The Wizard
Dungeon Core Book One
M J Kaltenbrunner
Copyright © 2017 by M J Kaltenbrunner
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
1
Mertho, the wizard, buried his attention in piles of texts so high they threatened to literally bury him if there was a sudden breeze. However, locked away high up in his tower with the windows securely bolted shut and the doors barred against the outside world, a breeze would be the last thing to penetrate his study. And short of someone grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him, there was nothing that could have snapped him out of his state of deep concentration.
At least, almost nothing...
There came a rapping on the sole entrance to the tower, a thick wooden door banded by steel. The sound echoed throughout the structure, rising and bouncing around the spiral staircase to where the wizard sat at the topmost level – his observatory and his favorite study area. It was also where he lived almost entirely while deep in the throes of studying and learning arcane lore and the casting of spells.
A voice lilted up and crept in through the cracks around the edges of the window on that top level of the tower. It was familiar, feminine, and possibly the only sound that would have drawn Mertho out of his reading. Gaynor.
He was only in his early thirties, practically a baby in the world of magic, but a lifetime of intense study and too little rest had worked to tire his mind prematurely. He rubbed his temple, staving off a nagging headache that had been threatening to take hold of his head all evening. His shaggy, dark hair needed trimming, but a simple comb would have done wonders to fix his unkempt appearance. Mertho mused how he must have looked at least forty or more, especially in his drab wizard’s robe of plain, gray cloth. Whatever the lovely Gaynor saw in him, he was grateful. Perhaps she really did have a thing for knowledgeable men.
Dropping both his hands to the heavy desk so that his fists made low thumping sounds, he sighed, pushed back the chair, stood up and walked over to the window. As he opened the window, the full volume of the voice sifted into his brain like silken butter.
Gaynor called up, "Please, I only wish to know if you are well or ill. Will you not give me that much peace for my mind at least?"
"I am not ill," he called down, not lying, but hiding the truth that he was aching.
"Please tell me then, why have you withdrawn into your tower these past days? I have missed you."
"I am at a crucial point in my study, that is all, and nothing's wrong." It was hard to fight the urge to stutter and add more details to hide the truth that his ego and heart were bruised.
Mertho was under no illusions about his place in the beautiful Gaynor’s heart. Rumors had been floating around the city like vicious knives with wings. They cut at his heart even now as he recalled them. Why can't she just leave me to my solitude?
"Mertho? At least tell me why you have decided to shun me so suddenly."
"I have not been shunning you."
"Well, in that case, will you allow me to come inside and see your face? At least, for a little while."
He was helpless against the sweetness of her voice. And it almost felt like he could smell the wondrous aroma of her perfume, which for all he knew might have just been the way her body smelled; she was that lovely that he could believe she naturally smelled of roses and fragrant spices. Mertho descended from his room high up in the tower, and walked down the dusty staircase to the base of the structure. He braced himself and unbarred the iron door, opening it to greet Gaynor.
Her beauty swept inside and whirled around him like an embracing breeze. She was average height for a young woman of twenty years. Her eyes were somehow hazel and green all at once, sparkling even in the minimal light given off by the lantern hung by the tower door. Her hair was like gold with just a hint of brown as the brightest leaves on trees in the fall. Her face was soft, perfectly proportioned with a delicate nose and full lips, cheeks slightly chubby betraying her youth. She wore a black robe that protected her body from the night air, and which most likely helped her sneak away from her home unseen in the night. "Mertho, you really are alive," she said with jest in her voice as she walked inside. Her hand graced his shoulder for just a splintered moment as she walked by him and entered the vestibule of the tower. “You have been keeping yourself from me.” Her lips formed into a pout.
“Gaynor, somehow you make tired eyes fresh again. And yes, I am sorry for being away from the city for so long. A wizard’s studies are a continuing affront to his personal time.”
Turning to face him, drawing him down into her deep bewitching eyes, Gaynor continued to say, "May I ask what have you been studying so fervently, my lord?" Gaynor knew she did not have to put on airs of pretentious for him, but it was her way of having fun with the often awkward young wizard.
"Don't make fun," he said, making an effort to show his distress, leading her into the necessary conversation. No, he wasn’t staying away from her just because of study. Mertho was always learning some new spell or reading up on the next esoteric form of magic that he’d uncovered through some dusty old tome.
