Sinners of Magic

by Lynette Creswell

  A cry of rage escaped from his tormented body and ricocheted from every corner of the room faster than a bullet from a desperate soldier’s gun. He knew he must keep focused on the problem at hand and not stray onto the path that led to the past. He must forget Amella as best he could and find instead the one responsible for taking the keeper, but sometimes her memory would not lie low.

  The wizard made his way through his many chambers to the outside world, which brought him to the waterfall of Valandil. He wasted no time in stripping off his clothing and plunging naked into the icy waters, the shock of the freezing water cleansing his mind of all his agonising thoughts. Once revitalised, he swam with confidence, diving under the water and breaking through its surface until he was gasping for air. The waterfall fell about him in a rapturous cascade, the noise of the falls almost unbearable to his ears, but he loved the noise, for it allowed him not to think.

  He eventually pulled himself from the sanctuary of the water and his naked body glistened in the bright sunlight. He felt none of the inhibition of a mere mortal. Nature had found peace within itself here; captivated by the consuming beauty of its surroundings, embarrassment did not exist.

  His jaw flexed when a breeze whipped the air and he shook his body, eager to be dry. The cool wind wrapped itself around him, forming a cocoon of air and once dry he returned to his den. He decided tomorrow would be soon enough to start his journey, today he would simply rest and prepare himself for what was yet to come.

  *

  The following morning, a warm sun protruded the white, fluffy clouds and Bridgemear came out of his den with a calmer spirit. He would leave his stave behind due to the laws of the realms but his sword would never leave his side. He flung a thick, black cloak about his shoulders and fastened it with a dazzling jewelled brooch. He stroked the brooch absentmindedly – it had been a gift from Amella.

  Bridgemear saddled his horse and then visited each kingdom within the realm of Raven’s Rainbow and gathered the four Oakwood mages by nightfall. They stayed in Elveria’s den, a place carved inside the hill of Quintel. Bridgemear stood by the silvery windows of Elveria’s moon room, a place he used for his guests, and the wizard felt pleased to be surrounded by his brothers.

  Elveria was the elder mage. His lined face was devoid of humour and his eyes were sunk deep into their sockets. His beard was long and white, reaching almost to his waist, and he tucked it into his belt to help keep it from rolling up to his chin The wandering spirits which roamed the mountain had already whispered to him of the disappearance of Nekton and because he was the most feared, they told no one else of their findings.

  ‘I’m sure we will find out what has happened at Fortune’s End,’ Elveria said, turning to Bridgemear and showing his eyes were filled with concern. ‘However, I feel there are a few things we need to clarify before we go any further. Would you mind if I start by asking you a few questions?’

  ‘No, not at all,’ replied Bridgemear, moving closer. ‘Why, ask away, for I will tell you anything I can.’ Elveria nodded, looking pleased.

  ‘You know we have had our differences over the years, especially with what occurred with you and Princess Amella, but with this disgraceful situation upon us, I wish to set those disagreements aside.’

  Bridgemear appeared to squirm under his watchful eye.

  ‘So, start by telling us what you know to be fact,’ said Elveria, observing the red glow of humiliation burning on Bridgemear’s cheeks. Bridgemear cleared his throat but could not look the elder mage in the eye.

  ‘It is as I said earlier; the traveller went to the resting place at Fortune’s End and saw it was deserted. Upon closer inspection the keeper was nowhere to be seen and the place was found to be completely ransacked. However, one thing is strange.’

  ‘Go on,’ urged Elveria, with a wave of his hand.

  ‘Well, it would appear the intruder who was seen riding in my woods left his horse tethered to the side of the hut. Now, who would do this for it would mean they would have to leave Fortune’s End on foot?’

  ‘I smell serious trouble,’ interrupted Mordorma. He was Bridgemear’s closest brother.

  ‘Mmm, I don’t like the sound of this either,’ said Voleton, who was one of the younger mages. ‘For I believe this attack was planned.’

