by A. Evermore
But it had been years since he had last called the Wizards’ Circle, he could not even quite remember when. He did remember that it had been interrupted by Baelthrom and they all had fled. No one could forget that! But the last time had been when Coronos disappeared some thirty years ago! Since then it has been too dangerous. Perhaps now there was a chance.
The Immortal Lord’s eyes will hopefully be drawn to Keteth… and this is too important. It’s been a long time, I wonder if Coronos will hear the call or even remember how to respond.
Freydel stood up and for a moment had to think about how to call the Wizards’ Circle together. It had been so long he had forgotten how to do something he once knew so well. While he thought about how it was done he pulled on his purple wizard’s cape over his riding clothes and stuffed on his purple hat. He hated wearing hats, especially when it was hot in summer, but he enjoyed looking the part more.
What was he hoping would happen at the Wizards’ Council? That’s of course if it can even be called and if they even come! With Baelthrom’s ceaseless drain upon the Flow and his ever watching eyes upon the magic flowing through Maioria it was increasingly harder to communicate over distances, much less teleport there physically. It was hard for him and he was probably one of the most adept wizards in the Circle!
Still he desperately needed to seek counsel, before it was too late. There was danger close by, the Maphraxies so far south, and there was a niggling worry at the back of his mind. Whatever was in Cirosa’s study was wrong, very wrong indeed. Evil lurked there and he had the awful feeling that she knew it was. Yes, she served the goddess like no other, but he had never met one in the Order with so little faith in her. It is just Lady Eleny’s words instilling doubt, he thought, but whether that was true or not he still felt the doubt.
‘It’s not like I didn’t try to teach her magic,’ he mumbled to himself as he did up his gold coloured sash. But Cirosa had no ability and that had been a source of bitter jealousy and anger on her part. He sighed and set about clearing a space on the floor free of books and maps and scrolls. It wasn’t easy, there was nowhere else to put anything and in the end he just piled them all on top of each other.
‘Right, what next? Time of day,’ he looked out of the window, it was overcast but he reckoned it to be about mid afternoon. “Spin to the right in daylight and then to the left,” it was reversed if performing the translocation at night. Of course there were quicker spells to call the council but for bodily transportation this needed to be as secure and safe as possible and he was prepared to take the time to make it so. He picked up the orb, now it was only warm and easy to handle, and with the tip of his staff he drew a circle around him, the sound of wood scraping on the floor boards as he drew.
‘Earth,’ he said as he completed the circle. Then he dipped the tip of his staff into the water jug on his desk and drew a circle of water atop the previous one.
‘Water,’ he said aloud as he drew. Next he clicked his fingers and lit a candle. Dipping the staff into the flame he then placed the hot end above the water circle and drew another.
‘Fire,’ he said.
‘Air,’ he said, placing his staff just above the floorboards he drew another circle around him. When he had finished he held his staff in his left hand and the orb in his right and closed his eyes. Slowly he began to turn to the right with his arms wide and chanted the Ancient’s magic words followed by their translation in Frayonesse.
‘A’nkahrin malfea dun; I command the elements,’ he said slow and soft at first as he turned slowly. He began to spin faster and as he did so he spoke the words louder and faster. The orb began to hum and the magic built around him as he reached his peak. Slowly he brought the toning back down and then was still and silent for a brief moment. Then he began to spin to the left and repeated the process.
When complete he stood there still and silent, feeling the latent energy of the Flow swirl in counter-rotations around him. He smiled with his eyes closed. Though time-consuming this was always his favourite spell and he missed using it. When the silent roar of magic seemed at its peak he spoke the word slow and loud and commanding.
‘Now.’
The ring of air at his feet burst into a swirling motion, two counter-rotating rings of gushing wind that moved swiftly up to about a foot above his head. Once it had done so the ring of fire burst into orange flames and the two counter-rotating rings moved upwards to the level of his shoulders. The ring of water burst gushed forth and appeared as a flowing circular river. It moved up to the level of his abdomen. The ring of earth burst into life, a slower moving counter-rotating flow of the deepest richest earth that stayed at his feet.
‘I call the Wizards’ Circle,’ Freydel commanded, focusing very hard on his memory of the meeting place and willing himself to be there. He brought the top of his gnarled staff together with the orb. White light grew all around him from within the tube of circling elements and then all at once the rings collapsed upwards from the bottom. The ring of earth moved up into the ring of water and they moved up into to the ring of fire then the ring of air. There came a flare and then Freydel and the elements had disappeared from his study completely.
