As before they encircled him, not only with their bodies, but also with the hate and violence of their minds. As he turned to face each man, fear and doubt grew within him. They held their weapons tight, ready to strike at any moment, predatory gazes fixed intently upon him. What should he do and whom should he fight first? Rutilus possessed only a heavy spear, the least dangerous of the weapons threatening him. Normally, Marc could safely dodge a spear if thrown from a distance. But the man stood just five paces away, giving Marc little time to jump clear of a well-timed thrust. Atellus and Thaddeus had arrows, far more difficult to avoid, especially from this close, plus short swords. Marc briefly though about Floating high into the air, attacking them from afar. No, that would be the coward’s choice. He would not shame himself—or Oren—that way.
As the malevolence in the men peaked, Marc again felt the numbing coldness of dread invade him. They were seasoned warriors who enjoyed fighting and killing. How could he expect to be victorious? They would attack simultaneously—he saw it in their merciless eyes. No wizard could stand against that. He had but one choice: take to the sky and flee. Just as he was about to give up, Marc felt a slender wedge of reason slip into his mind, prying open that which until now had blinded him to the truth—these emotions and negative thoughts were not his own. They came from outside him, from the Nothingness that infected Thaddeus and his men. An evil that hungered to make him its own.
Pushing his spirit out as far as he could, he desperately Linked to that infinite power he felt before. —Lord, please help me fight the evil that tempts me.— Brighter than a thousand suns, a white-hot flash of power and hope slammed through him, blasting away every trace of despair. Gone, too, was the weakening effect Thaddeus had on his magic. Marc’s mind came alive, knowing everything around him. He felt the spear behind him as it left Rutilus’ hand. It moved slowly, like a fluff of down buoyed upon a gentle breeze. Unable to turn his body in time to see it, his magic surged forth and raced to meet the weapon mid-flight, striking it with the strongest force he ever created. The blade and shaft of the spear shattered into dust as the energy sped on toward the tall man’s head, which suffered the same fate, exploding in a shower of flesh and bone. The power continued on until it struck the slope of the hill far beyond with a thunderous noise, casting up a great cloud of stones and dirt. Rutilus’ corpse crumpled forward to land in a slack heap, spilling it’s blood onto the earth. A raucous cheer rose up from the people across the creek.
Suddenly weakened from the energy he expended, Marc shivered when he sensed the fear and panic of the man’s spirit as it left his body. The Nothingness around them momentarily swelled a hundredfold, the energies within it fouled with the most negative emotions Marc had ever known. He suddenly understood that was due to the evil which formerly occupied the man’s body, now freed upon his death. As Marc thought in the graveyard yesterday, this evil felt alive in a way—intelligent, aware and purposeful. Several dark wisps flew past Marc and toward that evil and Rutilus’ essence. With a hunger beyond words, they voraciously consumed both like ravening beasts and Marc sensed them no more. It felt completely unlike the serenity of Sean’s passing. The wisps quickly gathered before him, bowed, then vanished. Too stunned to react, he put what he saw aside and returned his attention to the remaining enemies.
Thaddeus and the other man shrank back, first nervously eyeing their companion’s remains, then regarding Marc with great caution. While Thaddeus’s emotions remained mostly in check, Marc felt Atellus’ escalating fear and played upon it. “You poor fool. Your mistake was listening to Thaddeus. He thought he could sway me by taking my sister and brother hostage. I have no brother. You made another mistake in thinking you could defeat me and magic’s will. That cannot be done for I am a mighty wizard. Tell me where they are, Atellus, and I will let you live. Thaddeus, on the other hand, will die here and now. But speak quickly for my patience wanes.”
Wavering, the man slightly lowered his bow, the realization of his doom only now registering on his face. Marc knew he would talk, just as he knew Thaddeus would not permit him to. Before the dark-skinned man could speak, Thaddeus’ blade whipped up and outward to cut deeply into Atellus’ throat, sending him to the ground to lie beside his friend. Seizing the bloodied sword with his magic, Marc flung it away behind his cousin. Glancing after it, Thaddeus appeared faintly amused, which caused Marc a moment of confusion—why did he not seem concerned at losing his weapon? Marc had no time to think about it because Atellus’ spirit came before him, appearing as a misty reflection of his earthly form.