  ‘I think you’re right,’ agreed the youngest wizard, Amafar. ‘Nekton wouldn’t just vanish into thin air without a trace.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Mordorma, nodding his head in agreement. ‘Whoever took the keeper made sure they didn’t leave any clues.’

  ‘So, tell us,’ said Elveria, turning his attention back to Bridgemear. ‘Couldn’t your stave identify the culprit when they approached the keeper’s rest?’

  ‘No, surprisingly not,’ said Bridgemear dropping his head in frustration. ‘But I have heard there was an elf warrior seen riding through my woods and who stayed at Fortune’s End that very night.’

  ‘Then we shall ride to the elf kingdom and see what King Gamada has to say for himself,’ said Elveria, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

  ‘But I am forbidden to enter the elf realm,’ gasped Bridgemear, astonished at the mere suggestion of entering Amella’s realm.

  ‘Yes, you are,’ agreed Elveria, ‘but this is different; their people are just as welcome in our realm as you are in theirs. I think it only fair that you come with us to the Kingdom of Nine Winters, after all what’s good for the goose …’

  Bridgemear blanched.

  ‘I’m not sure if I can …’

  It was Mordorma who came to his rescue.

  ‘You will not be alone,’ he said in a soothing tone. ‘I know it won’t be easy for you to return, but we must unite as one if we are to gain the answers we seek.’

  Bridgemear held his gaze.

  ‘I know you’re right, brother,’ he said turning pale, ‘but what if I see – her?’

  ‘That will never happen whilst there are stars in the sky. Amella is long gone, no one has clapped eyes on her for many years and you should not worry yourself with such thoughts. Be strong and look towards the future for the past holds nothing but pain for you.’

  The next morning, the four wizards rode at Bridgemear’s side, their frustration worn like a warrior’s mask on their taunt faces. They would deal with whoever had defied their laws with a penalty worth a wizard’s wrath and so they rode to find answers and to defend their forefathers’ wishes.

  After crossing much land they began to tire and Bridgemear slowed his pace.

  ‘Do you really think it was the elf who took the keeper?’ asked Voleton, pulling hard on the reins to manoeuvre his horse to walk beside Bridgemear’s.

  ‘It’s possible,’ he conceded. ‘No one can be absolutely sure either way, but he is the only lead we have. The one thing that puzzles me is that for some reason my magic could not help me trace him, which I find hard to comprehend.’

  ‘Do you think they used forbidden magic to disguise the attack?’ asked Mordorma, who also moved closer on hearing snippets of conversation from behind Voleton.

  ‘Again, it’s possible,’ Bridgemear answered, kicking his horse with his stirrups to force her on.

  ‘Who would want to do this?’ murmured Voleton, when Bridgemear was well out of earshot.

  ‘Someone who feels they have a lot to gain,’ Mordorma replied, aware of a sudden chill in the air.

  ‘It has to be someone willing to take a huge risk,’ Voleton remarked.

  Mordorma turned in the saddle and looked him straight in the eye. ‘Then we had better make haste and find the culprit before they have chance to cause more chaos.’

  Voleton was about to agree when something caught his eye and he called out a warning.

  ‘Look, two riders are approaching,’ he said, pointing over to the west. ‘Can you see, over there, on the horizon?’

  Each mage stopped and turned their horses, straining their eyes to look to where Voleton still pointed. Sure enough two small, black specks were making
their way closer, the haze from the sun causing their outlines to shimmer like an illusion.

  ‘One of the riders is an elf warrior,’ said Elveria, closing his eyes to slits, ‘and the one who rides with him,’ he added, raising his thick eyebrows in disbelief, ‘is the one we seek, for it is the keeper of Fortune’s End.’

  Stunned by Elveria’s announcement, no one attempted to meet the two riders; instead, they sat in silence, deep in their own thoughts, and waited for them to draw near.

  The thud of the horses’ hooves vibrated through the hardened soil, a beat which was in rhythm with the pulse in Bridgemear’s temple. The two riders approached and with watchful eyes rode towards the band of mages. Bridgemear pushed his horse forward.

  ‘Welcome back, keeper of Fortune’s End, you look like you have come from afar. Please tell us what has happened to you.’

