He knew that there were magical techniques that relied upon a certain time of year or particular season to work properly, and many more that depended on the right location to be effective. Some required the preparation of materials or sacrifices, others needed the weather to be just right, or the moons to be in a definite quarter of the sky.
If any of this were the case with the spell in question, he doubted that Ambrosius would be able to use it again, but somehow he knew that it would not be constrained by any of these things. The knowledge was out there somewhere. If he faced the power, he knew he would be destroyed, just as before, but somehow that didn’t seem to matter. The chance of revenge for his long years of pain was at hand, however dangerous. Better to die trying to avenge his loss than wander the world for eternity, chasing a secret he might never uncover. Perhaps it would even be something of a relief, to end the everlasting quest. As he aged, he knew his obsession had weakened him, driving all the other parts of his character into abeyance. There were wizards who had gone mad in the search for knowledge, ending their lives alone and raving in the forgotten places of the world or the airless dungeons of the witch hunters. Yes, better to die swiftly than suffer such a fate.
He came to the top of the ridge, which opened up on to a wide, flat hilltop. He wondered what the name of the place was. It was bare, wild and sinister. No doubt the scattered inhabitants of the land had some crude term for it. The wind moaned around it, and the clouds began to spread across the risen moon. The featureless hills rippled away like a dark, unquiet sea, in every direction. At the edge of vision, almost lost in the swirling dark, a single figure stood, waiting. His features were hidden, but he was a large man, robed in a heavy cloak, his staff by his side. The two of them, Marius and the shadow, were far from the lights of the camp, far from anywhere. Alone, hidden from the prying eyes of the non-gifted, the mages met once again.
“You’ve chosen well,” said Marius, his gruff voice still heavy with anger.
Ahead of him, Ambrosius was waiting, his gold-tipped staff glinting in the gloom.
“Just like before,” he said, unable to keep a faint quiver of fear from his voice. “No one will disturb us here. You’ve made a mistake calling for this duel, Joachim. I do not want it. We settled our dispute long ago. If you wish to revive what has passed, that is your choice, but the same fate awaits you. You’ve been wandering in the wilds too long. I’ve stayed near the roots of our power, becoming stronger, learning new things. If you wish, even now, I’ll forget your insults. There’s a battle looming. Why not put your grievance aside, and join me in fighting the shaman?”
Marius snorted his derision.
“The matter would have been settled long ago if you had followed the code of our kind. The spell you used was forbidden, it must have been, beyond anything I would have employed against you. We weren’t fighting for our lives. We were young, and you know the rules. It’s not defeat I hate, but treachery. No doubt you didn’t linger while I was suffering, didn’t see the pain you left me in. No, you were busy forging your own career, far away from the troublesome Amber wizard you had laid low. I guess you profited greatly from my humiliation. Of course, you couldn’t officially claim the victory, but everyone knew it was you. You tried to murder me, Kalliston. I’ll never put that grievance aside, not if all the orcs in creation were coming towards us. I’ll kill you tonight, if I can. If you can still remember what you did to me that night, you’ll have to do it again. Nothing else can stop me.”
The rain began to fall, a steady drizzle, scything across the face of the Amber wizard, turning his straggling beard into a morass of dark tendrils. Ambrosius swallowed audibly, preparing himself. Marius knew that his opponent’s fear was real, but also that he had genuine skill. Ambrosius was a senior wizard, a confidante of Balthasar Gelt and rich in the Gold lore. To underestimate him again would be unforgivable. He felt his old staff resonate slightly in the gathering rain.
“So be it,” said Ambrosius, his voice growing stronger as he prepared himself. “I had no wish for this day to come. Not through fear, as you seem to think, but because some things are best left hidden. You’ve brought this on yourself. There’s no alternative now. To the death, then, and perhaps by killing you I’ll rid the world of a greater menace than you know.”
The two men stood still, facing one another across the wide, circular space. The rain fell harder, coursing in rivulets down their robes. The first rumble of thunder ground out to the west.
