Vosper's Revenge

by Kristian Alva

  “I plan to defend me lady, dark one,” said Thorin, stepping closer.

  “Thorin, don’t!” Sela warned. “Stay back; this creature can’t be harmed with normal weapons. Let me handle this.”

  Thorin shook his head and stepped closer. “This ain’t a normal ax,” he whispered quietly.

  The necromancer didn’t move. He obviously didn’t consider this little dwarf a threat. Thorin raised his ax and swung, aiming for the necromancer’s stomach.

  The necromancer raised his right hand, casting a simple deflection spell, and was shocked when Thorin’s ax struck his arm. Thorin’s ax glowed bright pink—a mark of enchanted weaponry.

  The stunned necromancer howled in pain, grasping his wrist. The necromancer’s hand hung limply from a ribbon of skin. Thick, black blood flowed from the wound. Anywhere the necromancer’s blood fell, the grass withered and died.

  Sela’s eyes opened wide. Of course! she thought, Thorin’s ax is enchanted, just like his clan amulet. She reminded herself not to underestimate him again.

  Thorin hopped back, easily avoiding a fireball thrown by the enraged necromancer. Uldreiyn howled again, tucking his severed hand into his cloak.

  Sela seized the opportunity and struck. “Landskjalpti!” she said, and the ground opened up, swallowing the necromancer up to his neck. Sela clenched her fist repeatedly. The earth mimicked her movements, packing itself tighter and tighter around the necromancer’s body. Uldreiyn screamed again, even louder. The awful sound reverberated through the forest. The necromancer thrashed against the packed dirt, trying to free himself with his uninjured hand.

  “Let’s get out of here!” said Sela, and they ran in the opposite direction.

  “Mistress Sela, I can hear horses in the distance,” said Thorin. “The emperor’s men are just minutes away.”

  A short distance away, the trail dropped off into a shallow ravine. Sela pointed. “Let’s get in here—it’s large enough to fit all of us, and then Islar can cast his spell while I figure out how to get us out of here.” They skidded down the hill and crouched into the ravine. From the roadside, they were concealed from sight. “Islar, do you know any protection spells?” said Sela.

  Islar nodded. “Yes, quite a few. I know the spell for an elvish protection circle. It’s very powerful, but it drains a lot of my energy.”

  “You learned elvish spells?” said Sela.

  “Only a few. They’re part of our regular training in Morholt,” said Islar. “All the master spellcasters learn them.”

  Sela made a mental note to ask Islar more about the elvish spells later. Right now, they just needed to get out of sight. “Now, Islar: cast the spell,” said Sela.

  The young spellcaster raised his hands and closed his eyes. “Grifla-nei-la-rei,” he said, and the air shimmered around them. “Okay, it’s done,” said Islar. “We’re safe for the time being. This spell blocks sound, smell, and sight.”

  “Impressive,” said Sela. “How long can you maintain it?”

  “Ten minutes… maybe fifteen if I’m lucky,” he said. Islar’s face started to perspire, and he closed his eyes to concentrate.

  “That will have to do,” said Sela. “Thorin, can you estimate how many there were, based on the sounds of the horses?”

  “More than a dozen,” said Thorin, “but fewer than twenty. I can still ‘ear ‘em in the distance. They’re comin’ this way. I’m sure everybody heard that bloody necro’s scream.”

  “I want you and Islar to stay here, out of sight. Brinsop and I are going to try and ambush those soldiers.”

  “Nay, I should come with ye. What if the other necromancer is with ‘em? Ye shouldn’t face that many soldiers alone.”

  “If the other necromancer is coming, I might have to fight them both. You got lucky with that first one, but he won’t fall for the same trick twice. It will take him some time to remove himself from that constriction spell—necromancers aren’t very good at countering passive attacks.”

  “Can’t we just fly out of here?” said Thorin.

  “It’s too dangerous to leave either of you here alone, and Brinsop can’t carry all three of us.”

  Sela, I can hear them, said Brinsop. They’re seconds away.

  “Islar, try to maintain the spell as long as you can.” Sela mounted Brinsop’s back and took flight, rising above the trees. She saw the soldiers immediately, just a short distance away.

