Armies of the Silver Mage

by Christian Freed

  Delin returned with an armload of small branches and firewood. “This is Rellin Werd, old man. You should at least know which great wood you’ve stumbled into.”

  “Old man? Well, I suppose youth do manage to see experience through veiled eyes. I seem to recall the forest being much smaller, but that was years ago. Still, I almost feel at home here.”

  Delin shook his head and fed the fire.

  Dakeb slapped his thigh and laughed. “So, what’s for supper? It’s got to be heading towards the mid of night and I haven’t eaten since the sun went down.”

  They ate in relative silence, a simple luxury Delin had never been so thankful for. He found the old man intrusive and overbearing. Definitely not one to be trusted he decided the moment Dakeb came awake. He refused to believe that the old man accidentally bumped into them. The sheer convenience of it all was alarming. Fennic, on the other hand, seemed enamored with the grump. That put them both in a bad situation.

  “What was it exactly why you were looking for Fel Darrins? You’ve mentioned it twice already and not said how you knew our little out of the way home,” Delin said.

  There was a twinkle in Dakeb’s eye. “I was going to visit an old friend, if you must know. A very good man.”

  “Anyone we know?” Fennic asked. The slow rising tension between the other two was setting him on edge. Yet whenever he touched Phaelor the sword radiated calm. A nasty cough from the old man eased Fennic’s mind, if only slightly.

  “Ahh, a tricky question at best. You can live in a village your whole life and not really know the man next door. There’s always someone you haven’t met. So, the answer to your question is both yes and no. They are old friends and let us leave it at that for now,” the old man said.

  He yawned. “The hour is growing late and I’m not as young as I once was. I hope you lads don’t mind if I retire until the morn?”

  Without waiting for a response, Dakeb pulled the hood over his head and laid down. He looked asleep the moment his head hit the small pillow of leaves he made. Delin and Fennic stayed up and watched him for a time. Neither tried to go to sleep until he began to snore.

  Delin eased closer to Fennic and whispered. “I’m still not sure about him. He may be a decoy for the enemy. He makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand. This is too dangerous, Fennic. I think we should leave before he wakes up.”

  “I don’t know. Phaelor hasn’t alerted me at all. I think this Dakeb is just a harmless old man looking for a friend before the end. My father used to say the old get like this before they pass on.”

  Delin scowled. “Say what you will, but that man is dangerous.”

  Fennic stifled a laugh. “Him? He’s older than your grandmother. Look at him. He can’t weigh more than a hundred stones. We should be safe enough.”

  Tired as he was, Fennic followed Dakeb’s example and was soon fast asleep. Delin managed to stay awake a while longer, angered at losing the debate. A sudden rustling in the dead leaves brought him wide awake and fumbling for his weapon. His fears were being realized. The old man had gotten up after they were asleep and led the enemy right to them! Delin resigned himself to death, hoping to take some of them to the grave with him. By the time his eyes focused all he saw were a pair of forest hares rummaging for a meal. Delin exhaled a long, shaky breath. Only then did he realize he was trembling.

  Regaining his composure, Delin checked on Fennic and the old man. Both hadn’t even stirred. The fears from earlier in the night were gone and dawn was beginning to crack the night. He found himself oddly satisfied that Fennic kept him from acting out his fears. Smiling, the youth gathered his sling and a pouch of stones and tramped off into the forest to find some food for breakfast. He returned an hour later carrying a dressed pheasant over his shoulder and whistling a song. The look on Fennic’s face stole that good mood.

  “He’s dead,” Fennic said.

  Delin dropped the bird and rushed over to feel for a pulse.

  “Must have passed in his sleep,” he said.

  Fennic shook his head. This was the second time a person they’d come in contact with had died. Ill fortune was following them. How much longer before it struck them down?

  Together they gathered enough stones to cover Dakeb’s body, seeing as how they lacked the tools to dig a proper grave. Grabbing his legs, Fennic let Delin take the upper body and they lay him in the shallow pit between a pair of tree roots. Something small and dark purple slipped from the old man’s robes. Delin reached down and picked it up, staring at the perfection of it. It was that moment Fennic knew things could not get more bizarre.

