The ravine was getting wider; Tax sighed in relief. He didn’t mind closed in places, like a cave, but the ravine gave him the chills. Unless you were close enough to the walls, it seemed like an endless black hole.
Brawn stopped abruptly, threw up a hand and stared off into the trees.
The trees swayed in the gentle morning breeze. He paused and threw his ear up, listening to the forest.
“Something’s wrong,” he whispered, putting a finger to his lips. “Quiet!”
Tax stopped, freezing in his tracks.
The forest was quiet, tranquil, nary a sounds made it to Brawn’s ears—no birds, no crickets or frogs, and more importantly, he couldn’t hear his two companions chopping at the undergrowth.
He whistled the sign and was met with silence. He peered through the forest taking a single short step at a time. He held his sword at the ready and filled his other hand with his dirk.
A muffled voice came from down the ravine. “We have you surrounded…and we have your friends. Put your hands up and don’t make any sudden movements.”
Azuela stepped forward, setting a hand on Brawn’s shoulder. “I will handle this.”
Brawn looked up into her face. His eyes narrowed. Azuela nodded. Brawn made a curt bow and he stepped back, letting her take the lead.
She walked down the trail with the dwarf and Tax in tow, stopping when she caught sight of two highwaymen holding the halflings at knifepoint.
“That’s close enough,” growled the one holding the Warrior with a blade at his neck. “Step out of the shadows.”
Azuela stepped into the center of a small clearing.
He pushed the Warrior forward several steps until he could see her clearly. His eyes went wide; she was not as he expected. A sleazy grin slid across his face as he nodded his head and three others stepped out from their hiding places behind rocks, holding their swords menacingly.
The highwaymen were dressed in dark, forest-green cloaks and had their hoods pulled up, hiding most of their faces. Azuela saw the glimmer of their swords and their toothless grins.
“What is it that you want?” Azuela asked.
“Well,” the leader said, as he stepped out from behind a large boulder. He had a bandana over his mouth, hiding part of his face. “I was prepared to rob your party, but now that I have seen you…I’ve kind of taken a fancy and look forward to being pleased by you as well.”
“You may have our money,” she offered, ignoring his other demand. “That is my offer.”
He shook his head and growled back. “Perhaps you didn’t hear me. I intend to have a rut with you…as well as your money.”
He grinned and nodded to his friends, who exchanges knowing glances. “And my friends will enjoy your company as well, but after me…of course!”
His comments brought about a round of cheers and laughter from his comrades.
Azuela set her hands on her hips and her lips drew thin. “This is the last time I will offer to let you go free if you only take our money.”
The leader raised a hand and signaled the man holding the warrior, who pushed his blade tip into his neck, drawing blood. “You are not in the place to negotiate anything,” he snarled, taking several steps forward.
“But I am in a place to parlay. I give you fair warning that I am a witch and my patience grows thin. You would be wise to take my offer.”
The highway man grunted and spit at the ground. “I don’t care if you’re the queen of the Lowlands. You’ll groan just the same when your pants are down around your knees and I’m having my way with your sweet ass!”
“You should take my offer...” she voiced sternly, repeating herself.
“Or what? Are you going to curse me? Or, Perhaps give me warts?” he chuckled, throwing his hand in the air. He pulled his hood back, showing his pock-marked face. “I couldn’t care less.”
Azuela’s eyes went dull; she dusted off her hands and wove a spell. The man holding the warrior turned to dust, and his blade fell to the dirt. The same fate met the one holding the stocky halfling. The two former captives shook out their arms and picked up their weapons.
“What the…?” the leader said, drawing his sword and pointing it at the young girl in front of him.
Azuela waved her hand and the other three highway men were tossed high into the rocks. She twisted her wrist and watched as the men were ground into the sharp rock. Her fingers snapped.
Tax heard bones cracking, grunts, and saw the men slide down to the ground and remain motionless. Rivulets of blood slid from their lips and their eyes stared vacantly at the cloudless sky.
“I gave you a chance,” she angrily said, her eyes glowed bright orange and green. Her hair swirled around her as she stared coldly into his fear-filled eyes. She held out her arm…
“I..I…” the leader tried to choke out. He still wasn’t able to reconcile that the eighty-five pound wisp of nothing in front of him was whipping his group of thugs and cutthroats. He turned to run, but his feet wouldn’t move.
She raised a hand and he was lifted from the ground several inches as his feet continued their running motion. He began choking and his skin began to desiccate as she drained his vitality. A muffled cry escaped his lips as he watched his arms and hands whither.
She released her spell and let him drop to the ground. “You will never take advantage of another again,”
The man rolled over and stared at her with hate in his eyes. His hair was white, his skin was wrinkled, and his back was bowed. He pushed himself erect and groaned as his bones protested, and his body was wracked with violent coughs. A wheeze escaped his lips as he tried to catch his breath. Azuela stared into his aged milky eyes that could no longer see clearly as he raised an accusatory hand that was deformed by arthritis and shook as he pointed.
“What have you done…to me?” he asked in a raspy, wavering voice.
“I have made you helpless, like all of your victims,” she venomously spouted, all compassion washed from her voice.
