A Wizard's Dark Dominion (The Gods and Kings Chronicles Book 1)

by Lee H. Haywood

  “The Fall of Eremor.”

  Jeremiah nodded again. “The Guardians provided a solution. They taught the survivors a diluted form of magic to prevent such disasters from occurring in the future. The New Magic served its purpose, but it left men ill prepared to combat the demi-gods when they turned against the mortal races.”

  “Is that why the Wyrm taught you the Old Magic?”

  Jeremiah laughed. “The Wyrm taught me the Old Magic because they wanted a weapon. They used me, just like King Johan did. Just like you are doing right now.”

  Demetry scoffed at the notion. “I’m not using you.”

  “Are you certain of that?”

  “I seek knowledge, Jeremiah, nothing more,” said Demetry, mostly believing it to be the truth. “I have read the forbidden text of the Paserani Haote. I know that the mortal mind is far stronger than my instructors at Taper would have me believe. I want to unlock my potential. I’m ready.”

  Jeremiah sighed. “You think you are ready, but you are not. You never will be. Still, I can’t delay forever.”

  “Then you will teach me?”

  Jeremiah smirked. “Do you know the words of a spell that would turn stone into life?” Inexplicably, moss sprung from the walls, grass grew from the floor, and all about them was green.

  Aghast, Demetry scrambled to the edge of his bed, watching in wonder as life abounded within the dank subterranean cell.

  “There are no words for such a spell, but that does not mean it cannot be done,” said Jeremiah. “The words of a New Magic spell serve only as a medium through which to channel your focus. They cripple you, denying you your inherent strength. The Old Magic, on the other hand, is limited only by the power of your mind.”

  Demetry grabbed the leaves of a nearby plant that had miraculously taken root on the face of the rock wall. It was the first green thing he had seen in nearly a year. He immediately recoiled as a thousand pinpricks trailed down the length of his finger. It felt as if his hand was on fire.

  He sucked at his fingers but it did nothing to alleviate the pain. If anything, the burning sensation was spreading, traveling up his wrist and forearm. The plants continued to grow, encroaching on his bed with reaching limbs and twisting vines that sprouted jagged thorns. A milky substance seeped from their leaves. It fell like teardrops, hissing and popping as it splattered on his mattress.

  Demetry shied away from the plants. “I understand your point, Jeremiah. You can stop now.”

  “Do you truly?” Jeremiah walked through the tangled bramble, the leaves and branches parting before him. “There is no tool in the world more powerful than the mind. But the mind can be frightful at times, full of irrational thoughts, hatred, fear, inner anguish. There is a reason why the Guardians tried to prevent mortals from using the Old Magic. We don’t have the discipline to wield it properly. A good intention can be twisted by the slightest dark thought. And a bad intention...” Jeremiah let the words linger.

  Flowers sprouted from the branches, their bulbs the color of blood. Demetry swore the petals had teeth. The pistils of the flowers wiggled like tongues.

  “Will you use such powers for good? For evil? Will you use it to escape the confines of this cell?”

  Demetry batted away the flowers as they drew near. “I will use the Old Magic as you instruct me.” His hands burned from the poison dripping from the petals.

  “Ah, I see. You will surrender your free will to an old dotard.”

  Demetry huddled at the center of his bed, the only place free of the stinging flowers. “What do you want me to say?”

  “Words will not suffice. I need you to understand.” He tapped Demetry between the eyes. “You are about to venture down a most perilous path. You must be prepared, lest your mind grow perverted and the Shadow take you.” Jeremiah snapped his fingers and the poisonous bramble turned to vapor. He turned his back and walked away. “Spend the rest of the day thinking about what I said. We will begin with the Old Magic tomorrow.”

  Demetry peeked over the side of his bed. There was no physical sign that the plants had ever existed. He examined his hands. The burn marks were gone. Had it all been an illusion, a trick on his mind? Only Jeremiah knew the answer.

  DEMETRY AWOKE THE NEXT MORNING to once again discover Jeremiah standing behind his desk. The clutter of notes had been cleared away. In their place lay three objects set in a row. Each one was covered by a piece of cloth.

