Mystic: A Book of Underrealm

by Garrett Robinson

  “I do not need your aid. You may trust me in this, for you have not seen the extent of my power.”

  “You make idle boasts,” said Vivien. “You could not stop a hundred riders on your own. And ten times that many pursue us.”

  Gem scrambled down from Jordel’s horse and ran for Loren’s. “Argue until the enemy is upon us if you must, but I will not wait. Ride now, Loren. Make for the north while we can!”

  Loren seized Gem’s hand and pulled him up behind her. Annis looked to her for guidance, but she knew not what to do; they could not leave without the magestones.

  “Come, Xain,” said Jordel. “We must escape. We may yet need a desperate last stand, but not now.”

  “I will make a stand, and it shall not be my last.” With a dark smile, Xain reached into his coat, and from an inner pocket produced a single black crystal.

  Vivien sucked in a sharp breath and fell back. The other Mystics drew their swords. Jordel stared, dumbfounded.

  Xain swallowed the magestone whole. His eyes glowed black, and a halo of light shone around him as he raised a hand into the air. It twisted and bent as no human fingers should. He spoke dark and horrible words, loud and clear. Loren heard in his voice the power she had heard on the river. It struck her in the chest like a hammer, and she gasped from its force. Gem cried out and tightly gripped Loren’s waist while Annis covered her ears. The Mystics recoiled at Xain’s words, even Jordel.

  Bolts of black fire exploded from the sky, raining down to soak the sellswords in flame.

  “No,” Loren whispered.

  Xain struck again and again. Each time, a fresh wave of horsemen caught alight. Swaddled in darkfire, the black flames caught in their clothes, in their hair, on their skin. Men and women screamed. Their horses pitched to the ground. Some found their feet, beating at their own bodies in agony, only to be struck by riders behind them.

  Flames caught in the horses’ coats. They veered left and right. Soon, the darkfire spread throughout the ranks, and the road had become a river of fire, darker than midnight yet hot as the sun.

  “Stop, Xain!” Loren’s voice cracked, and she found there were tears in her eyes.

  The wizard continued, his cries growing ever louder as he sent wave upon wave of the black flames surging through the ranks. All thoughts of attack had fled the cavalry; those not yet touched by the darkfire tried to turn and flee. But their efforts only worsened their fix, for they jostled and crashed into one another, and with every touch the flames continued to spread.

  Darkfire rose higher and higher until Loren could feel its heat where she stood. Then the final dying cries faded away, and the road was empty, save for the mounds of charred bodies lying along it, man and horse both. They were dead; all of them, hundreds of them, dead, and Loren could find no words for the anguish in her soul.

  “Abomination!” Vivien jumped from her horse, eyes glowing with magic as she raised her hands. “An eater of the black crystal. I might have known, for you defeated me too easily in our battle upon the river.”

  The other Mystics dismounted behind her and formed a line on either side, their blades at the ready. Jordel left his horse as well but stood apart from the others, between Loren and Xain.

  The wizard laughed at Vivien—a terrible sound, like spawn of the darkness below.

  “I defeated you because you are weak, and a fool besides. I could best you without the magestones. Do not tell me you hope to win now.”

  “You cannot do this, Xain!” said Jordel. “You know what the crystals will do to you—what they do to you even now.”

  “I know children’s stories, told to me in training as a mother tells her son of a ghost haunting the woods. But what I feel—that is another matter. There is greatness within me, the touch of a strength that no discipline could ever provide.”

  “The Mage Kings of old felt that same power,” said Jordel, “and it nearly tore the nine lands asunder.”

  “Mayhap it should have,” snarled Xain. “For then we would not suffer from the plague of redcloaks infesting us now. Tell me truly, Captain of the Mystics: Were the Mage Kings outlawed because of their danger or because they posed a threat to your precious order?”

  Vivien struck. Her fingers clenched, and her fist punched forwards. But if she thought to bind or strike him, she had underestimated the wizard’s power.

