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

by Thomas J. Prestopnik

  “Then let us join in his rescue!” Ramsey eagerly said.

  As he headed up the small slope on the riverbank, Eucádus followed his friend into the lengthening shadow of the garrison, wondering how far King Justin and his captors had ventured into the hostile city streets. But as he turned his head to survey the movement of soldiers around him, he caught a familiar flash of red color in the softening rays of sunlight to his right. As Ramsey continued forward with the others, Eucádus slowed his pace. He spotted a tall man farther down the river near the bridge heading his way. A growing light below the eastern horizon tinted the skyline. Eucádus stopped, his eyes drawn to the vaguely familiar figure with long black hair tied up in back with a blood red piece of cloth. The man suddenly recognized Eucádus and stopped. Both stood silently as the crowd scattered and the sounds of distant warfare faded in their minds.

  “So, Eucádus, I see you still prefer to wage your battle on the losing side,” Ranen called out, smiling confidently as he took a few slow steps toward his former friend. “You should have killed me days ago when you had the chance.”

  “This battle is far from over,” Eucádus sternly replied. His heart ached upon seeing the shell of a man that Ranen had been reduced to by Vellan’s cruel hand.

  “Perhaps you’re right. The battle between Kargoth and your feeble army may be far from over,” he said, slowly unsheathing his sword and raising it to catch the golden light of the setting sun. “But our fight, Eucádus, is about to begin.”

  Inside Mount Minakaris, Leo lay sprawled upon his back near the archway wall, his face cold and pale. Nicholas, kneeling by his side, feared that Vellan had driven all life out of his friend. But when he noticed a slight rise and fall of Leo’s chest, a flicker of hope ignited in his weary heart.

  “Don’t worry,” Vellan said, lowering his oak staff to support himself. “Your friend isn’t dead–yet. The spell I cast is an inspired one, not intended to deliver an instant death.”

  “What are you talking about?” Nicholas glared at the wizard who appeared much frailer than he had only moments ago.

  But before he could reply, Vellan grew suddenly pale, appearing ready to pass out. Madeline raced to his aid in horror, grabbing him by one arm in case he might fall.

  “Mune!” she cried, trying to hold him steady. Mune bolted to her side and helped her lead the wizard to a chair at the table. Vellan slowly took a few deep breaths, appearing more comfortable as the color gradually returned to his face.

  “Thank you,” he said, sounding exhausted as he leaned back. He handed his staff to Madeline, indicating for her to place it against the mantelpiece. “Casting that spell took more out of me than I had anticipated, but it was well worth it.” Vellan sprouted a vindictive smile while gazing upon Leo’s seemingly lifeless body with malicious delight.

  “It won’t be worth it if you die,” Madeline told him. “Your strength has weakened since the demise of the Enâri. Let me take care of you as I suggested until you’re back to your old self again.” She turned to Caldurian who waited quietly near the opposite end of the table, snapping her fingers at him. “Don’t stand there like a courtyard statue. Fetch some stew and tea for Vellan! He needs nourishment.”

  “At once,” he replied, grudgingly tolerating another of Madeline’s many orders she had spouted ever since worming her way into Vellan’s good graces. But as long as Vellan fancied her companionship, Caldurian thought it best to play along. “Do you want stew as well, Madeline?” he inquired while leaning over the steaming pot and stirring it carefully with a large wooden spoon.

  “Tea only,” she replied, taking a seat at the table. She frowned when Mune looked her way expectantly. “You can eat later. Stand guard over our guests. The one is stirring.”

  “Fine.”

  As Mune trudged toward them, he noticed Leo moving as if awakening from a deep sleep. Nicholas anxiously looked on. Mune kept a respectful distance, standing near the archway and wondering how different things would be if he had only stopped Leo from turning that key. Such a simple action had altered the landscape of the war and of his life. King Justin’s army would have already been defeated had the Enâri still lived, and Mune realized his own situation would have been vastly improved over the uncertainty that now plagued him. He wished he could relive that moment and set things right. His alliance with Caldurian, Madeline and Vellan had lost its allure, and he regretted not leaving Kargoth days ago. He sadly shook his head and sighed. Then Leo opened his eyes.