  “Today you will learn the most basic principle of the Old Magic.” Jeremiah’s deep and sonorous voice echoed in the chamber. “But first, I would like you to demonstrate your capabilities with the New Magic.”

  Demetry rose groggily from bed and walked over to the table. “What would you like me to do?” asked Demetry, as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

  “I would like you to transfer these three objects to that bench.” Jeremiah had set the bench from the table near the door to their cell. “We’ll start with an easy one.” Jeremiah lifted the first piece of cloth, revealing a fist-sized rock.

  Demetry bent over and examined the rock. There was nothing special about it. Jeremiah had likely chipped the rock from the earthen wall of their cell.

  “How would you move this rock using the New Magic they taught you at Taper?”

  “Magnetism,” announced Demetry, glad to actually know the answer to one of Jeremiah’s questions for once. Demetry used to practice manipulating metallic objects by retrieving lost fishhooks from a pond near his former dormitory. In truth, it wasn’t a very difficult skill to master. Even Joshua, novice as he was, was capable of levitating rocks that contained only trace amounts of iron ore.

  “Ah, but which spell will you use?”

  Demetry knew a few dozen off the top of his head, but finding the right spell would take a bit of consideration. It all depended on the object he was trying to move. The object’s weight was one factor, the ratio of magnetic to non-magnetic materials was another. Settling on a spell, Demetry spun his arms in the air and chanted a few words in the ancient tongue. “Mati muttí hajute ise habrat op iat.”

  The stone rose into the air and slowly floated over the expanse. During the transit, the stone wobbled a bit more on its axis than Demetry would have liked, but it was an otherwise successful casting. The stone settled atop the far bench with a gentle clack. Demetry grinned, feeling rather pleased with himself.

  Jeremiah looked unimpressed. “Wipe that stupid smirk off your face — you did nothing to be proud of. You picked the wrong spell, and you nearly lost control of the stone midway through the flight. Now focus — it only gets harder from here.” He lifted the next piece of fabric, revealing a clay jar filled to the brim with water. “Move the water. Leave the jar.”

  Demetry could utilize the New Magic to freeze the water solid or boil it down to nothing, but he didn’t have an idea how to make the water float through the air. He was about to admit he was stumped when a thought entered his head.

  Demetry collected the stone from the far bench and dropped it into the jar.

  Jeremiah raised his eyebrow curiously.

  “Lisí ijei oprot lae,” said Demetry. The water instantaneously froze solid, causing the jar to split down the middle and topple over. What remained was a jar shaped ice sculpture with a stone entombed in its base.

  Making a few adjustments to the magnetic levitation spell he had used a few moments earlier, Demetry once again seized the stone with his magic, only this time the stone carried the ice sculpture with it. He drew the levitating ice sculpture to a halt directly above the bench.

  “Lisí lae oprot ijei.” The ice melted, sending a cascade of liquid water raining down on the bench. As proud as he was of the feat, Demetry knew better than to smile this time.

  “Very clever, I’ll give you that,” said Jeremiah. “But it involved far too many steps and wasted too much time.” Jeremiah waved his hand in the air, and the spilled water immediately boiled down to nothing, leaving behind no trace that it was ever there.

 
; “I know how to boil water,” said Demetry, feeling a bit annoyed.

  “I would hope so,” replied Jeremiah. “That’s one of the first spells an acolyte learns at Taper. But what you fail to comprehend is that the water isn’t gone — it has simply changed states. Because we can see, touch, and taste water in its liquid and solid states, we innately understand its properties. Liquid water flows, it takes on the shape of its container, and it wants always to equalize. Water expands when it freezes, granting it the strength to shatter solid objects. But what are the properties of water vapor?”

  Demetry shrugged. “Water, be it in its liquid or solid state, has substance and weight. It can be manipulated to the magic wielder’s advantage. Turning water into vapor wastes its potential. It’s simply gone.” Demetry waved his hand through the air, as if that might prove his point.

  “Wrong again.” Jeremiah snapped his fingers, and a ball of water suddenly materialized in the air above the broken jar. It hovered there for a split second before it splashed down, drenching the table and floor.

