War Wizard

by King, DB

  They rose through the library, the ceiling opening yet again. This time, they emerged in a huge throne room, the back half of the room behind the throne open, looking out onto the Graysmoke Woods, the trees stretching into the horizon. The front of the room was open too, the view out onto the rolling, green hills north of the forest.

  “And they were rulers. All over the realms of men are fortresses like this, massive citadels that functioned both as places of power for their Archspirits and as places where the War Wizards could survey the lands, make sure peace was kept and, if that wasn’t possible, ensure that wars between the kingdoms were settled quickly and decisively.”

  “So, the War Wizards were the ones truly in charge,” Logan said.

  Maar tilted his head to the side as he approached the throne, his fingers running over the arms and along the back.

  “Perhaps,” he said. “Were the War Wizards the ones really running the show? It was a question that many of the kingdoms grappled with.”

  “And it was one of the reasons for their downfall,” Arachne said. “When the orcs and their minions invaded, the weak remnants squabbled among themselves to decide who was in charge, who would command the War Wizards. While they fought among themselves, the orcs were wise enough to destroy these poor excuses for War Wizards, one by one.”

  “Sounds very human,” Maar said.

  “I didn’t know about any of this,” Logan said. “I’ve known of the War Wizards, of course, but as far as the politics of the kingdoms… our realm was the Elderwood Forest. We knew of little else beyond its borders.”

  “Well, now you’re going to need to know it all,” Maar said. “Because you, my friend, are the only remaining one.” He swept his hand toward the throne room. “There are fortresses like this all over the continent. All are seats of power for Archspirits, all were once ruled over by a War Wizard.”

  “And they’re all castles?” Logan asked.

  “Some are castles,” Arachne said. “Some are more… unique in their design. I never needed one, personally. I preferred the quiet and solitude for my children and I in the woods.”

  “But you’re going to have to be the one to find them and summon their Archspirits,” Maar said. “You can control the castles, mark soldiers to command, and take back Varsyth from the orcs.”

  “And what do you get out of this?” Logan asked.

  “What do you think?” Maar replied with a smile. “More followers. More power.”

  Logan’s eyes fell onto the throne. He stepped over to it, Maar moving aside and gesturing for him to sit down.

  Logan did. The throne was simple and functional, but comfortable. From where he sat, he looked out over the rolling hills and the edge of the forest, the town where Marseille’s people had once lived visible in the distance.

  “But most Gods won’t simply give you their power,” Maar said. “You’ll have to earn it.”

  “And let me guess,” Logan said. “That’s what you want me to do?”

  “Precisely.”

  “Why shouldn’t I simply do as the War Wizards did previously—kill the Archspirits and take their power for my own?” Logan already knew the answer to this question, having asked it of Arachne, but he wanted to hear Maar’s view on the matter.

  “Because that is not the true path to power,” Maar said, his tone one of annoyance. “Alliances, at least in the case of a War Wizard and an Archspirit, are far preferable. Taking power comes with its risks. An Archspirit is not a being you wish to make an enemy of, War Wizard.”

  Logan shrugged. “I’ll make enemies of whom I choose.”

  Maar stared into the War Wizard’s eyes, his expression hard. He turned his attention to Marseille and his expression softened. “You’ve served me well, child.” He slipped his arm around her shoulder. Marseille was clearly pleased by the affection and attention. “And now it’s time for me to protect the rest of my children, as I’ve always promised.”

  He took his hand from her shoulders and swept it toward the town.

  “I want you to remove the orcish scourge from my land. Whatever followers of mine remain, I want you to rescue them and bring them to me.”

  “Thank you, Maar!” Marseille cried, clasping her hands together. “I knew you wouldn’t abandon us.”

  “We’ll do it,” Logan said. “And when we’ve taken the town back, you’ll give me your power and fight on my side?”

  “There are a few other requests that I have for you. But they’re smaller, and will benefit us both. We can discuss those in time.” He turned toward the elves, specifically the unmarked ones. “For the time being, I can’t help but notice that you have four unmarked soldiers among you—soldiers who were brave and skilled enough to reach my sanctum. If they wish to bear my mark, to have my power… I wouldn’t be opposed.”