Tax’s face paled as he saw her command of magic. He had not expected it. His father had told him that seers were just peaceful fortune tellers, who knew the future and turned events. Not once had he ever mentioned that they possessed potent magic. Perhaps he had no idea that seers commanded magic the way that the wizards did, although that seemed unlikely. A large lump formed in his throat and the outside of his mouth trembled. Tax didn’t like magic, no he didn’t.
The thug spit out several rotted teeth and drooled. “Why don’t you kill me, that’s what you want.”
“Why?” she taunted. “So that you can suffer, of course. I want you to spend every minute of your last days thinking about what you have done. I want you to think about the harm and hurt you have caused.”
“I would rather you just end my life,” he indignantly said, trying to spit.
“Of course you do. But we don’t always get what we wish.”
He reached down and pulled his sword free of the brush under his feet. As quick as he could, he placed the edge of the blade to his neck and drew it forcibly across. His blood pulsed and squirted as his artery severed and his heart pumped his life to the dirt. His hand went weak and he dropped the sword, smiling broadly as if he had gotten the last word.
Azuela raised her brow and glowered, “That is probably the only noble thing you have ever done in your miserable existence.”
The smile fell from his ashen face and an inaudible gurgle escaped his lips. He fell, face first into the dirt. Azuela waited until his body stopped twitching and his blood had spread in the dirt, forming a shallow pool. She raised a delicate hand and chanted. “To the earth you return…”
His body turned to dust. She stepped to his clothes and shook them free of the dirt before she tossed them into the air where they burst into flame. “Let nothing remain…”
Small flecks of ash floated in the air and were carried off by the soft breeze. Her eyes stopped glowing.
She picked up his sword and tossed it t
o Brawn who caught it by the hilt. “Gather the remaining weapons. We might need them.”
He nodded curtly and rushed off into the woods to follow his orders and quickly returned carrying five knives and four swords. He dumped most of them at her feet and stepped back.
“They ain’t much good…” he mumbled, after dropping all but one. “But this one can be salvaged with a good stone.”
Azuela took the large knife he held out and held it in her hands. She squeezed the blade between her fingers and drew it between them slowly. The blade began to shine and took on a keen edge. She gripped the tip and pulled it, causing the knife to lengthen by about six inches. She flipped the blade over and handed it to Tax.
“Now, you have a sword too! Brawn will help you learn how to wield it effectively.”
Tax’s eyes widened as he looked at the shiny new blade. He carefully grabbed it by the leather grip. It felt good in his palm. He tested its weight by giving it a swing. A grin spread across his face. He slid his thumb across the edge to see if it were sharp and it immediately drew blood, causing him to jerk back. He hadn’t expected it to be that sharp. He pushed his thumb into his mouth and sucked on the wound.
“Take care, little Tax. The blade is very sharp!” she warned as she tossed a leather sheath in his direction. Tax carefully placed the blade in the sheath and positioned it over his shoulder.
Azuela took several steps toward the end of the ravine. “We need to leave now; we still have a long way to go before night!”
She looked back over her shoulder at her traveling companions and saw them all standing motionless with their jaws slack.
“Come on now,” she repeated, in a sing-song voice. She waving them down the trail. “We really do need to go!”
Tax swallowed hard, pushing the lump down his throat and took a step to her side. She smiled and turned down the trail as if nothing had happened.
Seers is strange, Tax thought to himself. He reminded himself to stay on her good side. Strangest indeed!
Remorse
Merl, the great wizard of Naan, sat comfortably on a flat rock adjacent the travel gate. The sun was up, and the day pleasantly warm—forcing him to remove his heavy wool robe. He had set out early in the morning, well before daybreak, hoping to return to the castle before his appointments with the Lord later in the day.
He had brought a wildflower bouquet for To’paz; it seemed the least he could do. He had laid it upon the stone dais between the totems which had denied her return to the Keep. She was dead, gone into that bracelet she always wore, and her body turned to dust.
Of course that bracelet was now on Bal’kor’s wrist, his son’s wrist—wherever he was. He wondered how he fared.
The last few days had been tumultuous. His beliefs had been challenged and his understanding of the world altered—forever changed. When Topaz had showed up at the castle, he had been pleased. She had always been one of his favorites and her reappearance had stirred longings he had for her that were deeply repressed. As he matured, he had grown weary of the presumptuous game of courts that the high ladies played and longed for deeper and more meaningful conversation. He desired no part in their constant scheming and jostling for position.
Merl thought back on the last days they had spent together. He wasn’t so sure that he believed all the stories To’paz had told him before she died—especially the one about the bal’achar. Some things seemed just too fantastical to be true, even for one as learned in the arts as he. As for her claims of being an Ancient—it seemed possible, however unlikely.
Although it was clear that she possessed magic, it was magic he could neither sense nor see. And…her magic was limited in a way he wouldn’t expect magic to be limited—the motives for it being so were unclear. His was not limited in such a fashion; his limitations were different—his was restricted by his incomplete understanding of the art, and how much magical power his body could contain. If she truly was one of the ancients, well, he had squandered an opportunity to get many of his nagging questions answered.
