The king’s wrinkled brow furrowed. He grumbled a few words to an attendant but Korwin could not make out the words.
“Very well. What is it you wish to show me?” the king asked as he redirected his stare back to the Storm Elf.
Korwin relaxed a little. “Of course, your majesty.” He removed his backpack, and pulled out few items: a scroll, an amulet, and other trinkets.
“Surely a kingdom as grand as yours has enemies, those wishing to seize such splendor for themselves. And mighty King, while your walls are strong, may I inquire, how can you defend your people against magic like this?” The elf waved his arms and released a cloud of ash and powder. He whispered a few words in his native tongue, and the mist materialized into a large bird of prey.
The crowd ‘oohed’ and ‘ahhed’ at the sight of the magical being. The king, however, gave no reaction whatsoever. He just blankly watched.
The raptor of smoke and ash let out a loud shriek as it spread its wispy wings and soared around the room. It swooped down and buzzed the crowd. Women screamed, a few guards stood at the ready, and two monks ducked for cover and dashed toward the exits. Still, the king did nothing.
The bird circled at the top of the room until Korwin whispered more elfin words. The creature shrieked again and flew directly into one of the stained glass windows but instead of breaking through it, the bird exploded, returning to ash and powder. As it showered harmlessly on the crowd below, it started to glow a brilliant yellow-gold.
More ooh’s and ahh’s rose from the crowd as they reached up and caught the falling, glowing dust.
It was a pleasant sight watching most of the audience in the throne room look up in wonder. It was such a simple trick. Back on Ohsmar, elves would use this to stop a crying child. Look! It has the same effect here, but on adult humans. They are so easily distracted, he thought with satisfaction, until he looked up at the king. Gundir’ expressionless face instantly caught the elf’s attention. The ruler was not impressed. Very well, let’s see how you handle this, ‘great’ king.
Korwin turned his back to the king, unfurled a parchment scroll and uttered more elfin words. The paper dissolved in his hands until it morphed into two magical, flaming spheres. The elf turned back and received another round of exclamations and cheers from the crowd. He tossed the balls into the air, and started to juggle them in a dizzying pattern of light and flame. Though the flames seemed to engulf his bare hands each time he caught a sphere, it was obvious they were not doing him any harm, nor were they lighting his clothes on fire.
Gundir sat up in his throne, but said nothing. He watched intently, but the expression or lack thereof, remained the same.
“Ladies and gentlemen behold the great symbol of Cordale!” Korwin exclaimed as he caught both spheres, crouched down and rolled them along the throne room floor.
The burning globes left a trail of burning liquid. They turned, spun, and crossed in front and in back of each other. The balls moved as if guided by the hands of an invisible artist, gliding along the stone floor until the last of the image was created in flames. Burning before Korwin was a large, flaming, symbol of two fists - an exact recreation of the kingdom’s sigil.
Once the crowd recognized the image they broke out into applause.
“Well done,” an onlooker shouted.
“Truly remarkable,” added a castle attendant.
“Amazing!” said a woman as she smiled in approval.
The wizard basked in the compliments of the eager crowd. He gave a deep bow which drew more applause from the audience. He could see on their faces how much they enjoyed his magical presentation. This was exactly how he imagined he would be received on Illyia. Though magic was commonplace amongst his race, this kind of demonstration should instantly catapult him to the top of the humans’ social circles.
Then as if an order had been given, the room fell silent. Gasps and shrieks replaced the cheers and applause as the King of Cordale stood and descended the stairs, and walked through the symbol of flames. His silver-trimmed crimson cloak, drug the floor and brushed through the fire, but like Korwin’s hands, it did not ignite or cause the King any harm. There was not even the slightest scorch or singe marks on his boots or clothing.
As Gundir approached, Korwin clapped his hands together in one swift stroke. As the sound reverberated throughout the chamber, the flames disappeared like candles on a birthday cake, blown out with one strong breath. If the elf had but one wish to make, it was that his display had finally pleased the ruler of the kingdom.
