by Dean Cadman
Lord Zelroth was acutely aware of the ever increasing magical strength within the population he was creating, and foresaw the dangers long before they actually manifested themselves. He knew that it was only a matter of time before his leadership was challenged by another, so in anticipation of this, he created the first Necromatic rings.
The rings allowed him access to the power of any nearby magi wearing a similar ring, thereby increasing his own power reserves significantly. Later he would improve the effectiveness of the rings, vastly increasing their range, and adding several other useful elements to their design.
When the challenge finally came in the form of a band of fifty powerful, disenchanted magi, led by a man named Antaff, it was quashed before it barely began. They entered Lord Zelroth’s throne room and were met by such force, that they never even had a chance to fight back. Lord Zelroth’s power alone would have been more than enough to destroy them, but he also had the combined strength of over a hundred powerful magi at his disposal, all joined to him magically by his new Necromatic rings. The challenge was over in moments, and the broken bodies of the traitors were displayed throughout the Empire for all to see.
He continued to refine the Necromatic rings over the next few decades, before issuing a new decree that every citizen of the Thule Empire would be made to wear one. Each and every citizen of adult age would have to swear fealty to him, and take the Necromatic ring as a symbol of that fealty. Once the Necromatic ring was placed on the citizen’s finger, it could never be removed again without killing its wearer.
The same ability to take power from another nearby person wearing a Necromatic ring, was also included in each and every ring. This ability, however, was restricted to only allowing the wearer to draw power from a subordinate member of society. That simple rule applied to both the general populace, and the military. It became a very effective way of controlling any disquiet that arose within the Thule Empire. And when the rumour started that Lord Zelroth could use the Necromatic rings to read the minds of any Thule citizen, they became an even more effective tool of control.
One improvement which Lord Zelroth made to the Necromatic rings, was the ability for the wearers to communicate with one another over relatively short distances. Initially this function was added to speed up the communications across the length and breadth of the Empire, but later, a new, and unintended benefit was realised.
As part of his long term plans to weaken Afaraon of magic, Lord Zelroth had already started a secret campaign to eliminate as many newborn magi there as possible. For many years, however, his grisly campaign had held limited success for him. He had been reliant on a small spy network reporting any newborn magi they inadvertently discovered back to one of his agents, making it a slow and ineffective process. Later, using the Necromatic rings and their new communication ability, it became possible to use several agents to triangulate the position of any birth-pulse, and the whole process of elimination became far more efficient.
More than two centuries later, Lord Zelroth had all but wiped out magic from the land of Afaraon. He had been confident in defeating whatever few magi still remained within the Deceiver’s High Temple, and finally taking the Guardian book for himself. What he had not counted on, however, was the power of the boy-mage, and his ability to single-handedly destroy his entire army.
Upon learning of his army’s defeat at Lamuria, Lord Zelroth had descended into a fit of rage which lasted for days. Many of his slaves within Azmarin had suffered and died by his hand during that time. But eventually, he had calmed down enough to think the situation through. When he did, he came to the conclusion that it had not changed his overall plans, only delayed them slightly.
The boy-mage was alone, and although extremely powerful, he was still mortal. In sixty or seventy years, Lord Zelroth would be free to attack the Deceiver’s High Temple once again. By which time, the boy-mage would be nothing more than a memory, and then there would be no one to stand in his way. In the meantime, he would continue to weaken the magical capabilities of Afaraon in the same way he had been doing for so long now.
Lord Zelroth had no reason to believe that the boy-mage would attempt to seek revenge over the attack on Lamuria. In fact, from what he already knew of their current monarch, King Theodore, he felt sure the boy-mage would be forbidden from even contemplating such an attack. Now that Afaraon had apparently gained such a powerful deterrent against the Empire, he felt certain that they would not want to jeopardise that deterrent on a pointless revenge mission.
Of this, he had felt very confident.
That was, until three weeks ago, when he had sensed the boy-mage’s magical communication with his mother. Now, he knew with absolute certainty, that he would soon face the boy-mage in battle.
A battle which he fully intended to win.
Lord Zelroth watched the interrogation of the boy-mage’s mother for over an hour. During that time, no matter what his most skilled interrogators did to the woman, she never once showed any signs of pain. She seemed to be in some kind of deep meditative state. One that was capable of blocking out the pain of anything done to her.
Lord Zelroth watched with a mixture of admiration and anger at the apparent ease she was able to withstand the pain his Inquisitors were now inflicting on her. He even quested out towards her mind to see if he could discover her secrets for himself. But all he found was an impenetrable mental barrier. A barrier stronger than any he had ever witnessed before. He had known that this woman possessed strong mental capabilities for a long time now. In fact, that was the only reason why she was still alive.
When she had first been captured many years earlier, his Inquisitors had managed to extract small amounts of information from her whilst she had been drifting in and out of consciousness. None of the information gathered suggested she was anything other than what she seemed: a mother of a newborn mage.
His agents had recovered the body of the child, and at the time they believed their work already done by nature. But amongst the information gathered from her mind later, was the image of a second, healthy child, who had somehow escaped the notice of his agents.
