Chapter 2
The Village
Locmire, being quite unfamiliar with life outside of Fogarth, took in all the wonders the world had to offer as he set forth on his journey. The world outside of the desert was a beautiful hodgepodge of landscapes. Lush green forests, mountains, fields, grass lands, and winding rivers were scattered about the country side. Many small villages were constructed far away from the rule of the kingdoms.
During his journey he came across a diversified mix of races living in harmony with one another. To him, the coming together of the races was the most beautiful part of this new world. Prior to the Great War, the races, for the most part, did not intermingle unless it was to trade goods or declare war. Now, it was very common to see a small village made up of Engeniums, Humans, Brazurkins, and Raptilians living peacefully with one another. It swelled his heart to see Forest Engeniums and High Engeniums living peacefully amongst one another.
He made brief detours into a few of these villages to trade for food and lodging for him and his steed. Everyone warmly welcomed him, and to his surprise most of the goods in the villages, such as food and water, were complimentary. It seemed that once the villagers had become far removed from the major kingdoms, they became exponentially more generous. They all worked to help one another. One particular village by the name of Holston offered some of the best food he had ever tasted. Their specialty dish was poached yarkle with snoot eggs. This marked the first time he ever had the pleasure of experiencing Raptilian cuisine. Locmire had eaten yarkle before, but with the special spices the Raptilians used, it was as if he was enjoying the bird for the first time.
What amazed Locmire most was the fact that no one questioned him as to why a Wizard had ventured so far outside of Fogarth. The majority of the outside world was very curious about Wizards, but not once did anyone ask him about his presence or, if in fact, he was a Wizard. Although this puzzled him, it did not trouble him. He preferred not to answer personal questions.
Wildlife thrived in the Free Lands. No matter how many times it happened, Locmire always became startled when an apuhroo would cross the road in front of him. The Wizard considered the apuhroo one of the most unusual creatures that he had ever laid eyes upon. Only reaching a foot in height, the creature’s rear legs accounted for eight inches of its total height. They had long furry tails, tiny arms, and a head no bigger than a walnut. He had seen ten different apuhroos, each of a different color. Some were spotted brown and black, some were solid colored, and some were calico. Yearning for a closer look at them, Locmire cursed their speed. How can a creature so small be so fast?
His trip led him many leagues southeast from the desert. This route took him longer than if he had stayed on the main road leading east, but it was as if something called him to venture into this direction. As Locmire crossed into the once flourishing area now known as the Dead Lands, all signs of life had vanished. He used extreme caution while traversing the Dead Lands. They had become a very dangerous place even for a Wizard.
This was the first area in which the Dark Wizard focused his strategic attacks. The numerous villages and towns that once populated the countryside lay in ruins. Before the arrival of Hasbarie, this region was one of the most populated areas of the Free Lands, a place where life blossomed. It was now a vivid picture of lifeless desolation. The land was dark, dusty, and scarce of life. Not even a single plant sprouted from the ground. The harsh and unforgiving terrain slowed Locmire's progress considerably. The magic unleashed here was certainly the darkest of sorts. In these days, the stories told of the Dead Lands were horrific in nature, with the heart of these tales revolving around ghosts, demons, bandits, and other foul creatures long hidden from the world.
Several moons had come and gone since Locmire left his desert home, and he did not know what led him to this barren wasteland. For the past two days he traveled the Dead Lands day and night, only resting when absolutely necessary. He felt uneasy dwelling too long in such a place, despite being a powerful Wizard. When he did stop, it was for a short respite and to see his horse watered. Clean water was a luxury not readily found in the Dead Lands. Any water that he consumed had been produced from the end of his staff. This was a cruel, unwelcoming land, and Locmire began to wonder if it was indeed fate that led him here or a subconscious judgment. If the latter had taken him this way, he feared he had been misled. He trudged on with the unforgiving cold chilling his body to its very core. The Wizard was unsure of how many days he had been traveling, but he had high hopes of reaching his destination soon.
Locmire stopped momentarily to give his horse a short rest. He took his empty bladder and touched the end of his staff to it, instantly refilling it. Then he poured some of the fresh water into the cup of his hand and let his horse drink. When his horse's thirst had become quenched, Locmire turned up the bladder and finished off the rest of the water. The pure water instantly quenched his thirst and healed the dry, cracked skin of his lips. He took in a deep breath and let it out. His warm breath collided with the cold air creating what looked like a small cloud of smoke. Looking to the sky, Locmire saw that the moon had begun to rise, the sun was drowning out in the distance, and much to his surprise, illuminated by the light of the orange horizon, a structure came into view.
