War Wizard

by King, DB

  “The western and eastern kingdoms working together?” Logan asked. “Now I’ve heard everything.”

  “Never underestimate the power of imminent genocide to put aside minor squabbles over strips of contested territory.”

  He said nothing, eager to hear what was next.

  “The combined armies of the west and east made their final, desperate stand at the Dragoneye Mountains, that massive natural formation that separates the east from the west, the human kingdoms from the elven. If they were to fall there, nothing would stop the Southern Empire from overrunning all of Varsyth.”

  “I assume they won, if you’re standing here to tell me the tale.”

  She nodded. “The combined forces of the east and west, along with the Elven forces of the Empire of the Moon, managed to break the back of the Southern assault. The Battle of Dragoneye was the single largest battle in recorded history, the fighting between the hundreds of thousands lasting weeks.”

  Sadness tugged down at her gorgeous features. “But it was at a terrible cost. The Southern Empire’s armies were broken, yes, but on their way back to their homelands, they raped and pillaged whatever they’d missed during their invasion. Many of the Empire’s troops chose to remain north of Shadespear Pass, and it is their descendants who now roam what was once almost exclusively the lands of humans. The Invasion was bloodshed never before seen, and the armies of the east and west were too ravaged to stop them. It’s estimated that between the invasion and the retreat, over ninety percent of the continent was killed.”

  “Then the Elderwood Rangers, they were just one destroyed society among others.”

  Runa nodded. “Countless cultures were wiped out, their names never spoken again. Along with them, ancient magics vanished into the aether.”

  “But not the Elderwood Rangers.” A small welling of pride formed in Logan, knowing his people had survived through the years—at least in one form.

  “Not the Elderwood Rangers,” she said. “And that’s why you stand before me today, Logan. Come—I need some fresh air.”

  Runa rose from her seat and made her way to the door that led to the outside. She opened it, and Logan’s robe fluttered as warm air rushed into the cool room. She stepped out, and Logan followed her, still in his robe. The golden dunes stretched out into the horizon, the sun still high and bright overhead.

  “And now,” Logan said, his gaze ahead toward the distance. “Where do things stand now?”

  “As I said, the invasion was repelled, but it came at a great cost. Once the Southern Empire had been pushed back, a peace of sorts finally settling, the continent of Varsyth began to take stock of just how ravaged it had been. Between the loss of infrastructure and the massive depletion of population, the humans fell into a deep dark age, no kingdom arising but the occasional jumped-up warlord who managed to briefly hold onto a random, small spot of land. And then there were those enemy troops who chose to stay behind. They were a problem, and have remained so to this day. Some have integrated into society, which is why you might find a half-orc or a half-troll living in a human village.”

  Logan couldn’t help but bristle at that.

  “What of the elves?” he asked.

  “The invasion solidified the elven notion that the realms of humans were none of their concern. Their lands past the Dragoneye Mountains had been untouched, but their isolation caused them to fall into a sort of nihilistic decadence. It wasn’t long before the Empire of the Moon was torn apart by civil wars and succession crises and whatever other things bring down empires. My kingdom, the Tyan Kingdom, is one of many smaller vestiges of the Empire of the Moon. But it’s small and poor, and our king is besieged by threats on all sides, both from within and without. If he dies or some antagonist decides to bring the battle out into the open, the Tyan Kingdom will cease to be, absorbed by the kingdoms that surround it. He needs your help, Logan. The help of an Elderwood Ranger. The help of a War Wizard.”

  Logan’s first instinct was that the petty rivalries of the elves beyond the Dragoneye Mountains were none of his concern. Now that he was back among the living, he needed to set his eye toward rebuilding the Elderwood Rangers.

  But as he gazed out onto the dunes, it settled in his mind that it would be impossible to do so if the Elderwoods themselves had been destroyed. If Runa could take him to this place of power, where an Archspirit may still hold influence, then he had a chance of learning more about what it meant to be a War Wizard. He knew, of course, that War Wizards could mark people with the symbols of Archspirits, but he didn’t know how—or even where—to begin.

