Crap! Umbra bolted over to the couch where Micah lay and shook him hysterically until he awoke.
“Ugh, what do you want?” Micah demanded in a sleepy voice. Umbra’s face was covered with shock and terror.
“Lady Crow! She’s a demon! We have to leave now! Get your things!” Umbra demanded as he gathered his bag, quickly slipping on his black cloak and fingerless leather gloves.
“No she’s not, you’re being ridiculous! It was just a bad dream!” Micah reassured him.
There she was, Lady Crow; standing behind them, fuming anger across her face. Umbra gulped.
“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!” she demanded in a raspy voice.
“Yeah Umbra, what is your problem?” Micah added as he climbed to his feet.
In desperation Umbra grabbed the fire poker from next to the fireplace and held it to Lady Crow’s throat.
“We have to kill her now! We can’t let that demon go on a rampage again!” Umbra insisted, pleading with Micah who was glaring at him.
He drew his sword and held it up to Umbra.
A beat of sweat fell from Umbra’s face landing on the cold blade with a small hiss. “Get away from her!” Micah ordered.
Lady Crow’s frown grew deeper. Micah raised his sword, lifting Umbra’s chin. “This is your last warning! Don’t make me do this!” he pleaded.
“This is crazy, she’s a demon! We HAVE to get rid of her!” Umbra persevered.
“Are you going to let him talk about me like that?” Lady Crow growled. Micah shook his head.
“You’re lucky that we’re friends or I’d slay you right now! Leave now, Umbra!” Micah ordered, delivering the ultimatum. The sword glowed with an eerie red light.
Umbra dropped the fire poker and hung his head, his pleas failed.
“You don’t realize how much danger you are in!” he warned with concern in his eyes. Micah pointed the sword at the door, staring Umbra down.
The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife and Micah’s was definitely capable.
Umbra finally yielded, submissively slinging his bag over his shoulder. He stomped out of the ramshackle house, and made tracts to the nearest town.
He wondered if he would see Micah again as he squelched through the marshy wasteland towards Myst City.
“You did the right thing boy,” Lady Crow assured Micah. They stared out the door at Umbra as he disappeared into the distance and out of their lives.
Micah let out a sigh of sadness, he would miss his friend.
Lady Crow went to stand on the porch, a grin crossing her face as her eyes flashed a solid white. Micah dropped his sword and sank back into a chair; the gravity of what had just occurred hit him like a wall.
Oh Umbra. Why did you have to do that?
NINE
Umbra had felt evil growing back in his former-teacher’s shack. He continued away from the home he had known for two years.
He only had eleven months to break the demonic contract on his soul and save himself from the pit
How will I learn enough to confront Belphagor now?
Umbra stood there for a moment contemplating the gravity of his situation.
It had been hours since Umbra had stormed out of Lady Crow’s cabin. The foggy swampland and marshy ground were long behind him now.
His black cloak flowed in the brisk wind; he scratched his scar, covering it back up with his glove.
If anyone were to see that mark they would trace it back to the incident in Brie. The case had become famous in the past few years since he left, he had even heard about it from the odd passing traveler he encountered in the swamp.
The tall pines rustled as they towered over the needle-choked ground below. The trees stretched like poles into what seemed like an infinite void, the ground view only broken by a few outcrops and ledges littered with a damp moss.
Umbra’s visibility was quickly fading as the sun sunk over the wispy clouds in the west.
Before too long the moon had crowned and the winds picked up, stirring up the pine needles. Umbra decided to himself that he must be ready, this was dangerous territory. He no longer had the protection of a powerful sorcerer like Lady Crow and wouldn’t be able to defend himself if the slayer returned.
He looked around desperately for a road; it would be his best chance to make it to the nearby city safely. He grabbed a nearby fallen branch, peeling it down to a bare stick.
A simple crafting spell should do it! He thought as he dripped a little of his blood vile onto the wood. He whispered an incantation and tossed the stick up in the air watching as it lit up an eerie purple light.
When he caught it again it was a long spear topped with an iron tip. He had chosen to fashion a skull on the blade just for a little flair.
This should fend off anything dangerous.
A little more confident now, Umbra strolled forth towards the small dirt road that emerged into view. He hoped to find shelter and plan his next move once he reached the city. Hopefully he could remain anonymous amongst the crowds of the city.
The wind rustled amongst the canopy, breathing life into the fallen needles as he closed his eyes in deep concentration. He was determined to kill that demon in Lady Crow, rescue Micah and he had to somehow get back his soul from Belphagor, the contract demon.
Two years had passed since he had fled Brie and he was still plagued by that same recurring nightmare. That demon had tricked him! Any amateur necromancer can raise a zombie! He wanted his mother! He was still so full of hate and humiliation for making that fool-hearty deal.
My time is running out!
What he was planning would solve everything, but he was unsure of how to go about it. His training was surely over. He wouldn’t get any help from Lady Crow anymore and who knows what she was doing to Micah.
