Unchosen Mage (Legend of Ravenwood)
Page 4
“What?” Krys pointed toward the cottage. “Those things will tear us apart!”
Crashing sounds rose from the cottage. A rolling mass of white-blue flames erupted from the front of the dwelling. Half the wall disintegrated in the torrent, arching through the dust-filled air and crashing into low stone walls, trees and other buildings. The splinters that once made up the front door shot outward in a cone of deadly projectiles.
Krys cringed and his heart sank. My house!
The lizard creatures and the old woman circled each other, framed by the jagged edges that remained of the front wall. Krys could clearly see the crone pointing her staff at an attacker. A shimmering vortex erupted from it and enveloped a lizardman. It ripped the creature apart. A shrill scream pierced the air, loud enough, even at this distance, to cause Krys and Peter to clamp their hands over their ears.
After twirling the staff between her hands, the old woman stepped over the lifeless pieces of the dead lizard and faced the remaining two creatures. She swept the legs of one and knocked it down, then pointed the staff at the other and blasted it through the opening in the front wall. It scampered back into the cottage on four legs. Once inside the house, the creature knocked the staff from the woman’s grip. The other wrapped scaly fingers around her throat and lifted her from the floor. She let out one last scream before she fell in a crumpled heap.
Bile rose into Krys’ throat. He squatted, ready to run, but dropped flat on the ground when the back door of the cottage burst open. Light from the open door shone on one of the creatures as it exited. Its robes billowed out behind and it seemed to disappear in the shadows. The other lizardman came from the front of the residence. They met and exchanged words, just out of earshot. Then one turned toward the cottage and lifted a scaly hand.
Through the opening in the front wall, Krys watched as large flames inched outward, consuming the main room of his cottage. Within seconds, flames shot through the thatched roof. The intense blaze turned night into day, and the wave of heat blew Krys’ hair and clothing backward in the sinister wind.
He gasped and watched as his home began crumbling within the flames. The faint stench of burning flesh, carried by the smoke, assaulted his nostrils and made his eyes burn. He jumped up to run to his cottage—to try and save it.
Peter grabbed his tunic and pulled. “Get down! There’s nothing you can do.”
Krys’ frozen gaze followed the flames and smoke as they rose into the twilight, his heart heavy, as if filled with cold iron. He fought back tears of frustration and sorrow. He looked down at the package, clutched in his shaking hand, knowing he had traded his home—and the old woman’s life for it. Tears burned his eyes. “My folks are really gonna kill me now,” he whispered.
He peeked through the ferns. The creatures were in silhouette as they stood in front of the burning mass. One of them turned in a circle. “Where did he take the ancccccient journal?”
His heart pounding, but well hidden within the forest plants, Krys fixed his sights on the strange reptiles.
“The foresssst.” The second one pointed near Krys and Peter’s position.
“Find it!”
The creatures lunged toward the woods.
“Let’s go.” Peter dragged Krys up and pulled him deeper into the brush.
Krys shoved the journal into his tunic and ran, knowing that if he and Peter were caught, they would suffer the same fate as the old woman. The day had been the worst in his entire life. He’d thought getting thrown out of the Choosing was bad…
He glanced over his shoulder. It didn’t hold a candle to this.
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Chapter 4 - Contact
A blast of azure fire exploded next to Krys as he ran. Blinded, he tripped and sprawled on the spongy ground. He rolled over and got up. The icy-cold hand of a lizardman pushed him back to the ground, its claws pressing into Krys’ chest. With its other clawed hand, it shoved the back of Krys’ head into the soft forest floor. The strong, musty scent nearly suffocated him. He fought to lift his head and look around, but he couldn’t move under the creature’s hold. He had no idea where Peter was.
The reptile lifted its face to the sky and bellowed. Its red throat fan enlarged and the skin around its yellow eyes darkened to a deep ebony. The mournful sound of its wail echoed through the surrounding forest.
