Gearn hurried along the cold corridor that led to his chamber in one of the castle’s many towers. The heavy wooden door creaked when he pushed it open, its hinges rusted from lack of oil. The servants never came to his tower, and consequently it suffered from neglect. Dust covered the floors and shelves, cobwebs decked every corner and beam. Piles of unidentifiable paraphernalia cluttered the dirty floor, and a long table groaned under mounds of herbs and strange rocks, flasks and pots.
Skulls grinned in the shadows, and dusty cobwebs festooned the sconces like dirty rags. Guttering torches shed smoky light, and a fire blazed in the grate, sustained by a magical log that would burn forever. The room reeked of enough magic to offend the nose of the most uneducated peasant, so few dared to enter Gearn’s lair. Several wards ensured any who did would regret it, particularly if they were fellow magicians.
Gearn halted in front of the table, deep in thought. He caressed the pots of potion that had transferred the souls of the old soldiers into wolves, remembering the magic he had used to achieve it. That had been a mighty spell, more powerful than any magician had cast since the great, long-dead Rimlon. He would overcome this young upstart mage who protected the Queen, and if he could catch up with them before they entered the Death Zone, so much the better. The thought of braving that dreaded place did not please him, for the Death Zone’s magic was powerful and evil.
Gearn’s gaze fell upon the wolf that lay in a shadow, his muzzle on his paws, his yellow eyes watching the mage. “You will come too, Miate. Your task is not yet complete.”
The wolf whined, raising his head.
“Yes, you long to redeem yourself in the eyes of the King, do you not?”
The wolf lowered his muzzle back onto his paws, his eyes eager.
“Go and bring Hispor.”
The wolf rose and padded out, a flitting grey shadow. Gearn turned back to his potions, rubbing his chin as he pondered the problem. “I need something better than a wolf, something stronger,” he muttered. “That man is not only a mage, but a warrior too. A warrior mage, a magic warrior... That’s it!” He snapped his fingers. “I need a great warrior, with me to protect him and make him stronger.”
Gearn went over to a bookshelf and ran his finger along the row of ancient tomes, selected one and took it down. Clearing an area on the table, he opened the book and leafed through it. His apprentice came in, a black-haired youth with dark eyes and a lean, expressionless face. The wolf slunk in behind him, returning to his shadow beside a pile of skulls.
Gearn said, “Hispor, I have been assigned a great task. I must cross the cursed lands and bring back Queen Tassin. The King has entrusted this most important work to me, for he knows I will not fail him. I shall find the Queen and defeat the warrior mage who guards her, and the King will shower me with praise and riches. In this endeavour, you will play an important part.”
Hispor gazed at his mentor, his eyes reflecting the fire’s flames. He seldom spoke, and sometimes unnerved Gearn with his cold black stares. Gearn turned away, holding out his hands to the fire. He always found it necessary to assure Hispor of his importance, and treated him with far greater kindness and courtesy than anyone else, purely because he entrusted the boy with important tasks that he could not afford to have sabotaged or bungled.
“You will find me a warrior, Hispor. A gladiator, whatever it takes. I want a big man, very strong, a fighter. The King tells me this warrior mage is a small man, so we will find one who can beat him, aided by my magic.”
Hispor nodded. “A good plan, Master.”
“Of course it is, now go. There is no time to waste. Find me a fighting man, the biggest you can get. Promise him riches, women, everlasting life, whatever it takes. They are usually stupid and greedy. You know what to do.”
Hispor bowed and vanished through the door as Gearn turned back to his workbench. He cleared a space with a sweep of his arm, consigning numerous bottles and pots to the pile on the floor, then began to assemble a new set of potions while the wolf in the shadows watched.
The Cyber Chronicles - Book I: Queen of Arlin Page 56