The Last Great Wizard of Yden

by S. G. Rogers

  “The strain of war, perhaps,” Aeltin said with a shrug. “Shall I send the Imps to Ylan?”

  “At once.”

  “There are rumors—” Aeltin began, before he stopped himself.

  “Of what are you speaking?”

  “It has been said the wizard Quixoran of the Dragon Clan retreated to an island in Ylan Bay many turns ago,” Aeltin replied.

  “You only saw fit to tell me this now?”

  Aeltin squirmed. “It may be a lie or a half-truth, Warlord. Quixoran may also be dead.”

  “Direct the Imps to search every island in Ylan Bay. They must find Jon Hansen. If Quixoran lives, kill him as well. The fewer wizards on Yden, the better,” Mandral said.

  Aeltin grew pale.

  ****

  Tyrg dragged himself up the spiral staircase toward the central turret in Mandral's castle. With every step, his oily face seemed to blur and fade. Once the minister reached the top of the stairs, the illusion had completely disappeared. Now recognizable as Efysian, the Wolf Clan wizard drew back the sleeve of his robe to reveal his transporter cuff. Raising a wrinkled hand, mottled with age, his ring began to glow. Efysian disappeared with a flash of light and the boom of a distant thunderclap.

  Chapter Twenty

  Dorsit’s Pants

  As Fred transformed into stone, Jon grabbed Brett and pushed her to safety behind a tree. Casey dove for the cover of some nearby bushes. Kira and Jon stood their ground back to back. She had her sword at the ready, and Jon formed a fireball between his hands.

  “Show yourself, Quixoran,” Jon demanded.

  An old man appeared, dressed in tattered beachcomber clothes. His once-athletic frame was still impressive. The thick blond hair covering his head had long since grown white, but his gray eyes were sharp in his suntanned face. He gestured toward the shore. “You children may leave. Your petitions will not be heard. I thought the word had gotten out long ago.”

  As he turned away, a fireball whizzed past his ear. Furious, Jon wasn't even aware he'd thrown it. “We're not going without our friend.”

  “Fred may be rude, but you had no right to turn him into stone,” Casey added.

  Quixoran cocked his head as he stared at each of them. “How did you get onto my island anyway? The sea spell surrounding it should have prevented you.”

  “We didn't come by sea. We came by air,” Brett said.

  “Let Fred go or I'll have my dragons burn down your garden,” Jon threatened.

  “Dragons? They don't exist on this continent. Not anymore.” His laughter was tinged with bitterness. “Be gone and stop taunting an old man.”

  Jon put two fingers in his mouth and whistled a loud, piercing blast. A few moments later, Adam and Even whooshed overhead. Adam sent out a warning blast of fire, which Jon thought was a nice touch. The downdraft whipped Quixoran's hair back, and when he lifted his face to drink in the sight of the dragons, his expression was unreadable. From the pale color underneath his tan, the old wizard appeared to be shaken.

  “Now reverse your spell,” Jon said.

  Kira lowered her blade until it pointed directly at Quixoran. Seemingly oblivious to the danger, the man brushed the blade aside and walked over to give Jon a big bear hug. As he held him out to have a better look, excitement lit his face. “You must be Jon.”

  Jon was bewildered. “How do you know my name?”

  “I know all about you, of course.” Quixoran beamed. “I'm your grandfather.”

  ****

  Deep within Wolf Mountain, Lialia watched Efysian hobble past. His skin was drawn and ashen and his eyes had sunk within their sockets. Wringing her hands, she followed him into his cavern and helped him toward the center. “You’re becoming tired more quickly these days, Efysian,” she said.

  The wizard was too weak to respond. When the column of light was within his reach, he fell forward. He lay there, gasping, as he tried to gather the strength to move his arm. Lialia took his hand and placed it onto the light. Fear clutched her heart as Efysian's breath rattled in his throat. Several long, excruciating moments passed before the effects of old age began to reverse. The color returned to his face and hair, and vitality flowed through his body. Lialia let out a sigh of relief when he sat up.

  “You’re pushing yourself too hard,” she scolded. “You cannot wait so long to renew.”

  He put his arm around her shoulders. “When I have Jon Hansen of the Dragon Clan under my power, we can finally be together. I know it may seem as if I’ve been avoiding you, Lialia, but I’ve had to conserve my strength.”

  Unconvinced, she pouted, but Efysian began to stroke her silken hair. “I need you, Lialia, now more than ever,” he purred. “I can count on your help, can't I?”

  Blind to the cold and calculating expression on his face, Lialia threw herself into Efysian's arms. “Of course you can, Efysian. I live to serve you.”

  “Good. Call on your sisters, the sea nymphs. I have an island to invade.”

  ****

  Quixoran led his new guests through the amazing garden where the hedges seemed to dance in a marvel of symmetry. Abundant flowerbeds bloomed in a riot of color. Many of the flowers hummed musical notes when caressed by the breeze. They passed other works of art, too—wood carvings of animals, and fantastic clay sculptures of nymphs, elves, and fairies. Jon paused to admire a beautiful stone sculpture of a dragon made of the same heat-sensitive rock he'd seen earlier. The dragon was bright electric blue from the heat of the late-afternoon suns. It appeared poised, as if about to leap into flight.