  “There they are,” she pointed. There were eighteen men, all on horseback. The other necromancer, Uevareth, floated silently behind the horses. Brinsop swooped down and landed behind the group, opening her mouth to shoot a river of flame toward the startled soldiers.

  “Look out! Look out!”

  “It’s the dragon rider!” they screamed. Four of the men collapsed immediately, cooked by dragon fire inside their armor. The rest of the men scattered, running into the safety of the trees. The necromancer simply moved aside, unharmed by the dragon’s fiery breath.

  Sela jumped from Brinsop’s back and faced the necromancer. “So… there really are two of you,” said Sela. “I left the other one stuffed underground without a hand.”

  “I ssssaw what you did to my brother… impressive bit of magic. But still a futile exercise. He will recover shortly, and I won’t… make the same misssstakes.”

  Sela and the necromancer circled each other.

  Uevareth attacked first. “Hilfaquna!” said the necromancer, striking with a sleep-inducing spell. Sela felt soft tendrils circling her body and grew dizzy. Brinsop watched the exchange and growled, Sela! Stay alert!

  Sela shook her head and strengthened her wards. She felt the necromancer’s spell weaken, and then retreat.

  “Is that the best you can do?” she taunted. The necromancer hissed. They exchanged fireballs for a few minutes, neither doing any real damage except to the trees around them, which started to burn.

  Islar and Thorin peeked over the gulley and watched the battle from a distance. Moments later, Islar shivered, feeling a cold rush of air.

  “Thorin! I feel something,” said Islar. “I think it’s the other—”

  He didn’t have the chance to finish. Uldreiyn yanked Islar up by his collar, shaking him violently in the air. Islar screamed, staring into the black eyes of the furious necromancer, who was still covered in dirt from Sela’s constriction spell. His wrist, now a bloody stump, was tied with a ribbon of cloth.

  The injured necromancer flung Islar violently against a nearly tree. There was a loud crack when his skull hit the trunk. Islar slumped to the ground, unconscious. Uldreiyn then turned his attention to Thorin, who scrambled out of the gulley and drew his ax.

  “I’m ready for ye,” said Thorin, hopping back and forth on his toes.

  “Ssssso, old dwarf…” hissed Uldreiyn. “You bested me once… but you can be sure…. it won’t happen again.”

  The necromancer struck, hitting Thorin with a bolt of electricity. Thorin’s ax deflected the bolt, but the recoil knocked the dwarf on his back. The necromancer struck again and again, and each time Thorin deflected the blow, but his arms began to weaken. After a few minutes, he was gasping for breath. The necromancer was just too powerful.

  Eventually, the undead spellcaster stood inches away from Thorin, whose face was streaked with sweat. Nearby, Islar raised his head and groaned, but did not have the strength to rise.

  Uldreiyn kicked Thorin’s enchanted ax, launching the weapon into the gulley. Then he reached down with his good hand and yanked Thorin’s protective amulet off his chest. “I’ll take this little bauble… as a ssssouvenir…”

  Thorin gasped, touching his chest. The amulet had protective powers, and now he was defenseless.

  “You’ve been a ssssurprisingly worthy… adversary, dwarf,” said the necromancer as he struck Thorin for the final time.

  Islar regained consciousness just in time to see the necromancer’s hand rise for the final blow. “No!” cried Islar, as he raised a shield to protect Thorin. But it was
too late. A red spike entered Thorin’s chest, and the dwarf shuddered and collapsed.

  “Vaxa-vina!” said Islar, and a cluster of roots rose from the ground, wrapping Uldreiyn in a net of tightening vines. The injured necromancer struggled against the net; Islar knew he had only seconds to act.

  Islar ran to Thorin, dragging the unconscious dwarf away from the gulley and toward Sela. “Help! Help!” he cried. “Sela! I need your help!”

  In the distance, Sela heard Islar’s desperate cries and sent her dragon to help. “Brinsop! Pick up Islar and Thorin and get them out of here—fly them anywhere—just away from here!”

  Done, said Brinsop, who was limping from her injuries. The dragon was bleeding from a cut on her right wing, where a soldier’s broadsword had sliced through the muscle. Before taking off, Brinsop breathed a final stream of fire, and the soldiers fell back.

