A Dead God's Tear (The Netherwalker Trilogy)

by Eisenhardt, Leighmon

Chapter 06

  It was a darkened room, the only light source being a faintly lit candle that lingered on a musty aged table. Around the table sat three robed figures, their features indiscernible under the hoods that concealed them. They didn’t stir, as if waiting for someone to make the first move.

  The largest of the group, his robe a deep azure color in the flickering candlelight, shifted a bit and then spoke. “Greetings, I have called this meeting to update everyone on the progress.” His voice was raspy, but deep. He waved his hands, etched with the lines of age, over the candle. There was a slight shimmer, then a sleeping form appeared like a mirage, bending which each sputter of the candle.

  “Our pawn has done well,” the blue robed man continued, “The scroll has made its way into the wizard’s apprentice’s hands. After that w-“

  “If I may express my concerns. . . ” the smallest of the three interrupted, “I’m uneasy with the way we are doing this. Why do we need all of this secrecy? We are wizards! We should just crush them!” He made a fist and slammed it on the table, making the candle jump and splattering warm wax dangerously close to the other two, a fact that the wizard seemed to realize, his bravado fading as fast as the light emanating from the candle.

  “Think about it, instead of acting like an impertinent first year apprentice for once!” the first snapped back. With another wave of his hand the spilt wax disappeared. The way the other two cowered at the reprimand did much to indicate where the power lay amongst the three of them. “Wizards we may be, but what can we do versus the likes of a united Faelon? It wouldn’t be hard to figure out who is behind it if we just went around blowing up everything in our way. . . at least not yet. . . ”

  “I agree with you.” The last member of the trio, who had remained silent during the exchange, finally decided the time was right to speak. A very sensual female voice came from the green hooded depths; calm, collected, and above all, dangerous. A flicker of deep red hair could be seen as she moved. “I have not come here to discuss the merits of the current plan. I’m here to be updated.”

  The blue wizard nodded as the small wizard sunk back. “As I was saying, our pawn has performed admirably well. She managed to cast the tracking spell she was tasked with, so our plan is going according to schedule.” His hands intertwined in front of his cloaked face. A large ornate crimson jeweled ring could be seen on one finger.

  “Would the rogue wizard not detect the spell she placed upon his apprentice? It would undermine our entire plan. He is reputed to be fairly powerful after all. He could very well be waiting for us when we come.” The smaller wizard once again chimed in, searching for a way to save face.

  “Aye he would, but not if she removes it right before the apprentice reaches the master. . . ”

  “Wouldn’t that mean. . . physically following him to find out when he reaches where the dwarf lives? That would place her in danger, if she was caught. . . ” The small wizard seemed horrified at the idea, his voice managing to reach an even higher tone.

  The big wizard shrugged. “She is well aware of the dangers. Due to the natures of the enchantments the wizard placed on the boy, anybody with ill intent is unable to follow him, and if questioned, he “forgets” the location of the dwarf’s whereabouts unless he’s a willing participant. It can’t be dispelled either, so if we would just remove it, the dwarf would sense it and react accordingly.” He allowed himself a brief chuckle. “Luckily our own rather naive protégé believes she is helping him to keep the dwarf out of trouble. She knows enough to hopefully dodge the protection Antaigne most likely places en route to his place, but she is not wise enough to see our motives. A perfect pawn: obedient but stupid.”

  The news seemed to pacify the other wizard. He leaned contently back in his chair. “The Inquisitors you requested will take a while to gather. One squad could be covertly gotten, but two squads? That’ll take a bit to sneak discreetly out of the Academy’s watchful eye. Denician’s eye in particular.” He clicked his tongue, as if all this secrecy was beneath him.

  “How long? I want no room for errors, Elrik.”

  “Two to three months minimum,” Elrik stated bluntly, arms open in a gesture of helplessness. “I have to do a lot of shuffling.”

  “Good, when Antaigne is out of the way, that leaves just three more rogue wizards we need to deal with to continue our plans.” The blue hooded wizard stood up and started pacing. “I want you two to oversee the attack on Antaigne. I have a loose end I must tie up once the dwarf is dead.”

  “I do hope you won’t let revenge cloud your judgment, Erinaeus,” The female said, sounding amused.