Marius let his mind relax, taking in the surroundings with his inner sense. This was a good location for him, far from the stench of the city. In the wilds, he was in his element.
He could feel the Wind of Ghur, the Amber essence, coursing around him, eddying in vivid shades, seeping into the air and hillside, flickering towards his raised staff like the tongues of snakes. This was good. Yet he knew too that Ambrosius was no fool. He was a Gold wizard, a servant of the Wind of Chamon, the part of the magical spectrum that drew itself towards the earth and the ore within it. There would be lodes of metal under their feet, shards of hidden substance from which his own arts would draw strength. Although unable to perceive them clearly, Marius knew that the heavy, throbbing substance of the Gold Wind was in this place too. So it was an even match, a worthy sequel to the original.
A forked flicker of lightning briefly lit up the western sky, followed by a fresh rumbling. As if a signal had been given, Ambrosius placed his staff before him and began to chant. Marius stepped forwards, feeling the energy flow between his fingers and the gnarled wood they held. Darts of a heavy bronze appeared from the air over Ambrosius’ head in an instant. With a word from the Gold wizard and a flick of his staff, they spun around to face Marius and flew towards his face. The Amber wizard casually flicked them aside, using the crackling tip of his staff to cut them down in mid-air. Too predictable, the standard arsenal of the Gold Order. Then he noticed something disquieting. The broken darts, littering the ground around him, began to flow and ripple like molten metal. In a moment, they had repaired themselves, and sprung back into the air. Ambrosius conjured more, and they all flew towards Marius. With some alarm, he stepped backwards, fending off the incoming missiles more frantically, letting the amber glow from his staff bloom into a ball of streaming fire.
Ambrosius laughed grimly.
“You’ll find all my spells have new little twists,” he said with satisfaction, spinning more darts from the air.
“So I see,” grunted Marius, parrying the spikes quickly, noting out of the corner of his eyes that the shattered shafts reforged themselves and leapt back into the air. “Flashy, but futile, just as I remember you.”
With a quick command, the amber aura swelled and became hotter. The darts melted as they touched it. Like a fire-eater at a travelling fair, Marius swung his incandescent staff across the darts as they streamed towards him. One by one, they melted into a pool of bubbling metal. Before they had time to reconstitute, a second command opened the earth beneath them. The turf gaped and then snapped shut over the slopping substance. Great gouts of steam issued from the rain-soaked ground as it doused and crushed the magical arrows.
Marius turned his mind to the offensive. He was feeling strong, powerful, and still angry. He cried his spell out loud, enjoying the sensation of the magic bubbling up within him. In an instant, he was no longer alone. Three insubstantial creatures, their forms translucent and shadowy in the dark, had shimmered into being by his side. They were like wildcats, their backs arched and claws extended. They leapt at Ambrosius, snarling, one at the throat, two at the body. The fat, robed form swung his staff with a speed that belied his appearance, making the cats yowl and spit as they stalked around him. Marius lowered his staff, murmuring words of support to his unnatural companions.
“Never liked cats,” muttered Ambrosius with distaste, backing away, his staff fizzing with energy, “and I like these even less.”
Uttering a quick counter-spell, he spun in an arc, rainwater showering fr
om his robes as he did so. The cats were suddenly wearing heavy iron collars, dragging them down into the increasingly sodden earth. As they tried to leap towards Ambrosius, the weight of the metal pulled them earthwards, crushing their forms into the mire. Marius frowned, and whispered a modification. The cats grew in size, draining more of the precious Wind of Ghur from the hillside, mutating into wolves, their eerie grey flanks shining in the sparse light. The iron collars burst into pieces, disappearing as they fell against the ground. In an instant, the wolves leapt, their fangs bared. Ambrosius met one charge with his staff tip, and the wolf exploded in a shower of amber light, but the others found their mark, one clamping its magical jaws around his ample forearm.
“How do you like dogs, then?” taunted Marius, feeding the spell more power.
