Armies of the Silver Mage

by Christian Freed

  They’d spent the hours of travel agonizing over the hundreds of possibilities. The stone was by far the most exquisite possession he’d ever come across, certainly rivaling Phaelor in many ways. The biggest problem was not knowing what it was or what to do with it. Fennic offered to sell it when they got rid of the sword but his comment was met with stiff defiance. No, Delin was going to keep it. Nothing was said on the matter since.

  “We need to find a place to sleep and grab a bite to eat. I’m tired of eating travel rations and it’ll be dark soon,” Fennic said. “And I don’t think we want to be caught out in the open after dark. Even with the city patrols I don’t feel quite safe.”

  It took an hour to worm through the crowds and find the right inn. Most of the ones on the main street were already crowded and growing more so the closer it got to sunset. They were just about to give up when they came across an innocent, if not slightly run down, blue inn with a giant golden insect on the sign. Less than a handful of horses were tethered to the hitch out front and, judging from the sudden quiet, there were few patrons.

  “I don’t know what a scarab is, but there doesn’t seem to be too many folk who want to come this way for a night’s sleep. Looks like as good a place as we can find,” Delin said. He scratched his scalp and studied the sign.

  Fennic nodded. They didn’t have the money for much else anyway. “Let’s hope it’s safe.”

  “Quit worrying. This is your adventure after all.”

  The door opened and in they went. The boys were instantly met with the scrutinizing stares of those few assembled.

  “Welcome. Welcome my friends. You won’t find a better meal than here at the

  Golden Scarab,” said the rotund innkeep. His eyes lit up as he finished drying his pudgy hands. He smelled money.

  Delin shook his hand. “Thank you, I suppose.”

  “We don’t get much business since the Trader’s Guild added the new road and all those terrible tariffs.”

  “I can see that. Hopefully this doesn’t make you too eager to take all our coin,” Delin stated with a stern gaze.

  Fennic balked at his friend’s straight forwardness.

  The innkeep let out a shaky laugh, patting Delin on the shoulder. “Nonsense. There are plenty of thieves out there to keep a decent man in business. I run a respectable establishment. Besides, King Maelor’s men don’t take kindly to being taken, if you get my meaning.”

  His eyes quickly shifted to the table with three men in gold and green.

  “But where are my manners? I’m Will Apper. Anything I can do for you, you just let me know.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Apper. We appreciate that,” Fennic smiled. He felt like he found a friend for the first time since leaving home, though he couldn’t say why.

  Will ambled off, leaving them to find a table on their own. They decided to stay away from the other patrons, almost like the rest seemed to be doing. The crowd was thin and spaced. Judging from the neighborhood the Scarab was in, that seemed the wisest course. Aside from the soldiers, there were four men playing a game of bones and a lone Dwarf off by himself in the far corner. None of them were so much as looking at them now.

  Fennic’s jitters towards civilization ebbed slightly. He’d been convinced they were going to be robbed from the moment they stepped foot into the busy city. They ate a meager meal of house stew, filled with chunks of meat they couldn’t describe, and a plate of cheese served with a load of fresh baked bread and sliced pears for dessert. The taste and heat hit the spot and both boys pushed away from the table with their bellies full. They sat and talked for a spell. The soldiers got up and left for their barracks bunks. A pair of young traders came in and enjoyed a similar dinner and left and still the Dwarf sat and watched.

  Delin yawned when the doors burst open and a pair of huge men in green and gold entered. One stood with arms folded across his chest and a hand never far from the hilt of his sword. His eyes were dark and narrowed, as if expecting trouble. His partner was slightly shorter and had a more pleasant demeanor. He had fair hair and brilliant eyes and was overly handsome to look at.

  “King Maelor of Averon presents greetings,” he announced with a graceful bow. “At this time his majesty is looking for fit and eager men to join the brotherhood his armies have to offer.”

  “Recruiters,” Will whispered to Delin while collecting their plates. “Trying to take more men off to fight the mage.”