  Erinaeus’s malicious smile was obvious despite the hood as he stopped to regard the two wizards watching him. The figure above the candle stirred, causing the light to shift and thrash erratically over his blue robes. “Oh, I am well aware, my dear Dahna, I know the importance of getting rid of those out of our control, but do please allow me some fun. Not often do these weary bones feel excitement akin to this anymore,” he said, patting his side lightly at the last statement.

  The light was struggling to stay lit, almost dead now; there was not much of the candle left. The three wizards were reduced to barely visible shapes in the dim light. The image Erinaeus conjured of Alicia was nothing but an echo that seemed to have caught Elrik’s attention. “Erinaeus, what about the apprentice and the pawn? They are no further use to you. It would be such of waste of two perfectly good specimens. . . ” The diminutive wizard rubbed his hands together, barely able to contain his mounting excitement at the prospect.

  “If the apprentice survives the initial assault, you can have him. Let the Mage alone though, that might catch Denician’s attention as well. He fancies her, after all.”

  Dahna gave an audible noise of disgust as the candle gave one final violent flicker before losing its downhill battle, bathing the meeting in darkness, the image winking out of existence simultaneously. “Well, it would seem appropriate to call the meeting to an end,” the scratchy low voice of Erinaeus penetrated the silence, “We will meet back here in two months to prepare. Remember, each step is important, no matter how small. Tread carefully. Do not do anything to jeopardize the plans we have labored so many years on. I do not believe the council would approve of our failing. Goodbye.” At that ominous warning, there was a whip-like crack followed by silence.

  “I hate that bastard.”

  “Me too.”

  The final sound the room heard was the creaky opening and eventual shutting of a door.

  ❧　❧　❧

  “So what be yer favorite spell ter cast?” A familiar eye could be seen staring from the crack of a slightly ajar door.

  Marcius sighed. “Come on Master Antaigne, do we have to go through this every time we meet?” Marcius had traveled most of the morning and was in no mood to go through the motions of their ritual. The hinges creaked as the crack closed a bit in response, Marcius relented. “Fine, my favorite spell isn’t a real spell at all. I like using the sleep can-trip. Ok? Now can you let me in?”

  The door swung open and in its place was the stout form of Antaigne, clothed in his dusty green pocket robes, a dark red wizard’s hat set at a jaunty angle upon his brow. His fiery red beard was braided together and a dark eye twitched in mock anger. “Bah, impertinent smart ass lad ye be! Better ter be careful than dead! ‘Specially after the news o’ ter Academy bein’ about!”

  “Ummmm. . . Master?”

  “What is it now?” the dwarf blustered.

  “I could use a bit of help. . . ” He sheepishly indicated the covered cage that lay right next to him. The rest of the ingredients were in the cart, but Marcius didn’t like leaving the little beast by himself, even for a moment. He had developed an odd attachment last night as he fed the wyvrr, something he was reluctant to admit. The soft scales under his fingertips and the tiny chirp it gave after the meal gave him an odd sense of satisfaction. Marcius wanted to study the animal, to learn more about it, but Antaigne’s
plans gave no quarter.

  “This be yer future familiar, eh?” The dwarf waggled a thick finger at the cage, and then pointed it at the materials that still remained in the cart, and made a come-hither motion. Marcius watched, mouth agape, as all the boxes started moving themselves into Antaigne’s house as if propelled by an invisible person. The trunk containing a number of his clothing jostled him roughly to the side in its haste to obey the dwarf’s magic.

  He blushed as he made way for it, chuckling at how absurd the situation was. As they arranged themselves neatly in the corner of the house, Marcius felt a brief surge of jealousy. He envied Antaigne’s casual attitude towards magic, even though he knew the feeling was irrational.

  One day, I’ll be able to do that! Marcius swore an oath under his breath as Antaigne stepped into his house and he followed reflexively. The dwarf flicked his hand at the door and it slammed shut, another not so subtle reminder for Marcius. “Ye'll be stayin’ there.” The dwarf pointed to a door where there had not been one before. “I’ve been doin’ a bit o’ redecoratin,” Antaigne mumbled, wiggling his fingers in an unspoken response to Marcius's questioning eyes.