  Xain swept a hand through the air. Vivien recoiled as though slapped in the face. Then he spoke a word, held his palms outward, and sent a terrible wind from his fingers.

  It slammed into the party and pitched Loren from her horse. Gem and Annis fell beside her with a cry. The winds continued, and Loren found it impossible to stand.

  When they finally died and Loren could raise her head, she saw Vivien and Xain locked in a mortal struggle. Vivien pushed and pulled, swiped and struck at the wizard with her mind, but he swatted her every attempt.

  One of the other Mystics tried to press the assault, but Xain batted him away with a cone of air, flinging him into a hill. Vivien swerved through the air, sending waves of magic at Xain. But he dashed them aside like a child’s futile blows. She kept stepping towards him, trying to bring him within arm’s reach, but he had learned that lesson in Wellmont. Xain stepped back whenever she approached, and Vivien could not reach him.

  At last, she gave a frustrated cry while holding her assault. “We will never stop hunting you, wizard. You will burn in a pyre for this, like the Mage Kings of old. Your name will enter the blackest lists in our most hidden halls.”

  Calm in the face of her fury, Xain said, “Of course they will never stop. Once your kind find a wizard using the magestones, they are relentless. It would not suit the Mystics to have a wizard so powerful that you could not control him.”

  The wizard stepped forwards and unleashed a burst of wind upon her. Vivien flew back, along with the other Mystics, all cast to the ground, shrieking in agony.

  The wind swept across Loren and again hurled her down beside Gem and Annis.

  “That is why none of you can leave, or take word from this place!”

  “No, Xain!” Jordel scrambled to his feet and launched an attack.

  The wizard stretched his hand and unleashed a burst of white-hot flames.

  Darkfire swept the Mystics. Loren flinched and looked away to avoid the sight and protect herself from the blinding light. She cast her cloak across Gem and Annis for fear that the heat might sear their flesh.

  When at last the flames had faded, Loren forced herself to look. Only blackened and twisted shapes lay on the ground where Vivien and the other Mystics had lain. Their horses, too, had burnt in the fire, save one or two running in terror down the road.

  But Jordel had somehow escaped. The blast must have thrown him clear, for he lay not far away on his back. Much of his cloak had been burnt away and was hanging in tatters. A deep burn crossed one cheek. He moaned with his eyes closed.

  Xain approached the Mystic, eyes glowing black and eyebrows drawn in anger. Loren did not want to move, but somehow she found the strength. She jumped up and in front of the wizard, thrust her dagger towards him.

  The wizard stopped a few paces away and smiled. “Brave little thief.” His deep, unnatural voice echoed in her breast. “Brought to bay saving your master’s life like a good little pup, though he loves you no more than any of the other sad wretches he marches to death.”

  “Their doom does not lie on his head,” cried Loren. “You brought it upon them alone. I am a fool to have trusted you and will regret it until my life’s final breath. I spared you when it would have been easier to slit your throat, and a dozen times I helped you because I deemed you worthy of the effort. But hundreds have died by your hand when I could have let you starve on the King’s road the day we met.”

  “Indeed, you have been foolish. But it seems that at last you see the truth. This is a world of fire and swords, and sometimes a hard choice must be made.”

  “A hard choice?” Loren pointed at the blackened bodi
es scattered around them. “What choice did they have?”

  “I told them to leave. I told you all to leave. And yet you were foolish. I am finished with idiocy. Now step aside, for it is time I ended this chase.”

  “No!” Loren screamed and stepped towards Xain with the dagger. “Not now nor ever again. You speak the truth: I have been a fool when it comes to you, wizard. But no more. I will end you if I must, but you will not lay a hand on Jordel.”

  Xain laughed loud and long. His eyes glowed a bottomless shade of black, and he muttered something horrible while swiping a hand through the air.

  Loren braced herself for impact.

  Nothing happened.

  Xain’s expression curdled.

  Loren was equally confused but gave him no time to think.

  She tackled Xain and sent him to the ground. The wizard twisted beneath her but had no skill for fighting. She wrapped an arm around his neck and rolled until he was lying on his back atop her. Her hand flashed around, and the dagger came down, its tip aimed at his neck.