  “Do they come around often?” Fennic asked.

  The recruiter went on with a well rehearsed speech given a hundred times already. There was no doubt about his friendly character and alluring charm to the fancies of young men and boys. Fennic wondered how many men he’d already snared into service. At the same time, he wanted no part in a war. Leaving Fel Darrins was bad enough.

  Will shrugged. “Often enough I suppose. Don’t let me make up your minds though. The army was never for me, but we need them. The mage would already be sitting on the throne if those men weren’t blocking the way.”

  Two men actually got up and went to the recruiters. The Dwarf took it in but made no move. Everyone knew the wars of Men were of little concern for the other races. A massive, double headed axe leaned against the wall behind him. His beady eyes were locked on the bigger soldier. No sooner had they arrived, the recruiters both left, and with them the two newest recruits. Two men in a near empty bar wasn’t a bad deal at all. The door closed and the Dwarf finally moved from his seat. He was halfway back to his table with a fresh mug of ale when he spied Fennic’s sword. Delin and Fennic watched the diminutive warrior carefully as he sat down next to them and returned their stares. Will Apper watched apprehensively from behind the bar. His hand drifted to the truncheon he kept for emergencies.

  “Damned soldiers, always coming around to spoil the taste of a good drink I say,” he grumbled in a deep voice. “Fancy you boys didn’t get taken in by all the flowery words.”

  “Maybe we have a different agenda,” Delin replied coldly.

  “That’s a tricky word. Politicians and thieves have agendas and you don’t strike me as either. I’m Norgen, by the way.” His grip was crushing as he introduced himself properly.

  “Seeing how you’re ordinary folk, I’d caution you to keep a tighter eye on your surroundings.”

  Fennic feigned a smile. “We don’t know what you mean.”

  Norgen laughed. “Yes you do, boy. That fancy sword of yours is going to bring you more attention than you ever dreamed.”

  He held up a hand to stop Fennic’s protests. “I’ve been watching you since you came in here. And I don’t like what I see. You two are about as back woods as a Man can be and show it. These people will eat you alive if you keep on. The careful man lives longer.”

  “Well Norgen, we appreciate the advice, but we can handle ourselves,” Delin warned.

  “I doubt that. You already have too many eyes upon you. These are dangerous times, boys. The enemy has many eyes and ears throughout the west. Even my kinfolk in the Bairn Hills aren’t safe any longer.” He slammed the table hard enough to spill some of their drinks.

  Fennic tried to calm him down. “It’s not that we’re trying to get rid of you, Norgen, but we are new to Alloenis and we’ve never seen a Dwarf before, much less spoke with one. This is all still very strange for us.”

  “Indeed it does. Indeed it does. But if you wish to keep on you’ll listen to those who offer help,” Norgen replied.

  Delin wasn’t so convinced. He’d seen plenty of people like Norgen while sitting with Tarren in the Tavern. “You say we need to be careful and pay attention yet here you are offering all those things you’ve warned against. How do we take that?”

  “The boy’s smart. Let me tell you a little tale to ease your young minds. Last year a rider came to our might hall in Breilnor. He spoke of a coming war between the free races of Malweir and the dark realm of Gren. He didn’t want to tell us, but we worked it out that the Elves were going to sit this one out. They are tire
d of the wars of Men and want no part in this new one. My people debated long and hard before deciding on sending a token party to Paedwyn. We were going to see how bad the situation was before committing the strength of our armies.

  “We made it halfway to Alloenis when we were beset by a Gnaal.” He ignored their confused looks. “Nasty things, Gnaals. One hasn’t been seen since the last war against Gren. Now they roam the countryside. The night belongs to them and it takes much to kill one. Magic some say. We fought hard, as only Dwarves can, but in the end I was the only one to walk away. They all died that night. I suffered a broken arm and deep wounds across my back, but the Gnaal left me for dead before stalking off into the darkness.

