Teliko Mageia: Curse of the Frozen Flame

by A. J. Carbonell

  A. J. Carbonell ©2018, all rights reserved.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form, electronic, mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any means without prior permission from the author

  Acknowledgements:

  This book is dedicated–

  –To Janine

  You have been there since the conception of this book. You believed I had the power to create new worlds. This may not be your cup of tea, but you supported me all the way. I love you.

  –To my family

  You were one of my inspirations in completing this book. I know you will never fail to support me. Thanks.

  –To Tiffany

  Without you my book wouldn’t have made it to publication. You breathed life into the novel, edited tough lines and elevated the quality. Much appreciated.

  –To Neil

  The cover wouldn’t be as epic if you hadn’t done it. Your work is amazing! Cheers.

  The people of Bristal, led by Queen Jeannah, are no strangers to conflict. Known as the home of magick, mages abound throughout the land.

  Great wars were fought. Powerful mages have risen to power and ruling families struggle bitterly against their rivals to gain control of the territory. Located in the eastern part of the continent Raspenheim, Bristal’s massive mountains, dense forests and vast water bodies make the kingdom popular to adventurers. From here, the legendary Maggus arose.

  Centuries ago, Maggus longed to be famous throughout the world. As a child, he obsessed with fabricating the imaginary, bit by bit dreaming the ethereal into existence. Maggus was a mere boy when the first breakthrough occurred. Dancing sparks shot from the tip of his fingers, through his forearm. Maggus invoked electricity.

  Little by little, Maggus conjured various elements. Water. Air. Fire. As he mastered the skill, he named it Mageia. Later on, he introduced Mageia to people in his village, and over time it became known as magick.

  Maggus gave the magick bearers the title of Mage. His Mages wielded magick as a tool for everyday activities such as chores and hunting monsters. He travelled the world, introducing magick to other kingdoms. Soon, Mageia evolved into a worldwide ability. Under Maggus’ direction, academies taught Mageia for the good of all people.

  But other mages terrorized villages. Soon it spread to larger towns. A new branch of Mageia called Malevolent magick developed, and spread from kingdom to kingdom… until at last it made its way back to Maggus.

  More adversaries rose from the shadows, and Maggus lost hope that Mageia could be used for good. He put an end to his creation. In the shadows, he devoted himself to crafting an ultimate magick spell. Teliko Mageia. An absorption spell so powerful, he could devour all magick throughout the world, leaving none of it to the mages. At long last, he produced it.

  Maggus cast his ultimate spell. magick suddenly vanished. At once, Maggus sealed the ultimate spell and concealed it in a secret location. But the power of Teliko Mageia was too immense for one man to contain. Soon afterwards, Maggus died.

  Years passed. The story of Maggus slipped into legend. People redeveloped magick. With the help of academies, they crafted new spells and continued.

  The village horn shattered the deep silence of the night. “Make haste! The bandits are upon us!” The scout ran through the streets too late to warn the sleeping innocents waking from their respite. “Make haste! Make haste!”

  Suddenly and swiftly, the raiders fell upon the village.

  Ragged men and women, driven by desperation, flooded the village lanes. Shrill shrieks of horror replaced groggy villager yawns. Their screams for mercy fell on deaf ears. Chaos encompassed the whole village as one after the other, the townsfolk died at the hands of the bandits. Searing sparks of magick luminescence flashed and sizzled in the midnight air, residents and outlaws alike casting forth a blaze of arcane lights. Protections and bindings, blindings and fireballs, but the slaughter was brief.

  Between the blades and magickal onslaught of the pre- mediated assault, the brave villagers stood no chance. Within minutes, the thieves slaughtered the last villager, a small boy cowering under a barrel who might’ve escaped had his mouth stayed shut. But eight of their own lay lifeless on the blood-soaked grounds of the devastated village. The bandits had no mercy tonight–

  “That dream again!” Jael gasped. He irritably pushed a spike of wax-caked hair off of his sweat coated brow, then lay back. The small dark room was smothering, unmemorable, and he fought through to gather his consciousness. When he held perfectly motionless, he could hear the wakeful breathing of his companion. He was still at the modest roadside inn he’d stumbled into last night. No robbers here, except for the outrageous price charged by the innkeeper for such a mediocre sleep haunted by nightmares.