  “Are you all right?” Nicholas asked, helping him sit up against the shelf.

  “What happened?” he asked groggily, for a moment not sure of his location or the hour. He rubbed the back of his head and winced. “I remember waking up miserably on Hobin’s floor that one morning after drinking too much ale the night before. That felt good compared to this.”

  Nicholas couldn’t help but smile, glad to see Leo’s sense of humor still intact. But he wondered how long Leo could fight off the effects of Vellan’s spell. “Rest for a while. I don’t think we’re going anywhere just yet.”

  Leo stubbornly shook his head, placing a hand on Nicholas’ shoulder. “Help me stand,” he said. “I won’t give him the satisfaction of remaining on the floor.”

  Nicholas helped Leo to his feet, noting the faint hint of an encouraging smile from Mune, though not sure how to interpret it. Leo placed a hand upon the shelf to steady himself, pausing to catch his breath before turning to Vellan.

  “You need to practice your spells,” he said, gazing defiantly at him and Madeline. “You get a failing grade for that attempt.”

  “Ah, but you’re wrong,” Vellan replied as Caldurian walked over with a tray laden with a bowl of lamb stew and two cups of steaming tea. “Things are not always as they appear. The spell I cast was more successful than you know,” he said as Caldurian placed the bowl before him along with a hand cloth and a spoon. He also set down a cup of tea each for Vellan and Madeline, smiling humbly before returning to the serving counter. “You see, Mr. Marsh,” Vellan continued, “this particular spell will slowly drain the life out of you, but not too slowly. You’ll have time to think about the heinous act you perpetrated upon the Enâri by aligning yourself with Frist. And if you have any sense of decency, you’ll come to regret what you did before death finally takes you.” He ate a spoonful of stew and drank from his cup. “That should happen sometime around dawn. I suggest you use your remaining time wisely.”

  “Well said,” Madeline whispered with an ingratiating smile. She sipped from her tea while Vellan ate his meal as if it were just an ordinary day.

  “Frist is a better wizard in death than you’ll ever be in your lifetime,” Nicholas said, overwhelmed by a sense of helplessness. “He gave his life to remake that key. You’ve only sacrificed others to achieve your aims.”

  “If Frist is such a great wizard, then see if he can help you now!” Vellan felt his strength returning to both mind and limb. “Unlike me, Frist squandered his power on trivialities. And when he took his last breath, he wound up just like the race of wizards will some day end, dead and forgotten. It’s as simple as that.”

  Leo took a deep breath and managed a few steps toward the table, looking at Vellan with a mix of pity and contempt. “Frist did much good for people, but in small ways, never seeking praise for it. His accomplishments will far outlast anything you’ve done. He helped people instead of using them.” While Vellan remained stone silent, staring fixedly at his bowl, Madeline turned a shade of crimson as she slowly fumed. Leo dismissed them with a shake of his head. “Believe it if you want that Frist squandered his powers, but you two have squandered your lives,” he said. “Simple as that.”

  Vellan eyed him with scorn. “Oh, is it?” He slowly rose from his chair, grabbing his staff for support as he stepped away from the table. “Believe what you like, Mr. Marsh, but in the end it only matters who has accumulated power and isn’t afraid to use it. I have succeeded on both counts! So in what little time you ha
ve left, enjoy your moral victory. I, on the other hand, have a realm to oversee, and that gives me a vast sense of accomplishment.” He turned to Nicholas. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten about you, Mr. Raven. I no longer have any interest in speaking to you or your friend, so it’s time to rid my home of you both. Caldurian! I have a task for you.”

  “Yes?” he said, stepping forward.

  “Inform some guards below to escort Ivy to the river. She may be thirsty,” he said with a grim smile. “Then have her brought back here so Mr. Raven can speak to her one last time before he receives his just reward at the point of a sword.”

  “You can’t do this!” Nicholas shouted. “Ivy has done nothing to you. Let her go!”