For Freydel nothing was still and silent. Instead the Flow was a tangible thing gushing behind him and pushing him forwards. It seemed like he stood on a great shining white cloud and all about him was bright light. In the distance, moving swiftly closer, he could see the six stone chairs of the Orb Keepers and the six chairs of other wizards. Twelve chairs in total, each for the twelve countries of the Known World.
Would they come? Could they come? They better had, he thought. If any had died since Grenahyme he would have known. Grenahyme had been old, very old. Thankfully it was old age that killed him and not the Maphraxies. But since his death they had been unable to replace a representative of Lans Himay. Grenahyme had been a wise and powerful wizard and Freydel sorely missed his wise counsel. Though Freydel was more powerful he still recognised the great knowledge and wisdom Grenahyme always had for him.
That was something else they had to do, find a replacement for Grenahyme’s seat upon the Wizards’ Circle, if one was indeed to be found. Finding any wizard past a novice was proving harder and harder these days. If no wizard could be found then usually it was the king of the country that was tutored in as much magic skill as they could muster.
Lans Himay had no king since the royal family was completely wiped out by the people, sometime after Grenahyme died ten years ago. Freydel was sure it was Grenahyme that had managed to keep the peace between king and his unhappy dukes. Once he was gone the people rose up and no one could blame them. The king was mad and the royals were accused of black magic.
Freydel did not think the royals were even capable of using magic, no matter what kind. Still, the place was a boiling pot of unrest and until it settled down they would not be able to find a wizard or a leader to sit on the seat of Lans Himay. Hence no one, not even himself, ever fancied searching around Lans Himay while political unrest abounded.
The people of Lans Himay were renowned for their hardiness and aggression and it had taken a lot for the three tribes bordered by sea and mountains to even unite. It had taken Baelthrom to come and destroy every country around them before they decided to join together. Once they had they formed a formidable army that made sure no Maphraxie ever set foot upon land. Now that army fought within itself for power of the throne and the three tribes were once more divided.
Refugees fleeing from Intolana, Munland and Drax had created a very confusing mix of races, elves, Draxians and humans thrust together formed a mind-boggling set of allegiances that Freydel pitied anyone to try and unravel. Still, their hardy warrior spirits kept the Maphraxies from their shores, and thus from the shores of Frayon, and that, really, was all that mattered.
The circle of stone chairs was close now and Freydel breathed a sigh of relief. Although he travelled in the astral planes of Maioria it still meant he had to travel over Maphrax, and th
at was where the danger lay. The journey was most dangerous for him and any member of the Circle that had to travel over Maphrax. So far it seemed his gamble had paid off, Baelthrom’s eyes were looking elsewhere. Otherwise the Immortal Lord would have felt the wizard in the astral planes, a place where his grasp was strongest.
The circle was swiftly moving closer now and he could make out the stone tower atop which they were made. The tower was less of a building and more of a high raised platform for it had no inside, only solid stone, with rough hewn steps circling the outside. A huge round dome of magical glass surrounded the stone circle of chairs to protect the wizards from the elements. It was created by the Ancients of Maioria, when Baelthrom had first made his entry into the world, as a secret meeting place accessible only to those initiated into the Wizards’ Circle. It was built on an uninhabited island beyond the eastern shores of Maphrax, that had until recently been called Tusarza.
The wizards had speculated that the island it was built upon had once been a part of the land of the Ancients, but none of the wizards had been able to determine this for sure. The island, though small, was pleasant enough with a small inactive volcano, a single river amongst a smattering of trees and a tiny cove. Because it was uninhabited and it lay at the farthest eastern point of the Known World, reaching to the very edge of the vast unexplored expanse of the Ocean Kingdom, it was well beyond the sights and interests of the Maphraxies. Even if they decided to come here the Wizards’ Tower would not be visible to them.
Like the elven Land of Mists and the Isle of Myrn where the seers lived, it was protected and veiled from view to all but the initiated, and the initiated kept its location and even its existence a closely guarded secret. Since Baelthrom’s rise to power he had destroyed many of these secret places veiled from view but luckily so far he had not discovered the Wizards’ Circle, possibly because the wizards rarely met anymore in case Baelthrom discovered them. That was why it was so treacherous to call a meeting and make the journey. For those unfortunate like Freydel they actually had to travel over Maphrax to get here, even if they journeyed in the astral planes.
Freydel readied himself for the feeling of solid ground beneath his feet, relieved to have made it across the astral plane undetected. His body began to re-materialise around him, letting him know he was leaving the astral planes. He can only have been ten yards away when suddenly something felt wrong in the Flow.