Is that a? . . . No, it can't be. I am almost sure of it, though. Why is this place left standing? Is it? Yes. Yes it is. It is . . . it is a village, Locmire thought. He mounted his horse and began to push the steed harder, and harder, and harder. He could not be certain if what he saw was real or a mirage. Either way, he longed for food and a peaceful night of sleep. The harder he rode, the clearer it became. There was, in fact, a village not too far ahead. This was the first sign of life that he had seen in the Dead Lands, and it seemed to have appeared right in front of him. His thoughts ran rampant. Are there people living here? I wonder if they will be friendly? Oh, how I long for undisturbed slumber. Locmire bounded forward with an intent that he had not had for the past few days. With excitement flooding through his body, he felt as if he could not reach the village fast enough. He felt like he had been lost for weeks, and the emergence of this village offered him a glimmer of hope.
As he approached the village he noticed a beautiful white horse tied to the hitching post, and by the looks of it, it had not been there long. Locmire dismounted his steed and tied it next to the white stallion. He ran his fingers through the horse's silky mane, startling the creature at first, but after a moment it became calm to his touch.
The gate to the village stood open, but no guards kept watch atop the towers that surrounded the village or its head high stone wall. Suddenly, Locmire became chilled to his very soul. An eerie feeling told him that only evil dwelt in this place. His initial instincts told him to turn and flee in the opposite direction. He thought to himself, No need to welcome unwanted attention. But, what of the rider that belonged to the white steed? Is he inside the village? Yes, I am sure of it, but if the rider is alive or dead, I am not certain. After a few minutes of self-debate, Locmire decided that he could not leave this unknown person. If there was any chance that this mysterious rider was alive, his conscious would not allow him to leave without first investigating the matter.
No lights were lit in the village, not even a single torch, even though darkness had fully engulfed the land now. It appeared that on this cold night not even one single dwelling had a fire lit. This was a fairly accurate indication that this was a ghost town. Locmire held out his staff and produced a light as bright as ten torches blazing from its end. As soon as the light peeled away the darkness, a shadowy figure let out a cry of pain and ran between two of the huts to his right. He cried out to this mysterious figure but received no answer. Another figure disappeared to his left and footsteps echoed out from behind him. A rush of adrenaline pulsed within his body as he realized what was happening; he was being surrounded.
Locmire stretched his staff out in front of him as far as he could, touched the ground with its end,
and drew a large circle in the dirt around him. He lowered his staff and touched the ground once more. A dim red light filled the crevice in the ground that he had made. Locmire took a defensive stance and braced himself for battle. Suddenly, several dark figures leaped out at him from within the darkness. A blinding red wall of flame arose from the ground around him. The dark creatures screamed in pain as magical fire incinerated them, leaving only their ashen remains floating in the air. Within in mere seconds, more figures started advancing upon his position.
Locmire had never laid eyes upon such beings. They were completely black, shaped like a man, but with no eyes or mouths. Long, black thick claws replaced their fingers. Their movements were swift and erratic. A low gurgling sound came from within them. These creatures were moving in on him, and he doubted that they were the welcoming party.
Locmire pointed his staff at the creatures and began to unleash fireballs upon them, in quick succession. Each time one of the fiery red balls made contact with, or around, one of the creatures, ash floated slowly through the air and settled on the ground. The Master Wizard fought for as long as he could, obliterating wave after wave of the Shadow Men, but the numbers had soon become too great, and the magic that ran through his veins had been weakened from lack of rest. He knew he must retreat, but the exit of the village was now blocked by a wall of black figures.
As the Shadow Men were about to fall upon him, he drew his staff through the dark night. A large arch of fire followed the end of his staff, turning more of the creatures into ash. He dashed toward the only opening in sight. He scrambled between two large huts, blasting fireballs behind him as opportunity presented itself to stop the advancing army. He ran into what looked like a large village square with the face of a small mountain cutting off his escape. It was a dead end. He was trapped. Apprehensively, he turned to see the Shadow Men flooding in behind him.