He looked over the horizon of trees upon the majesty of nearby Myst City. The tall, intricately-designed spires stood tall and majestic as the sun set behind them. The walls shone like polished marble and the city looked pristine. The artistic buildings graced the skyline and the sheer height of them was humbling.
Night was in full bloom now as he continued onward; the glassy eye of the moon spied him from overhead.
Umbra had heard rumors circulate that the forests surrounding Myst City were teeming with werewolves, it was the original reason the city was fortified.
I hope they are just rumors! Umbra continued onward, his fear setting in.
He finally reached the road, it was as dead as a tomb, the road was worn, but not a soul was present.
Clutching his robe as the brisk wind blew he started walking towards the direction of Myst City being sure to keep up a quick pace.
“Hoooooooooooooooooowwwwwwwwwww!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Another followed shortly after, it was closer though; another, then another.
The noises were all around him; he ran for a felled tree and ducked behind it trying to get a view of what he was dealing with. Umbra knew he couldn’t outrun a werewolf. He planted his spear down nervously and reached for his blood vial to make a protection circle.
The needles rustled and within an instant a wolf shot right past his hand from behind, tearing the vial right out of his grip along with most of the glove concealing his scar. The wolf landed perfectly next to him in a hunched position.
Crowds of werewolves were snarling, vicious. Drool dripped from their blood-soaked mouths.
A few more appeared dragging a mutilated corpse with them, still being picked at by a few of them, they ripped and chewed furiously once the second the body had halted.
“Hoooooooooooooooooowwwwwwwwwww!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” the creature boomed as it arched its ragged, fur-torn back. It spun around and eyed Umbra; its solid black eyes were so cold and dead.
&
nbsp; It had already emptied the vial, the blood dripping down the beast’s cheeks.
On the trees all around now werewolves clung. Their razor-sharp claws easily piercing the thick bark.
One after the other they lunged at Umbra, who barely managed to dodge each one. His fatigue was becoming apparent as his movements went from acrobatic, to nimble, to lucky, to clumsy.
He would not last long, and his spear was useless. They were too fast for him, he couldn’t get a firm swing at them, and without his blood vial he couldn’t use his magic.
I’m going to die here he realized. He was about to relinquish his defense to the merciless beasts. “Do your worst,” he muttered.
Suddenly he had a revelation. He ran his hand down the spear tip, bleeding out his finger.
The pack around him snarled and grunted; their smell was unholy.
They smelled like rotten meat, dragged through a swamp.
Umbra tossed his cloak to the floor and planted his spear in the earth. He scribbled a small array on his arms and crossing them over his chest. He lit it up with a red aura.
This trick was used by Micah many times to boost his speed when sparring with him. He was lit up dimly now with a red glow, he extracted a small dagger from his pocket, clenching it in his hand. Assuming a defensive posture he readied himself to retaliate.
The largest of them, presumably the pack leader arched his back and readied to jump, his mouth was salivating like a hungry dog. Before it as able to lunge, an arrow whistled through the air and emerged through his forehead from behind.
The werewolf sizzled and burned as it collapsed in a limp heap, reforming into a ragged, naked man.
Silver Arrows!
Three figures riding horses stormed into the scene out of the fog, plowing down the beasts. They were led by a knight covered in shining armor riding a majestic black stallion. He wore an over-tunic bearing the emblem of Myst City and clutching a gleaming sword which he wielded with ease. Slicing and dicing the foolish werewolves who leapt at him, adeptly decapitating them one after the other, his horse snarled as it arched to kick away an attacking werewolf.
The werewolves returned to their human shape as they drew their last breath. The archer that had delivered that lethal blow to the pack leader rode behind him. He wore a tan-colored woodsman’s hide suit and a plumed admiral’s cap, firing arrow after arrow at blinding speed striking the werewolves between the eyes every time, dropping each to reveal a ragged, miserable person.
The following rider was a young woman wearing navy-blue robes and carrying a rune-covered staff. Her blonde hair flowed majestically in the wind and her blue eyes shone like gems, complementing her revealing azure robe.
Umbra’s jaw dropped, almost forgetting the chaos and death all around him. The world lulled, the fighting seemed distant.
He had never seen such a beautiful woman, not since… He shook his head and dismissed the familiarity he saw in her.
She cast blue bolts of magic from her staff taking a few werewolves down. The magic acted like water and seemed to scald them on contact.
“Watch out!” yelled Umbra as a werewolf lunged at her knocking her off her horse and away from her staff.
“I’m coming, Marin!” yelled the knight as he spun his stallion around to move back to her, but he was blocked off by a pack of snickering werewolves and was preoccupied by their merciless assault.
Umbra, without hesitation ran towards her, sped up by the red aura spell he had cast.
She wrestled underneath the snarling beast, its drool dripping with anticipation; her face was scrunched up in fear.
Umbra’s scar lit up with a red glow as he clenched his fist. The werewolf was tugged back, falling to the ground and struggling. It was being attacked by its own shadow!
The blackness enshrouded the werewolf until it stopped flailing, then dispersed, leaving only a charred skeleton behind.
The remaining dozen werewolves backed away in fear, fleeing in all directions. Umbra ran over to help Marin to her feet.