  “I see no lost potential there,” said Jeremiah, smirking from ear to ear. He threw Demetry the piece of cloth and motioned for him to clean up the mess. Demetry begrudgingly went to work mopping the table and floor with the cloth.

  “The Old Magic grants me the ability to manipulate the elements in a manner the New Magic simply cannot,” said Jeremiah, continuing on with his lecture. “I am not limited by the spells I have mastered or the elements of nature I can see. Remember that for this last test.” Jeremiah sidestepped to the last hidden object on the table and lifted the cloth.

  Demetry didn’t even bother to rise from his work cleaning up the spilled water — there was no point. He knew he couldn’t do what Jeremiah was asking. The last object was a feather. Without a doubt, it was the lightest object in the room, yet Demetry hadn’t the slightest idea how to move it with the New Magic. “Would you like me to disintegrate the feather and reconstitute it on the other side of the room?” asked Demetry, feeling a bit frustrated.

  “Oh, this one is easy.” Jeremiah blew softly, and the feather fluttered off the table, twirling on the stream of air Jeremiah had created with his mouth.

  “Very funny,” said Demetry. He gave up trying to clean the spilled water and threw the cloth on the table. “I could have done that.”

  “But can you do this?” The feather went shooting through the air as fast as a dart projected from a blowgun. It embedded itself into the far wall.

  Demetry was aghast.

  “You lived in the Nexus, yes? Then surely you have witnessed the great whirlwinds that tear across the Soccoto Plains during spring. You claim that air has no substance, but in truth you know better. Air has enough substance to wear down mountains, to scour valleys, to create waves in the ocean. Air also has the power to turn the most innocuous objects into something as deadly as an arrow launched from a bow.”

  Demetry’s eyes wandered from the table to the wall and back again as he tried to figure out how Jeremiah had performed the task. “How?” was all he could manage.

  “The Old Magic manipulates objects at their most minuscule level. Do you wish to levitate a feather? Draw it forward by creating a void in the air. Do you wish to turn liquid water into vapor? Excite its individual particles until it transforms into gas. But don’t ignore the perils involved.”

  The large brazier set in the middle of the room suddenly flared to life, its flames licking high in the air. “I would like you to compare the fire in this brazier to a campfire in a dry forest,” instructed Jeremiah. “Within the brazier, the fire is contained, controlled, safe. That is the essence of a New Magic spell. Now consider the campfire. A single stray ember might ignite the entire forest.” Jeremiah walked forward and stuck his finger to the middle of Demetry’s forehead. “That stray ember is your mind. Let it wander, and the consequences can be grave.”

  Jeremiah motioned toward the remnants of the puddle surrounding the bench. The water began to bubble and steam, boiling away to nothing in a matter of seconds. But even after the last drop had vanished, Demetry still detected a soft hiss. He looked to Jeremiah, confused.

  “Using the Old Magic for something as simple as boiling water comes with its own perils. Nearly everything contains water. The soil, trees, bricks, even that bench. A momentary lapse in focus can prove catastrophic.” Suddenly, there was a terrible hiss, like a wet log outgassing in a fire, then the bench exploded apart. Shards of wood were sent flying every which way.

  “The gods help me,” cried Demetry as he leapt halfway across the room.

  Jeremiah didn’t so much as flinch. “Are you beginning to understand the dangers of the Old Magic?”

  Demetry was starting to piece together some of the darker implications of Jeremiah’s lesson. Blood was mostly water, or so Demetry’s alchemy instructor at Taper had told him. “If you can do that to a bench what might you do to a man?”

  Jeremiah didn’t respond — the answer was obvious. He turned toward Demetry, all humor gone from his face. “The Old Magic exists within the world of the miniature — particles so infinitely small you could not see them with the strongest looking glass. Tempting, isn’t it, to know that you could manipulate the most basic elements of our physical world.”

  Demetry chewed at his lip. The New Magic was slow and tedious, but extremely precise. Accidental outcomes were rare. With the New Magic, he wasn’t at risk of inadvertently killing another man while boiling a kettle of tea. “Is such power worth the risk?” wondered Demetry aloud.