  Brinsop flew over to Islar and scooped up Thorin and the frantic mage. Brinsop went only a short distance, landing by a shallow stream. She laid Thorin and Islar on the ground. Thorin did not stir. Islar shook Thorin’s shoulder, and then gently tapped his face. “He’s not moving!”

  Sela, still defending herself against the necromancer, said a silent prayer. In the distance, she could hear Islar’s desperate cries for help. Sweet Baghra, grant me the strength to fight this demon. She ducked, avoiding another fireball, and then struck the necromancer with a paralyzing spell. The necromancer hissed and fell to its knees. She knew the effect was only temporary. She took off running in Brinsop’s direction, using the dragon stone to help find her location.

  Thorin groaned. “Sela…me lady…”

  “It’s not Sela, it’s me. Wake up, Thorin,” said Islar.

  “I’m here! I’m here!” said Sela, rushing to Thorin’s side. She slid to her knees and ripped open Thorin’s tunic. She gasped—it was worse than she imagined. Thorin’s chest was torn open, and blood oozed from a deep puncture.

  “Sela… save yourself, and the boy,” said Thorin weakly. “I will not survive this wound… we both know it.”

  “Don’t talk like that,” said Sela. “Let me try and heal you.”

  Thorin shook his head. “Nay, me lady… you can’t help me. It’s dark behind me eyes. Death is near, and Darthnell awaits me.”

  Sela’s eyes filled with tears. “You’re a true hero, Thorin. I’ll make sure everyone knows about your bravery.”

  “Aye. Maybe they’ll write a saga about me,” he said, jokingly. Even facing death, he maintained his joyful spirit.

  Thorin stared longingly into Sela’s eyes. She clasped his hand tightly. She knew that there was nothing she could do.

  “Me lady… it was an honor servin’ with you,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. He shut his eyes.

  Tears flowed down her cheeks as Sela leaned down and gently kissed his lips.

  Thorin’s eyes fluttered open again. “No kiss was ever so sweet, me lady,” he said, smiling faintly. Using the last of his strength, Thorin reached up and touched her cheek. “So lovely…” he whispered, then his hand fell to his side, and he closed his eyes for the last time.

  Thorin was gone.

  The Elder Willow

  Elias and Nydeired arrived at the Elder Willow after sundown. Both were exhausted; they had flown across the Elburgian Mountains and Darkmouth Forest without rest. Despite Nydeired’s accelerated speed, it still took them longer than expected.

  When they reached the Elder Willow, they found it brightly lit—radiant crystals had been placed among the trees. In addition, the air was filled with thousands of glowing fireflies.

  Nydeired landed carefully. Tallin had cautioned them about the tree sprites, but his warning was unnecessary. The sprites kept their distance, because Chua was waiting for them when they landed.

  Chua was lying against Starclaw, his crippled body covered by a brightly patterned quilt. Their damaged eyes were wrapped with strips of cloth. He raised his hands in greeting. “Welcome, my son. We have been expecting you.”

  Elias felt a lump rise in his throat. He coughed and took a few moments to compose himself. His voice was surprisingly calm when he responded, “Thank you.”

  Bowls of nuts, berries, and mushrooms were laid out for Elias and Nydeired. “Are either of you hungry? Please help yourselves to our humble food.”

  Elias shook his head, and then remembered that Chua and Starclaw were both blind. “No… no, thank you.”

  Elias looked up, awed at the size of the Elder Willow. The tree was enormous; the trunk was easily the size of a small house. Then he noticed the little winged creatures within the leaves.

  “Are those the tree sprites?” he asked. “Tallin warned me about them.”

  “You needn’t worry about them while I’m present. They won’t harm you—they’re merely curious.”

  As if on cue, one of the tree sprites fluttered down to Elias and landed on his shoulder. It was a tiny female. Her hair was white and tangled, matted with dirt and pieces of grass. She wore a ragged square of cloth as a dress. The sprite leaned in close, sniffing Elias’ neck. Then she reached out and poked the tip of his nose with her tiny foot. Elias laughed, which startled the little creature. The sprite flew away, landing on a nearby branch, where she continued to stare.

  “So, my son,” said Chua. “Why have you come here?”