  “But first,” Logan said. “You give me your mark. Do so, and I’ll use your power to save your people.”

  Maar smiled. “Very well, War Wizard. I’ll give you my mark. Come close, this may hurt just a bit.”

  Chapter 19: Logan

  The mark burned.

  But it didn’t burn like fire. No, it burned as though the process of etching it into Logan’s skin had put a poison into him, one that churned through his body like acid. His stomach roiled as Maar made the finishing touches on the mark. Logan placed his hand on the arm of the throne to steady himself.

  Mark chuckled. He seemed like he loved to chuckle.

  “I see the mark is doing its work,” he said.

  Logan shook his head and turned to the snake spirit, looking at him through blurry eyes. “What are you talking about?”

  Maar flourished his hand over Logan’s inner right forearm—the place Logan had chosen for the mark. The snake mark that had been inscribed on Logan’s skin was hardly a simple marking. The wolf rune on his left forearm consisted of hard lines that formed the abstract shape of a wolf’s face, but Maar’s marking was more… ornate.

  The snake was a curving form along the length of Logan’s forearm, the face detailed from the individual scales down to the point of its twin fangs. It was a cobra, the snake’s hood opened, the expression on its face one of a beast ready and poised to make the killing strike.

  And the eyes were a deep, blood red, a color at which Logan couldn’t stop staring.

  “Hm,” Maar said as he poked the tattoo a few more times, adding little flourishes and details. Logan had a feeling the spirit could have spent all day perfecting his creation. “You know, I was a tad worried that all my years in the spirit realm might’ve left my skills somewhat… rusty. But I’m quite pleased with my work here.”

  “Are you done, snake?” Arachne asked, who sat among the rest of the soldiers. “In case you’ve forgotten, there’s a town full of your followers who need our help.”

  “Oh, hush. I’ve no doubt that my faithful will stay strong. And besides, I’m not wasting a moment here—my mark needs to be perfect. After all, it’s how my followers spread word of me to the rest of the world.”

  “Your ego again, Maar,” Arachne said. “It would’ve been nice if your time in banishment had taught you a bit of humility.”

  “You’d be wise to watch your mouth, spider spirit,” Marseille said in defense of the spirit she worshiped.

  “And what, pray tell, is there for me to be humble about?” Maar asked as he poked Logan’s mark a few more times. “I’m the most powerful of all the Archspirits. And once that power is restored, I’ll be ready to take my place at the head of our War Wizard friend’s armies and wipe these foul orcs from these lands.”

  Arachne chuckled. “Most powerful?” she asked with a sly smirk on her face. “I’m sure Ifriti would love to hear that.”

  Maar’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t speak the name of that blundering fool in my presence.”

  “A blundering fool?” Arachne asked. “Quite the thing to say about your former—“

  “Enough,” Maar snarled. “You keep distracting me like this, and I�
��ll foul up the mark.”

  “Fine, fine,” Arachne said. “Whatever gets us out of here faster.”

  Logan kept his mouth shut, allowing himself a small grin at their bickering. But Ifriti… he assumed that was the name of another Archspirit. He had heard none of his people speak of such an Archspirit, so he figured it must have resided a long way from his homeland or gone out of use when he was previously alive. He made a mental note to ask Maar about Ifriti when the task at hand was accomplished.

  “There,” Maar said, the long fingers of his right hand still wrapped around Logan’s forearm as he stepped back enough to take a look at his work. “Perfect. My finest mark yet, if I do say so myself.”

  He let Logan’s arm drop.

  “Rise, War Wizard. Rise as one who bears the mark of Maar.”

  Logan pushed himself off the throne and turned his arm to see the mark. He had to admit, Maar’s flair for detail made for an interesting tattoo.