  Loren stopped an inch from his skin, and lowered it slower until the steel tip pressed against his throat.

  “Stop, Xain. It is over!”

  He refused to listen and thrashed in her arms. She had to lift the dagger for fear that he would press his flesh into it with his lurching. Flame appeared in his hand and screamed towards her face, but at the last second it fizzled and showered the ground. He formed ice from the air and rained its razor shards upon her, but they melted on her skin.

  Loren could only wonder at his impotence. His struggles grew more frantic, and she felt her grip slipping. Ever again, she implored him to stop, but the wizard refused to listen.

  He snarled like a wild animal.

  She had no other choice. He would break free and kill her, turn his magic on Annis and Gem, or Jordel. She had to end it. She raised her hand. The dagger flashed in the sunlight, black on its blade like the midnight in Xain’s eyes.

  But she could not plunge it into his neck. Half her mind willed it, but the other half screamed for Loren to stop. Her muscles refused to obey. For then how would she be any different? How could she claim to be better than Jordel when he killed sellswords who had never crossed him? Or Xain, who slaughtered an army with darkfire? She had followed one rule since leaving the Birchwood and could not break it now.

  Xain froze atop her and hissed between his teeth. She tightened her grip on his throat. Still, he managed to mutter, “The dagger.”

  He seized Loren’s wrist, twisting it before she could react. His ferocity and her surprise forced the weapon from her hand. She watched it slide away across the grass.

  Xain whispered. His hands on her wrist burnt like liquid metal. Her flesh sizzled, and she screamed. Her grip on his throat loosened.

  Xain rolled away and quickly regained his feet. Grim and terrible he stood, looking down at Loren, the corners of his mouth twisting in a secret smile.

  “The dagger. All this time—from the day we met, you carried it with you, and yet I never suspected. But how could I? ’Tis a magic I have not heard of.”

  His hand rose. A ball of flame plumed inside it.

  Loren was terrified. Frozen.

  Xain seemed taut as a bowstring, and any provocation might cause him to unleash his magic.

  “But I know it now and thus have another tool for my quest. Thank you, Loren of the family Nelda. For the final time.”

  Xain raised the ball of flame, seconds from hurling it at Loren.

  But Jordel appeared from behind. The Mystic swept Xain’s legs from beneath him and sent the wizard to the ground. His flame guttered out, and Jordel kicked him full in the face.

  Bones broke loudly. His body jerked once, and he lay still.

  The air was still, save for the crackling of the still-burning corpses. The fight was over.

  forty-two

  “IS HE DEAD?” LOREN WHISPERED. Jordel did not answer, but then she saw Xain’s chest rise and fall beneath his coat. All the fight left her, and she fell back trembling on the grass. But the moment’s peace did not last long, for Jordel strode to stand above her.

  “Get up,” he said, his voice like iced steel.

  Loren trembled at his anger, but she forced herself to stand. He waited until she had risen before stepping closer, into her space. She was reminded for a terrifying moment of her father.

  “What in the sky above were you thinking?” He roared loud enough to make Loren jump. “You had dealings with a wizard mad enough to use magestones? How long did he use them? How long did you know of it? Tell me, now!”

  Her knees were shaking, and she could not reply. Would not. She did not need to suffer such harsh words from a man who had kept a thousand secrets himself, who told Loren nothing beyond what he deemed her worthy to know.

  He did not await her reply but instead turned and paced the grass. “Magestones. Magestones! Had I known, how much death would have been prevented? How many of our aims would have been met, and so much sooner? It is all so clear to me now.”

  He spun abruptly and went to the wizard, still lying senseless on the ground. For a moment Loren feared he meant to murder Xain. Instead he stooped and drew the brown cloth packet from his coat. He hurled it down so that the black stones scattered across the grass, then raised his heel.

  “Don’t!” cried Loren, but too late. Jordel stamped and stamped, until the black stones were crushed into a fine black powder that scattered in the wind. Loren cried out in pain, for it felt like all her hopes were blowing away.