  “I wanted to meet you. Plus, it was time to return your dragon stone. I’ve had it long enough,” he said. “Nydeired wanted to meet his mother, too.”

  Starclaw rose up, sniffing the air delicately for the scent of her hatchling. Nydeired crawled over to her, dragging himself on his belly. Although he was more than twice as large as his mother, Nydeired lowered his head to the ground so that his body was prostrate before the older dragon. Nydeired stopped short of actually touching Starclaw. He remained facedown, waiting for Starclaw to address him first.

  Instead of speaking, Starclaw reached out with her single good wing and placed it around Nydeired’s enormous neck. Nydeired purred in response, and his rasping voice blended with his mother’s to create a warm sound that echoed softly throughout the clearing.

  “You were expecting us,” said Elias.

  “Yes. We have both been waiting for this day. Nydeired is Starclaw’s only living hatchling, and you are my only son. I’ve known for a long time that you were coming.”

  “Tallin told me you’re the oracle of the east. Is that true?”

  “Your friend is correct. The gods have blessed me with the gift of prophecy. The visions began when I was a young man, shortly after I went through my changing time.”

  “Sometimes I have visions, too. Dreams, mostly. I’ll see events that are going to happen, or have happened, even though I’m not there. It’s difficult for me to tell sometimes what’s real and what’s a dream.”

  Chua nodded slowly. “You may have inherited the gift from me, or perhaps from your mother, Ionela.”

  “She’s dead, you know,” said Elias. “Sisren killed her in the desert.”

  “I know, son,” said Chua quietly. “The truth is, your mother died almost twenty years ago, right after you were born. Once she chose to become a necromancer, she lost her soul to darkness.”

  “Can you tell me anything about her, before she became evil?”

  “Yes,” said Chua. “Your mother was clever, beautiful, and extraordinarily powerful. She became a Master Spellcaster at a very young age. She was a teacher at Aonach Tower when we met and fell in love. I was already joined with Starclaw at the time, and Ionela was a popular instructor at the school. She was never matched with a dragon, but she spoke fluent dragon tongue. It’s a rare gift, even among powerful mageborns. We were married just before the Dragon Wars broke out.”

  “What happened after that?” asked Elias.

  “Aonach Tower was captured by empire troops. The spellcasters surrendered peacefully. It was still early, and no one understood the depth of Vosper’s madness. Months passed, and all of us were transported to Morholt as pri
soners of the emperor. Even then, no one was too alarmed. At that point, Vosper was still treating us well.

  “When did you discover Vosper’s plans?”

  “During my incarceration, I experienced several visions, and they became more violent as time went on. I knew what was going to happen. The gravity of the situation became clear to me, but none of the others accepted the truth. It wasn’t long before Vosper started killing spellcasters, dragons, dwarves, and anyone else that refused fealty to him.”

  “Why didn’t anyone believe you?” asked Elias.

  “People believe what they want to believe. No one wants to hear bad news, and my news wasn’t just bad—it was horrific. Everyone just hoped that things would improve. But they didn’t. In fact, things got worse. Vosper attacked Mount Velik, and the war escalated. Vosper destroyed all the dwarf cities above ground, and thousands of people were killed. The empire was eventually driven back, but the dwarves were forced into the mountain. Their kingdom never fully recovered.”

  “What about the prisoners? What did Vosper do with you?”

  “Nothing, at first. But then he started killing us off… one by one. Any survivors swore fealty to the emperor. They had no choice. It was either obedience, or death. I refused, so Vosper took away my dragon stone and locked me in his dungeons. But he didn’t kill me—because he had special plans for your mother. Vosper wanted another necromancer—he already had two: Uldreiyn and Uevareth who were twin brothers. But Vosper wanted a more powerful necromancer, and he chose Ionela. He could manipulate her because she was pregnant, and also because of me. Vosper promised to let us all live if she took the Necromancer’s Oath.”

  “Couldn’t she see what Vosper was doing?”

  “She was headstrong and refused to listen to my warnings. After a while, she stopped talking to me altogether. In the end, it didn’t matter. Your mother believed the emperor, because she desperately wanted to save us both. Do you know what happened next?”

  “Yes,” said Elias. “Vosper tortured you and Starclaw as soon as I was born. Then he sent us all to die on the Orvasse River.”