  Nekton merely grunted; he didn’t look well at all and beads of sweat were trickling down his face.

  ‘Sire,’ Amadeus interrupted. ‘My name is Amadeus and I am a messenger sent by King Gamada.’

  ‘I know who you are,’ said Elveria, his voice thick with contempt, ‘what we want to know is what you are doing with our keeper.’

  ‘My lord, I was captured whilst staying at Fortune’s End; my attackers lay in wait for me hidden in the woods. To overpower me they used a magic spell which made them invisible except for their eyes, for their pupils shone yellow against the night sky.’

  ‘Who was it who attacked you?’ demanded Bridgemear, furious at the thought of someone using forbidden magic.

  ‘It was King Forusian, ruler of the Nonhawk; it was his men who came that night and took us captive.’

  ‘Why was it so important to him to capture you and take the keeper?’ asked Voleton, trying to contain his surprise.

  ‘I believe it was because I have a message from King Gamada for the wizard Bridgemear and I have since come to realise King Forusian did not want the message I hold to reach his ears; as for the keeper, he was simply a witness to the crime.’

  ‘What message could be so important it would warrant a move against us and with it the possibility of war?’ asked Mordorma, his horse becoming restless and snorting in protest.

  Amadeus opened his mouth to speak, but Nekton was no longer able to hold onto his horse and fell to the ground in a heap.

  Amadeus jumped from his mount and bent down on his knees, scooping the ailing dwarf in his strong arms. Bridgemear dismounted and placed his cool hand on Nekton’s damp forehead. He felt his fever burn his fingertips and he closed his eyes. A blue light glowed above his hand and travelled down his fingers. Muttering undecipherable words, Bridgemear whispered a spell, letting the light melt against the dwarf’s skin. Nekton’s eyes fluttered and he suddenly sprang to his feet, then looked down at Amadeus in surprise.

  ‘What are you doing down there?’ he asked, clearly puzzled at the warrior being on his knees.

  Amadeus rose to his feet and smiled, grateful Nekton was looking much better.

  ‘Thank you,’ Amadeus said to the wizard in gratitude, ‘he has become a good friend.’

  ‘There is no need to thank me,’ said Bridgemear moving his hand onto his hips, ‘he is my keeper and therefore my responsibility; I will always watch over him.’

  Amadeus took the slight rebuff on the chin and then concentrated on guiding Nekton back to his horse before remounting.

  ‘So,’ said Amafar, who had been silent up to now. ‘What is this message from King Gamada? It must be something pretty important to risk the wrath of an Oakwood wizard.’

  Amadeus turned towards Bridgemear and watched the wizard climb back on his horse. Taking a deep breath, he faced the wizard’s look of scorn.

  ‘Bridgemear, wizard of Oakwood,’ he cried, feeling all eyes boring down on him, ‘I must inform you of the return to the extraordinary world of your daughter, Crystal, born of Princess Amella.’

  Bridgemear almost fell off his horse and the beast whinnied in protest when he grabbed the reins too tightly, forcing the mouthpiece to cut into her flesh. It was clear to those who looked on that he was astonished by the unexpected revelation, his face a picture of confusion.

  Elveria frowned, his mouth pulled into a disapproving line.

  ‘I always knew your past would come back to bite you on the arse,’ he hissed, like a venomous viper.

  Bridgemear ignored him. His mind was too busy whirling over the fact that his daughter was back in his world and he felt despair; the Elders would be furious when they found out. His brain worked overtime – why was she back? Had she come to seek him out?

  ‘Where is she?’ Bridgemear cried, trying his best to ignore the roar of raised voices and words of despondency.

  Amadeus shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘I assume she will have reached Nine Winters by now,’ he said, grabbing his horse’s reins. ‘I have not been to my kingdom since I was captured by Forusian’s men and only visited the realm of the dwarves to gather horses and food for this journey.’

  ‘Then we carry on to the Kingdom of Nine Winters,’ Elveria cried out. ‘We must find out what she is doing here and, more importantly, why the Nonhawk king tried to stop us from finding out.’