More than anything, he regretted sending the boy through the gate—his boy. In his gut he knew that he should have kept him in Naan and raised him. The boy needed a father, and from the way To’paz talked about Ja’tar, he reasoned that the man was far too busy to have time to raise a son. But, To’paz had made him promise to send the lad through the gate. He was sure she had good reason for demanding his compliance. He hoped the reasons were not selfish.
There were parts of To’paz’s story which seemed to contradict themselves. Merl was confused about how she had managed to slay demons, when according to her, the use of destructive magic would trigger a closing of the realm. Maybe she had just imagined that she had destroyed them. Maybe it was a big game of cat-and-mouse. It seemed clear to him that neither side fully understood the rules of magic—or perhaps the magic had been changed. Old habits die hard.
A soft, warm wind blew, stirring up the dirt at his feet. Merl pushed his long peppered hair out of his eyes and stared across the clearing, watching the dust swirl where To’paz had severed her arm, just moments before she willed herself into the stone.
He blinked hard when a bright reflection temporarily blinded him. He threw up an arm and shielded his eyes from the twinkling blue light that was sparkling on the ground at the foot of the decaying log.
Merl stood and walked briskly over to the log and pushed the dirt around with his boot. A ring rolled out of the ash. He stared down at the ring for a brief instant before he bent over and picked it up. The second his fingers touched the ring, his eyes widened and his face turned ashen. The ring had magic—magic he could feel and detect. It had a warm familiar feeling. It felt—powerful. No, that wasn’t quite right—it felt dangerous, like a cornered bear or wolverine.
It was curious that he could detect no particular spell or reason for the magic, just a throbbing presence begging to be released. It just was. For a minute, he pondered the significance of that realization. If an object could not be discerned for a purpose...
He turned the ring over in the palm of his hand and examined it carefully, pushing it around with a shaking finger. It was most certainly To’paz’s, although he didn’t recall her wearing the ring.
The workmanship was exquisite. The pale-blue stone was surrounded with runes, all set in gold. The text was unfamiliar to him, although the characters were most certainly the same as those in the text he had found in the cave those many years ago.
He slid the ring on his little finger. At first he thought it would be too small to fit, but it seemed to expand as he pushed it past his knuckle. Its weight was deceptive. It had felt substantial in his palm, but now that it was on his finger, he couldn’t even feel the ring. It was as if it had become part of his hand. Most unusual, he thought to himself.
Merl pointed the ring at a rock and willed the magic to lift the rock. The rock—defiant to his requests—just sat there on the ground. Merl scowled, disappointed that his attempt to use the magic of the ring had failed.
He rubbed his chin and contemplated as he paced the circumference of the log.
Magic was a fairly exact science, the incantations and chants required precision. Merl double-checked his spell and tried to move the rock across the field without the use of the ring.
The stone shot off across the field with such force, it ripped through the trunk of a nearby tree and ricocheted off the stone altar, forcing Merl to shield his head and duck for cover.
Merl pushed himself off the dirt and dusted himself clean as a wide grin filled his face. He knew that the ring had been activated—for he alone did not have the power at his command to fling a rock at such velocity, at least not without much preparation.
As a trial, he tried to split a nearby tree in half. The tree exploded in a shower of kindling that fluttered down from the sky. Merl stood still, jaw agape—staring at the splintered remains of a twenty year pine. After he closed his gaping jaw, his eyes widened and his brow furrowed.
&n
bsp; Although he could not control the ring, he was now convinced that he understood how it worked. The ring magnified the magic. His mouth quivered. If this was old magic—magic of the ancients—then it was the same magic that he already knew. His mind was abuzz.
Merl sat down on the log and twirled the ring on his finger. He had questions. If his magic was the same as the ancients, was he a descendant? Could the magic be learned, or did you have to be born with it? Another thought crossed his mind, the realization that To’paz had most likely told him the truth. She had destroyed demons, albeit not in the manner in which she had thought! Perhaps through circumstance she had happened upon the ring—an artifact from the Keep—and thought to wear it. Unbeknownst to her, it had probably saved her life several times when her magic—the magic of this Zylliac beast she claimed control over—would have sealed the realm.
Merl ran his hand through his hair as another realization dawned on him. To’paz was not out of magic—she just didn’t know she had other magic at her disposal. Her death was a travesty. Tears filled his eyes and a lump formed in his throat as he sullenly nodded. She could have used the ring to extend her life—and power her life spell.
The instant he thought about the life spell, he realized that he could extend his own life using the magic of the ring. He stared at the ring, mulling over whether or not he should attempt to use his spell on himself. The temptation to do so was strong. Reluctantly, he decided that he would wait until he had more mastery of the ring before he attempted its use on himself.
Merl had much to ponder. The sun was cresting the sky—it was well past noon, the Lord would soon be questioning his whereabouts. He walked back to the gate to retrieve his pack.
If he hadn’t been paying attention, he would have never noticed the silver-shimmer between the totems when he stepped up to gather his things. At first, he wasn’t sure he noticed anything. The glimmer was almost indiscernible to the naked eye, but it was there—sure as the night sky held stars.
The Legacy of the Ten: Book 03 - Darkhalla Page 10