At first she was nothing more than a slight curiosity to Lord Zelroth, to be broken and disposed of for his own amusement. But soon she proved to be far more of a challenge to break than he had ever anticipated, and if there was one thing Lord Zelroth enjoyed more than anything else, it was a challenging prisoner. There was no satisfaction in gaining information if it was given freely. After all, if he simply wanted the information, he could kill the prisoner, then reanimate them for that information. No, the pleasure for him was watching the prisoners go through the same stages of mental and physical anguish, over and over until they eventually broke.
The prisoners would almost always start with the staunch determination not to divulge their pitiful secrets to him. Sometimes they would even carry that determination on for a couple of days, but more often than not, they would rethink it on their very first day with his Inquisitors.
Those latter prisoners he despised.
The ones who held out for more than three days, however, he usually began to take a personal interest in. On very rare occasions, a prisoner would last a whole week. And if that happened, the prisoner was often given an extended period of time to recover, before their torture began anew. Lord Zelroth would then be present for every new torture session, often adding his own twisted cruelties to those of his Inquisitors until the prisoner finally broke.
The boy-mage’s mother had been different. She had not been captured as a spy within the Thule Empire, therefore she was not expected to be harbouring any great secrets. But her resistance to the torture she received greatly impressed Lord Zelroth. During her first several weeks in Azmarin, she had been tortured daily almost to the point of death, then fully healed and returned back to her cell. Amazingly, her mental barriers held up against both the incredible pain, and the constant battering of his best Inquisitors.
It was the first prisone
r he had ever encountered who was able to hold out for so long. He had no doubt that she would have broken eventually—they always did. At one point he had considered simply killing her and reanimating her for whatever pitiful information she was holding on to. But he decided on a different fate for her.
He would have her confined to a prison cell for the rest of her life, and use her as a training tool for his Inquisitors. Eventually, his Inquisitors would find a way around her mental barriers. When they did, he would discover what the irrelevant piece of information was that she had considered worth dying for, before disposing of her permanently.
Before detecting the intrusion, Lord Zelroth had all but forgotten about the strange woman languishing in one of his many prison cells. How the boy-mage had managed to breach his protection spells, or what had been communicated between him and his mother, he had no idea.
But he needed to find out—and at any cost.
He knew the boy-mage would be coming to try and rescue his mother soon enough. And although he would like nothing more than to kill his mother right now, and extract the information from her as one of his undead-minions, he knew that he could not. He needed her alive.
He knew that she was the boy-mage’s greatest weakness, and he intended to use that weakness to his full advantage when the time came.
Lord Zelroth’s smile broadened widely across his face, as he imagined just how much sweeter killing her in front of the boy-mage would be, instead of simply presenting her broken body to him.
Chapter Four
Neala easily recognised the Hedgewitch’s cave from a distance by the description Darcie had given her earlier. Although there were many cave-like openings in the northern cliffs, only one matched Darcie’s description with a large tree growing out of the cliff face directly above it. As she drew closer, Neala could just about make out a route up to the cave from the valley floor below. It certainly wasn’t easy to see, and if she hadn’t known exactly which cave to look for, she probably would have missed it easily.
Neala soon reached the base of the cliffs and started climbing the narrow path towards the cave entrance. She had no doubt that if the Hedgewitch was still living there, she would have already seen her approaching a long time ago. Even so, Neala decided to announce her presence to the Hedgewitch and avoid any misunderstandings between them.
“Hello,” Neala called out. “Is there anyone home?”
“Go away!” replied a shrill voice from within the dark cave above.
“I mean you no harm. I just wish to buy something from you, then I’ll leave you in peace,” Neala called back, as she continued to climb the path towards the cave entrance.
“Well, I don’t wish to sell you anything, Missy. Now go away!”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that, my friend is in dire need of your help,” Neala called into the darkness of the cave entrance.
“If you don’t leave me alone, I’ll turn you into a toad, I will!”
“There’s no need to be unfriendly. Just help me out with what I need, and I’ll be on my way,” Neala replied, stifling a grin. She had heard similar threats issued by Orla back in Stelgad whenever she didn’t wish to be disturbed.
Neala’s eyes were struggling to adjust to the darkened cave whilst she stood outside in the strong sunlight, so she decided to move inside a little. She took no more than two steps inside, before a rabid looking creature leapt out of the darkness towards her. It caught her completely by surprise, and she found herself sitting on her backside looking up at it, whilst still fumbling for one of her knives.
Just as fast as it had emerged into the light, the creature vanished back into the darkness of the cave again. But just before it did, Neala happened to notice one of its feet protruding from under its dense matted fur. It wasn’t a bear foot, or that of a mountain lion. It was a small, pale human foot. A foot no doubt belonging to the Hedgewitch herself.