—Help me, save me,— he begged, frantically looking around for some means of escape. —I’ll show you where your sister and broth— the boy are hidden.—
Momentarily startled at seeing the ghost—his second after viewing Sean’s—he gave him a single, firm shake of his head. —You willingly chose to sow the seeds of evil, and now you shall reap the harvest.— He drove the shade back with his mind, fervently adding, —And tell the evil you so loved in life that I serve only the Almighty. Tell it I will fight it and all who harbor and serve it until my dying day.—
The Nothingness peaked once more and the wispy things returned to claim it and Atellus’ spirit who, with a pitiful shriek, vanished from the world. As before, the things bowed to him, then left. What are they? he wondered.
Apparently ignorant of what just took place with Atellus, Thaddeus backed slowly away, holding his arms out at his side to show he was unarmed. “Now only I know where they are. If I die, they die.” A quick probe told Marc he felt nothing about murdering his comrade.
Marc gave him a contemptuous smile. “That makes two of us. Very clever of you, using that old well. But don’t worry, several of your finest men, or should I say, my finest men, are on their way to rescue them.”
His adversary’s smirk melted. “How did you—?”
Riffling his fingers in a casual gesture, Marc said, “I am favored by the magic.”
Thaddeus snorted in disgust. “We both know there is no such thing as magic.”
Marc probed him once more; Thaddeus only suspected the truth. “With ample evidence to the contrary,” Marc paused to wave his staff toward the headless man, “what makes you say such a thing?”
“I have some power, but it comes from within me, not from the magic that is all around us,” he added mockingly.
“That is because you serve evil. The magic shuns you, not allowing your power to grow stronger as mine has.”
“You lie.” As the man’s fingers tightened upon his bow, Marc felt his intention to reach for an arrow.
“Dīscinde!” Snapping his fingers, Marc Bladed Thaddeus’ bow in two. Startled, Thaddeus cursed and threw down the useless remnants of his weapon, grinding them beneath his heel. Taking advantage of the distraction, Marc hurriedly sought out the cracked stones deep within the soil beneath him and moved them wide apart to let the gasses begin their journey to the surface. If he timed it correctly, they should erupt as he finished the incantation.
“Take heed, Thaddeus, and see the might of the magic you scorn.” Facing the nearby pile of stones, he loudly commanded, “Aperīte, inferni portae!” while slowly spreading his arms in a grand gesture. With a deafening roar, the vapors escaped their earthly bonds, causing the multitude behind him to gasp in awe.
Thaddeus abruptly retreated several steps from the cairn, his face paler, eyes darting about nervously. Pointing at it, his hand trembled as he gasped, “What is this?”
“Magic is angry at being mocked,” Marc said loud enough to carry to the waiting crowd, his voice harder and displeased. “Watch and fear it’s power. Ārdē!” he shouted. Bracing himself against the coming blast, Marc sparked the base of the gas causing it to explode into boiling flame. Prepared as he was, he remained fast, the pressure wave flowing around him, his robe jerking to his rear while Thaddeus staggered back, nearly losing his footing. The thunderclap raced past the stunned witnesses, echoing multiple times off the nearby hills.
<
br /> For the first time Marc felt true fear surge within Thaddeus. The man edged closer to the inferno, circling around it some, his cloak raised to shield his face from the great coils of fire. “How can this be?” Marc remained silent. Even though his enemy felt some panic, that smugness remained within him; Thaddeus still believed he had the upper hand. After a moment, Thaddeus regained control of his emotions and faced him. “Let me live,” he said, a subtle, crafty smile blossoming on his lips, “and I will tell you how your father died.”
Those unexpected words found a home deep within Marc’s soul. Closing his eyes, the image of his father’s cold body bent backward over that log became fresh in his mind. Somehow, Thaddeus knew he ached for that knowledge.
“He was betrayed by someone familiar,” Marc said, his voice rough. “Murdered.” He opened his eyes and regarded Thaddeus, who looked away. “The coward plunged his sword into my father’s heart without warning, then placed the buck’s antler in the wound to conceal his treachery.”