  “What madness made you help him when he fled the city? What madness made you pursue him out here, alone and unaided? Did you not know he was a wizard? Did you not know your own peril? And all these lives . . . I might have saved them. I might . . .”

  His shoulders slumped, the spark went dead in his eyes, and he fell to his knees beside Xain. His head drooped, and his cowl slid forwards to cover his face. Mayhap he wept; Loren was not sure she wanted to know.

  Still mute, Loren went for the horses. Two remained—Jordel’s fine mount and her own black mare. In the Mystic’s saddlebags she found some thin strips of white cloth. She tied a few through Xain’s mouth, knotting them tightly at the back of his head, and bound his hands behind his back. Finally, she tied both knots together with a single string so he could not move his limbs. Once done, Xain was trussed up like a hog.

  Loren went to Gem and Annis, still sitting huddled off to the side. She knelt and looked them over. Neither seemed harmed beyond a bit of light singeing.

  “Are you all right?”

  “What kind of question is that?” said Annis in a tiny voice. “Look at what has happened.”

  Loren had no answer and turned away for fear that her voice would fail her. She returned to Jordel and Xain—the Mystic and the wizard, both defeated in their own way.

  Jordel rose, and Loren saw that the fury had left him. He studied her with sad eyes for a moment before he went to inspect Xain. He tugged on the knots and must have found them to his liking, for he did nothing to adjust them.

  “I am sorry for my wrath. I know you had no reason to speak of the magestones. I would guess you knew little of their properties. Only that they were outside the King’s law.”

  “That is near enough to the truth, yes. If I could go back, knowing what I do, I should have told you from the first—or cast them into the river when given the chance.”

  He went to his horse. Loren had left one of his saddlebags open. Idly he buttoned it shut, focusing on the motion of his fingers. Then he turned back to her, his piercing blue eyes meeting hers of deep green.

  “You have proved yourself to be a woman of great resourcefulness and cunning. Admirable qualities, especially when joined to a kind heart and a sense of justice.”

  “I fear that if anything, my heart is too kind. I must harden it if I am to have any chance at surviving this life.”

  “None survive life forever, and a heart that is too kind may balance those
which are too evil. Do not fear mercy and compassion—dread only ignorance. That is what led you down this road of folly not any fault in your character. You have the ability to do tremendous good—but when you leap without knowing, or strike without wisdom, you may yet be led to terrible evil.”

  “I aim to know all that I can. And if you mean what you say, tell me. What is the dark knowledge you shared with Xain? Give me your counsel, Mystic, that I may better prepare myself to weather the coming storm.”

  “Alas, I must prove myself false,” said Jordel. “For I shared that counsel once already and dared to trust. ’Tis a mistake I cannot repeat. A great evil has awoken—but they do not yet know of my knowledge. If our enemies were aware that I am preparing to fight, my efforts might be unspooled.”

  “I would never tell the secret.”

  “I am sure you believe that,” said Jordel sadly. “Yet I have seen things . . . terrible things. Tight lips can always be pried by evil means, and I would not wish such a fate upon you. The truth is a burden, and I must bear it alone—for now.”

  He turned and leaned his forehead against the saddle, seeming quite suddenly like a much smaller man. Again, Loren wondered at his age. His hair was a silvery white, but his face was free of wrinkles. His eyes shone with deep wisdom and a youthful energy. So little she knew of this man, and yet so deeply her heart yearned to follow him.

  She went to Jordel, and touching his shoulder drew his eyes to hers.

  “I made my decision in Wellmont. When we fought to save the city from burning. I will help you, Jordel of the family Adair. If you mean to prevent a war, I will aid you. In your service, I pledge to do as you ask—except take a life. Today I thought I might cross that bridge, in defense of myself and my friends. But even for that, I could not. But any other deed of me you may ask, and I will serve if I can.”

  “You make that pledge too freely, and caution is a skill you must learn. You do not know me so well, and I might ask of you anything.”