  “I wanted to return home and warn my people, but two things stopped me. The halls of Breilnor are well guarded and deep within the mountain base. The Gnaal was also between me and Breilnor. The second, and more important of the two, is when a Dwarf gives his word he keeps it until the end. We may be reclusive, quarrelsome and generally foul tempered, but we love our freedom. Gren threatens to rob that from us. I cannot return home until the Silver Mage is vanquished.”

  Fennic found himself sympathizing with him. All three of them were far from the comforts of home. War threatened the world. This was the time for all allies to band together and move past differences. Despite Delin’s initial reservations, the boys soon took a liking to the Dwarf. Norgen went on to explain his decisions and intentions. His task was to deliver the message from his king and survey the battlefield. Averon was alone until then. They talked long into the evening and finally decided to end their meeting. All promised to meet in the common room again on the morn.

  They found Norgen awaiting them not long after the sun broke.

  “Good morning to you, young sirs,” Norgen said.

  Fennic yawned. “Good morning to you, Master Dwarf. I trust you slept well?”

  “Well enough considering I had a double handful of beer in my belly! Will has a good rack of left over mutton by the fire. It’s especially good with a hearty hang over.”

  They spent the rest of the day talking. The conversation gradually turned to Phaelor and what to do. Norgen confessed he knew little of magical weapons or their whims. He offered to help them find one who could help. The recruiters came again that night, snatching one more for the cause. This time they announced that they were departing for the garrison at Paedwyn at the end of the week and would not be returning. His last minute theatrics snared another but no more. The fact of the matter was that most people didn’t tend to worry or think of war until it was on their door. Delin noticed the silent soldier’s piercing eyes with a far away look. He would have given anything to know what that man was thinking.

  Another day came and went with a deeper exploration of Alloenis. Thus far they hadn’t found anyone trustworthy enough to mention the sword. Hope started to diminish. Norgen brought up the subject of escorting them to Paedwyn. His wounds were fully recovered and he was ready to get back on the road. The boys finally caved in and agreed. In two days time they’d begin the trek for the golden halls of Paedwyn. The morning before they left they watched three full companies of recruits marching out under the fluttering banner of the king. The boys were highly impressed though Norgen passed them off as disorganized rabble. Dwarves, he explained, were brilliant tacticians and professional soldiers much envied throughout Malweir.

  “You should retire early tonight,” Norgen said after pushing away an empty dinner plate. “We’re in no hurry to get there, but you can never tell when a war happens. Very complicated matters.”

  They nodded in compliance, but neither believed for a moment that they’d be able to sleep easy again until they returned to Fel Darrins. Gnaals and armies of green and gold filled their dreams.

  TEN

  “What’s Paedwyn like?” Fennic asked. He lazily tossed aside the freshly cleaned grouse bone he’d been gnawing on.

  Norgen was spinning his own fowl over the small fire. “Much the same as every other Man city I should say. Oh, there are some impressive buildings and statues. Done by Dwarves more than likely. Men seldom create things of beauty. Too bent on conquest and destruction they are.”

  “You sound as if you don’t care much for us,” Delin commented with a slight scowl.

  “That all depends on how you mean. My folk often come to the aid of the kings of Averon. Darkness threatens us all whether the Elves choose to see it or not.” His speech left them wondering if he held more contempt for Men or Elves. All in all, Dwarves appeared to have lower opinions of just about everyone but themselves. “They’ve already come out and said they weren’t going to fight. Bah! You’ll never see a Dwarf run from a good fight. That I can assure you.”

  “Forgive my ignorance, but we know almost nothing of Dwarves or any of the other races for that matter. Why do the Elves feel that way?” Fennic asked. Phaelor had shown him much over the past few weeks, just enough to keep him wanting more. “I’d have thought it was everyone’s responsibility to rid the evil threatening us.”

  The Dwarf grunted. “Well spoken. It’s a complicated matter. Folk say that most of the

  Elves are thousands of years old and tired of battles and war. Those are the main ones pushing Elfkind into seclusion. A shame the whole world is being made to suffer through the complacency of a few.”