Thaddeus’ head snapped Marc’s way for a moment, eyes wide with surprise, then, squatting, he turned to face the fire once more. Marc paused. Had not Oren said that only he and one other knew how Marc’s father had died? If so, then Thaddeus could be that other. Had he witnessed the event—or played a part in it? If the latter were true, he would be a fool to admit it.
Turning about, Marc slowly moved toward the falls. Maybe Thaddeus lied, trying to change Marc’s mind about killing him. Or was it something else? No matter. Marc would not barter away the justice due his father. Marc sensed the magic about Thaddeus seemed different at the moment, as if he tried to hide something from him. He recalled Valeria foresaw that his enemy would be crafty, hiding its weapons away and that no one knows its true strength until too late. Did she mean Thaddeus the man, or the Nothingness that corrupted him? That she chose to say its instead of his implied it might be the latter.
In a sickening instant, he understood the meaning of her words. His magic flew from him and found the dagger speeding his way. Stopping it several feet from him, he set a smile on his face and, emotions in check, turned back to Thaddeus.
“A gift? Why, thank you, cousin.”
Thaddeus froze, his posture clearly indicating he had just thrown something. “How—?”
Marc took it from its invisible perch in the air and felt the Traces upon it rush into him. Without warning, a moment of agony, hot and bright, passed through Marc’s chest, and his strength suddenly left him as he crumpled to his knees in the snow. With eyes not his own, Marc watched Thaddeus plant a foot on his chest and shove him off his sword. Falling backward, Marc landed arched over a log, staring into the gray-brown sky. The man’s face drew close and smiled with dead eyes as he said, “Marcus is next.” Marc desperately struggled to reach for Thaddeus but his arms refused to move. His mind screamed NO! NO! Please, God, no, as blackness overcame him.
Blinking in surprise, Marc found he still stood facing Thaddeus while holding the dagger. Never had he felt a Trace so strongly. This was his father’s dagger; Thaddeus had kept it after murdering him. Fierce power gathered in his mind as he digested the knowledge just learned. His back stiffened and his hands balled up so tightly that his fingernails cut into his palms. Breathing deeply, he again fought to keep his actions suppressed, but this time let his anger show as a cold and tightly contained wrath.
“I already know how my father died.” Lightly fingering the decorations on the weapon’s pommel, Marc slowly advanced toward the man. “You came upon him and the fine buck he had felled. Covetous, you helped him clean it, intending to wait until the task was finished to knock him out and take it. But after he told you, with some pride I might add, that Oren had revealed my destiny to him, you killed him in cold blood, giving him no warning or chance to defend himself. What disgusts me the most is knowing we are related. You murdered your own cousin over some meat!” Slamming the end of his staff into the ground, Marc slowly growled out, “You lazy waste of flesh.”
His face burning with hatred, Thaddeus spat in his direction. “I should have killed you that day as well. My mistake was in thinking that without a father to provide for you, the cold and hunger would end your miserable existence. But due to Oren’s meddling you survived. That old man should have died years ago.”
Pushing aside his anger, Marc let a knowing smile come to his lips. “He lived to protect me the day you came to kill me. You had no interest in collecting any honorarium, only using it as an excuse to justify murder and steal the village’s food. Oren outsmarted you. That very day I became his apprentice, studying hard and learning fast. I am now a master wizard.”
Thaddeus sneered at him, his actions almost childlike. “At least I have the satisfaction of knowing the bastard is dead.”
Marc laughed heartily, and upon seeing the man’s brows narrow in confusion at his reaction, he laughed some more. “You failed for he lives.” Stretching out his arm, he indicated the crowd on the eastern side of the creek. There upon a large rock stood Oren, tall and powerful, his robe gently waving in the breeze. The old wizard nodded Marc’s way, telling him he was Envisioning all that transpired. That pleased Marc.
Thaddeus, fists clenching, gasped angrily. “It cannot be!”
“Yet it is. You may not choose his time to die, only the Almighty can. You have killed many innocent people, among them my father and best friend Sean, who gave his life for me. Their blood cries out for justice.”