“Is that it?” belted the king as he approached Korwin. “A bird of smoke, a show of fire?”
Korwin retreated a few steps, taken aback by the king’s unexpected challenge.
“You demand an audience with the king… and waste my moments with throne-room games no more impressive than a court jester?
“Scrolls, amulets, potions. You are no wizard! This may work on barbarians of the Northlands, but I assure you, foolish Elf, they will gain you no favor in my realm!” he thundered.
The elf had to act fast. If he was going to salvage any leverage with the king, or receive permission to travel Southern Illyia in search of the beasts he needed for the incantation he needed to impress the ruler… and impress him right now!
“Wait…wait, I’ve saved the best and most powerful magic for last!” Korwin rummaged through his backpack. “One moment, please,” he begged as he retrieved a scroll.
He needed something dramatic, yet substantial, and something he was capable of performing with his limited magical skills. His mind shot back to the images he had seen carved into the wooden doors.
“Yal eh ohna!” shouted Korwin. The scroll in his hand crumbled to dust and scattered at his feet. A moment later the dust reformed and materialized into a massive, golden brown grizzly bear. The creature reared up, standing nearly five paces tall. It let out a coarse growl as it flailed its giant front paws.
The crowd screamed as they fled for the exits. Sentinels escorted some of the more important members of the group away from the creature, as other guards formed a semi-circle near the bear, their spears ready to strike.
“Have no fear! This terrible beast is under my command. I alone can stay his attack,” shouted Korwin as he tried to settle the crowd and regain their attention.
King Gundir stood, folding his arms in defiance as he looked at the grizzly, standing within arm’s reach. It roared again, blasting a fearsome warning directly at the sovereign.
“Hold your ground!” shouted Gundir.
“This is no real beast. I know this spell. Master Zed demonstrated this not two seasons ago. A simple illusion and nothing more. A trick his youngest learners conjure in just a few lessons,” said the king as he reached up and grabbed the throat of the bear. He squeezed and the bear squirmed at first, feigning pain from his strong grip. After a moment the illusion faded and vanished. “But you would know that if you were part of his company, as you claim to be.”
The Storm Elf shoved his remaining items back into his pack as he retreated. “I can explain. You see…”
“You’re nothing more than an imposter. A pretender. A thief with stolen scrolls and potions,” said Gundir as he pursued Korwin. His platoon of armed guards followed.
“How dare you! Try to deceive me, will you? I’ll have you in chains! Guards, seize him at once!”
Korwin stumbled backward, falling to his rump as the once supportive crowd laughed and jeered.
“Fool!” they shouted.
“Trickster!” they yelled.
“Fraud! Fake! Beguiler! Catch him, catch him! Let him rot in the dungeon!”
“No, throw him into the sea and be done with him!”
Gundir looked down on the Storm Elf as the royal guards circled the fallen wizard, pointing their spears at Korwin.
The wizard looked up, his expression changing from fear to anger. “Do not mock me! Careful, mighty king, one day you will want this moment back. You’ll wish you had me at your
side, instead of at your throat!”
Gundir laughed.
“He threatens the king!” yelled a guard before lunging in with his spear. But before the point could pierce the elf, a flash of light and a cloud of smoke puffed. As the haze receded, a light-brown and white owl fluttered away. The elf, however, was gone.
Gundir was finally impressed, but only for an instant. “Hurry, catch him! Don’t let him get away. Where are my archers?”
The owl circled then weaved between the stone and timber rafters of the throne room. Several guards notched arrows and released their projectiles. Arrows whizzed by the owl, but the bird dodged and angled to narrowly avoid the onslaught.
“There he is!” shouted the king as he pointed above the throne. No sooner had he spotted the owl when it let loose a pile of white waste, splattering the golden throne below.
“Kill him!” he ordered.
Several more arrows sped toward the owl. One projectile clipped the bird’s tail, sending a spray of feathers through the air. The panicked creature circled higher, its head twisting to identify an exit. With none in sight, it tucked its wings back and shot through one of the stained glass windows.