  Delin was confused. “What makes a Dwarf so different? The people in our village haven’t gone to war in decades.”

  Rage surged across Norgen’s face but quickly faded. “Dwarves know their responsibilities and don’t run from them! We may not put much faith in any but our own kind, but our strength and fortitude in unmatched throughout the lands. All the great monuments and statues in Averon and the lands beyond were painstakingly crafted by Dwarven artists. We’ve mined the precious stones and ores from the deepest mountains. The finest blades and suits of armor have been crafted by our smiths. Never, never doubt the will of a Dwarf.”

  He paused to take a deep breath. “My friends, the world is a darker place than you ever imagined. There are no glories to be found. No heroes or quests left. All that remains is petty squabbling between the Free Peoples. That’s how the Silver Mage came to power. No one was watching while he amassed an army and stole a kingdom.”

  He fell silent, casting his hood over his head before adding another log to the fire. The smell of roasting fish filled the small clearing. They’d caught a trout in a nearby stream and Norgen wasted no time in cleaning and cooking it while the boys rummaged for nuts and berries in the forest. Soon all three sat back with full bellies. The smell of Norgen’s pipe smoke made Fennic sneeze.

  “You said that Dwarves crafted the great swords?” he asked, a twinkle in his eye.

  Norgen nodded. “Aye. That we did. But not the sword you bear.”

  Disappointment hit Fennic. He was hoping… Still, he drew Phaelor and showed it to the Dwarf for the first time. “I was told the Elves made it long ago. Do you think you could tell me anything about it?”

  Norgen reached out with an unsteady hand and grasped the hilt. The world around him erupted into light and song. Amazement filled his eyes, certain the boys saw what he was witness to. His heart filled with hope and joy. At that one moment in time there was no violence or strife. Life was in perfect harmony.

  “This is beyond a wonder!” he exclaimed. “Dwarves are the first to sing praise of our own work, but this exceeds anything we’ve ever done. How did you come by it?”

  Fennic replied, “One of the men in our village. He was murdered not long after.”

  “Does it have a name? All items of magic have names to mark their greatness. Surely this is magic as I’ve never seen. Tell me the name.”

  “Phaelor.”

  “Heaven’s Eyes,” Norgen whispered.

  Delin balked. “You know Elvish?”

  “Boy, this sword is a legend of the world. The blade is wrought of star silver, and a finer weapon there never was. Many have died in search of this sword�
�

  The clouds parted enough for the moonlight to strike the blade, revealing a long line of deeply carved runes along the center of the steel. Norgen’s eyes opened in astonishment.

  “Look at this,” he uttered. “Can you see them? Ancient runes. No one has used them in generations. You have been blessed to receive so fine a weapon. They speak of great, great power. You could well lose your life by wielding wrong. No smith in Alloenis has the knowledge to end your quest. The craftsmanship goes well beyond the scope of Men.”

  Fennic went into the tale of how they found the sword in Old Man Wiffe’s home and their long, strange journey since. Names and places meant nothing to the Dwarf though he clung to every word. He suspected they knew more than they were letting on, but he wasn’t going to pry the information from them. A darker part of him hoped the boys had only good intentions. Else the world was lost to the growing night. Finally having heard enough, Norgen suggested they all get some sleep. It was still a long way to Paedwyn.

  They breakfasted on quail eggs and a rasher of salted pork. Norgen made a pot of coffee. Dark clouds were coming in from the west, threatening to overtake them before long. Lighter grey clouds were already filling the sky, stealing away the warmth of the autumn sun. The Dwarf’s compact size and build served as natural protection from all but the harshest weather. The boys, on the other hand, were forced to pull out their winter cloaks before they finished eating. A light drizzle was falling by the time they broke camp.

  No one spoke until they were well on the way.

  “How is it you don’t know how craft metal? I was under the impression all Dwarves could smith?” Delin asked. He was fingering the strange purple stone. Thus far he’d managed to keep it a secret. His one fear, and a growing one at that, was that they would try and kill him for it once he mentioned it.