Cold coursed through Krys’ body, paralyzing him. “Peter,” he screamed.
“Your friend cannot help you now, young Anderwood.” The lizardman grabbed Krys’ tunic and pulled upwards.
Krys grabbed at the soil but caught only rotten sticks and leaves as he was lifted off the ground. He came down hard, knocking the wind out of him.
His chest and back ached from the reptile’s abuse. Krys looked up. The other lizardman was almost invisible in the greens and browns of a tree’s leaves and trunk. A strange hissing noise drifted through the air and Krys gazed in horror into the piercing eyes of the one pinning him to the ground. The creature’s skin darkened to a brownish black and glistened in the light of the cottage fire. Its chest puffed out.
“What do you want from me?” Krys rasped.
“We dessssire only the book the old crone gave you. Give it to ussss.”
Smoke from the cottage fire stained the crisp evening air; the sharp, acrid scent burned Krys’ nostrils. He shuddered at the thought of how the beasts killed the old woman. He balled his hands into fists, certain he, too, would die at their hands if the creatures got what they were looking for.
The lizardman’s strange maw emanated a putrid odor, as if death itself breathed upon Krys. His mind spun and he felt nauseous as the foul stench enveloped him. “The book?” he mumbled.
“Give it to me!” The reptile reached out its scaly hand for Krys’ throat.
Krys struggled, still unable to free himself. He felt the pressure of the leather-wrapped package as it rested against his body, tucked behind his belt. He was certain it was what they sought. “I don’t have it,” he blurted out. “I must have dropped it.”
“You lie!” the lizard said.
“I don’t have it!”
The creature looked at its partner. “Find the book.”
In the waning light, Krys saw the head bobs of the lizard in the tree. The creature ceased its angry display, hopped from its perch and scrambled across the ground. It scoured the spongy loam with its scaly hands. It blurred into the background, changing from brown to green, matching the surrounding foliage. Krys strained to focus on the creature, but the lizard’s adequate camouflage made it difficult to follow its movements.
Krys scanned as much underbrush around him as he could with a quick glance, but he didn’t see Peter anywhere.
“Now, what shshshall we do while we wait?” The lizardman clicked its claws in front of Krys’ face.
One talon pierced Krys’ cheek, burning like fire. He cried out. A trickle of warm blood ran down his face and around the back of his neck. He gritted his teeth to stifle another scream, averting the creature’s eyes.
The lizard pressed a claw to Krys’ temple, causing blinding pain to course through his head. He yelled out in agony.
His mind plummeted into a great abyss and he couldn’t distinguish anything but the yellow eyes boring into his. He felt the book pressing against his side. Warmth emanated from it and spread throughout his torso. Visions drifted through his mind—dark wizards on dragons, a mighty castle, a shiny gold crown, a hand holding a white staff with a gleaming green stone—then dying warriors, blood, fire, screams of agony.
Blackness shrouded his mind and he viewed the world through his own eyes, staring into the bottomless gaze of the reptilian beast once more.
“It’ssss not here.” Krys heard the hiss of the other creature.
His captor rose on its hind legs, releasing Krys. It let out a terrifying sound, a hideous combination of a tremendous roar and a hiss.
Krys scrambled to his feet and ran into the thick underbrush. He needed to find Peter.
Needing to fight the debilitating effect the creatures produced, Krys concentrated on the most peaceful thought he could muster, his mother. He imagined her kind face, her gentle touch, her soft words, and her loving eyes. He drew strength from his memories.
Feeling a tug at the package, Krys knew the creature had found it. He opened his eyes and screamed, “No.” He fought the paralyzing cold of the reptile’s touch as it spread through him again.
With great difficulty, he crawled to his feet. Free of the lizard’s contact, Krys recovered quickly. He leaped backwards and shoved the package into a small pouch on his belt.
His hand shook as he raised it and pointed at a long, low branch overhead. “Samdrion alvestimoor.” The sheared-off limb dropped into his hand. He repeated the incantation and sliced off the other end.