What just happened? I couldn’t do THAT before! He thought as he dusted himself off.
She smiled shyly at him; he looked so familiar to her.
“Thank you sir, what is you’re name?” she inquired gently as her eyes locked with his.
“It’s Umbra, are you okay?” he replied.
Her face froze like she had seen a ghost.
“Marin, get away from that monster!” ordered the knight, Umbra turned around to see the archer was aiming his weapon right at him.
“Marin?” Umbra exclaimed his attention focused on her.
“Are you listening, boy?” the knight demanded as Umbra turned back to face the arrow pointed at him. Umbra was not about to chance dodging his shot, he had seen just have effortlessly the archer had taken down the werewolves.
“Gladius, Fletcher! Please! He saved my life! Surely you won’t punish him,” Marin pleaded as Umbra raised his hands in resignation. One hand was still bleeding as his aura faded, but the scar was still glowing wildly.
Marin stepped in front of him, arms outstretched. Fletcher lowered his bow with a drawn-out sigh. “He is… my friend,” she explained.
Gladius removed his helmet and raised an eyebrow. He looked into her eyes, a solemn expression colored his aged face.
“We won’t execute him, he doesn’t deserve that death. But no heretic walks in this kingdom unchallenged!” he recognized the insignia on Umbra’s hand immediately.
Gladius returned his sword to its sheath. His dark matted beard rustled in the strong wind. A scar lined his cheek, presumably from a past battle, his face showed signs of age. He glared at Umbra menacingly.
“The courts will decide his fate,” Gladius dictated. “You will come with us, you abomination. I suggest you don’t resist or we’ll put you down like we did with the rest of these monsters.” He motioned around him, the forest floor was littered with the corpses of former werewolves, he held up his gauntlet, stained red.
Fletcher dismounted and walked over to Umbra with suspicion in his eyes.
“None of that funny black magic, you!” warned Fletcher as he put Umbra in iron cuffs, Umbra could feel that they had been enchanted by someone very powerful.
Marin looked at Umbra and mouthed “I’m sorry” to him as she obediently followed the troupe. Umbra was cuffed and led back to Myst City what he could expect there was nothing but hostility.
His life lay in the hands of the courts now. The scar on his hand was still lit up like an ember and glowed eerily.
Great! I have a glowing piece of evidence on me now!
TEN
Umbra was led down the marble floors of Myst City’s court chambers; he was caught in awe of the majestic columns and stone statues towering over him. The hall looked ancient, yet well-maintained.
Golden torches lined the pathway lighting the room, if he wasn’t being dragged to what was likely his death he would have stopped to examine the art tapestries all around him, knights with swords, archers with bows, axe-men.
Fletcher and Gladius led him down the walkway occasionally jabbing him when he slowed.
“What happened to you?” Marin inquired breaking the tense silence. “The day after your mother’s death, I thought you had died during the night of flames! You dropped off the face of the earth, and then months later I arrive to see you being carried off by an angry mob and hanged! How are you even alive?” Marin demanded, reluctantly following Umbra and her comrades.
Her sadness was apparent; she hung her head, her steps heavy.
“It was a decoy; I studied that magic in isolation for months!” Umbra replied tiredly.
“Just more evidence,” Gladius whispered under his breath.
“You could have contacted me!” Marin exclaimed.
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��I just… I couldn’t,” Umbra sighed, “But how did you end up here in this city?” he inquired, trying to change the subject.
“My parents left soon after your hanging, you were like a son to them! Once they heard about your execution they couldn’t continue living there with the people that had condemned you. So we moved to Myst City to start anew,” she explained.
“I really cared about you, why didn’t you let me know you were alive!? You just dropped out of my life without even a goodbye,” her voice lowered as her traumatic memories were returning in her grim expression.
“I had to, it was something I had to do alone,” Umbra affirmed staring forward at the doors they were quickly approaching.
“To escape your rightful punishment and learn the forbidden arts?” Gladius interjected.
They finally reached the immense iron doors and Gladius solemnly opened them revealing a huge chamber lit by elevated stained glass windows.
Upon reaching the impressive chamber of the courts Umbra was walked down the carpeted isle. The room was filled with angry citizens; they had been assembled in record time. His pockets were emptied by the bailiff then he was forced into a small, iron cage as a spectacle to the audience.
The bailiff was a nondescript man in a black hood and leather tunic. The bailiff yanked Umbra’s cloak from him.
Umbra sighed, the only thing he really carried on him was his herb sachet, a small dagger, and small bag of salt, and formerly his blood vial, but that had been lost to the werewolves.
Did the Bailiff double as an executioner? Umbra wondered as he stared up at the high podium of the judges.
They were robed and ominous as they gazed down at him, their old, wrinkled faces and cold eyes made them very intimidating. They enforced absolute justice.
The bailiff dropped Umbra’s items on a table and stepped back. The judges carefully scanned the items. They didn’t even flinch as the judge in the center banged his hammer, the sound echoed through the halls silencing the jeering jurors.
The Contracted Soul Page 5