  The mark of Fenrir had been given to him by a War Wizard, by the hand of Jesper the War Wizard, his father. But now he had two additional marks, spider and serpent to join the wolf. The fact that Logan could carry this many on his body without being consumed by the sheer power meant only one thing: he was a War Wizard in truth.

  Logan’s one goal as a youth had been to be like his father. To be a War Wizard. That dream had come true. But it had cost so much. The lives of all of his people. The eradication of his homeland. The knowledge of what it means to be a War Wizard.

  Logan would not let their sacrifices be in vain.

  “Tell me what I can do,” Logan said as he turned to Maar.

  The snake spirit snorted. He grinned and folded his long arms over his scaly, green chest.

  “My Nagas form the backbone of my armies. Hulking, powerful, and, as they grow in experience, more and more indestructible.” He swept his arms toward the unmarked elves. “And you can create them.”

  The unmarked elves looked at one another fearfully. Logan could sense the image of the orc warriors being horribly transformed against their wills into serpents was fresh in their minds. Maar furrowed his brow in confusion before glancing in the direction Logan was looking.

  Maar chuckled, realizing what was happening. “Don’t worry. You won’t be permanently transformed. You will be able to switch back and forth at will. The first few transformations might be… tricky. But you’ll quickly get the hang of it.”

  “So,” Logan said, “among these Nagas are warriors and priests.”

  “Correct,” Maar replied. “My Naga warriors are front-line shock troops as powerful as they come. They can seem a bit… rough, at first. But the more they fight, the stronger their scales grow. They can follow the Path of the Bladedancer or the Path of the Plated Adders. The Bladedancers can grow a second pair of arms, and when they craft their greatswords, those terrible, jagged cleavers capable of slicing a man in half with a single swipe. They are among the fastest marked in all the world.”

  Arachne coughed at that.

  “And the Plated Adders?” Logan asked.

  “They are the fists among my troops. Their scales become hard, like stone, and near impenetrable. They can absorb most elemental attacks. I have yet to see another marked who can penetrate their hardened exteriors.”

  Again, Arachne coughed, but this time, it seemed she was attempting to hide her laugh. A commendable effort on her part, but she’d failed miserably.

  “Enough with your remarks, serpent,” Maar said. “You know as well as I do that my troops were used far more often than yours.”

  “Because yours were common,” Arachne retorted.

  Maar rolled his eyes before turning back to Logan. “Do you wish to hear of the priests?”

  Logan nodded. “Tell me of them.”

  “They are spellcasters designed to create chaos and sow disharmony in the ranks of their enemies. Like the warriors, they can also specialize into two branches. Cobra Conjurers can summon snakes to fire like bolts from a crossbow. These serpentine projectiles are like arrows, and can be imbued with various elemental energies, as well as poison. Poison is good. Very snake-like, wouldn’t you say?”

  Logan offered Maar a smile. It seemed he had an ego to match his size. “And the second specialization of your priests?”

  “Toxinmancers,” Maar said with a broad grin, his eyes glistening. Clearly, he liked this particular specialization very much. “Capable of producing poisons that can burn a man even within his armor. Many a plague has been created because of my Toxinmancers. You experienced a small dose of a fear-based toxin.”

  Logan recalled how he had felt that strange fear from without earlier when fighting against the priests. “It was a foul thing,” he remarked.

  “All the better to use against your enemies, no?”

  Logan couldn’t argue with that. “This all gives me a lot to consider. But I didn’t hear anything of blood magic.”

  “Ah, yes. Blood magic. That particular penchant of mine is relegated only to my priestesses. They are women who are marked and inducted into the ranks of my personal Viperguard, deadly fighters who wield blood magic—manipulation over the stuff of life itself. A squadron of Viperguard is more than enough to decimate scores of your enemies. They also have pathways of specialization, but they remain always my Viperguard.”

  “And all it takes for me to begin to mine the depths of these powers is to mark my soldiers with your sign,” Logan said.

  Maar smiled. “Precisely. The more followers who wear my mark, the more powerful I become. In fact, as a thank-you to me for granting you my power, I feel it would be a grand gesture to give some of your men my mark. There are four of them here right now, in fact, who would be fine candidates. They did survive battle with my children, after all.”