Neala got back to her feet and dusted herself down, while trying not to giggle too loudly at the thought of what her own face must have looked like only a moment ago. It seemed that this particular Hedgewitch was prepared to go to great lengths to be left alone in peace and quiet. Neala had no doubt what the end result of what she had just witnessed would be on most people, especially those who already had an unnatural fear of Hedgewitches—which was just about everyone she had ever met.
Neala took a step inside the cave again, and was almost immediately greeted by an other-worldly wailing from deeper within the cave.
‘I guess she really doesn’t want any company right now,’ Neala thought to herself, as she tried to prepare for whatever the Hedgewitch sent her way next. Six paces inside the cave, she came to the first of two thick black curtains. As soon as she passed through the first, she started to see the first signs of light filtering through the second. When she passed through the second curtain, she found herself inside a warm and well lit area of the cave.
The Hedgewitch was standing in the centre of the cave, scowling at her like she had just bitten a lemon in half. She was also brandishing her walking staff as if she intended to attack Neala with it, which almost caused Neala to completely lose her composure. From what Neala could see, the Hedgewitch must have been at least eighty years old, and would have barely reached the height of her shoulders even if she was standing on her tiptoes.
“Leave now, or I’ll summon my Snaigel again and have it eat you this time,” the Hedgewitch threatened.
“Your what? Oh, that… would you like me to turn around while you get back into your costume?” Neala asked calmly, trying very hard to keep a straight face.
“Get out! … Get out! … Get out!” the Hedgewitch shrieked, whilst fiercely shaking her walking staff at her.
“Seven Gods! Why couldn’t she have been more like Orla,” Neala cursed under her breath.
“What did you just say?” the Hedgewitch asked.
“Nothing.”
“I might be old, but I’m not deaf, Missy! What was that you just said?”
“Seven Gods,” Neala replied innocently, hoping that mentioning the Gods hadn’t ruined her slim chances of dealing with the old Hedgewitch.
“Not that one, you big lunkhead. The other one,” the Hedgewitch said rolling her eyes a little.
“Oh, sorry. I said that I wished you were more like Orla,” Neala replied loudly, dropping all pretence at being civil towards the old Hedgewitch.
“And how is it that you came to know that name?” she asked, lowering her walking staff a little and leaning in slightly to hear Neala’s reply.
“Orla is my friend,” Neala replied bluntly.
“Oh… and where does your friend live?” asked the Hedgewitch.
“That’s none of your business,” Neala replied, starting to get annoyed at the old Hedgewitch’s questions.
“It is if you want my help for your friend, Missy,” the Hedgewitch spat back at her. Neala took a deep breath ready to respond in kind to the old Hedgewitch’s acidic tone, but then remembered why she was actually there: to help Lusam. She took another calming breath, swallowed her dislike for the old Hedgewitch, and forced a smile back onto her face.
“Orla lives just outside of Stelgad, next to the river,” Neala replied calmly.
“Hmm, that she does, Missy. But how did you discover her true name?” the old Hedgewitch asked, pointing her walking staff directly at Neala from across the cave.
“She told me her name, of course,” Neala said, slightly confused by the question.
“Ha! Unlikely story, Missy,” the Hedgewitch said. “No Hedgewitch would ever reveal their true name to another, for it would grant that person power over them.”
“I don’t understand what you mean, but she did tell me her name, and I don’t care if you believe me or not,” Neala said, thinking back to the day when Orla had revealed her name for the first time. She hadn’t realised it at the time, but looking back now, it had taken Orla more than a year to tell Neala her name. She also remembered Orla making her promi
se not to reveal her name to anyone else, even her friends within the Hawks’ guild. At the time, Neala simply thought she wished to keep her name hidden as part of her ploy to keep unwanted visitors away. But now, from what the old Hedgewitch seemed to be suggesting, it might have been far more important to keep her name a secret than she ever knew.
“You say you was her friend…” the old Hedgewitch started to say, but was cut short by Neala.
“I am her friend,” Neala corrected her. The old Hedgewitch nodded slowly, pausing a moment to study Neala’s face more closely.
“So, you say you are her friend. Then answer me this, Missy. What is Orla’s favoured method of killing a farmer’s cow without being discovered?”
Neala smiled at the old Hedgewitch’s question. “Orla would never kill a farmer’s cow, and neither would you,” Neala said confidently.
“Oh, and why is that?” the Hedgewitch asked, tilting her head, and relaxing her grip slightly on her walking staff.
“Because you’re both Hedgewitches, and contrary to what you’d have most people believe, you don’t ever do things like that.”
“Is that right, Missy?” the Hedgewitch replied, narrowing her eyes slightly, as if trying to get a better look at Neala from across the cave.
“Yes, it is. And stop calling me Missy. My name is Neala.”
“Hmm, Neala is it? Then tell me this, Neala, if you’re such a good friend. What is Orla’s favourite drink?”
Neala thought back to the many times she had spent sitting next to Orla’s hearth, speaking with her about all manner of things. Although she had offered Neala a choice of beverages each and every time she had visited, she had only ever seen Orla drink one thing.
“Mint-leaf tea,” Neala replied, then immediately added, “with a splash of wild raspberry juice to sweeten it.”