For a man of his age, Locmire fought with the quickness and agility of a man in his early years of adulthood, slaying a multitude of the Shadow Men. He took his staff in his hands and shrank the deadwood down by half. He held the shortened version of the staff in one hand. A long fiery whip grew from its end. Locmire began to wave the whip through the air, making big circles and slashes through the dark night. The burning whip created a spectacular light show, incinerating shadow after shadow as it tore through and around them. The number of creatures started to dwindle, but there were still too many, and Locmire's spells became weaker with every use. He had become drained from a lack of sleep and nourishment. Certain that his end was near, Locmire looked for any means of escape. To his dismay, a swift retreat seemed unlikely. He would not give up though; he would fight to his bitter end. He had to keep fighting, as the fate of Calencia lie solely upon his shoulders. As the insurmountable odds began to crush his spirits, he heard a voice with a strange tongue unlike any other he had ever heard.
“Ahoy lad! Looks as if ye are in need of a hand!”
The creatures stopped immediately and turned toward the disturbance. Locmire could not see this mysterious person. It was too dark, and the wall of Shadow Men, only feet away from him, obstructed his view. This stranger had gained their attention, and the Shadow Men were now slowly advancing toward his voice and away from Locmire.
As the army of the night advanced upon the unknown man, their ranks began to scatter. Through this new formation Locmire could see several men circling the square, each carrying a large barrel on their shoulder. What are these simple minded fools doing? They are going to get themselves killed, Locmire thought. He did not dare move, as he would hate for his foolish actions to lead to the death of this many innocent people. Locmire had no other choice but to wait and see how this would play out.
“Spread em out boys, all round em. Pull da corks out as ye roll em round!” yelled the man standing proudly with both hands on his hips.
Locmire noticed that the other men were now rolling the barrels in a circle, surrounding him and the Shadow Men. The Wizard had no inclination as to what plan these strangers had laid out, but before he could ponder on it anymore the Shadow Men attacked. In an instant, all of the men, except for the one barking out orders, were drowned in the darkness. The screams that followed, which rang out in the night like the large purple cats that inhabited the forests of Lasticall, were not muffled. The sound of the dying men sent an icicle through his very soul.
The remaining Shadow Men turned their attention toward the leader of the group. He did not seem at all shaken, as he stayed with his feet planted in the spot that he had been for the last minute or so.
As they crept ever closer, the man finally cried out, “Ahoy mate! Do me a favor an point dat far thing-er-ma-jig at one of dem thar barrels or we both be fixin to be keel hauled.”
Locmire had no idea what this man had just said to him, but out of sheer intuition he pointed his staff at the barrel closest to him and cast out a single eruption of flame.
BOOM!
The barrel exploded, producing a bright flash of light that illuminated the night sky. The eruption of light was followed by a trail of fire which led to the next barrel, which also exploded, setting off a chain reaction of bright explosions.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
The Shadow Men started turning to ash all around him as the fire snaked its way from barrel to barrel, making a large circular prison around them and illuminating the dark night. As the last barrel exploded, so did the last of the Shadow Men. It was finally over. Both men stood still for a moment. Locmire was in disbelief that this mysterious man had just appeared and saved his life, even at the cost of his own friends. As the stranger approached Locmire, he slowly came into focus by the fire light of the barrels.
He was a tall, slender, but muscular man. His ratty black hair grazed his shoulders as he strode over to Locmire with an arrogant strut. The man wore black pants and shin high boots, with two large silver cutlasses hanging from both hips. He was dirty, filthy actually. Scars covered his face and torso. His right eye was white as ocean sand, obviously no longer serving any other purpose than taking up space. By the looks of him, he had seen many battles.
“Thank you, stranger,” Locmire said.
“Ye should thank me. Lost da rest of me men right den. Ha!” the man said, seeming amused as he looked at his surroundings. “Stranded in dis god forsaken land, without me crew, or me ship. What’s a Cap'n to do?”
“My name is Locmire of Fogarth, and I offer you whatever aid I can, stranger.”
“Aye, me may jus take ye up on dat offer. Names Cap'n Red Maher of the Sagging Hag,” he paused and scratched his greasy head. “Well, guess me ain't no Cap'n no more since me got no crew nor ship.”
"You are not from here. I can tell by your speech. You speak in a tongue that I have never heard before. From where do you hail, Red of the Sagging Hag?" Locmire asked.
"Me hails from da sea. No sea near deez parts. Me and me mates got blindsided by a great storm out on da high sea. We found areselves up on da shore not too far from whur we stand. Me ole faithful ship cracked beyon repair. Twernt long till dem thar dark fellas showed up an a fierce fight followed. Lost lots a good crew. Our steel had no effect on em, udder dan slowin em down for a bit. Den a blaze started growin on me ship. As da far gotten brightah, dem black men just started blowin up. Dats when we realized dat light was da only ting to hurt em, it was. We packed are tings, cloodin doze dar barrels of powder, and set inland. An here we be. Sharin a tale by da light of da far."