  Vellan pointed his staff at him, prompting Nicholas to hold his ground. “Care to receive the same punishment as your friend?” he asked. “I’ll be happy to oblige.”

  Madeline grabbed one of the daggers on the mantelpiece and shoved it into Mune’s hand. “Guard them properly!”

  “All right!” He waved the dagger until Nicholas and Leo stepped back toward the wall. Vellan sighed heavily as he lowered his staff and clutched it for support, again appearing as tired as he was after casting his spell upon Leo.

  “Are you all right?” Caldurian asked with concern.

  “I’m fine!” he snapped, attempting to shake off his weariness as he trudged back to the table. “Now carry out my instructions while I finish eating supper. Be gone!”

  “Yes, please do as you’re told!” Madeline shouted, indicating for Caldurian to leave as she hurried to Vellan’s side.

  “Very well. I shall go now,” he calmly replied. He stepped through the archway and turned right down the corridor, looking askance at Vellan and Madeline as he brushed past the opening and continued along the candlelit passageway.

  But Caldurian had no intention of carrying out Vellan’s order. Instead, he stopped and stood with his back to the wall, listening for any sounds from the dining chamber. If things had gone according to plan, he expected to hear something at any moment other than the faint murmur of voices above the flickering candlelight. This was his one chance to strike before events got completely out of hand, but as he listened, he worried that he might have made a mistake and had already been found out. Then a harrowing shriek blasted through the corridor. Caldurian’s heart pounded as a smile formed upon his lips.

  He waited a few moments as the commotion grew in the other room and then raced back up the corridor. He barreled through the archway, feigning surprise at the scene before him. “Madeline, what happened? I heard your scream from the stairwell.” She looked up in a frazzled panic, kneeling on the floor beside Vellan. He had collapsed face down in an unconscious pile upon his oak staff.

  “Help me!” she cried, desperately trying to turn him over. Caldurian ran to her aid as Mune guarded Nicholas and Leo who looked on in stunned silence.

  Caldurian helped Madeline roll the wizard onto his back. Vellan, his eyes closed and face pale, breathed steadily which calmed Madeline as she tried to shake him awake, calling to him in desperate tones.

  “Vellan, please come to,” she whispered. “Open your eyes! Speak to me!”

  “Apparently the stress from casting that last spell has taken a toll upon his already weakened state,” Caldurian said, standing up. He folded his arms and massaged his chin, stepping back to observe the fallen wizard.

  “What should we do?” she asked, annoyed by his seeming lack of concern.

  “I would suggest you let him rest, Madeline.”

  “Rest? We need to revive him!”

  “And I think that you should take a long rest as well,” he added. “After all, you’ve been operating on little food and sleep these past few days as war has encroached upon us. Perhaps some lamb stew might do you a bit of good as well.”

  “Forget about my health, you fool! What about Vellan?” she screamed, unable to comprehend Caldurian’s indifference as he stood there wearing a vague smile. “Tell me what to do! Tell me how to–” A fearful chill shot through Madeline as it suddenly hit her. She suspiciously eyed the bowl of stew upon the table, her face ashen as a growing sense of betrayal became apparent. “What have you done?” she whispered.

  In the field near the eastern bridge, the sickly smell of blood and death saturated the air. William and Brendan rushed to their grandfather after he had collapsed, the Islander’s knife lodged in his abdomen. The man who had assaulted King Rowan and killed Marello now lay dead a few feet away. Marello’s body hugged the ground several yards to the west. A clash of swords intensified in the distance as twilight neared.

  When the sibling princes reached King Rowan, they saw him gazing at the eastern horizon, grateful that he was still alive. William took his hand and caressed it as Brendan examined the bloody wound. He hesitantly touched the handle of the deadly dagger.

  “Don’t,” King Rowan told him, his voice tired yet firm. He placed his free hand upon Brendan’s fingers and gently moved them aside. “There is nothing you can do,” he said, smiling faintly as he looked upon his cherished grandsons.

  “I must try!” Brendan pleaded.