Red, orange and white colored glass shattered to the chamber floor. Spectators shielded their faces from the shards as sunlight burst through the new opening. Arrows shot through the panes, but the bird was gone.
Gundir, King of Cordale, fumed as he stomped up the stairs of the dais to examine his befouled throne.
“Find him! How, I do not care! Alive or dead matters not! I will send him back to Ohsmar in a pouch if I must. I swear it!” he barked as guards ran from the room.
Outside the city walls, an owl struggled to maintain altitude. Soon the bird’s strength failed, and the owl fluttered to the forest floor. As its talons hit the ground it tumbled into a ball, with feathers flying. In the middle of the dust and debris emerged Korwin, rumbling head over heels until he smacked into a nearby tree with a groan.
He rolled onto his back and stared at the blue sky peeking between the tops of the trees. The elf looked at his leg and spotted a nasty gash oozing blood. He coughed and wheezed as he caught his breath, twigs and sticks ensnared in his frazzled hair.
“A fake? A fraud? They have no idea,” he said as he sat up and dusted himself off. “He may know that conjuration spell, but so what! The next time he sees my magic, he’ll run in fear. They all will.”
The Storm Elf was caught up in a tornado frustration, humiliation, and desperation. One thought bounced through his mind. He had barely made note of it when the king had uttered it, but now the words echoed through his brain.
“This may work on barbarians of the Northlands...but I assure you foolish Elf, they will gain you no favor in my realm! …This may work on barbarians of the Northlands… but I assure you foolish Elf… This may work on barbarians of the Northlands!”
Korwin grinned as he remembered relieving himself while flying above the king’s throne.
CHAPTER 8
Mid-Spring
The Mythik Forest
Magnus darted among the trees, careful not to make too much noise as his paws hit the forest dirt. Nimble enough to avoid logs and rocks in spite of his growing size, the cub found his thoughts wandering to the day of the barbarian boy’s visit. He wasn’t sure why, but he liked the human. There was a kindness in the young boy’s eyes and in his voice.
With a jolt, the Shade Wolf halted. He paused a moment before raising his snout up to catch the scent traveling on the breeze. In spite of a wolf’s tremendous sense of smell, processing the information took time and patience to master. Magnus inhaled a deep breath to analyze the variety of smells hitting his nose.
Thatcher rabbits, a few elk, and what’s that other scent? Yes, a spike boar passed by here not long ago. Oh… and Dain, Asher and Portia are following, too, he thought as he took in another breath.
Magnus then put his snout to the ground and followed the trail of the spike boar. It was a clumsy creature and gave off a nasty odor; closing in on it was just a matter of time. He weaved his way through the forest, crept over a large fallen tree, and ducked under the branches of thorn bushes.
The young wolf was mindful of the direction of the wind, the sounds, and even the trees. Just as father would do, he thought. His ears perked up as he caught the unmistakable whine and squeals of a spike boar piglet.
I hope I would not be as easy to corner as this boar. He’s making this far too easy, thought Magnus as he crouched down low to zero in on the high pitched whines from the next ridge.
As he crested the berm his nose caught a recognizable scent. His older brother, Dain, emerged from the underbrush, crashing through without any caution or stealth.
“Shhh,” hushed Magnus as he crept toward a small hollow tucked between two large stumps. He pointed with his nose at the fern bush just ahead, its branches wiggling.
“There.”
A moment later, Portia and Asher trotted in behind Dain. Magnus was irritated at their noisy and unnecessary presence.
You’re welcome, he thought. I did all the tracking, and now you want to take my meal?
“Asher, take the low ground. I’ll push him to you,” Magnus said.
His silver-coated brother looked back and snorted. “I don’t have to listen to you, Magnus.”
“That’s right,” said Portia with her usual insolence. “You had your turn, runt.”
Magnus hated that word. He was as big as Asher and taller than Portia. Granted, Dain was the biggest of the young wolves, and the first born, but Magnus could hold his own. Still, his siblings frequently used the word runt because of his status as the litter’s last-born.