“Justice? You hypocrite! You seek to rule those people just as much as I.” Blocking the glare with his hand, Thaddeus slowly sidestepped away from the raging flames.
Marc regarded him with pity. The man’s twisted, self-centered viewpoint couldn’t understand anything but brutality and domination. He wondered if that was one reason why evil had gained purchase to the man’s soul, or if it came about as a result of it. “No, Thaddeus. I only wish to serve them.”
With a rude noise of disgust, Thaddeus once more glanced at Oren across the way, then stiffened in recognition. Cursing, he pointed that way and said, bitterly, “Does that whore next to Oren serve everyone as well?”
Marc looked to see who Thaddeus insulted; only Valeria stood nearby. With a chortle of amusement, he crossed his arms over his chest. “I see the two of you have met already. Her name is Valeria, my wife to be, and she, too, is a wizard. As she bested you, so shall I.” Marc turned back just as a sharp spike of hatred came from Thaddeus.
The man sprinted forward, extending his right hand out to his side. Marc saw his foe’s aura peak momentarily as the sword taken from him earlier flew rapidly into his grip. Shocked, Marc held his ground as everything around him slowed down like it did when Rutilus threw his spear. Thaddeus had abilities far stronger than he had previously assumed. The way the sword moved into his hand appeared too smooth, too practiced to be the result of a suddenly awakened talent on Thaddeus’ part; it was second nature to him. What other skills did he posses?
This, also, must have been part of Valeria’s vision. Anyone non-magical would have been stunned into inaction by what they saw, even if for an instant. And such a hesitation would have given Thaddeus a lethal advantage. He was wise to keep his power secret.
Now four paces away, Thaddeus held his sword high overhead, preparing to bring it down in a single, killing blow. The man had been given multiple chances to change his ways before now, but never took them. No more time remained.
Thaddeus had to die.
Right now.
And, sadly, Marc knew the task to be his. At first he considered striking him as he had Rutilus. Such an end would be swift and merciful. But also too simple. Marc had to make this confrontation more than just ending a man’s reign of terror, ending a man’s life. He needed to make a bold and unforgettable statement—Marcus the wizard was powerful, to be respected, and for those who served the Nothingness, to be feared.
Marc momentarily closed his eyes. So be it.
Flinging his arms wide, he bellowed, “TĒ ĒICIO!”
and bodily hurled Thaddeus upward into a high arc that led him directly into the crest of the plume. Falling through the flames, his cousin landed at its base, breaking both legs. Shrieking in pain from within the inferno, Thaddeus desperately clawed at the ground, dragging himself clear of the blaze, but not before being severely burned.
A stab of regret went through Marc when he saw what he had done, even though Thaddeus deserved this end, having killed many at Fox Glen in the same manner. Marc suddenly felt an intense spike of hatred briefly directed at him. Thaddeus? No, someone else. Someone far away. It was that mysterious Envisioning presence he felt earlier. Again he tried to trace it back to its source but failed. Could it be the Nothingness itself? He wished he knew. Composing himself, Marc turned toward the creek and, as he lifted his staff overhead in victory, a great cheer erupted from the crowd. Gazing upon Valeria, he felt the warmth of her love wash over him, easing his heavy heart.
—I’m so glad you passed the test, my love,— she said, not trying to conceal her ebbing tension. —Oren would not allow me to link to you until now. Hurry to my side.—
He returned the love in kind, basking in her growing joy. —In a moment.— Facing Thaddeus once more, he raised his palms upward and said, loud enough for the witnesses to hear, “Volitā!” Moaning and cursing, the man Floated up to eye level and drifted eastward across the creek, dropping to the ground before the crowd, parts of his clothing still aflame. Lifting himself higher into the air, Marc started toward the people, trying to look authoritative on the outside while feeling self-conscious and a bit frightened of himself on the inside. As he crossed over the churning waters he felt Valeria’s Push flow into his mind.
—Beware the Magus of power!— Deep and mighty, the voice blew like winter storm winds from out of the heart of the flame. The crowd gasped, then stirred nervously, watching him in awe.
—Impressive illusion,— Marc told Valeria as she beheld the people’s reactions.
Haunted Tree (The Magus Family Chronicles Book 1) Page 37