Nicholas Raven and the Wizards' Web (The Complete Epic Fantasy)

by Thomas J. Prestopnik

  “At once,” Brendan replied. “I’ll send a man to report back as soon as I find the others.” As he gently turned his horse to ride off, he indicated for his brother to follow. William, equally surprised yet sporting a stony expression, simply nodded as he gently snapped the reins of his horse and rode away.

  “This short mission will bolster their spirits,” King Rowan remarked, “though what they find may deflate them just as quickly.”

  “Still, it’s good that you let them spread their wings a bit after all they’ve been through,” King Justin said as he watched the two brothers head down the line to assemble their team. “They need to face a challenge to regain their footing, particularly Brendan. He–” Suddenly, a visceral cry of anger from along the river’s edge rent the air. All turned and gazed in the distance. “Now what’s going on?” the King wondered aloud as he and the others headed that way.

  As they drew near, they saw two men fighting close to the banks of the Drusala, weaponless, their arms locked around each other in a desperate struggle. The combatants staggered back and forth along the grassy edge as other soldiers rushed toward them. As Eucádus approached the river, a flash of red caught his eye. His heart went cold.

  “Ranen!” he whispered in horror, though others heard the fear in his voice.

  “What’s happening?” Ramsey asked.

  Eucádus snapped the reins of his horse and bolted toward the water’s edge with Ramsey in close pursuit. When he approached a crowd of men rushing on foot to Ranen’s defense, he slowed his steed and dismounted, scrambling toward the others with fiery speed to reach his friend. When he finally sped past them, the Drusala River was revealed, reflecting the tired gray sky. Eucádus froze an instant later when Ranen and a soldier from Kargoth, still battling each other with deadly ferocity, slipped on a muddy patch of grass and tumbled sideways into the cold water. They sank beneath the surface just as Eucádus and the others reached the riverbank. Ranen and the enemy soldier quickly rose to the surface, sputtering and catching their breaths before swimming ashore and climbing out of the water like a pair of bedraggled rats.

  “Ranen, are you hurt?” Eucádus asked, leaning forward to give him a hand as several other soldiers drew their swords and apprehended the soldier from Del Norác.

  “I am quite well,” he replied, very much out of breath. Ranen firmly took hold of Eucádus’ wrist and pulled himself up. In the same instant, he grabbed the hilt of his friend’s sword with his free hand and pulled it from its scabbard. Ranen leapt back and held the others at bay with the weapon. “To be honest, I’ve never felt better in my life!” he remarked as a wide smile spread across his whiskered face.

  “Ranen, what are you–”

  Eucádus suddenly understood everything with chilling clarity as he looked into Ranen’s eyes, now as cloudy and gray as the skies above. He knew that his dear friend, the leader of the Oak Clearing, was now under Vellan’s enchantment.

  “Tell them to release my friend at once,” Ranen demanded, “or someone else in your ranks will die before you can take my life.”

  “He is not your friend!” Ramsey shouted as he edged up to Eucádus’ side. “Drop your sword, Ranen. You’re one of us! You are a proud citizen of Harlow, not of Kargoth.”

  “You are mistaken. I do the bidding of Vellan. And if you and your comrades have any sense, you will lay down your weapons, march to Del Norác and beg to serve him.”

  “Oh, we will march to Del Norác,” Eucádus replied in a steady voice, knowing it was useless to try to reason with his friend who now stood outside the realm of logic. He wondered if Ranen was doomed to be a slave to Vellan’s vicious spell for the remainder of his days. “We will march, but it will not be to join Vellan’s ranks. It will be to defeat him.”

  “Impossible!” Ranen scoffed. “Now release my friend or I will strike and then gladly die here taking at least one of you with me.”

  “Do as he says!” a voice called out from behind. King Justin emerged from the crowd with Kings Cedric and Rowan behind him. The soldiers guarding the man from Kargoth looked upon King Justin with disbelief. “Release him. Let him go to Ranen,” he said in calmer tones. “I want both of those men to return to Vellan with a message from me.” Slowly the soldiers lowered their swords and the dripping man hurried to Ranen’s side. “Now find them a pair of horses.”

