The Wizard's Council

by Cody J. Sherer

  “I haven’t a clue what you are referring to. Last time I was here, this city loved us.” Septimus stood and took several steps back so that the rest of the inn couldn’t see him.

  “It has been ten years since we pledged our allegiance to the Wielders. Your kind has already done enough for us. We don’t need you anymore.” She followed him into the shadows.

  “Why would you turn on us? We’ve looked out for you for a long time, we deserve better.”

  “You deserve nothing!”

  “I deserve an explanation at the very least,” Septimus’ voice softened as he spoke.

  “Your great protector treated us like animals. When he felt like it, he would take our things. If we protested, he would have one of us killed. This went on for years and years with no other Warlocks showing up to stop him. One day two Warlocks showed up and joined him in his barbaric behavior. That was the day we turned on him. We killed his two accomplices, but we were unable to deal him the finishing blow,” Tears welled up in her eyes as she recounted the story.

  “Who did this? I will have his head!” Septimus’ eyes began to light up as if there was a fire behind them.

  “Malcorn, right hand of the high-and-mighty Septimus,” She put extra emphasis on Septimus’ name as if it were a dagger aimed at his heart.

  “Malcorn was nothing more than a worm. I released him from my apprenticeship after three months. We assumed that he disappeared off somewhere. You said that you were unable to deal him the final blow, where is he now?”

  “He used his power to shut himself off inside the tower in the center of town. Most of the time, we are able to stop any spells that get through, but not always. It is a burden that we bear alone. The Warlocks have done enough harm as it is. I must ask you to leave.”

  “You couldn’t make me leave if you wanted to and you know it. I will take care of Malcorn, and then we will talk about Alamor.” Small tongues of flame leaped out of the edges of Septimus’ eyes.

  “There is no stopping you, is there?” She asked.

  “Not this time. The Warlocks may each live by their own set of rules, but part of the essence of being a Warlock is taking care of one’s own. Malcorn crushed us at our essence. Reputation is everything, my lady. Remember that.” Septimus bowed and then spun toward the door before she could even respond.

  “Talia, that is my name,” She called after him as he opened the door and disappeared through it.

  The cold night air burned Septimus throat as he breathed in deeply. Malcorn had been his first apprentice. The fool wishes to play with fire, Septimus thought as he made his way toward the tower. Both of his fists were engulfed in flames, and the fire was spreading from his hands to the rest of his body. It felt as though the fire was spreading as his hate welled up within him. Malcorn had always been foolish, but he was one of the most powerful magic users that Septimus had ever met. He took in a deep breath as he saw the tower rising up above him. The two Wielders that were standing guard at the door didn’t even try to stop Septimus as he approached the main door of the tower. He shook his head as he noticed the spell wards that Malcorn had placed on the doors. Typical Malcorn, he thought as he reached his hand out to open the door.

  “I’m afraid I can’t let you do that,” An elderly gentleman with a grey beard said, placing a hand on Septimus’ shoulder.

  “I’ve already spoken with Talia, she knows that I am getting Malcorn off your hands,” Septimus replied as the man moved between him and the door.

  “I’m afraid that Talia and I aren’t seeing eye to eye at the moment. You would best to turn back.” The man’s leathered face looked much older than he seemed.

  “You seem to enjoy invoking fear. I don’t like people who try to frighten others. Stand aside and I won’t harm you.”

  The man chuckled and looked at the two guards. They both shrugged and stood their ground. This man can’t surely be serious, Septimus thought as he took a step forward. The man thrust his hand toward Septimus, but the Warlock was much too fast. He caught the man’s wrist and thrust his other hand into the man’s chest. The elderly Wielder was thrown back into the doors, causing them both to crash open, and the spell ward to release a static shock. Septimus took several steps forward before lifting the man off the ground and shoving him further into the tower. He was unsure of the man’s connection with Malcorn, but he wasn’t about to let an ally of Malcorn slip through his fingertips. The older mage tried to wriggle free several times, but was met with a burst of fire from Septimus each time. Septimus recognized the laugh almost immediately as he entered the next room.