  “That is the wizard’s dilemma, isn’t it?” said Jeremiah. “To practice self-restraint and walk blissfully ignorant in the light, or to embrace one’s true potential and enter the dark dominion of the damned. A man might lose his soul in such an endeavor.”

  “Or a man might become akin to the gods.”

  Jeremiah nodded. “When your training is complete you will have mastery of the physical world. Earth, wind, water, and fire will be yours to command. Are you ready to begin?”

  “Yes,” said Demetry breathlessly.

  “Good.” Jeremiah plucked the feather from the wall and held it aloft between his forefinger and thumb. “Now, make this feather fly.”

  CHAPTER

  VIII

  LETTERS AND SECRETS

  AS DEMETRY PRACTICED THE OLD MAGIC, one thing soon became apparent — Jeremiah had not overstated the dangers. The Old Magic was fickle, and glorious, and devastating, and beautiful all at once. On days when Demetry’s mind was clear, he felt like his powers were boundless. On days when his mind was clouded, it seemed as if nothing went right.

  Once, while practicing his pyromancy, he set a pot of water on fire, as impossible as that might seem. He would have probably suffocated from smoke inhalation had Jeremiah not quickly intervened by throwing a lid over the fire. Another time Demetry lost his focus and accidentally conjured a miniature thunderstorm located entirely within the confines of their cell. Jeremiah had to scramble to keep his notes and books from being ruined, all the while dodging bolts of lightning. Demetry’s ears rang for days thereafter.

  Demetry’s greatest problem was his concentration. The New Magic used words and hand motions to lull the mind into a meditative state. Because of this, it was all but guaranteed that the spell Demetry conjured was in line with his original intentions.

  The Old Magic was not so forgiving. A momentary collapse in concentration could produce an unintended consequence, or worse still, cause the spell to come undone with catastrophic results. Demetry only had to consider Joshua’s fate to understand the risks he was taking. Joshua had misspoken one word and the consequence was fatal. What would be the result of one ill-timed thought with the Old Magic?

  Jeremiah did his best to keep Demetry safe. Since Old Magic spells had no words, much of Jeremiah’s instruction was focused on four core techniques: clearing the mind of distracting thoughts, envisioning the intended outcome, channeling the Sundered Soul, and releasing hold of the ench
antment upon completion. Because a failure to complete any one step could have catastrophic results, Jeremiah approached Demetry’s training with the sternness of a drill master. This was not surprising, given his history as a Wyrm general. Jeremiah led vast legions of dark children during the War of Sundering — training a young lad in the ways of the Old Magic was no challenge in comparison.

  The only thing that ever disrupted Demetry’s daily routine was the occasional visit by Warden Cendrik. Every few weeks the warden would descend the endless flight of stairs with a bottle of wine in hand. On such occasions, Demetry would sulk to the corner of the room and keep to himself. He was not about to forget the abuse he had received from Cendrik’s men.

  Demetry’s dislike of Cendrik didn’t stop Jeremiah from conversing with the warden like they were old chums. The two would often lounge for hours beside the glowing brazier talking quietly about history and the Sundered Gods. Sometimes Cendrik would challenge Jeremiah to a game of bones. The two men would sit hunched over on either side of the board like venerable generals, Cendrik with his cane draped across his lap, and Jeremiah squinting at the board to focus his aging eyes. They would play for hours without saying a word, moving their pieces and rolling the die with practiced precision. Jeremiah won more often than not, which didn’t seem to bother Cendrik in the slightest. Cendrik claimed it was the only time he ever got to play a fair game. His seer’s intuition typically enabled him to read his opponent’s next move, but not so with Jeremiah. Jeremiah’s mind was like a dark cave.

  Demetry guessed at Warden Cendrik’s true intention — he was attempting to spy on Demetry’s mind. Demetry could often feel the probing touch of Cendrik’s third eye. Was he checking on Demetry’s progress? Was he searching for the whereabouts of the Orb? Demetry could not say. All he knew was that another set of eyes in his head was not welcome — the space was already far too crowded.