  “King Justin!” Eucádus gazed at the leader of Arrondale as if he had gone mad. “You cannot be serious.”

  The King raised a hand, asking Eucádus to indulge him.

  Ranen, still holding up his sword, relished the slight discord between the two men. “Why would you want us to return to Del Norác rather than kill us where we stand?”

  “There has been enough killing these past few months,” the King replied, stepping forward. “And whether there will be more is yet to be determined. That’s why I want you to find Vellan and tell him we wish to arrange a parley when we reach the capital city in a few days. Some words before drawn swords might be the wiser path. Unless, of course, you both would rather die right now because you feel unworthy to stand in Vellan’s presence and deliver my request.”

  The soldier from Kargoth sneered with contempt. “If you knew anything, it would be that Vellan values and rewards those who are loyal to him. And though we would happily forfeit our lives in his service, we will gladly deliver your message. If your eventual surrender will spare the lives of the citizens of Kargoth, then we will humble ourselves and inform Vellan of your intentions.”

  King Justin grimaced. “Agreed. You will be provided two horses and allowed to leave unharmed and unfollowed. Inform Vellan that we request a meeting on the twentieth day of New Spring, four days from today. That will give us time to rest, bury our dead and recover from injuries before we finish our march. Expect us at dawn.”

  Ranen and the other soldier whispered to one another before turning to the King. “We’ll do as you ask,” Ranen coolly said, “but Vellan’s demands will be harsh after the injustices you have shown his people. Be prepared to pay heavily.”

  “We’ll take our chances.” King Justin indicated for one of his troops to find two horses so Ranen and the other soldier could leave at once. He wondered if both men were already dead despite having been spared the point of a sword.

  A short time later, Eucádus confronted King Justin with a look of incredulity. “Why would you allow them to run back to the enemy?” They stood near a thicket of trees while the camps were assembled around them in the melancholy light of early afternoon. “And why would you want to arrange a parley with Vellan?”

  “No one here has any intention of negotiating with Vellan as he has no intention of negotiating with us. I simply requested a parley to defuse a delicate situation.”

  “But you allowed Ranen to leave with that villainous soldier.”

  King Justin sighed, understanding Eucádus’ roiling emotions. “If we had forced a resolution, Ranen would most likely be dead now. You could see in his eyes the disregard for his own life. His free will was washed away in the waters of the Drusala.” He rested a reassuring hand upon Eucádus’ shoulder. “I don’t know if Ranen can ever be saved now that he walks among Vellan’s horde, but at least he is still alive if that means anything. Perhaps Tolapari can create a counter spell to Vellan’s noxious enchantment,” he said, though deep in his heart he had serious doubts which Eucádus clearly sensed.

  “Maybe it would have been better if Ranen had died,” he whispered. “Death released those men from Vellan’s grip on the Kincarin Plains and on the battlefields of Rhiál.” Eucádus looked wearily at the King. “Maybe only death can save him now.”

  CHAPTER 100

  Like the Breath of a Fiery Serpent

  The dead on both sides were buried as the evening shadows deepened. Physicians attended to the wounded. The rumbling thunder had long since ceased like the roars of distant dragons silenced into deep sleep. Brendan had returned earlier that afternoon with William and his team. All looked f
orlorn as they approached the encampment bearing two dead scouts who had been ambushed and slain by Vellan’s troops shortly before the attack. King Rowan thanked them all for performing their duty despite the tragic outcome.

  “They are at peace now,” Brendan later glumly remarked as he sat by a fire with the King and his brother, quietly studying the snapping flames. “But their families will have to live with the turmoil for the rest of their lives.”

  “That is one of the sad but inevitable outcomes of war,” his grandfather replied. “I hope you never get used to it.”

  “I assure you that I won’t,” he replied, glancing at William. He began to fathom the horror that his brother had experienced during the many adventures in his absence.