Passing his open palm over the stick, it straightened and shaped itself perfectly in his hands. Holding the quarterstaff, he advanced on the reptilian beast.
With a loud ‘pop’, a six foot staff appeared in the lizardman’s hand.
Startled, Krys realized he was up against far stronger magic than anything he knew. Facing the creature, his hands grew sweaty and shaky, but he bolstered the courage to challenge the lizardman to fight.
“Sssso, little boy.” The reptile narrowed its eyes and stared at Krys with fury. “You want to play? Let’ssss play.” The lizard’s tail curled and uncurled, twitching several times as the creature paced back and forth. The second lizardman stood nearby, swaying from side to side.
On wobbly legs, Krys braced himself for battle. He drew in a deep breath and blew it out, releasing tension with the exhaled air. He stared into the sinister eyes of his opponent, ready.
The lizardman raised its staff and charged forward.
Krys spun to the side and swept his weapon at the feet of the still blackish creature. He caught the lower leg of the lizard and tripped it. The reptile regained its balance and ran toward Krys, but he dodged to the side and swung his quarterstaff downward, striking his opponent’s weapon. The beast’s staff dipped into the soft ground and the creature vaulted through the air, landing on a low tree branch.
A growl escaped the lizard’s mouth as it launched itself from the tree and flew straight at Krys. “There will be no victory for you, ssssmall warrior.”
The lizard connected with Krys, knocking him to the ground, and his quarterstaff from his hands. He spit out blood and his mouth stung. He scrambled to his weapon. Retrieving it, he swung and hit his opponent in the gut. The lizardman grunted and crumbled to the ground.
The creature lay, unmoving in front of Krys. He rushed over and brought his boot heel down on the reptile’s staff. It cracked into two pieces and disintegrated in a sparkling cloud.
Standing over his adversary, Krys stared into its strange eyes. For a fleeting moment, he saw fear. The lizardman made no move to escape or attack.
Krys raised his quarterstaff. “Why haven’t you killed me?”
The creature rolled out of the way and jumped to its feet, regaining some of his green color. “You are worth far more to ussss alive than dead.”
The arms of the other lizardman wrapped around Krys from behind, squeezing him and forcing him to drop his weapon. The cold sensation returned.
“Ssssilly boy,” the reptile behind him said. “Do you think dying issss the worsssst thing that can happen?”
“With you and the old book,” the first lizardman said. “Our masssster will have unmeassssurable power.”
Krys channeled all his strength, drawing it inward, and concentrated on fighting the paralyzing embrace of his captor. He thrust his arms outward, breaking the grasp of the creature. He dove and rolled, recovering his quarterstaff. Spinning, he swung the tip in a wide arc.
The lizard dodged and conjured its own staff, pointing it at Krys. A red mist burst from the tip, sizzling as it passed through the air toward him.
Krys dropped to the ground and rolled to avoid the hissing vapor. When it dissipated, he jumped to his feet and ran toward the creature, swinging his quarterstaff and knocking the reptile backwards. It fell hard.
Out of the corner of his eye, Krys saw his first attacker rush at him, its sharp claws extended. Krys jumped out of the way and at the last minute, stuck out his leg. The lizardman stumbled and fell headlong into the trunk of a massive tree.
The resounding crack when the creature’s head made contact filled the air.
The young warrior turned to face his other attacker again. The lizardman extended its arms and attempted to take Krys by the throat but he knocked the beast away with a vicious jab. With all the strength he could muster, Krys broke his weapon over the reptilian head. The creature collapsed and lay still.
Krys dropped to his knees and drew in several deep breaths. He ran his sleeve over his forehead to mop up the perspiration that trickled down his face. He looked from one unconscious lizardman to the other and smiled, pride bubbling inside him. He glanced around the clearing. “Peter, where are you?” His yell echoed through the surrounding trees.