  Marcius followed as Antaigne opened the door, a small room with a single cot lay beyond. The only other pieces of furniture were a simple wooden desk with a quill stand and a chair. A single candle, burning brightly from the corner of the stand, served as the only other light source. The bed was soft and bouncy Marcius found, and the plain white covers were made of warm material that felt soft and yielding under his fingertips. There was a slight musky tinge of cider in the air, which made his stomach rumble in response. He had not eaten since he left.

  “Let’s take a look at this familiar o’ yours.” Antaigne bent over and removed the cloth, drawing an inquisitive chirp from the occupant inside. Marcius could only see his Master’s back, but a visible stiffening and slight gasp drew his attention. “Master, is something wrong?” He stood up from the bed and took a tentative step towards the dwarf.

  Antaigne slowly turned his head, and Marcius was astonished to see a child-like expression of awe on the weathered dwarf’s face. “Where. . . where. . . where did y-ye get a wyvrr?” Antaigne stammered, as if breathing was hard in the present situation.

  “Ummm. . . I bought him from a friend. Is there something wrong with him, Master?” Marcius was starting to feel worried. Of all reactions he had expected, this wasn’t one of them.

  “Magne umbrigyn bi gorgne nien ver wyvrr and he wonders what ter big deal be about?” Antaigne was mumbling to himself, half of it in dwarfish, a habit Marcius had long since associated with excitement from the gruff dwarf. “Marcius, by Thoirne's great beard, ye have no idea why meself, any dwarf really, would make a big deal about a wyvrr?”

  The blank look on his face told a lot to the dwarf, so shaking his head at the folly of youngsters, Antaigne continued reverently as he stroked his red beard thoughtfully, “Wyvrr are a sacred animal ter us dwarfs, they be the symbol of our God, Thoirne. According to dwarven legends, Avalene allowed Thoirne ter send a guardian fer us dwarves before sealing off Faelon from the other Gods, since the old God was one of the few allies o’ Avalene during the war. That guardian be Skragneteger, the Earth Gouger. Skrag had servants ter tend him as he sleeps, these servants be wyvrrs. They be a holy creature te us.”

  “But the person I bought them from said they were known and wanted for their pet like qualities. They were supposedly rare, but I don’t recall her mentioning anything about serving some Earth Gouger.”

  Antaigne shrugged, still watching the animal with the same spellbound expression on his face. “Well, religion is one thin’ I’ve never got along wit’. I just never thought I would ever see one o’ these creatures with me own eyes. I heard so much about ‘em from the priests an’ such in Thrimghol. I traveled for many a days adventure, yet this is the first o’ these creatures I have ever seen. Trust me when I say that be no small feat, lad. Ye will have a unique familiar ‘ere.” Antaigne plopped himself down on the nearby chair, his gaze still reverently on the wyvrr as he wiped his brow of the beads of sweat that had formed.

  The mentioning of Thrimghol resurfaced a question that had formed when he went to get the stout. Supposedly there was trouble in the dwarven capital. Perhaps Antaigne knew something about it? Couldn’t hurt to ask. “Is there something going on in Thrimghol, Master? I heard bad things were happening in there from the dwarves when I went to get your stout.”

  Antaigne gave him a hard calculating look. “The issues o’ dwarves be no concern o’ yers, lad. Besides, I wouldn’t know anythin’ either, got banished years ago fer bein’ a wizard. Dwarfs don’ have much of a place for the arcane ye know. Anyway, let’s see that contract from the Academy quill dippers, eh?” It was an obvious attempt to change the conversation, but Marcius decided to not press the issue. Digging around his backpack, he handed the paper to the dwarf.

  “Now Marcius,” Antaigne said, donning a pair of spectacles he pulled from one of the many pouches on his robe, “I think ye are goin’ ter have ter go cut some firewood fer the familiar ritual tonight as I look over this contract here.”

  “Why don’t you just use magic to get the wood?”

  Marcius knew he had erred when the dwarf picked up his walking stick. “Bah lad! A lil’ hard work never hurt anybody! Now stop yer talkin’ and get choppin’!” Marcius managed to stay just in front of the surly stick brandishing dwarf, barely grabbing the ax by the door as he was chased out into the clearing surrounding Antaigne’s house.