  King Justin let his men rest the next day. But the following dawn, the army again took to the road like a lumbering beast, the winding line of troops and supply wagons moving steadily against a backdrop of trees, mountains and slate gray skies. At midmorning, a light but steady rain fell which lasted until twilight. Overnight, the air chilled as a breeze picked up and moved down the river. The mountains on the right encroached upon them as the land between the water and the towering hills of stone narrowed with every mile they drew closer to Del Norác.

  A small sign of hope presented itself to those on guard duty shortly after midnight. The thick mass of clouds began to thin in spots, allowing splashes of light from the Fox and Bear moons above, each near its full phase and partially veiled by the ghostly gray tendrils. Shrouded daylight greeted the army the following morning as the sun rose, providing a subdued yet pleasing luminescence across the river valley. Yet in spite of the increased light, the soldiers remained quiet and contemplative, realizing that by this time tomorrow they would probably be engaged in the defining battle of their lives. Most wondered if they would live to see the days beyond.

  Mount Minakaris, their ultimate destination, now loomed in the distance to the northwest, its rocky, snow-covered peak visible like a point of sickly light against the hazy clouds. Below its southern slope lay the city of Del Norác, a collection of barracks and farmsteads occupied by Vellan’s Island allies and those native followers under his watery enchantment. Vellan resided in the upper chambers inside his mountain abode far above the stronghold built at the base of Minakaris. Other than his Enâri lieutenants, only those deemed most trustworthy had been allowed inside his personal quarters. But since the destruction of the Enâri, the halls were eerily quiet. Only a skeleton crew served him in the highest levels. The lower levels were well guarded though, and soldiers manning the nearby garrison were always at his call.

  About a half mile farther west was Deshla prison, located beyond a tract of woodland and within the base of the mountain. Vellan would visit when the mood struck him, though mostly he had messengers report on the fates of its latest occupants. The wizard kept to himself lately, reflecting on the war and its toll while visualizing the endgame after he completed his long and weary conquest of Laparia.

  Later that afternoon, King Justin and Prince Gregory rode up and down the lines to gage the readiness and mood of the troops. Tolapari caught up with them and asked for a word in private near a scattering of trees on the right flank. They spoke atop their steeds in the growing shadows while the horses snorted and bobbed their heads.

  “I did as you asked during our last stop, Justin, and am here to report,” the wizard said, his vague expression offering no clues.

  “And?”

  Tolapari shot a frustrated glance at the Drusala River lying beyond a swath of dried grass and weeds. “I carefully scooped up a bucket of river water to perform my tests, but I couldn’t craft a counter spell to Vellan’s magic. That itself didn’t surprise me, though something else that I found did.”

  “What?” Prince Gregory asked.

  “Vellan’s spell loses its integrity in a water sample shortly after it is separated from the river proper. When I reached camp with the water bucket, I sensed that the magic had dissipated,” he said. “I performed further tests, but they all proved the same thing–the spell is confined to the river itself and is constantly regenerated along its course. The magic takes effect only at the source.”

  “You’re sure?” the King asked with hope in his eyes.

  “Quite sure,” the wizard said. “I consumed some myself.”

  “Are you mad?” Prince Gregory piped up.

  “More confident than mad,” Tolapari replied. “However, do not take this as a hopeful sign, but instead merely a curiosity. The results will not help us bring back Ranen to the world of free men should we ever see him again.”

  “Then there is nothing you can do?” the prince pleaded.

  “Perhaps if we had a wizard here comparable in talent to Frist. But recall that it took twenty years for Frist’s counter spell against the Enâri to incubate in the Spirit Box. It would require an equivalent effort to defeat the magic now polluting the Drusala.”

  King Justin sighed. “Eucádus will be devastated to learn of this. His words regarding Ranen will most likely come true.”

  “And what words were those?” Tolapari inquired.

  “He had said, ‘Perhaps only death can save him now,’” he somberly replied, gazing ahead while the army weaved its way steadfastly to Del Norác. “And perhaps he is right.”