  “I see you’ve finally caught on to my schemes, Septimus. It appears you’ve also brought along a stool pigeon.” Malcorn was taller and thinner than Septimus remembered.

  “This is between you and me, Malcorn. You are the failed apprentice that didn’t know any better, now it is time for the master to clean up the mess you have caused.” Septimus shoved the older mage aside and faced Malcorn.

  “No! It is you who will be shown the true power of magic. I’m ten times more powerful than when we last met. This fool will only help me reach even higher places.” Malcorn darted across the room with speed that Septimus could scarcely believe.

  “His teachings are weak at best. The Wielders taught themselves magic. You have nothing to learn from him.”

  Septimus moved to intercept his old apprentice, but Malcorn was too fast. He watched in horror as Malcorn’s hands gripped the older mage’s head. The life appeared to be seeping out of the Wielder. Septimus lunged forward and placed his hand on Malcorn’s chest. His apprentice gave him a surprised look before getting catapulted backward. The attack had burned through the apprentice’s robe and left a hand shaped burn mark on the skin of his chest. He smiled as he looked from the burn up to Septimus. His eyes closed, and the burn began to slowly disappear. A somewhat worried Septimus took advantage of his enemy’s momentary vulnerability. He shot an icicle at his former apprentice and then followed it with a bolt of lightning. The icicle slammed into Malcorn’s shoulder, digging in a few inches and taking him by surprise. It was followed closely by the lightning bolt, which caused the former apprentice to stagger back several feet.

  As Malcorn was being hit by each spell, Septimus was preparing a third attack. He thrust his hands forward, and a shockwave exploded out toward the younger magician. As the shockwave was traveling outward, Septimus created a jagged rock wall behind his former apprentice. The shockwave knocked Malcorn backward into the wall. He gasped for a breath as the more experienced magician sent a fireball at him. Septimus gritted his teeth as he strode toward his opponent. It didn’t have to come to this, he thought as he readied a small black sphere in his right hand. Malcorn’s eyes went wide when he saw the sphere in Septimus’ hand. He tried to get words to come out, but it was futile. The former master sighed deeply as his lifted his right hand and pressed it against the other’s chest. Malcorn let out a gurgling sound as the sphere absorbed into his chest. His body went limp as soon as the entire sphere was gone.

  “What in the Maker’s name have you done to him?” The elderly mage asked.

  “It had to be done, Wielder. Don’t question our ways,” Septimus did not even glance at the man as he walked out of the tower.

  *

  Sev nocked an arrow and then peered out of the underbrush. There was a large clearing in the forest just ahead. It was swarming with orcs. By the look of it, they were the main portion of a small orcish assault force. Sev couldn’t tell what their goal was, but their numbers were smaller than the usual orcish army. Must be a reserve force or some kind of special task force, Sev thought as he spied on the army. He turned back to his group. They had twenty-five Rangers and a small force of one hundred elvish warriors whom they had recruited from a nearby stronghold. The orcs numbered somewhere in the five hundred to one-thousand range, making a frontal assault impossible. Even an ambush on their flank would be difficult to pull off. Sev eased the arrow off his bow and placed i
t back in the quiver. He turned to the others and motioned for them to gather around him. As they got close, he held his right index finger up to his lips and then pointed toward the orc camp.

  “We are severely outnumbered, without a plan we’ll never be able to defeat them,” Sev whispered.

  “Don’t worry about volume, I know a spell.” Ector twirled his staff in the air.

  “My Rangers can provide some sort of distraction, but even with that our one hundred elves can’t handle the host of orcs.” Sev nodded in thanks to Ector.

  “They are sleeping, why can we not take them by surprise?” Solin asked.

  “Too many sentries. We can try to take out the sentries and then charge in, but I didn’t want to make that choice without consulting everyone else,” Sev shrugged his shoulders slightly as he spoke.

  “What would happen if we failed to stealthily take out those sentries?” Caitlyn asked, much to Sev’s surprise.

  “We’d have between five hundred and one-thousand angry orcs swarming down upon us. It’d be chaos at first, but they’ve got enough orcs to find us real quick,” Sev answered.

  “Is it worth the risk?” Ector asked.