  EIGHT

  Heavy rains kept most of the townsfolk indoors for most of the last few days. One of the fields south of Fel Darrins was flooded, drawing most of the able bodied men there to try and stem the tide of the rampaging creek. The recovery took most of the day and they were able to prevent the waters from reaching the village. For most, it was a trip to the warm fire in the Tavern and a pint or two. The storm raged on unabated.

  So it was the lone rider came into town unnoticed. He wore clothes of the darkest black and had a menacing scowl. He was half a head taller than most of the townsfolk and heavily muscled. His body was thick and hard from years of constant warfare and hardships. He ignored the houses and closed shops, heading directly for the Tavern. The rider stopped long enough to watch the men valiantly trying to save their town from the flow of water. While it peaked his curiosity, he didn’t find who he was looking for so he rode on. His horse, the purest color of darkness, snorted displeasure. The rain was slightly tolerable but night was falling and with it the temperature. Winter was but a suggestion away. Hopefully he would find his quarry and be done with the affair before the first snows fells. Otherwise, well, he didn’t want to think that far ahead.

  The tavern door opened and closed with a bedraggled moan. Heads turned to see the stranger in black walk confidently through. The intent in his shadowed eyes made many turn back to their ale. He took in each and every one of the men. Disappointment flashed across his face for a moment only. The man he wanted wasn’t here. Damnation. The rider abandoned his search and moved closer to the fire. Gilley Brickton laid a restraining hand on his daughter’s arm and went to greet the stranger himself.

  “What can I get for you friend?” he asked in a pleasant voice.

  Both men stared hard at one another, silently conveying their intent. The rider finally smiled and stripped off his soaked gloves and hat. Gilley almost balked at the sight. The man had a clean shaven head and deep set, almost hollow eyes. There was an almost in-human quality about him that set the innkeep on edge.

  “Ale, and make it strong,” the rider said. “That storm’s enough to make a man thirsty for days. Don’t you agree?”

  “Well enough,” Gilley agreed and went off to the bar.

  “This is a quiet part of the country,” the rider said as he paid for the ale when Gilley returned. “Probably don’t get many visitors I wager.”

  Gilley eyed him suspiciously. “We get a few here and there. Not as many as in one of the bigger cities closer to Paedwyn, but enough to recognize a familiar face when one passes through.”

  “Good, then I don’t need to tell you I’ve never been here.” Lightning flashed through the windows and a heavy thunder shook the world. “Name’s Tolis Scarn. I’m an independent trader out of Keesis in the south.”

  Gilley had never heard of Keesis but he knew enough to spot a trader when he saw one. This man was dangerous.

  “There’s not much call for a trader around here, friend. We kind of like to stick to ourselves. Makes for a nice quiet place,” Gilley said.

  Scarn laughed, deep and resounding. “The story’s the same much the world over. I’ve been through just about every country in Malweir but I never stay in one particular place for more than a season or so. A year at the most. I make enough to fill my pockets and move on. Most towns profit from my business and I don’t stay longer than I’m welcomed.”
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  “It takes a wise man to know his limitations,’ Gilley agreed. “Enjoy your ale, friend, and don’t be shy to ask for another. My name’s Gilley Brickton.”

  Scarn nodded, offering a pleasant, if entirely false, smile.

  “What’s wrong, papa?” Tarren asked once Gilley had returned.

  He dried off his hands and sighed. “He says he’s a trader. I don’t believe for a second.”

  She watched the odd man. “Maybe he just has a few secrets. Lots of folk do.”

  “Aye. The wrong sort more often than not,” Gilley snorted. “Best we tell folk to keep clear of him. A watchful eye in the least. It wouldn’t do well to find a friend dead in the middle of the night.”

  She leaned over and kissed her father on the cheek. “Yes Papa, I promise to be careful around him.”

  Despite the sweetness and confidence in her voice, Gilley had his doubts.