  And nightmares more vivid than even his childhood dreams. Jael was reluctant to call it a vision, despite having experienced it twice now. And despite other magick present within his life. He raised his hand in the seclusion and drew in a slow breath, conjuring gentle flames upon his fingertips. In the halflight of his burning hand the watchful eyes of Frekkis gleamed bright green from the corner of the room.

  Jael smiled ruefully. “Did I wake you, Frekkis?”

  The wolf stared back, an ear flicking toward his voice.

  “I had that horrible dream again…” Jael swept the dusty brown burlap away from the window. Outside, a hazy mist rolled gently in on the arms of a velvet blue dawn. He glanced back into the corner. Two big eyes shone back at him in the darkness. He tucked up the curtain. No point returning to sleep. Soon enough the lonely eye of the sun would shine overhead, and the clamorous noise of day overtake. He sighed, and clenched his fist, extinguishing the flames.

  Last dwindling moments of precious pre-light Jael spent fingering the wooden pendant he wore round his neck, stroking its beads and gathering his thoughts on the coming day. When the sun had rose its way past the horizon, swiftly destroying the mist and forcing morning to give way, Jael finally rose to dress. He pulled on a sleeveless red tunic over his taut, muscular chest. His vest was last, black lined with red, and he slung his bag over his shoulder.

  Jael’s short and loose-fitting black trousers swished between his thick, well sculpted calves as he rose and turned to face the rising sun. It was just late enough to not be uncomfortably cool. Frekkis, as always, was ready to go fifteen minutes ago. “You don't need clothing,” Jael joked, and opened the creaky wooden door to the inn common area.

  The noisy innkeeper must have been asleep. Jael paid his fee regardless, tucking fifteen copper stars and the iron key into a shady corner of the innkeep’s desk. The sleek grey wolf followed silently at his heels.

  Fresh, cold air greeted Jael and Frekkis as they walked the beaten path following the river. Hours passed by, and they walked in silence. Wide river split into smaller stream. Solid ground became spongy substrate. Rushing stream became a stagnant marsh dispersing its water over strange shrubs and twisted roots of trees that grew more and more twisted the deeper they traipsed into the woods. Swamp mist filled the air. They tread carefully over shallow waters. Suddenly, Frekkis stiffened from head to tail, her snout sniffed the air ahead.

  A deep, gravelly voice sounded from the misty depths. “Who… walks… though my forest?” it rumbled, and Jael knew the approaching shadow was not human. Frekkis growled softly as it drew close.

  Goatish horns emerged from the mist, a satyr with twisted human features set in steely rage at the sight of the intruders. “Who walks through my lair?” The creature repeated the question in a stilted human tongue, louder this time, and more insiste
nt. Golden eyes burned bright, flicking from wolf, to human, to wolf again.

  “We seek only to pass through here, satyr,” Jael said politely. “We do not intend discord.”

  The creature snorted and stomped a hoof on the ground. Jael started.

  “My stomach is grumbling… perhaps you shall be my next meal.”

  Before Jael could utter a word, the creature darted forward. Frekkis sprung to protect her master. The satyr lowered its horned head and viciously struck Frekkis. Frekkis yelped. In an instant the creature was upon Jael, barrelling him with its large frame and sinking its filthy teeth deep into the skin of his shoulder. Jael could feel the foul bite contaminating his blood. The prodigious creature reared its wild-eyed head, inches from his face, and rammed its head against Jael. Jael’s lip split, and blood splattered. The satyr roared and rose again–Jael struggled to summon his power. But the venom coursing through his shoulder was overwhelming everything, turning thoughts to mud and reflexes into stone. As its grip strengthened, he lay frozen, helpless beneath it.

  The satyr raised its titanic, sickeningly sharp hooves.