  The four unmarked elves who still lived stood at attention, knowing they were on the spot. Logan turned from Maar and approached them. One of the elves, tall and slender with fire-red hair and fine features, seemed especially eager.

  “What is your name, soldier?” Logan asked.

  “Gareth,” he said, his voice melodic. “Gareth of the D’reythn clan.”

  “As you know, Gareth, no man or woman under my service will be forced to take a mark. While I expect you to obey my commands, taking the tattoo of an Archspirit will never be one of them.”

  “Understood,” he said.

  “With that said, do you wish to bear the mark of Maar?”

  “Without a doubt, commander.”

  Logan glanced over his shoulder to see that a pleased smile had formed on Maar’s lips. It was clear he was more than happy to hear this news.

  “And what of the rest of you?” Logan asked. “Do you wish to bear this Archspirit’s mark?”

  “Yes, sir!” they spoke in unison.

  “I couldn’t be more pleased,” Maar said as he sauntered to Logan’s side. “You four take my mark, and we all grow more powerful. Seems like a perfect arrangement to me. The only question is which of you will become Naga warriors, and which of you will become Naga priests?”

  “I wish to be a warrior,” Gareth said.

  “And so do I,” said the young elf to his side.

  “And we wish to be priests,” spoke the remaining two.

  Maar clasped his hands together. “And it’s as simple as that.”

  The elves stood at attention, and Logan knew there was nothing to do but mark them. Logan was about to approach the elves, but he pulled up short. He frowned as he turned to Maar.

  “How am I meant to mark them?” Logan asked. “Arachne required swordspider venom. What ingredients does your tattoo require, Maar?”

  “Oh, of course! I almost forgot. It has been so terribly long since I’ve had a War Wizard mark followers for me.” Maar grinned, making it clear that he didn’t forget at all, but instead was playing games. Logan would need to keep a close eye on the serpent spirit. “Yes, you will need something else. Elf blood. But we have so much of it, don’t we?”

 
; Logan turned to Jaleth. “Can you give some of your blood?”

  Maar chuckled. “Blood freely given does not work. Nor will it be enough. I am not yet powerful enough for you to mark without the precious ingredient of blood, wizard.”

  Logan swore. “Can we use the corpse of the fallen?” he asked Jaleth.

  “Llweon would happily give his blood for the cause of Tyan,” the elf said.

  “So be it. Get his corpse and bring it here.”

  In much less time than it took them to get this far into the fortress, two elves returned with Llweon’s corpse. Maar took the blood that he needed, and then turned to Logan.

  “Go on, War Wizard,” Maar said. “You have the mark, which means you have my power. And now you have the required quantity of elf blood. Give the soldiers what they want.”

  Logan gestured for Gareth to come forward. “Give me your arm.”

  He did, and Logan took it.

  “This is going to burn a bit,” the wizard said.

  Once his fingers were over the elf’s flesh, Logan closed his eyes and focused on his own mark. The image of Maar’s tattoo appeared in his mind clear as day, and he tapped into the spirit’s power and let it flow through him.

  The heat returned, as if his blood had been replaced with hot venom. He felt his hand move of its own accord over his skin, followed by a cry of pain from Gareth.

  “Oh, please,” Maar said. “It doesn’t hurt that badly. Besides, think of the powers you’ll gain.”

  Gareth grunted in pain as Logan continued marking the elf. Logan’s hand moved as if controlled by someone else. It was as it had been the first time: an incredible experience. Once more, the truth that Logan was a War Wizard was confirmed before his very eyes, the long-lost power flowing through him and into Gareth.

  “There,” Maar said. “The task is complete.”

  Logan opened his eyes and, sure enough, the same mark that was on his arm adorned Gareth’s.

  “How do you feel?,” Logan asked.

  “I feel… different,” Gareth replied. “Like there’s something inside me that wasn’t there before. It is an alien presence, but it is not unwelcome. Thank you, commander.”