  Tolis Scarn remained in Fel Darrins long enough for the storm to blow out. He spent the time gathering as much information as he could glean. Several of the lesser liked townsfolk took to him the instant his smile graced the Tavern. Scarn might have been many things in his life, but a trader was not one of them. Most of his days were spent wandering the darker side of life. He killed when it was necessary, and often when it wasn’t, and had no morals. The money in his purse came from generous benefactors for services well tended. In a way, his job was acquisitions, and he had yet to fail a task. Fel Darrins was but another stop in an endless cycle. Sundown found him again by the fire, warming himself while pretending to care about the petty problems and issues the villagers faced. He responded with tales and grand adventures of his own. Most of his talk was deemed unbelievable, as nothing exciting ever happened in Fel Darrins. Such a recipe often led to long months of doldrums.

  “Much out of the ordinary ever happens in this part of the world?” Scarn asked during his third night in the village. “Surely there has to be some form of entertainment here.”

  “Not around here.”

  “I don’t think most folks even know where a part of the kingdom of Averon.”

  Scarn smiled. “That can come in handy during tax time.”

  “I’ve seen strange things, friend,” a shaky hand man came forward to say. “Been lots of odd goings on of late. Strange creatures shuffling through the night, making terrible sounds. This place isn’t what it used to be. Folks here are scared to go out at night.”

  Sensing opportunity, Scarn bought the man, called Jeck by his friends, more frothing ale. He’d been waiting three days for a break like this. “You don’t say. Well, I don’t put much faith in monsters and ghoulies, but I do keep a good blade close by. You never know what you may come across on a dark country road.”

  Jeck readily agreed. “I’m with you on that. These things sure weren’t friendly or much human even. I know what I saw, and never want to see it again.”

  Scarn found his fears most interesting. He knew that the Silver Mage had unleashed platoons of Gnaals to scour the world, but he didn’t know one was here in this part of Averon. The people here were harmless at best, but the Mage never made a move without being sure of the result. Perhaps there was more to Fel Darrins than met the eye. Scarn decided to press further.

  “That would explain the patrols during the night.”

  They all nodded.

  “Then I’m guessing that with so much going on you probably wouldn’t have noticed a fragile old man in simple robes passing through?” he asked timidly to leave the impression he didn’t want to broach the subject.

  “I seen him,” Jeck said after downing the last swallow of ale. “Passed through close to a week ago now.”

  “Me too,” said another. Scarn felt his luck shift. Finally.

  “Tell me, friend, did this old man say where he was headed?”

  “Left right as the storm was brewing. Gilley tried to convince him to stay but he’d have none of it. Said there was important matters needed doing that couldn’t wait. I think he was heading for Relin Werd.”

  Scarn had heard enough. He bought them all another round and quickly changed the subject. He ensured they drank more than he, and avoided all talk about his dark past.

  Scarn wanted to smile but knew better. Relin Werd was too far to make in a day, even on horseback. The hunt was on! Still, the lurking question of why the Silver Mage had sent a Gnaal here. Was the Mage looking to be rid of him already? Any mage was a foul enemy, and this one went well beyond the constraints of normal fear. He was a terror from the old times, before the devastation of the Mage Wars. Scarn finished his ale and left his companions with their heads on the table.

  Keeping far enough away to stay hidden, Tarren followed the dark stranger down the hall. She didn’t like him or what he was doing here. He’d attracted the worst people in town and they all took a shining to him. Her every instinct told him he was dangerous.

  Tarren couldn’t put her finger on it, but Tolis Scarn had a foul air about him. He was evil. All of her senses screamed it. The longer he stayed here the more danger the people of Fel Darrins were in. Tarren stayed in the shadows until she saw the candle light flicker under his door. She eased forward to peak through the key hole.

  Scarn stood in the center of the room, his back to the door. A large assortment of knives, swords and daggers lay on the table, confirming her father’s suspicions. She’d been taught not to judge people, but Gilley was right. No honest trader carried so many different weapons. She covered her mouth when he removed his shirt, showing her a body covered by scars both old and new. Tarren decided she’d seen enough and snuck back to the common room to clean up for the night. She didn’t notice the door ease open and Scarn stick his head into the hall. Tolis Scarn smiled and closed the door.