  “I would say so, my Rangers are well trained and it presents our best bet at taking them by surprise.”

  The others nodded in agreement and took up positions so that they could see if the Rangers would be successful or not. Sev gathered his men and explained the plan. He waited at the edge of the trees while the rest of his men got into position. The half-elf crept forward with his knives raised up above and in front of his head. His hands dropped down and outward, driving the knives into the necks of the two goblin sentries standing in front of him. They both grabbed at their necks as they crumpled to the floor. Sev whipped his knives around and sliced off the top of the torch that was in between the two orcs, putting it out and causing it to fall to the floor. He looked up to see all the other torches around the camp going out. A grimace came across his face when he noticed the large fire in the center of the camp. Putting it out would be much more difficult than putting out the torches. As he was signaling to his men, he noticed Ector step out of the trees and wave his wand around in the air. A cold wind blew through the camp, putting out the large fire and chilling the Rangers to the bone.

  The head Ranger waited, with bow in hand, for any sign of orcs lighting torches to replace those that had been snuffed. Several of his Rangers slowly made their way closer to the center of camp as the rest readied their bows and joined Sev in looking for any sign of movement from the orcs. The half-elf took in a deep breath as the first of his men began cutting the rope that tied down one of outer tents. He took a few steps closer as the tent collapsed. Within seconds, five more tents collapsed just as the first one had. Sev moved in toward the tents, firing an arrow at the first orc to exit a tent. He gave the signal to the others before drawing another arrow and taking down another orc. Solin, Ector, and Caitlyn led the elvish forces in a charge at the mass of confused orcs that were pouring out of the tents. It took several minutes for the orcs to realize what was happening and mount a counterattack. Though slightly outnumbered, the elves did not falter. They pushed back against the orcish surge and defeated the foul creatures handily.

  Sev began to inspect the injured as his Rangers mopped up the remainder of the fleeing orc army. The ambush had been successful, but not without a price. Five of his Rangers had been slain along with thirty of the elven warriors. He shuddered at the thought of how many they would have lost had they not been able to take out the sentries. The amount of losses sustained, while not ideal, was acceptable for the given situation. Sev knew that to deal with the whole of the orcish problem they would have to alter their tactics. As he walked through the battlefield looking for the others, he paused to examine a small group of disfigured orcs. The level of mutilation was beyond that of what could have occurred in the battle. He knelt down and tore open one of their leather jerkins. A symbol had been burned into the orc’s chest.

  “What is it?” Caitlyn asked, pointing to the symbol.

  “A bird of some kind, possibly a Krator,” Sev answered as he stood up.

  “What’s a Krator?” She asked.

  “It is similar to a crow, yet much more dangerous. Their beaks are razor sharp. Some even claim to have seen Krator with a wingspan of up to seven feet. Rumor has it that they are some kind of creation of pure evil, but Solin would know more about that than I.”

  “Perhaps not pure evil, but evil certainly has had some hand in their creation, if you can even call it that. You see, the Krator are indeed crows, hawks, eagles, vultures, and other such bird or they were at one point in time. Tainted magic was used to spread a sort of disease into the birds, making them stronger in many ways, but also twisting their minds. It is not like the witchcraft and so-called black magic that many people talk about. The true witches and evil mages know tainted magic well. It is not like the alchemy and herbology of the practitioners who use such things to heal or poison. No, it is beyond that. Something the average witch or medicine man wouldn’t dare touch. Even the Necromancers shy away from it for fear of becoming tainted themselves,” Solin spoke as though it were a chore.

  “If the Necromancers and the others are not using that evil magic, why is the Holy Order bent on destroying them?” Sev asked.

  “It is complicated, my friend. We have not time to discuss it at length, but I will tell you that even magic that is not tainted can be evil.”

  “Another time then. For now, we must decide on a course of action. Our current army is too small to effectively tackle the larger orcish armies, and we cannot afford to wait until nightfall when attacking every enemy we come across. We have a few options to choose from. Ector can raise an army while I wage a guerrilla war, we can all raise an army to strike at the heart of orc territory, or we can raise an army to protect the dwarves.” Sev glanced at the three gathered with him.