  “This place is truly awesome, Quixoran,” Brett said.

  “My garden is one of the few indulgences I've allowed myself,” Quixoran replied, not quite able to hide his pride. “Although it is a lot of work for one wizard.”

  “I've been to this island before, haven't I?” Jon asked.

  “Oh, yes, Jon, your father used to bring you here when you were a baby. I call it Dragon Isle. The last time you came for a visit was when you were five. After that, I believe your mother had some objections. I didn’t get to meet your sister, Sela, but I never gave up hope we would all be together some day.”

  Quixoran led them through an archway of woven vines, and then they stood at the base of the biggest tree any of them had ever seen. The trunk of the tree was almost as big as a Ferris wheel. Thick green leaves sprouted from the branches, larger than place mats and so shiny they appeared to be coated with wax. The branches themselves were gnarled and even curly in spots. Floating steps spiraled up the trunk and into an enormous tree house.

  “What kind of tree is that?” Casey asked.

  “It’s called a vanyean tree,” Quixoran replied. “This one is perhaps the oldest on Yden.”

  Casey stepped onto the stairs, but several branches dipped down to block his path.

  “Let him pass, Cressidia,” Quixoran said.

  The branches immediately sprang up and out of the way.

  “Who is Cressidia?” Jon asked.

  “A wood sprite,” Quixoran replied. “Wood sprites like to inhabit extremely old trees.”

  Casey, Brett, and Kira followed Quixoran into the tree house, while Jon waited for a newly restored Fred to catch up. He'd been trailing behind, pouting from his recent trauma.

  “I still can't feel my toes,” he moaned.

  ****

  Quixoran’s residence was expansive and open, almost as large as a basketball court. The smooth, light-colored wood flooring felt slightly springy. Fresh, warm, tropical air circulated through the many windows open to the surrounding forest. Jon gaped at the spectacular view of the volcano in the distance.

  His grandfather had set up an art studio in the farthest corner of the tree house, where a coarsely woven mat covered a work in progress. Fred pulled the covering off to reveal a half-finished stone carving, a bust of a handsome, older woman.

  “Fred! You should ask permission first,” Jon whispered.

  Quixoran’s head turned as he overheard. �
�It's fine, Jon. Meet your grandmother, Elina.”

  As he gazed on her face, Jon could tell his grandmother must have once been quite stunning in her youth.

  “You didn't turn her to stone, did you?” Fred asked, with a grimace.

  Quixoran laughed. “No, of course not. Elina passed away over ten turns ago. I've been working on this for the past few months.”

  “Those people out there in your garden...are they real?” Brett asked.

  Quixoran's eyes crinkled at the edges. “I used the originals as models and eventually let the trespassers leave. I transported them to the mainland myself.”

  “Why turn people to stone?” Casey asked.

  “It's so not right,” Fred said.

  Quixoran shrugged. “It's part of my magic. Not very useful, I admit. Certainly nothing to Greggoran's ability.”

  “Which is?” Jon asked.

  Quixoran appeared not to have heard him. “Did your father send you? How is he? And your mother?”

  “Efysian kidnapped Dad. That’s why I’m here,” Jon replied.

  “Dr. Hansen is in a cavern, imprisoned in a column of light,” Brett said.

  Quixoran collapsed onto a nearby bench, as if someone had hit him. “His mother and I thought he'd always be safe on Yrth.”

  “Efysian is using Dad to keep himself alive. We need your help to rescue him, Grandfather,” Jon said.

  “Efysian was always an ambitious, evil savage,” Quixoran said. “Have the other wizards done nothing to curb him?”

  “There are almost no wizards left from the old clans,” Kira said. “Efysian has drained the most powerful, and many of the others have fled or disappeared.”

  Quixoran put his head in his hands. “I should have known it would come to this. I should have done something to stop him long ago.”

  “Now’s your chance,” Jon said.

  “You can stay here with me, and I will do my best to protect you, but that's all I can do,” Quixoran said.

  “What?” Jon asked, taken aback. “You’re not going to help?”

  “I wish I could, believe me,” he replied. “The black spell holding Greggoran will end only when Efysian dies or chooses to lift it.”

  “Then we must kill Efysian,” Kira said.

  “Many have tried. He will eliminate anyone who gets close enough to be a threat,” Quixoran said.

  “You turn him to stone when he isn't looking, and I'll bust him into dust,” Fred said. He smacked his hand with his fist.

  “Changing his form will not kill Efysian. There is nothing I can do,” Quixoran said.

  “Can't or won't?” Jon said. Ophelia flared in response to his anger. “If you won't fight Efysian, then I will!”

  Quixoran shook his head. “Jon, it would take me many turns to train you. Even then, I'm not sure you would be able to best Efysian.”

  “Then give me a crash course,” Jon pleaded. “Someone's got to do something! I'm not going to sit around waiting for Dad to be drained!”