  Frekkis dashed, leapt, and sank her fangs into the thick neck of her attacker, growling ferociously. But the satyr sprung up, roaring as the wolf clung, jaw clamped into his muscular neck. Through his worsening pain, Jael focused desperately on his right hand. Perhaps it was a moment of stillness, or the fear of losing his beloved companion that brought him from paralysis to his energies. The satyr dealt Frekkis a mighty blow, and she fell beneath the monster. Both fists raised high above its head, poised to deal a final blow–

  Jael gathered his thoughts into a single word. “Blazia!”

  Fire engulfed his whole body in a twinkling. The satyr rapidly hurled its arms toward him. Somehow, he dodged it, and concentrated the flames towards his right fist. “Explosion!”

  Explosion’s fiery fist smashed through the satyr’s grumbling face. It let out an anguished scream and fell to its knees. Jael rose behind it and delivered three swift blows, slamming the creature to the ground. Jael slammed his fist onto its chest and sent bursts of thick flames through each outstretched finger. He persisted, burning in a quiet rage, unceasing until the satyr’s wails seared silent and its bones charred black, unrecognizable. The fog of poison still pounded in Jael’s shoulder, thick within his blood. He fell back, exhausted, and focused what little remaining energy he had into the heat within his blood. If the fire magick flowed through his fingers, it could flow through his veins. The temperature within him rose, taking his blood far past feverish, and he carbonized the toxins from the infectious bite of the creature. Only once he was sure nothing remained of that repulsive, poisonous creature did Jael let the fire fall from his hands.

  Frekkis, still winded, limped to his side.

  Its face and torso were burnt black, the heat had melted the base of a horn. The other horn was unscathed. Jael raised a booted foot, stomping once, then twice upon the head of his fallen enemy. Crunch. He grimaced at the sickening sound disrupting the now peaceful whispers of the forest swamp. Frekkis looked at him questioningly. He bent and picked up the foul horn, shrugged. “This might be worth something.”

  The rest of the evening passed by, thankfully uneventful. The swamp receded, becoming a green, pastoral land by evening. They reached the market town of Almodea by nightfall, and Jael, tired, bruised, and filthy made straight for an inn, a bed, and a bath.

  Almodea didn’t entertain late sleepers. Early in the morning the town woke up and it took mere minutes before the market was in full swing. Loud barks of bargains, discounts, and deals. Assorted stalls lined the cobbled streets, selling everything from healing ointments, scrolls detailing spellcasting techniques, and common household items. Jael had a specific object in mind: a map of the Bristal region. It was easy to find a map vendor. One small problem: the cartographer did not have the price he wanted.

  “70 golden suns?” Jael said in disbelief.

  The cartographer, a stocky black man with a bushy black moustache, wouldn’t budge. “It’s fine work, young man, see for yourself. You won’t find that level of detail anywhere else.”

  Jael agreed with the man, however, all he had was a few hundred silver moons. No small amount. Each was worth only a tenth of a golden sun coin. He needed to double his money to afford the map. “Hold on–what about this?” He hauled the satyr horn from his bag.

  Recognition crossed the merchant’s face, and he reached over, handling it carefully to examine, turning it over in his hands. “Hmm. A satyr’s horn, eh?” He handed it back. “Not my area, but worth something. Take it over to the Creature’s Market, just across the street by the central fountain.”

  The Creature’s Market may as well have been a hive, abuzz with activity. Strange animals squawked and hissed at him from bronze cages, and he made his way through the reeking, cacophonous alley. Vendors hawked at him as he went. Love potions! Cure your impotence! Jael ignored them. When he finally found a trader willing to buy a satyr horn, the woman behind the table tried to hide her interest, but Jael caught on to the light in her eyes. “Twenty silver,” she said, and he immediately scoffed.

  “Do you know the trouble it was to get this horn? It’s worth at least two hundred!”

  “Bah,” she said, but he knew she was hooked. Whatever she wanted it for wasn’t Jael’s problem. “One hundred.”

  “One fifty.”

  “One ten.”

  “One twenty, no less,” Jael argued, and she caved. Sold, for 120 silver. Not bad for his trouble. Still not enough.