  He closed his eyes and pressed his hands to his temples. It all felt like so much. But he had been given a second chance at life. He couldn’t complain or fall under the weight of his responsibilities.

  When he opened his eyes, he was looking out at the dunes.

  “And this desert?” he asked, sweeping his hand toward the dunes.

  “The Middle Desert—that’s what we call it. Just as some peoples were killed, never to return, so was the fate of the Elderwood Forest. Nearly two-thousand years since the invasion and the land has yet to recover. Likely, it never will.”

  “My woods destroyed, used in a failed invasion.” The mere idea, the waste, enraged Logan. He gritted his teeth, his heart thumping harder and harder in his chest. He wanted revenge like he’d never wanted anything before in his life.

  “I wish it were otherwise, but you speak the truth.” She sighed, and Logan could see a weakness to Runa that he hadn’t seen in her before. He could sense that telling the story had sapped her strength.

  “How long until we reach this place of power?”

  “Two days through the desert. And when we’re done, no matter what you find there, we will go to the Crescent Castle where the king resides in Tyan. It will be another two weeks’ journey. Until then, I recommend you regain your strength, and practice your fighting skills. The invasion was pushed back and the orcs soon lost access to their magic for some unknown reason. But the lands of the humans are still plagued by the millenia-old remnants of the invasion. You will likely fight more than once before we reach our destination. And you’ll be expected to fight with everything you have.”

  Logan smiled, the idea of plunging a blade into the guts of an orc enough to lift his spirits. “Simply throw me at the nearest orc, and you’ll see how well I work.”

  Runa’s eyes drifted up and down his body. “You have no idea how much I’m looking forward to it, ranger.”

  Chapter 5: King Corvan of Tyan

  King Corvan Eroth stood on the balcony of the Crescent Castle, heart of the Kingdom of Tyan. His long arms spanned across the curved railing, the material the same luminescent, off-white marble that comprised the hundreds of towering spires of the kingdom city that spread around him.

  His eyes, a deep blue and narrowed like a hunter’s, tracked across his domain. From where he stood on the top floor of the Crescent Castle, he could peer down at the royal gardens, those intricately arranged green spaces in which the flowers and trees of the kingdom had been gathered. But in recent years the garden had been ill-kept, the curling green of the ravenfinger vines pouring out onto the flagstone paths, the branches of the Glade Oaks bare and succumbing to the early stages of moon-blight.

  Corvan sighed as he brought his gaze up from the garden and to the kingdom beyond. Tyan was still beautiful, of that he had no doubts. But that his kingdom, the place he’d called home since he was a boy, was in decline—of that he had no doubts either.

  Corvan recalled the history books he’d spent hours poring over as a child, books in the Great Archives—a building he, as a child, had been barred from, the scowling scribes forced to shoo him away countless times when he would inevitably be caught sneaking tomes down from the shelves to eagerly leaf through in quiet, candle-lit corners.

  It had been the history books that had entranced him the most, books about the glory of the Tyan Kingdom, back when it was the true seat of the Empire a
nd the singular power of the east, an unstoppable civilization that lorded over the thousand houses of elves. He’d read with fascination the exploits of General Tobin Trace, the man who broke the backs of the twelve kingdoms and brought the continent of Varsyth to heel, all for the glory of his King—an elf from which Corvan was descended.

  And the architecture tomes, those thick books filled with colorful pages of diagrams and illustrations of the buildings of the Tyan, elegant towers of swooping curves, gilded with white gold and designed in such a way to both glitter in the sun and glow in the silver light of the moon.

  The pictures at night were the ones he loved the most. Corvan had always believed Tyan looked most beautiful under the full light of the moon. The towers glowed and the deep channels that crisscrossed through the city twinked under the sparkling light. The ravenfinger vines grew in thick clumps and draped over the curves and wrapped around the ornate columns, looking lush and full, their deep green the perfect contrast to the purple night skies above.