  “I say we take the fight to our enemy, there is no sense in waiting for them to strike again,” Ector said.

  “You all know that I would rather wage a guerrilla war than command an army.” Sev shrugged as if it were wrong of him to feel that way.

  “The dwarves may well need our assistance, we are better off establishing allies than destroying our enemies.” Solin raised his war hammer onto his shoulder.

  “That leaves the decision up to you,” Sev said as he turned to Caitlyn.

  “I do not know much about the tactics of war, but if the elves were under attack I would hope that the dwarves would come to our aid with as much haste as they could muster,” She said, leaning back from the gathering.

  “Well said, my lady, it seems we chose the right person to break the tie,” Sev stepped forward and placed a hand on her shoulder.

  “It is settled then, we make for Oakglen first thing in the morning,” Ector said as he turned to face the army.

  *

  Grand Crusader Gareth raised his shield to catch the blow from the Cursed Warrior. He thrust the shield forward, taking the Cursed One in the chin. The opponent staggered backward, and Gareth whipped his chained mace around and hit his adversary in the side of the head. He turned his attention to the next foe as the other collapsed to the ground. His were men fighting an uphill battle and the Grand Cleric was fairing no better. The Cursed One’s army was significantly larger than any of them had expected. Even with the majority of their forces on the field of battle, the Holy Order was grossly outnumbered. Gareth watched as the Cursed Warriors surrounded Bartholomew. The Grand Cleric was swinging his flail around with reckless abandon. It was doing him little good, but Gareth could do nothing to assist his friend. Gareth continued to fend off the enemy as his troops slowly died out. He had fought his way to the edge of the fray and was able to get himself out of the battle and into the open field.

  Grand Cleric Bartholomew slammed his flail against the ground, sending a shockwave outward, knocking down a large number of Cursed Ones. Another group of warriors rushed
forward to attack Bartholomew. He thrust his hands forward, shooting a jet of fire out toward the warriors that were almost within range. They fought through the fire and continued to attack the Grand Cleric. Bartholomew shot a lightning bolt at several of the opponents before they were able to cut him down. Gareth kicked down a door and spun around to fight any Cursed Warriors that had followed him. He swung his chained mace as one of the Cursed Ones tried to follow him through the door. The massive spiked ball at the end of Gareth’s chained mace slammed into the opponent and sent him flying back through the doorway. As another Cursed Warrior entered the door, Gareth shoved his shield up against the man. Two more attackers shoved their way past the other man and attacked the Grand Crusader. His armor absorbed the brunt of the blows, but the attacks knocked him backward. Several more Cursed Ones entered the house and surround the Grand Crusader. He shoved a few back with his shield and killed another with his chained mace.

  Gareth killed two more adversaries with his mace and shoved another back with his shield. More Cursed Warriors joined the fray, nearly overpowering the Grand Crusader. He fought back with all his strength, but there were too many enemies. They knocked his mace out of his hands, and he was forced onto his knee with only his shield and armor to protect him. A few more blows hit home, and Gareth was too weak to hold the shield. His head dropped down to his chest as the Cursed Ones continued to kick him. Darkness began to close in around him as he slumped to the floor. A strange voice sounded in the distance, but he couldn’t make out what it was saying. The sound got further and further away as the darkness completely surrounded him.

  *

  Emily pulled her cloak in as it tried to flap in the cold night wind. Paul sat on his horse, several feet from Emily. He seemed unaffected by the chill in the air. She moved her horse a bit closer to his and was about to say something when she noticed a small light in the distance. It danced along the countryside, stopping every now and again before moving around again. Paul looked over at Emily with a raised eyebrow. She pointed toward the light without a word. He nodded and grabbed the reins of his horse. Before Emily could say anything, Paul was already charging forward and calling for the others to follow. The small band of fifty Gloomvale soldiers spurred their mounts onward after Paul. Emily paused for a minute before grabbing her reins and following the group. She hesitated to catch up to the others, the horrors of her last encounter with pirates fresh in her mind. Paul always seemed sure of himself. A trait that Emily knew she lacked on the battlefield. She couldn’t bring herself to charge headlong at an unknown enemy.