A groan filtered out of the forest behind him. He barreled through the underbrush.
The full moon cast dim light on Peter’s face, as he stood, unmoving, in front of a large tree. Krys found no ropes binding his friend. Instead, wooden tendrils wrapped Peter’s torso and legs, pinning his arms to his sides. Vines covered his mouth.
“Peter, what the—How did—?” He yanked on the bark, unable to move the hard wood.
He pulled his dagger from his boot and cut at the vines, careful not to nick Peter in the process. After a long minute, he freed his friend from his gag. “How am I going to get you free?”
“Have to—use magic. Can’t free hands—enough.” Peter gasped for air. “It’s—the—only way.”
“I can’t do that kind of magic!”
“Yes—you can.”
Krys’ hands trembled.
“Clear—wood from—chest—can’t breathe.”
Trying to hold his hand steady, Krys pointed his index finger at the wooden strands.
“Alamantoran—roaknii is—the spell.” Peter gasped for air. “And—don’t forget—to concentrate.”
Krys opened his mouth to cast the spell.
“Make sure you—get—wording right.”
A shiver shot up Krys’ spine, not wanting to harm Peter. He swallowed hard and started to speak again.
“And—make sure—you—are pointing—at—the wood.”
His head spun as he stretched his hand out toward the wood again, ready to begin.
“And—”
“Shut up!” Krys yelled. “I can’t concentrate with you yapping like that.”
Peter closed his mouth.
Krys took a deep breath. “Al—” He dropped his hand again. “All your interruptions made me forget the spell.”
Peter sighed and repeated it, syllable by syllable.
“Alam-an-tor-an roak-nii,” Krys muttered, his eyes closed in concentration and his hands balled into fists at his sides. He looked up, took another deep breath, pointed at the wood and belted out, “Alamantoran roaknii.” A stream of intense light shot from his fingertip and spread across the wood that bound Peter’s chest. The wood sizzled and began to fray. In moments, one end of it came free, smoldering.
“You did it.” Peter breathed hard.
Repeating the spell twice more, Krys freed Peter’s waist and legs.
“I can’t believe it,” he whispered as he stared at the tip of his finger.
Peter bent and placed his hands on his knees, and drew in several more deep breaths. He looked up at his friend. “Good job.” He picked up his pack
. “Let’s go.”
The sound of rustling leaves came from behind.
Krys spun around.
The lizardmen charged, their throat fans bright red. Black patches surrounded their yellow eyes, rage burning within them.
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Chapter 5 - Fallen Kingdom
The boys bolted deeper into the forest.
“Let’s get to the hide-out,” Krys yelled. “They shouldn’t find us there.”
In the near darkness, Krys saw Peter barrel through the wall of vines which hid an opening to a cavity nestled under the large boulder they had found years before during one of their many explorations in the forest. He followed his friend into the passageway, letting the thick curtain of vines fall back into place.
Peter conjured a dim ball of light. The small earthen space was bathed in a warm glow. He sat on a wide piece of log.
Krys plopped down on another and dropped his pack. For a moment, he stared at Peter, unsure what to say.
“Pull the sackcloth over the passage, in case they saw which direction we went.” Peter pointed a shaky hand at the hole where they had entered. “We don’t want them to see any light through the vines.”
Yanking the thick cloth down, Krys covered the entrance. “What’s happening?” He failed to control the quiver in his voice.
The paleness of Peter’s face and the slight trembling of his body betrayed his usual calm. “They—they killed that old woman. And—and burned your folks’ cottage.” He glanced at the entrance. “Krys, they tried to kill us. Why?”
Krys’ hand went to the pouch hanging on his belt. He pulled the leather-wrapped package from it. “It all has something to do with this.” He held it up. “What’s so important about it that she was willing to die to get it to me?” He frowned at the object and untied the frayed cord. The soft wrapping fell from an old book within. He opened the smooth leather cover and squinted at the tiny, perfect lettering on the first page.