  Chapter 13

  Matt and Arhdel sat on their horses and looked at the dark silhouette of Forusian’s castle. They could only legitimately enter the castle by crossing two bridges over the outer moat and entering through the main gatehouse. They already knew that was not possible and instead planned to use the limited information given to them by King Gamada.

  They turned their horses and made their way down towards the sea. Their plan would start with gaining entrance to the castle via the underground system. This was not a pleasant way to gain access, but the only way they could get in without being detected.

  Arhdel was the first to jump off his horse and onto the shingle. The crunch of it under his feet sounded loud in his ears but the noise of the waves crashing against the rocks disguised his steps and the taste of salt soon entered his mouth. Matt was less enthusiastic to leave his horse and Arhdel waved to him and urged him to follow.

  The boy must learn to grasp the importance of courage, thought Arhdel, scanning the shoreline and checking they hadn’t been seen. He would try to teach him as best he could and believed Matt would not be slow to learn.

  From his belt the warrior pulled out a small dagger with a jewelled hilt and once Matt was by his side he presented it to him. It was pleasing to the eye and Matt was stunned to be offered such a gift.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Matt stammered, refusing the dagger and pushing it away with his fingertips.

  Arhdel closed his eyes, trying not to lose his patience.

  ‘Take it, it’s yours,’ he insisted. ‘You will need a weapon worthy of a warrior whilst you fight by my side.’

  Matt paled.

  ‘I’m really grateful to you,’ he said, touched by his generosity, ‘and deeply honoured, but I cannot accept such a gift.’

  Arhdel looked puzzled.

  ‘Nonsense lad, I’m giving you the dagger because you will most likely have to kill to stay alive.’ Without ceremony, he thrust the blade into Matt’s hand.

  Matt gulped; in his naivety he hadn’t really thought about anything as drastic as killing someone.

  Murky clouds began to roll in from the sea and obscure the light from the stars and then huge drops of rain splashed down from the heavens, landing with a plop onto Arhdel’s armour.

  ‘Damn it!’ Arhdel cursed, ‘that’s all we need.’

  Grabbing hold of both sets of reins he pulled the horses onto a grassy bank set well back from the sea.

  ‘They’ll be alright here,’ he advised, when the rain turned heavy. ‘The sea doesn’t come this far and the rain will not last forever.’

  The rain was bitter cold and Matt felt sorry for the poor beasts.

  ‘We must hurry and find the entrance,’ stated Arhdel, pulling him away, ‘or I’ll turn into a rusty
tin can before your very eyes.’

  As nimble as a squirrel, Arhdel began to climb the steep incline. Matt tried to keep up but the short stumps of grass dotted here and there were slippery underfoot and he kept stumbling.

  ‘Come on, in here!’ called Arhdel from some way up. ‘I’ve found the entrance we were looking for.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Matt tried to shout against the wind, but his words were lost to the sea and so he carried on in silence.

  Arhdel checked to see if they were being followed before entering a small cave. The ceiling was exceptionally low, forcing him to crouch on his hands and knees as he made his way through. He could see a hole about a foot square, a squeeze for anyone bigger than a small child to get through let alone a chunky warrior wearing plated armour.

  Matt tracked him down and appeared at the rear. He stared briefly at the small hole that Arhdel told him they must use and, unconvinced, his eyes searched for an alternative route.

  ‘You can’t be serious,’ he gasped, when he realised there was nowhere else they could go.

  ‘It’s the only way in,’ said Arhdel, brushing a calloused hand over the stone.

  ‘See this wall? It’s already crumbling, and if we concentrate on this area here,’ he said, pointing to where the stone was disintegrating, ‘we should be able to make a hole big enough to enable us to get through.’

  His eyes darted around the cave, surveying its structure.

  ‘Let’s just hope it doesn’t collapse on top of us,’ he muttered under his breath when he caught Matt’s look of scepticism.

  ‘How are we going to do this? We don’t have a shovel or any tools with us,’ Matt complained, reaching the warrior’s side.