  * * *

  A dozen thoughts crammed into her head, none of them were good. Her heart cried out so loud Tarren found it impossible to ignore. She was convinced Delin and Fennic were in peril. Trembling, she packed her bag. Tarren knew the stranger would be leaving in the dark before the dawn to hunt down her friends. She’d decided to follow him until he got close enough and rush in to give them warning before it was too late. She loathed the thought of leaving home like a thief in the night. Her parents wouldn’t understand. They’d been upset when Delin and Fennic left. This would set them over the top. Tarren silently prayed her father didn’t do something brash, like follow her. He was the last man she wanted to see hurt.

  But the task had to be done. Her friends, her love, were in danger and she was the only one not blinded by Scarn’s charm to realize it. No monster of ill favored man was enough to keep her from the man she loved. She would rescue Delin. Finally done, Tarren went and saddled the pony her father bought her a few years back. She waited for Scarn on the outskirts of town. She didn’t have to wait long. The lanky man eased into the stables and left a few minutes later. Dawn was still far enough off to give him at least a league before anyone noticed him missing.

  Scarn was near impossible to see in the perfect darkness. She barely saw him when he rode by. Tarren clicked her pony forward. It was all she could do to keep him in her line of sight. She’d never followed anyone before. Sleep wormed through her. She already wanted to go back to bed. But her loyalties went too deep. She loved Delin almost as much as her father and was willing to sacrifice everything for his safety. She drew a heavy sigh, took a backward glance at her town she’d grown up in and followed Tolis Scarn off into the night and whatever adventures lay beyond. She prayed they didn’t last long.

  NINE

  Row upon row of wooden houses comprised the majority of Alloenis. There were markets and shops and an overabundance of people crowding the streets. Neither Delin nor Fennic had ever seen the like. It was like stepping into another world. Swindlers and conmen worked the crowds while countless pick pockets bumped into the innocent not savvy enough to know better. Alloenis was the major trade center for western Averon. On a normal day one could see Dwarves bartering with Men, Gnomes and
the occasional Elf. Today, however, they found dozens of soldiers in the livery of the king.

  That in itself wasn’t surprising. Convoys of supply wagons and mounted companies heading east were a constant sight on the main roads. War was coming and King Maelor wanted to be ready for the long winter. Since leaving Relin Werd the boys watched countless columns of cavalry and infantry marching to Paedwyn from the western lands, all dressed in the green and gold of Averon. Oddly enough, there were smaller columns of peasants heading the same way with but one soldier marching alongside them. Fennic instantly labeled them recruits for the coming fight. Some whispered the skies over Gren had already grown dark and stormy. The Silver Mage was moving again. No one was safe. Mounted patrols roved the surrounding countryside from the great Relin Werd to the fringes of Alloenis. Apparently the war was coming much sooner than they thought.

  The boys entered Alloenis with mouths agape. The sheer size of the town was overwhelming. Until now they doubted there were so many people in the world. Two and three story buildings lined their view for as far as they could see. The Bairn Hills lay far to the west and mighty Paedwyn was to the east. Gren wasn’t far beyond. Fennic’s hope of understanding the sword and why it chose him lay in finding a scholar or a smithy. If all went well, he’d be handing Phaelor off to the next bearer and be on the way home in no time.

  “Dragon scale shields! Only a silver apiece. Made from genuine dragons!”

  “Magic potions and powders!”

  Delin wanted to laugh. “Can you believe this place?”

  “Come see the remarkable two headed man from exotic Antheneon. See what people say can’t exist!”

  “This is incredible,” Fennic conceded. “Now I know why father never spoke good of the world. Fel Darrins could never be like this.”

  “I agree. We need to be careful here. Someone’s responsible for killing Old Man Wiffe and that crazy Dakeb. They might have beaten us here. I don’t fancy the thought of catching a knife in the back,” Delin said with a shudder. His nerves had been on edge since finding the strange purple stone in Dakeb’s robes.