  King Rowan took a shallow, painful breath as he squeezed William’s hand for support. “You must both save yourselves for the sake of Montavia. You need to watch over our dear homeland in my absence,” he said. “You must be there for your mother, too. My death will be but a passing bad dream when Vilna and the citizens of Montavia look upon Prince Brendan once again, alive and prepared to rule in my stead.”

  “Grandfather, don’t talk like that,” Brendan replied. His eyes misted as he removed and folded his vest, placing it under the King’s head as a pillow.

  “You will return with us to Red Lodge,” William added encouragingly, though deep in his heart, seeds of doubt and despair took root as he accepted the inevitable.

  “If today we are victorious,” the King continued as the color drained from his cheeks, “then the two of you will escort my body back to Triana. And when you become king, Brendan, keep your brother close by for counsel and companionship.” He glanced at William and grinned. “And you keep him on his toes.”

  “But we still need you, Grandfather,” Brendan replied as he choked up, wishing his heartfelt words would enable the King to stave off death itself.

  “And I you,” he said, his eyes drawn to the eastern horizon looming behind his grandsons’ shoulders. “But now I must leave you both for a time until we meet again in the afterworld. This is to be our fate. But I think that–”

  “Think what?” Brendan asked, grasping desperately at their remaining time together.

  King Rowan took several shallow breaths as his hold on the moment weakened, the images before him fading slowly in his mind. But at that same time, William and Brendan noted a lively light growing in his eyes as their grandfather gazed upon them, each feeling a flicker of warmth and hope igniting inside them. “I think that… Nay, I know that you will both succeed and make me proud when all is done.” The King smiled as he gazed eastward, whispering his final words. “I can see it in the heavens.”

  He closed his eyes for the last time, his face and body relaxing as he lay upon the cool grass. The Drusala River flowed silently by to the south. William bowed his head and kissed his grandfather’s hand while Brendan brushed his fingers across the dead monarch’s face as tears fell from his eyes.

  “He is at peace now, and safe,” Brendan said, his voice hoarse as he stared up at the sky and wondered how he and his brother would ever endure the dreary days ahead. “But we are not,” he added ominously when looking westward again.

  “What?” William asked, his thoughts elsewhere as he laid the King’s hand upon his chest. But when he noted the stern expression on Brendan’s face, he looked in the same direction, immediately understanding his brother’s point.

  While they had been tending to their grandfather, a small contingent of enemy soldiers fighting near the low rise to the west had broken away and made for the
patch of land where King Rowan lay. They moved swiftly, some in front leading the way on horseback. Before they arrived, Brendan jumped up and retrieved his sword lying close by. William grabbed the dagger he had used to kill the soldier from Kargoth. With quiet courage, they stood in front of their grandfather’s body and held their weapons aloft, silently challenging the approaching soldiers who were led by a cloudy-eyed native of Kargoth named Meegs.

  “How touching,” he said mockingly to the amusement of his followers. “The King’s loyal pages guard his corpse in one last act of bravery before they are slaughtered.” His men raised their swords. “I watched with interest from over there as your King fought, which is why I didn’t interfere. I wanted to see what he was made of. But he was no match for one of Vellan’s determined soldiers. And you two are no match for us.”

  “We do not fear you!” Brendan said, his eyes locked onto Meegs’ smug face. “And whether we live or not, your hours are numbered. King Justin and his allies will soak this field with your blood.”

  “Strong words from a young man,” he coolly remarked before addressing William. “And have you no last words to add?”

  Prince William smiled to the man’s dismay. “I agree with everything my brother said,” he replied, tilting his head toward Brendan. “We are of like minds, usually.”

  “Soon you will be of like conditions–dead.” Meegs signaled to a nearby captain. “We have work to do. Kill them now.”

  “With pleasure,” he replied, stepping forward with a few other troops. William and Brendan stood their ground and raised their weapons higher, bracing themselves for what they realized would be their final moments.

  Just then, a soldier from the Northern Isles sitting atop a horse alongside Meegs leaned over and whispered a few hurried words to his leader, pointing at William and Brendan. Meegs slowly raised his eyebrows as he absorbed the information.

  “Wait!” he shouted. “Do not touch them.”