  And there was something else Corvan had noticed when poring over the pictures of Tyan in its former glory—people. Hundreds, thousands of elves packed the wide boulevards of the towns in the drawings, merchants and craftsmen and guards, men and women who were poor, wealthy, and everything in between. He lingered over the pictures of the great hippodrome, thousands of spectators packed in to watch the thrilling chariot races.

  It had been strange to Corvan as a boy. The wide boulevards were still there, of course. But he’d always been struck by how desolate they were, the intricate frescos at his feet cracked and grown through with weeds. The hippodrome still stood, to be sure. But it was hardly a place for fun—hundreds of refugees from the wars that gripped the continent lived there, huddled in tents, the fires they made to cook their food visible from his balcony.

  Corvan sighed, still unable to reconcile those pictures he’d seen as a child to the kingdom he ruled, the kingdom he loved. Tyan, the city where he’d grown up, the city he’d been destined to rule over since he was plucked from his mother’s womb, his birth having taken her life, was in decline. And his reign was far from the continent-conquering adventures he’d read about as a boy. Indeed, his rule seemed more of a managed descent, a last-ditch effort to keep the mighty walls of Tyan standing, of holding off the warring kingdoms for one more reign before passing it onto whoever might next take the Crown of Many Moons.

  “My liege?”

  Corvan slowly closed his eyes, then opened them. There was no doubt to whom the voice belonged—Eleoth, his closest attendant.

  It was time for another day to begin. And he wasn’t looking forward to what it held.

  Corvan turned, his robes, emerald green and trimmed with gold, adorned with the wine-like patterns common to the garb of Tyan nobles, sweeping around his boots.

  At the door to his chambers was Eleoth, as he’d assumed. The young elf, his skin milk-white, his eyes piercing blue, his long, flaxen hair tucked behind his pointed ears, stood with an expectant expression on his face. His outfit was the midnight blue of the servants of royalty, the glade dagger at his hip a symbol of status that displayed that he was trusted enough to carry weapons around royalty.

  “Yes, Eleoth?” Corvan’s voice was powerful and of a low timbre.

  At seven and a half paces high, the king himself was tall—even for an elf. His hair was worn long in traditional Tyan style. Though his was black as the night sky on those evenings when the moon was in hiding, tinged with more and more gray as the years went on. His eyes were deep set and jewel blue, his features strong and his build long and lithe but powerful despite his middle-age.

  “It’s time for your council,” Eleoth said, his hands clasped behind his back. “And for your morning news of the kingdom.”

  Corvan’s stomach tightened—not in fear, but at the possibility that he was on the verge of hearing of more of the death that had gripped his realm. He ruled harshly, as the times demanded. But each soul he ruled over was precious to him.

  “Very well,” Corvan said as he strode from the balcony and into his chambers.

  Corvan’s chambers were vast, marble arched windows looking out over his kingdom. But aside from the bed and his small shrine to the Moon Goddesses, the room was simply adorned. Decorating the royal chambers to the tastes of the new king was a tradition in Tyan, a chance for the king to examine the latest trends of décor and art and sculpture. But since taking the throne fifty-four years ago after his father had been slain in battle, Corvan hadn’t had time for such frivolities. Even a restful night’s sleep was a nearly unthinkable luxury, as far as he was concerned.

  The Crescent Blade, the impossibly beautiful royal sword, was hung in its usual altar by the door. Tradition dictated that the king took it off and put it to rest as his final act of the day, donning it that next morning when stepping out for his duties.

  Corvan took a moment to admire the silver scimitar, his eyes tracking over the intricate leaf pattern along the blade, the deep brown handle made from a two-thousand-year-old glade oak. He wrapped his hand around the hilt, taking the blade from its altar. It was perfectly balanced—light enough to swing and stab with ease, but heavy enough to carve through all but the thickest armor.