  Leaving the raucous alley, Jael made way for the nearest tavern. Most tavern keepers maintained a work board in the back, charging travellers a small fee to publish work notices and job requests.

  The Angry Swan was a dive, its wooden floor sticky with spilt drink and dim light pierced by sputtering oil lanterns. A few of the inebriated patrons, big men sitting in the shadows of the gloomy pub, eyed him with interest that faded to disinterest, and then not a bother. Almodea’s hub of trade afforded travellers a lack of attention. Nobody bothered him, and Jael made his way to the back, where the quintessential job board stood. Riddled with pinprick holes and torn shreds of paper and parchment from long past jobs, there were five current posters tacked to the shabby old board. Jael studied them carefully.

  Muscilarius stems needed! Alchemist's apprentice in need of muscilarius stems, will pay five gold coins. Ask for Meldini the Alchemist in Belford lane. Jael wasn’t an alchemist, and hadn’t a clue what muscilarius was, let alone where to find it.

  Vanquish the Giant Boar: The town of Almodea will pay a 25 gold to any hero who brings the head or tusks of the giant boar responsible for last month's incident near the creek. Report to the town barracks or civil office to collect the reward. But Jael had stomped off the horn of a satyr today and didn't desire a repeat of that incident.

  And another one for a mage seeking odd ingredients, this one less pleasant than mushrooms. Gorath eyeballs. magick practitioner will pay sum of 55 golden suns for three Gorath eyeballs. Fresh condition is vital - no fouled goods. Ask at bar for details. Exactly how many eyes did a single Gorath have, anyway? It was no small amount of coin.

  The fourth poster though, Jael eyed with interest. 155 golden suns to find the Helico. The Helico was an artefact he’d heard only rumours. Finding it would be no easy task. He made a note of it and returned to the board. The final task was mere exterminator’s work, slaying Spracti gremlins for a pittance, fifteen silver moons. Not worth the effort. Jael tore off the Gorath poster and strode over to the bar, flagging down the barkeep instead.

  “Excuse me, I would like more information on this mission,” Jael said.

  The barkeep glanced at the poster, nodded. “Wait here,” he said, and walked to the swinging door separating the kitchen from the commons. “Shaek! There’s a man about the Goraths!”

  Surprised, Jael saw the cook come out, wringing his hands clean and dry in his filthy linen apron. A battered chef�
�s hat kept the man’s sparse hair out of his eyes and hopefully out of the food. He leaned over the counter and offered a friendly handshake. “Nice to meet you,” he said. “Name’s Chef Shaek, and no one believes it the first time I tell ‘em but I need those eyeballs for the world famous Almodea Summer stew. I need the eyeballs before the festival, a day and a half from now.”

  “No problem,” said Jael. “What’s a Gorath, and where do I find them?”

  “You can find the Goraths just southwest of Almodea, inside the Warloon forest. They’re a one-eyed monster–” Answered that question. “–with a star like body. They’re dumb beasts, generally non-aggressive. Huge, though, and bloody protective of their own. It’s the ingredient for our famous stew. Don’t let me down.”

  “Consider it done,” Jael replied.

  The night of sleep rejuvenated him, and Jael headed out at once with Frekkis to the Warloon forest. After a hard day of walking, the short hike towards the deep tangle of Warloon forest was nothing, and Jael couldn’t help but feel confident as they ventured deeper into the trees. At last, he saw the lumbering figure of a star-shaped monster, covered in thick hair with a single massive, staring eye. This one seemed small, plodding through the shrubs, its five limbs awkwardly piloting its way.

  “Frekkis…” His faithful wolf alerted to him. “Go kill.”

  She took off like a shot and struck the cyclops from the side. Its neck ripped open before Frekkis hit the ground. A clean kill. They waited a moment, listening. If there were others nearby, they hadn’t heard any of them. Frekkis followed her nose, snuffling along the ground until she exposed a craggy, poorly disguised nearby cave gaping out of a steep hill. Could it be the Gorath lair? Jael considered entering. No need. A second beast wandered towards them, coming up fast in the distance. As he’d suspected, it grew rapidly in size. The smaller Gorath was just an infant.