Dain watched as the leaves on the bush moved again, followed by more grunts from whatever hid in the foliage.
“What are you waiting for? Get it!” Dain ordered.
He leapt in first, followed by Asher and Portia. Magnus, however, sat to watch the events unfold.
With a squeal, a spike boar piglet sprang from the thick fern. Dain’s head emerged next, his jaws snapping at the fleeing prey. In wide-eyed terror, the boar escaped to the low ground and then through the small hollow.
Dain, Asher, and Portia briefly pursued, but the wolves had lost their prey, and their effort was pointless. Magnus, however, just sat and said nothing as his siblings approached.
“You let him get away, Magnus!” Dain chided. “Why didn’t you do something? We could have had him!”
“He asked you a question, Magnus. Why didn’t you attack?” another voice asked.
The young wolves looked up, and there was Ataris, standing majestically on the fallen log and listening to the pups’ accusations.
Magnus, realizing he was in the presence of his father, lowered his head in submission and respect. Dain and the other wolves did the same, though none bowed as low as Magnus.
“I’m sorry, Father. Don’t be angry with Dain. It was my fault the boar got away,” said the youngest wolf.
Dain and the others raised their heads and trotted over to Ataris.
“You should know your place, Magnus. Remember, you’re the youngest and you always will be,” said Dain as he passed his younger brother.
Ataris was not pleased with any of the remarks. “And you should know yours,” he said, turning to Dain. The pup cowered as his father continued the reprimand. “You all failed. That catch could have fed the mouths of our pack. Some will go hungry because you did not remember the lessons I taught you.”
Dain stood. “But I did, Father. I tracked the boar just as I’ve seen you do many times. Asher and Portia did as I told them, but not Magnus. He just sat there.”
“Quiet! I’ve been following you since you left Thornmount. You did not track the boar, Magnus did,” said Ataris, and Dain again lowered his head. “The best you could do was to track your own brother.” The alpha wolf lay on the log and exhaled.
The pups did the same, lying down as they listened to their father and leader.
They all thought a moment. Asher answered first. “Because the gods will it.”
Ataris shook his head. “There are many creatures and beasts that live in this forest, some bigger, some faster. Why then would the gods choose us? No, there must be another reason.”
Portia looked at her father. “Because we are smarter!”
Dain agreed, and then laughed. “Yes, especially compared to the Ghast Gorilla! Dumb apes.”
The pack leader shook his head again. “Careful, my son. The Ghast are a fearsome foe. Their strength is far beyond ours. Should they return to the Mythik Forest I hope you will use your wits and fight better than your actions of this day.”
The wolf pups were confused.
“If the Ghast are stronger, then how did we drive them from the forest?” asked Magnus.
“Ah,” said Ataris. He sat up to make sure he clearly communicated his point. “True, the Ghast are stronger, but the reason they were defeated is the same reason you failed today. They are selfish; they fight only for themselves. They do not understand the strength of the pack like we do.”
The pups circled in closer to their father, intent on every word. Magnus, however, was at the rear, trying to get closer but unable because of his brothers and sister.
“Alone a Ghast is formidable, but vulnerable. As are we. But together, using our strength, our cunning, and the talents the gods blessed us with for one purpose… we cannot be broken. That is how the Ghast were defeated. Because the pack stood united, running with purpose, fighting for all. This is the most important lesson you can learn.”
The young wolves lie silent as they contemplated what their father had taught.
“Now go; return to the cave. When your stomachs ache in pain tonight, remember my words.” The pups stood and trotted up the ridge, but Ataris stopped Magnus as the others continued.
The proud wolf looked down on his son. “Why did you take the blame for your brother, Magnus? We both know Dain acted foolishly.”
Magnus hesitated. He did not want to answer. “Perhaps, but I still should have helped. I wanted him to fail, I guess.”
Trail of Bones: A Young Adult Fantasy Novel (An Epic Fantasy Adventure For Any Family) Page 7