  T he door slammed behind him and he found himself staring at the imposing trees of the Fae'lorea, the dark tree line in direct contrast to the sun shining in from above. With a smirk, he set the ax on his shoulder and walked into the forest.

  ❧　❧　❧

  Whack. The monster screamed in rage as the ax tore through one of its many arms, responding in kind with a vicious stroke to the midsection of Marcius, which he managed to just barely deflect with the handle. They broke apart, circling warily after the initial exchange. The monster’s eyes darted to bodies of its fallen comrades, piled up on top of each other in a morbidly nice fashion. A small growl escaped the saliva filled maw. Beads of sweat made Marcius shiver in the rapidly cooling afternoon, the heat of midday being replaced by the icy grip of night; he hazarded a quick wipe of his brow, keeping an eye on the wounded monster.

  Several small feints were made as they both waited for the other to make a mistake, and as the monster stumbled a bit on a small outlying rock, Marcius saw his chance. When he darted in, a small grin on the ugly face alerted Marcius that something was amiss, but it was too late, the trap was already set and he was rushing head first into it. The monster shifted his weight, balancing the trip, one of its clawed hands coming in at an angle the rapidly charging Marcius couldn’t avoid. He watched as the ax hit only air. Bracing himself he prepared to take the hit, attempting to twist his body in a way to hopefully avoid most of the damage, knowing it was a useless gesture. . .

  “Alright lad, I thinks that be enough wood fer now. Time to prepare fer the summoning ritual, so I needs yer to get in and clean off, then take a nap. Will be a bit till everythin’ is ready.” The attacking monster turned into a stiff tree, and Marcius leaned on his axe as he turned toward the source of the voice.

  Marcius had suspected the dwarf just wanted to look over the contract in private, so he had spent the next few hours cutting down the trees around the house. The sunshine was bright and the heat was strong when he started, though it was becoming cold. Marcius kept amused by pretending each tree was a monster, his axe the only weapon able to smite these terrors, it was up to him to save the house of Antaigne.

  Many ravenous monsters were slain. Their body parts were gathered in a pile by the side of the shed, a testament to Marcius’s heroic deeds. He had been in the middle of a particularly tenacious battle. Breathing heavily, he thought that perhaps his imagination had gotten the best of him that time. The dwarf came out; his arm
s laden with the materials that Ken had given Marcius, in addition to several vials and containers that Marcius didn’t recognize. The wyvrr cage was already on the porch.

  Marcius merely nodded, since he was tired and sweaty. The muscles in his arms were sore, and the respite from chopping caused them to stiffen, making Marcius wince in pain as he opened the door to his room.

  On the desk was the contract, with the scrawling signature of Antaigne, but more importantly, a wash basin sat in the middle of the room, gentle steam rising steadily. Marcius was quick to shed his clothing into a rumpled pile, giving an audible gasp of relief as the lukewarm bath soaked into his skin. Do things for yourself without magic, eh? He sincerely doubted the dwarf gathered the water and warmed it with his hands, but with a slight grin, he figured it was something he could always point out after the bath.

  Marcius laid back; closing his eyes he could hear the sounds of crickets starting their evening cadence, joining the other sounds in the forest to create a relaxing melody. Most local people would have been surprised at the noise, for the fall season was approaching fast as the trees tried furtively to hold onto their browning leaves. Winter in the South wasn’t too bad, but it was enough to generally drive most residents into hiding around this time of year, including the animals. But Antaigne’s clearing went by different rules, as Marcius had learned.

  He still remembered his first visit to the dwarf’s place. Lian had lead the journey, escorting his young son and showing him the way there, as well as warning him of each of the traps the dwarf had placed along the trail. It was the middle of summer when they visited, but a field of white snow greeted them when they emerged into the clearing, wafts of thick smoke escaping the dilapidated cottage’s chimney. Lian had merely shaken his head as young Marcius played in the snow, while only a few feet beyond, the thick clammy heat of midsummer ruled with a sweltering and unyielding grip.

  “Such strange occurrences are common with the amount of magic present,” the dwarf had said as explanation that day; though after the volume of magic Marcius had sensed in Ken’s room which seemingly had no tangible effect on the environment, he suspected the oddities of the clearing were induced by some deliberate enchantment of Antaigne’s.