Ambrosius grunted with pain. He broke free from the vice-like jaws and staggered backwards, waving his staff in front of him jerkily. A fresh burst of gold emerged over his head, and streams of brilliant power coursed towards the wolf-shapes. The argent streams wrapped around the animals, turning their snarls of aggression into yelps of pain. Ambrosius pulled his fist towards his body as if tightening a noose, and the golden substance sliced through the wolves. Their forms dissolved into the rain with an echoing whimper.
“That all you’ve got, wild man?” he asked, smiling, but the words came with effort, and Marius could tell he had been tired by the attack.
The Gold wizard moved slowly, giving Marius time to recover and prepare to meet the next attack. He looked up, expecting to see fresh bolts of energy spring from Ambrosius’ staff, but when the assault came it was of a different kind. Marius suddenly felt a great heaviness in his limbs, as if his blood had congealed. Ambrosius stood unmoving before him, his head bowed, his forehead lined with sweat amidst the rain. He was attempting a transmutation: blood into lead. Marius staggered backwards, feeling his limbs seize up, gradually aware of the power of the spell enveloping him. With a lurch of pain, he countered it. The struggle swayed one way and the other within him: the deadening, crushing weight of metal against the animal life force, their respective essences in direct contact. Marius felt a ripple of panic pass through him, the first he had encountered for many years. The spell was strong, as strong as the lead in his body. With a deep intake of breath, he pulled the tendrils of the Amber Wind to him, willing his muscles to remain limber, pushing with effort against the cold substance creeping through his organs. Gradually, achingly, the turn came. Mastering his body once more, he pushed the unnatural transmutation from his body, feeling with relief the surge of hot, human blood rushing back round his veins. Ambrosius, the link broken, staggered away, looking faint from the effort he had expended.
Marius, seeing his moment, pushed forwards, beginning a new spell, but underestimated how much the struggle had taken out of him. Talons the length of shinbones sprung from his hands, but the spellcast was imperfect. One ripped through his skin, flaying blood into the night air. A crash of thunder muffled his agonised cry. Ambrosius looked up, breathing heavily, just in time to see Marius fly at him, the talons raking the air like a bear’s claws. The Gold wizard was hurled back by the onslaught. He desperately warded himself with his staff, but Marius’ talons dripped with amber energy, and where they slashed, there was no defence. Ambrosius cried out as a swipe passed through his heavy robes, tearing at his flesh. His breath hot and heavy, his eyes wide and teeth bared, Marius had become more animal than human. He let slip a guttural roar of triumph and pressed forwards, his preternatural claws scything before him.
His pale face panicked, Ambrosius hurriedly erected a fresh ward: his staff became an iron shield, hexagonal and thick, its substance apparently drawn from the lodes beneath them. But it was only a partial defence. Marius tore down on him, slashing madly, his lust for revenge beginning to well once again in his pumping heart.
“Kill!” he blurted, madly, his throat gurgling. “Rend!”
His voice was not entirely human, and there was more than a note of the beast in its feral timbre. The iron shield, fuelled by Ambrosius’ desperate spell casting, swelled in size, and the Gold wizard cowered behind it, driven steadily down the far side of the hill, slipping and teetering in the mud.
Finding he couldn’t penetrate the thick iron, Marius leapt back, intending to shift his form into something more guileful. But he was suddenly overcome by a wave of heavy fatigue. In his frenzy, he had overreached himself. Staggering slightly, he slipped against the steep slope, letting the talons fall from his fingers with painful tugs. He felt dizzy, and nearly lost his footing altogether. A few yards below him, Ambrosius let the shield dissolve back into the form of his staff, his breath ragged. The rain lashed down, soaking them to the skin, blood and sweat mingling in pools at their feet.
“Had enough yet, fat man?” croaked Marius, his throat aching from the half-transition from beast back into man.
Ambrosius rose to his feet again, his staff shining once more.
“If that’s the best you can do,” he rasped, his voice shaky, “then we’ve only just got started.”