"There is something else bothering you..." she said. Gaynor’s eyes were wild and bright, yet somehow different to how he was used to seeing them. A cool but not unpleasant breeze was now coming in through the open door. The outside world waited out there. He wanted to shut the door, to lock it, but that would only leave him shut off inside with this lovely woman. And she was so very enticing.
Gaynor walked, almost floated with her graceful steps to him and said with noticeable intensity, "What is wrong? We've spent these past months joyfully courting—at least, I believe you have been courting me, is that not true? Yet, you have without warning withdrawn your attentions from me." She moved her around in a circular motion. "And the entire world it would seem. Am I not entitled to at least a passing explanation?"
The pleading in her eyes was impossible for Mertho to resist. A warm sensation rose over his body, and he blurted out what had been bothering him. "You've been seen with other men, strange men, cohosting at all hours. That is to say,
I have seen you with my own eyes."
"You have been spying on me? Am I that untrustworthy?"
"No, I wasn't, not until I first heard the rumors..." He moved away from her. "I think it might be best that you go, Gaynor. A student of magic has precious little time alive to perfect even a small fraction of what there is to master. It would be unfair to ask you to share me with my studies."
"Horse shit," she said. The vigor in her voice, the crudeness of her words, it was outright arousing coming from such a delicate flower. "It is my decision whether I am willing to share you with your work, and I have never professed to take issue with it until now. Have I?"
"No..." he said, still facing away from her. He could sense her gaze boring into his back.
"Are you going to keep talking to the wall of your tower of solitude, or will you face me? Mertho, am I not the woman you have fallen in love with? Or, am I alone in that feeling?"
He could not take it anymore. Suddenly, all the feelings of doubt and even the evidence that connected her to illicit cohosting with strange men at night, and the fact that she had not even tried to deny the accusations—it did not seem to matter at all. Mertho's heart hurt when he attempted to deny his feelings for her, a real, physical pain. But of course, it did! And it made perfect sense in his mind, at that time. Turning to face her, his entire being melted into the pools of her eyes; he was entirely captive by the lovely Gaynor.
She stayed the night, disrobing herself the moment they were in his small bedchamber on the first floor of the tower, beneath his study. As she crawled on top of him, Gaynor whispered into his ears. Mertho fell into her embrace and ravished her well into the small hours of the morning. The following day he could not for the life of him remember what was said, or the specific actions that took course during their lovemaking, he only knew it had been bliss.
2
Completely drained and in a stupor of content, the wizard slept deeply that night with the naked form of Gaynor pressed up against his own bare flesh. Her supple curves and delicate scent pulled at his subconsciousness, but there were other thoughts wrestling for his wakeless attention. Thoughts of the strange men who were vying for the attention of his Gaynor entered his dreams. They wore robes, as men who were intent on doing no good at night were known to do. And their purpose was a complete mystery, although Mertho would have been an idiot to assume they were merely friendly companions.
Yet, until this night, Gaynor had not displayed signs of promiscuity. She and Mertho had met while they were both at the large city library, where scholars from all around came to learn, and to read for enjoyment. She was interested in the art of light magic, and the joys that it could bring the everyday lives of people. Mertho was studying much more austere forms of magic, but found himself unable to resist offering assistance to the graceful and intelligent Gaynor.
Had she approached him first? It was unlike Mertho to venture out of his narrowly closed off social circle, which consisted primarily of other wizards who he would sometimes ask for help in his own studies. His own family were already aged beyond the years of regular mortals by the time Mertho was born. Wizards could often turn the passage of time in their favor with their study of magic.
This tower was his birthright, left by his father, and his father's father before him. So, it was strange that Mertho should become involved with such a lovely and socially graceful young woman. However, she had made his life much brighter in the short months since.
Did I dream all of that? he thought as he woke, on his side, covered in clammy sweat, the bedsheets clinging to his naked body. Gaynor was beside him, still lying on her side and facing away, her bare back pressed into him. The curves of her body dipped up and down even beneath the heavy blankets. The room was cold outside of their bubble of warmth together.
Mertho was thirsty, feeling completely spent after what seemed like hours of passionate lovemaking. He tried to move but found that, apart from his eyes, he could only slightly twitch, and blink with concerted effort. His first thought was that he'd been poisoned, but the thought immediately left him. No one could get inside his tower without his consent; he had protected it with reliable magic. And that left only a spell that could have been holding him prone. A rival magic user perhaps? "I can't move," he said, the panic evident in his voice.
