited, but Mithris knew the people in cities came from many places. These folk had never scattered to the wind. He wondered what life was like in this foundation.

  Were there other places in this world more similar to those he had known in the fifth foundation?

  “It’s amazing,” he whispered. At his side, Rethbrin cast him a sharp look.

  “Keep your wits, lad,” the old man muttered, too low for Lothar to hear it where he strode behind them. “There’s danger here.”

  Melendra led the way through the village, and the people they passed made way. Soon they reached the central square, where the larger buildings stood. A group of three men, their faces set in grim lines, had emerged from the largest building and stood arrayed before the wide entryway with arms crossed over their chests.

  Lothar stepped around from behind Mithris and approached the men, all of whom wore their advanced years proudly.

  “Elders,” the spearman greeted them, inclining his head with respect. “We found these strangers in the jungle. They were chased by a raktar. I killed the beast.”

  The man center of the three, oldest by far with a wizened face and iron gray hair hanging in a braid that reached his knees, grunted. “Why have you brought them here, Lothar?”

  The spearman lifted his eyes, and they flickered briefly to Melendra. “My sibling insisted, Elder Grimball.”

  The old man nodded, glancing at Melendra before he turned to his fellows. A look passed between the three elders.

  “Bring them inside,” commanded Grimball, then he turned away and went back into the long, low building.

  ***

  It was cooler inside the lodge. The lighting was dim. The walls bore decorations of cured furs, mounted skulls, and other hunting trophies. Two long tables dominated much of the space, with a much smaller table on a raised dais near the back.

  The three elders went straight to this table, moved behind it, and sat down.

  Lothar prodded Mithris and Rethbrin to follow, bringing them up short on the near side of the table where they would be forced to look up to the elders. Melendra trailed behind, her face set with concern.

  Grimball spoke again once everyone was in place. “Why have you come, strangers? Who are you, and what troubles would you bring us?”

  Mithris opened his mouth to answer, but Rethbrin laid a hand on his arm and gave a tiny shake of his head. The ancient wizard then stepped forward, clearing his throat.

  “We bring you no troubles, Elder,” said Rethbrin, offering a kind smile. “We did not mean to come here, but were sent against our will. I confess, we do not even know where it is we find ourselves.”

  Rethbrin turned up his face at the end, catching Grimball’s dark eyes. The old wizard’s bushy white brows lifted up in question.

  “Do not question the Elders,” Lothar growled.

  “We can speak for ourselves, Child.” The old man to Grimball’s left did not raise his voice, but Lothar recoiled as if he’d been struck.

  “I apologize, Elder Dashar” the spearman said in a tight voice. Dashar held the much younger man in a steely gaze for a long moment before he nodded. All three elders returned their attention to Rethbrin. Mithris felt sweat trickling down the side of his face.

  “This is our home,” Grimball said, li
fting his folded hands from the table and spreading them wide to indicate the village beyond the walls of the lodge. “Our people have lived here since the beginning of time, sheltered by the Great Master’s hand.”

  “The Great Master?” echoed Rethbrin. He seemed intrigued.

  “He has ever been with our people.” Elder Dashar spoke as if repeating a rote catechism.

  “He shelters us,” added the old man to Grimball’s right.

  “He guides us,” Elder Grimball said. The prayer complete, all three elders bowed their heads momentarily. When he lifted his eyes again, Grimball seemed troubled. “You must have come far, to know nothing of him. His influence spreads to all the corners of our world. Who are you, strangers?”

  “Reluctant travelers,” answered Rethbrin. “You may find this hard to believe, but we hail from another world.”

  The three elders tensed, as did Melendra. Lothar jumped back, reaching for the spears he wore at his back. Mithris jumped back, ready to defend himself and Grandmaster Rethbrin. He did not know what he could do, without any magic, against the burly spearman.

  “Hold!” cried Grimball, rising from his chair behind the raised table. He threw up a hand toward Lothar. “Hold, Child!”

  Lothar lowered his spear reluctantly, but did not put it away.

  Melendra, meanwhile, had backed away nearly to the door. Mithris looked over at her. She seemed terrified. What had gotten into these people?

  “Your names,” said Grimball. “Tell me your names.”

  “Eh?” Rethbrin shook himself. “Of course, of course. My name is Master Rethbrin, and this is my…well, my colleague anyway. This young man is Mithris.”

  “Mithris!” the two elders flanking Grimball cried in unison. The blood drained from their faces as they turned to face one another. Grimball himself put a hand to the table, steadying himself. His mouth had fallen open in shock, but he quickly recovered himself.

  “Your coming was foretold, Mithris,” he said. “The Great Master warned us about you. Hear me, Dark One. You will not destroy my people. I won’t give you the chance. Lothar, take him!”