  “What you seek to do cannot be done,” Quixoran said.

  ****

  When Nurse Patton walked into Dorsit's room, she was startled to find him standing at the window in his hospital gown, admiring the early-morning view outside. She suppressed a smile at the fact that his gown was open in the back, and he wore nothing underneath.

  “Why, Mr. Dorsit, you're awake and looking quite chipper,” she said.

  “Yes, I seem to be catching my second wind,” he replied.

  “Let's get you back to bed and I'll call your doctor right away. He’s going to want to examine you.”

  “I’m quite hungry,” Dorsit said. “Might I have something to eat?”

  “I'll order a tray.”

  Nurse Patton helped Dorsit to bed and bustled out to the nurse's station to call the physician on duty. Her next call was to Gretchen Hansen. She’d promised to call her when Mr. Dorsit's condition changed.

  ****

  Mrs. Hansen and Chaz spent the night pacing and drinking coffee. Because of his warnings to her about Yden, Mrs. Hansen had been reluctant to call her brother. But after Jon had transported away with his friends, she couldn't stand the pressure of waiting alone. Chaz had come over and had even brewed the first pot of coffee. They went through two pots before they dozed off at the kitchen table. Both of them jolted awake when the phone rang.

  “I’m going to the hospital,” Mrs. Hansen told Chaz after she hung up. “Dorsit is out of his coma, and I have to talk to him.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “But—”

  “I’ll fix breakfast for Sela while you get her ready for school,” Chaz insisted. “We’ll drop her off on our way to the hospital.”

  ****

  When Chaz and Mrs. Hansen reached Dorsit's room an hour later, the elderly wizard was propped up in bed, eating his third helping of tapioca pudding. Chaz shut the door.

  “Hello. Marvelous stuff, this,” Dorsit said, savoring his last spoonful. “There's nothing like it where I come from. Are you both doctors, too?”

  “I'm Jon Hansen's mother,” Mrs. Hansen said. “I want you to transport to Yden and bring my son back right now.”

  Dorsit shook his head, perplexed. “That's not possible. I am drained.”

  “How could you encourage my son to embark on a rescue mission when he hasn't got a clue what he's doing?” she demanded. “Do you have any idea what danger he's in?”

  Mrs. Hansen suddenly swayed with exhaustion. Chaz put his arm around her for support.

  “You don’t understand. I sent Jon Hansen to his grandfather. Quixoran won’t let anything happen to him, I'm sure,” Dorsit said.

  “Quixoran is a batty old recluse who couldn't even protect his own son when he was sixteen,” Mrs. Hansen cried. “What makes you think he can help Jon now?”

  Dorsit's bushy white brows knitted together. “Perhaps I was too hasty. I’m sorry.”

  Mrs. Hansen burst into tears and sank into a nearby chair.

  “Being sorry doesn’t help my nephew,” Chaz said. “If you can't do anything, there have to be other wizards here on Earth. Maybe one of them can do something.”

  “There are definitely many others who fled to Yrth, yes, but I would not know where to look.”

  “You can’t give up. I won’t let you.”

  Opening the plastic bag on the bedside table, Chaz poured the Leopard Clan ring and transporter cuff into Dorsit's lap. As he gazed at his wizard’s artifacts, Dorsit sighed. “All I ever wanted was to create beauty and make people happy. Efysian put an end to my dreams.”

  Chaz gave Dorsit his most steely glare. “I'm willing to bet you'd like some payback. Now try.”

  Dorsit stared at the pleading look on Mrs. Hansen’s face for several moments before he reached for his ring. As it slid onto his finger, the leopard's green eyes flared. The wizard threw back the bedcovers and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

  “If you will hand me my pants, kind sir, I would be grateful.”

  ****

  The mood in Warlord Mandral's castle was festive. A lavish banquet was under way in the throne room, attended by the most prominent citizens in the territory. A three-piece band played music in the corner, but there were several other instruments floating alongside. They’d been enchanted to play themselves in perfect harmony. The merriment was in stark contrast to the misery of a handful of prisoners who stood in the center of the hall, lashed to one another with chains.

  Warlord Gnoam, Aeltin, and Rampen Szul were seated on a dais with Mandral. Although a place had been set for Minister Tyrg, he was nowhere to be seen. Mandral rose and signaled the music to cease.

  “I've arranged some entertainment for you, our loyal citizens and esteemed allies,” he said to his guests. “A wine-tasting, as it were.”

  Cygards entered the room with crystal goblets, each filled with a different-colored liquid. The cygards stopped in front of the five prisoners, who seemed more like frightened shopkeepers or teacher
s than hardened criminals. Included among them was the blanket weaver from Mandral Village.

  “Be of good cheer,” Mandral said to the prisoners. “Today is your lucky day, for I have declared your amnesty. Drink a toast to your warlord and my cygards will release you.”

  An appreciative ripple went through the banquet guests, but the prisoners hesitated. In a show of good faith, one of the cygards knelt to unlock their shackles.

  The first prisoner lifted his goblet to his lips. “To Warlord Mandral,” he said before he quaffed the toast.