His forehead suddenly seemed to blaze with a golden light. It illuminated the sodden hillside around them, and made the rivulets of muddy rain coursing down the steep incline sparkle like spring water. It looked like a crown had been placed on his head, tall and encrusted with jewels.
“Fool!” he hissed. “Do you think I chose this place by random? There are many metals beneath our feet, all of which fuel my powers. You had your opportunity to withdraw. Don’t think I’ll give you the chance again.”
He stretched out his staff in front of him, and a stream of molten, sparkling golden energy surged towards Marius, still on his knees. With a huge effort, the Amber wizard lifted his staff to meet the onslaught, and the bright essence exploded into a cloud of spinning sparks. Marius gasped, and was pushed backwards once more, the relentless Gold magic coating his staff, his wounded hands and his arms. The force was breathtaking, the very air seeming to rip and furl as the thick, lustrous substance tore towards him. He felt fear well up within him for the second time, and watched in horror as his fingers were doused in the metallic energy. He was being frozen into a burnished skein of gold, turned into a monstrous replica of Balthasar Gelt. There seemed to be no means of repelling it. He cried spell after spell out loud, retreating back up the hill, urging his staff to respond, but nothing seemed to loosen the golden grip steadily enveloping him.
Ambrosius grunted in satisfaction. His fingers were outstretched, and the living metal poured from his dripping hands like water. Nuggets fell from his staff and hissed against the liquid earth. He advanced up the hill, pursuing his quarry, giving Marius no time to collect his thoughts. The Amber wizard struggled harder, flexing his wounded fingers within their new golden shell, fighting both the devilish coating and his own rising panic. For some reason, he found it increasingly hard to tap his native powers. Something in Ambrosius’ attack seemed to be interfering with his link to the Wind of Ghur. Frowning, still retreating, holding his staff high against the unnatural energies engulfing him, he began to collect his thoughts, ignoring the chaos around him.
With sudden inspiration, he saw the cause of it. Ambrosius was using an emotion spell, feeding off his own fevered state, turning his rage and fear against him. It was beautifully crafted, masked by the golden fireworks around them, but the real danger came not from the surging visible substance, but from the battle within his mind. Against all the urgings of his exhausted body, he relaxed, letting the stress and fury leak out of him like water from a sponge. As he did so, the wave of gold reared unopposed over him, dousing him in sparking yellow energy, covering him completely, smothering and dampening. Quelling the flickers of panic, he let himself be overwhelmed. He felt the clamp of his adversary’s hidden spell suddenly loosen. His mind serene, he sensed the Amber Wind rushing back to him once more. With a smile, and a single word, the gold case around him shattered, dissolving into the storm as quickly as it had been summoned. Befo
re him, Ambrosius stood, exhausted.
Marius smiled grimly.
“Nice try,” he said, his energy and vitality returning, “but I haven’t lost my head entirely. Now it’s my turn.”
He raised his hands together, and the storm seemed to respond to him. The wind tore downwards, funnelling into a vortex above his fingers. Now that his link with the magical world was restored, his command over the elements waxed and strengthened. With a grunt of effort, he directed the morass of rainswept air towards Ambrosius. The fat form teetered, and then fell awkwardly, blasted from the hillside. He rolled in ungainly, flopping movements through the slick, dark mud, ending up flat on his back. Marius sprung after him, surrounded by what seemed like the spectral growls and snarls of animals. Ambrosius tried to rise, but Marius was on him, his shining staff striking him hard on the forehead, pushing his head back into the earth. Its tip burned with a bright, savage brilliance. The Gold wizard squirmed, but was pinned, his vast form mired in filth, his eyes dull, his breath ragged.
“Do it,” snarled Marius, his eyes flat with hatred and expectation. “Unleash the spell!”
Groggy with fatigue, Ambrosius looked back at him blankly.
“I have defeated you,” continued Marius, his voice insistent. “You can only save yourself by using it again. I must know what it is! Do it!”
Slowly, Ambrosius seemed to understand. He shook his head slowly, streams of rain water falling from his heavy cheeks.
Masters of Magic Page 17