  The patchwork of clouds thickened again as daylight waned. The setting sun illuminated their ghostly edges until they coalesced into a single mass that blotted out the remaining light. The men set up tents and lit bonfires under a pall of gray shadows until darkness descended. They were less than two miles from Mount Minakaris, and this would be their last encampment before battling Vellan’s forces the following day.

  Minutes before sunset, King Justin stood near a thicket of pine trees and gazed at the tip of Minakaris, its snowcapped summit reverently awash in subtle shades of orange and scarlet. King Cedric walked up to him with a faint smile upon his face.

  “It’s a beautiful mountain,” he remarked.

  “But we can only see the summit from here,” King Justin said, pointing out a distant tree-lined rise that blocked out the lower portion. Del Norác was situated on the other side of the trees. “I’m sure we’d be less enthralled by its grandeur if we were in full view of Vellan’s front door.”

  “Perhaps you’re right, but let’s enjoy the view while we still have the chance,” he said. “It might be the last wondrous sight some of us ever see if things transpire tomorrow as both you and I expect.”

  Shortly afterward, when King Justin was again by himself beneath the trees, the clouds swiftly mended together, burying the sunlight behind a bank of gray until the mountaintop was drained of all its color and liveliness. For a moment, the hope in his heart nearly faded like the light itself until a chorus of shouts among the troops roused his attention. Heading into the encampment from the northwest were a dozen of his soldiers on horseback led by Captain Grayling. They surrounded a delegation of three men from Del Norác, each one carrying a flickering torch as they sauntered into an open area among the bonfires until ordered to stop. King Justin and many others hurried toward them. He looked up at Captain Grayling for an explanation.

  “We spotted them heading this way while on our patrol,” the captain said. “They were unarmed and requested to deliver a message from Vellan.”

  King Justin studied the three men in the firelight, his brow furrowed with distrust. “Deliver your message. What do you want?”

  “We’ll be brief,” replied the trio’s spokesman. “Vellan invites you tomorrow morning, as requested, to a parley outside the borders of the capital. A tent has been set up to hold the proceedings. You and any representatives from these gathered armies may attend. Vellan looks forward to substantive talks.”

  “I doubt that Vellan looks forward to talking after his recent defeats. And the less mentioned about his Enâri debacle, the better,” he replied, realizing that this messenger was under the influence of the Drusala. “But my fellow leaders and I
will meet with him for what good it will do. Tell Vellan that I look forward to our conversation, such as it will be, at the break of dawn.”

  “We will relay your message,” the soldier replied, signaling the others to turn and follow him back.

  “And no need to provide breakfast,” the King lightly added. “We’ll eat first.”

  The spokesman ignored the comment, though others broke out in amused smiles. Moments later, Captain Grayling and his men escorted the trio far beyond the perimeter of the encampment and watched them gallop back to Del Norác. Their torch flames disappeared into the darkness like tiny stars behind a veil of clouds.

  The air was cool and sweet as the first hint of dawn bled over the eastern horizon the next day. A palpable sense of nervous foreboding hung over the encampment. After a hasty meal, the soldiers on horse and on foot moved out, marching for nearly a mile until they went around and passed the tree-lined rise to the right. In the distance, in all its imagined mystery, lay the city of Del Norác. It was situated along the banks of the Drusala River now flowing closer to the army’s left flank. A collection of low stone and brick buildings sprouted up on either side of the water beneath a smoky haze. One building towered modestly above all the others–a former Enâri garrison constructed of large granite blocks which now housed troops from Kargoth and the Northern Isles. Swaths of farmland, orchards and empty fields surrounded the city. Looming silently above Del Norác to the north stood Mount Minakaris. Nestled among patches of green woods, its rocky slopes and snow-frozen tip glimmered in the faint light of morning.

  From this vantage point, the small city, mountain and snaking river appeared inviting, but the troops knew their perceptions would change the nearer they drew. But before the first sword was raised or an arrow shot from its bow, King Justin and his royal counterparts planned to ride out to parley with Vellan as promised. Captain Silas, Eucádus and five other soldiers would accompany them. When the army was less than a quarter mile from Del Norác, the order to halt was sounded.