"Gaynor!" boomed a powerful voice from outside the tower. It came through the open window and penetrated the silent darkness inside his bedchamber.
"Father?" she uttered. Turning to face Mertho, she said to him, "That is my father. I know his voice better than anyone’s." Gaynor didn't seem concerned about Mertho's inability to move.
With great effort, Mertho was able to speak again. "Benevic? But why would he be here? To collect you?" Mertho was well aware that Gaynor’s father was the owner of a respected adventuring company in the city. His exploits were the stuff of songs, and children were eager to hear him tell tales of brave quests, in particular, his prowess for fighting and killing. "Gaynor, something has a hold of me. Does your father have powerful spellcasters?"
"Yes, of course, he does. They must have put a spell over you from where they stand!" Her naivety was endearing on the matter of magic. She was only speculating, yet she seemed so sure of it. In this case, she might have been right.
Benevic yelled out again, his voice full of anger. "I know about the dark magic you have been using on my daughter, foul wizard! This cannot end well for you either way, but you may spare yourself a great deal of pain if you release Gaynor immediately!"
The idea that a hero would come to his tower and challenge him made Mertho furious. He was not a fighter, but neither was he weak. Far from it; his power was great. But he was still unable to move for some reason. "Are you going to leave?" he said to Gaynor.
"Would you have me go? I have given myself to you, and I am sure you want me to be your wife someday, is that wrong? I would not have given myself otherwise." Her speech quickened, and her pitch jumped from high to shrill, almost as if she was on the verge of becoming manic.
"I am not afraid of your father, yet, something has taken hold of my body." As he said that, Mertho's body began to spasm and he could feel a strange aura emanating from his body. The aura was green, a magical glow that he had never seen before. He knew the type of green, though, to be of a dark variety of magic. But he had never actually practiced any such magic in his life, being more inclined to study the darker arts only, if that, and never actually put them to use. His family line walked on the side of good. Yet, he could feel the unpleasant energy worming its way through his body and causing him a growing amount of pain.
Gaynor did not seem surprised, but she might have simply been in a state of shock, unable to react to this bizarre turn of events. She rose from the bed, the covers falling away from her, allowing the blue of the moonlight through the window to lightly illuminate her body.
Even in his state of writhing, as the pain continued to grow and turn to real agony, Mertho saw a confusing expression on Ganor’s face, like fear but somehow controlled. He suddenly felt afraid of dying, and knowing then that he really did love her, the feeling made him fight against whatever was holding him. Conflicted and strange emotions were entangled within him, the affection for her, and the rising hatred for her father and his warriors outside.
"Break down the door!" shouted Benevic. Gaynor’s father was tall with broad shoulders, a veteran warrior with rugged looks that were at once intimidating and charming. For someone who had achieved so much, he was barely ten years older than Mertho. When Benevic commanded, those around him tended to listen; his order was met by a chorus of confirmation from the group of adventurers at the tower's entrance. They began to slam heavily against the ancient, heavy wooden door.
Mertho could still barely move, but he felt himself being drawn away from his bed. At first, he believed that he was crawling across the sweat-stained bed covers without volition. He soon realized he was moving, but only because he was actually floating away from the bed.
"Mertho, be strong!" Gaynor said to him. "You only need to hold out a short while longer, please." Her words gave him the courage to keep his head and face whatever was happening to him. She almost sounded manic, as though there was some pressing urgency to the situation that was lost on Mertho. He could not best this situation by simply waiting out and braving this magical storm that had captured his being, could he? Perhaps she was only on the brink of panic.
The pain in Mertho's body increased, searing his bones and giving a sensation that his flesh was slowly being ripped apart, piece by piece, like tiny ribbons of his body were being unthreaded by some invisible mesh of razor wires. The spasming feeling built up, and he began to spasm out of control. It had to be spellcasters with the adventuring party who were doing this to him. He could think of no other explanation.
A whirling vortex grew out from Mertho while he floated at the center of his bedchamber. The window burst open, the latch that had held them shut suddenly breaking apart and the antique glass frames fracturing like thin ice at the coming of spring. The green colored vortex swirled around the hapless wizard as he remained suspended in the air. It created a rushing wind, knocking down his collected curiosities and magical items that cluttered the confined room. The covering flew from the bed and floated around the perimeter of the walls, getting caught up on the open windows and pulling at them, fluttering with force and making the windows slam open and shut loudly.
The Wizard (Dungeon Core Book 1) Page 1