  And the blade was also his great shame. Before Corvan had taken the throne, back when he was still the prince-in-waiting, he’d earned a reputation as one of the greatest sword saints, those elite men and women trained with the elvish scimitar, their skills honed to a point as sharp as the ends of their weapons. He’d done battle in defense of his kingdom, fighting against those who sought to breach the walls of Tyan.

  But since taking the crown, his blade had been nothing more than adornment, as useless as the flourishes on the Crown of Many Moons. He knew his place was in the Crescent throne, that he could do the most good for his people by leading them with a steady hand. However, at times, he wished for nothing more than to wield his blade and lead his soldiers from the front. It had been years since he’d battled, the time since leaving little room for sparring and practice. He knew his skills had waned, and a small part of him feared going into battle once more and learning first-hand how much his power had truly atrophied.

  Corvan put all that aside and tucked the blade into the leather scabbard at his hip. Whether or not he could wield the blade as he once had, Corvan enjoyed having the ancient weapon at his side. It reminded him that he was not simply a king destined to grow fat on his throne, but a warrior tasked with defending his people against whatever threat assailed them.

  And there were many threats these days.

  Together, Corvan and Eleoth made their way down the grand halls of the Crescent Castle, the ground at their feet gold-trimmed green tile, the ribbing of the hall above thick, curved branches of Glade Oak. Tall sculptures of former kings and queens, all done in life-sized detail, flanked them as they walked. The effect of the hall was clear to Corvan—to remind the current king or queen who strode through that they were under the eyes of each ruler that had come before them.

  “So,” Corvan said as he clasped his large hands behind his back, “tell me what new problems plague our lands this day.”

  As they made their way, Corvan and Eleoth passed various nobles and military officials and servants. Each of them stopped as they recognized their king, taking a moment to stand up straight and give him the traditional salute of hand over the heart, the middle, index, and ring fingers extending to represent the three phases of the moon—waning, waxing, and full. Corvan wasn’t expected to acknowledge those beneath him as they showed their respect. But he did anyway, with a moment of eye contact and a slight nod. He’d always felt it important to keep in mind that while he was king, he was still an elf above all.

  Eleoth pursed his lips together, as if he didn’t want to say what was on his mind. But Corvan knew his closest attendant would tell him the unvarnished truth, however difficult it might be.

  “We just received word from General L’leth of the expeditionary force
in the Demarand Plains.”

  Corvan’s stomach tightened as he listened to the words, knowing that the news would likely be of the awful sort.

  “Last night they were attacked by a scouting team from the Mylian Kingdom.”

  “And?”

  “They were outnumbered, but General L’leth managed to hold off the attack. But casualties were severe. He estimates that fifteen percent of his capable forces were killed, another twenty percent injured.”

  The words were pure pain to Corvan. He’d known the expeditionary force had the potential to become a costly mistake, taking valuable troops from the defense of his lands and sending them into the heart of enemy territory. But he’d wanted a victory against their many enemies, a chance to demonstrate to his people, and his enemies, that the Tyan Kingdom wasn’t content to play defense, but was a capable, dangerous force—as they once had been.

  “He awaits your next command,” Eleoth said. “The messenger is ready to be dispatched as soon as you give the word.”

  Corvan didn’t hesitate for a moment before speaking.

  “Tell General L’leth to return as soon as his injured men are tended to. I want them back within the walls of the city as soon as possible.”

  The move was the obvious one, but it pained Corvan nonetheless. Pulling back the expeditionary force meant that Tyan was on the defensive, that no further intrusions into enemy territory was possible. It would be a message sent to the warring kingdoms that it was only a matter of time before the walls fell.

  But Corvan had long vowed that he would die before such a thing took place.

  “Very well, your grace,” Eleoth said. “The message will be passed along.”