It was very hard for Locmire to understand what Captain Red was saying to him. His speech seemed very broken, and he used words that he did not quite understand, but he was able to comprehend Red’s story for the most part. Wherever Red had come from did not matter to Locmire. Red was a capable man, and Locmire did not believe this meeting was by chance. Is this the man that the prophecy foretold that would aid me in my travels? In his heart he felt that this was one of the three of whom the prophecy spoke, but how was he to convince this man to aid him on his jou
rney?
“You say you hail from the high seas, but what land did you once call your home?” asked Locmire.
“Englan, da greatest country in da world,” said Red as he scratched his head. “Even doe dey won’t let me come back thar.”
“Englan? There is no such place as Englan in Calencia,” Locmire replied.
“Aye, correct ye may be. Englan’s not from dis place. It be anudder land far away from dis dead place.”
“What do you mean another land? There are no other lands, except for the land you stand upon now.”
“That be what ye thanks. Thar be many udder lands dan deez. Me sailed to most of em. Juss never saw any place like dis bafore.”
Locmire found this very difficult to fathom, for he knew of only one mass of land. Many sailors from Calencia had set out in search of other lands, but after years out on the sea, they came back empty handed. How could it be that this man knew of lands that Locmire, a 700-year-old Wizard, did not? It was not of importance. Could it have been a great storm that brought Red to this world? That has to be it. Red is from another world. Fate has sent him here. But what is so special about this man? He did save my life, Locmire thought to himself. Either way, he did not want to sit and debate this with Red. He would have plenty of opportunity to discuss such things on their journey, that is, if Red would agree to accompany him.
“Red, may I tell you a tale?” Locmire asked in a soft, intriguing voice.
“Ahhh, me welcomes it. Shed some light on deez eer vents, hopefully.”
Red pulled out a bottle of what he called grog from his knapsack. He popped the cork, took a gluttonous swig, and passed the bottle to Locmire. The Master Wizard nodded and took a swig himself. He found the drink a bit too strong for his liking, but he smiled and thanked Red for his generosity. Red plopped down on the ground and listened with the utmost attention, clinging to every word the Wizard said.
Locmire finished his story about the Great War that took place 500 years ago, the Saviors, the new prophecy, and the reason behind his journey. After the tale, both men were silent for a few moments. It was Red who spoke first.
“So. . . yer tellin me dis Hazburarie fellar. . . he's gonna destroy dis whole place. An ye an some mates dat ye never laid eyes pon are plannin on bringin him down again. An ye be thankin dat me be one of da lads to help ye on yer journey. Dat bout right?”
“For the most part. I do not know why fate put you in my path, but I do believe you are one of the chosen ones that will aid us in defeating the Dark Wizard,” Locmire said as he took another swig of grog. “So, will you join me on my quest?”
“Well, let’s look at me options. I be’s stranded wiff no ship, no crew, no clue of whur me be's. Only udder tings me be's seein are deez black abominations which killed me whole crew. Ye spin a big yarn, but me don't thank ye crazy,” Red stood up. “Cap’n Red Maher be at yur service.”
Locmire looked at Red with a very serious expression on his face and said, “We will be embarking on a dangerous quest to save this world. A world of which you know not, but I have no doubt that if Hasbarie conquers this world, he will seek to do the same with the others. Our quest is of the utmost importance, a quest for which I am prepared to die. I do not ask the same loyalty from you. I only ask that you be honest and truthful.”
“Me gives ye me word. A pirate’s word is offen all he gots. A pirate’s word is worf more dan gold. Me will set sail with ye. Sides, me got nuttin better to be doin wit me time.”
They shared another round of grog before deciding to take leave from the village. Both men mounted their horses, Locmire taking to his black steed, and Red became familiar with the white one. It still puzzled Locmire as to the whereabouts of the white horse’s owner.
Heading east into the night, the Wizard was delighted that Red would be accompanying him on his journey. The last few days in the Dead Lands had been trying, to say the least, and a companion would make the rest of the trek less difficult. Locmire was intrigued by the first member of his party. He was very interested in Red and the world from which he came. They still had many leagues to travel until they arrived at their next destination, Galdarath, and the Wizard planned on taking advantage of this somewhat idle time. Locmire had many questions he wanted to ask Red. He wanted to know of Red’s world, his customs, the races that inhabited Englan, but none more important than what a pirate was.
Locmire's Quest: Book One A Tales from Calencia Novel Page 14