Everything began to move horribly sluggishly, like running on land and then trying to run through water, each step heavy and dragging. The white tunnel and the stone chairs at the end suddenly turned dark as if he’d shut his eyes. He blinked to make sure they were open and gripped his staff and orb tightly.
‘Take me to the Wizards’ Circle,’ he commanded firmly as fear fluttered in his stomach.
The white tunnel tried to form around him again but the Flow began to wobble and flare, erratic electricity made the hairs on his arms rise and fall as unstable magic surged. Never mix fear and magic! It created wild, destructive and unpredictable results.
He tried to control his thoughts, bring calm to his mind. He went over the words in his head, trying to decipher where he had gone wrong but he had said them true. This disturbance had to be caused by more than just a little of his fear. He reached for and tried to grasp the Flow more firmly but it evaded his grasp like a writhing living thing. He stopped trying to grasp it and the Flow flickered around him, erratic flares of light, the Wizards’ Circle not ten yards away as it blinked into view between the bouts of complete darkness. The bouts of darkness lengthened until one last view of the Wizards’ Circle came and all was dark.
Freydel firmly pushed down the rising panic and focused on all his senses and abilities to feel out what was going on. Despite the blackness it felt as if he was suspended in an enclosed space. He used the magic within his staff to create a ball of light but instead fire exploded all around him and then went out, illuminating nothing but darkness.
Freydel considered his situation gravely. He was stuck, somewhere between his tower upon the Isle of Celene and the Wizards’ Circle. Somewhere between the physical planes and the astral. Any magic he dared to use, whenever he could even command it, was dangerously wild and unpredictable.
Stuck in a place without dimensions, maybe time does not even exist here, he pondered thoughtfully, hopefully, for time is what he needed most. Though he could feel no ground beneath his feet he tried walking but had no idea or any way to tell if he was moving forward or simply swinging his legs backwards and forwards.
Could he use the magic within his staff and the orb to channel the magic? The thought was frightening in itself, it could probably destroy them both. Even a ball of light had almost incinerated him. He stopped swinging his legs and soon after solid ground formed beneath his feet. Gravity seemed to be working again and he found he was no longer weightless, though he was still in pitch black darkness.
He reached down to touch the ground, it felt cold smooth and damp, like solid rock. His searching fingers discovered right angles, large paving stones. He stood upright and reached around him but could not feel any walls. He put the orb in his pocket, placed the tip of his staff firmly on the ground, out-stretched his arms and walked in a wide circle, his footsteps echoing in the eerie silence. The cold stone of a straight wall met his out stretched hand.
He placed his back against the wall and walked forwards slowly, feeling out each step with his foot. Six steps later he found another wall. He lifted his staff up high and it touched a solid stone ceiling. Slowly he began walking in one direction but he did not find another wall. I am in a tunnel of sorts, a physical solid tunnel somewhere, but where? He desperately needed light.
If he never completed the journey to the Wizards’ Circle could he make it back to his tower instead? Without touching solid ground the other wizards may never hear his call or at least would think he cancelled it. They may never know he was stuck somewhere between the astral and the physical planes. He had never tried to return to his starting point after a failed connection.
He reached for the orb again, feeling its latent erratic power on his finger tips. The hairs on his neck stood up and he hesitated before drawing it out. Something was watching him, or if not watching him aware of him. He licked his lips afraid, sweat starting to bead on his face. Wherever he was he had a bad feeling about it.
the Flow felt calmer now but regardless, he wanted to be gone from here as soon as possible. He reached for the Flow, it was no longer as erratic but was oddly unwilling, as if he were a complete novice wizard again trying to command it. The magic did not want to do his bidding. It took all his effort to form a tiny blue orb of light, just enough to make out the dark damp stones beneath him and the closest wall.
The footsteps started then, a slow heavy scraping sound of clawed feet on stone somewhere in the distance. Freydel stared ahead of him trying to see into the darkness unsuccessfully. He wanted to move, to hide, but there was nowhere to hide. The footsteps were swiftly coming closer and louder, echoing off the walls and filling his heart with dread. Something knew he was here, somehow, maybe the orb had alerted them. He had to get the orb to safety.
He turned in the opposite direction to the footsteps and started walking as fast as he could in the dim light. The footsteps behind him became louder still and he started to run. He trusted his magical skills, he was powerful, and with the orb he was doubly powerful, but the magic was untrustworthy here, he could only use it as a last resort.
He ran on, panting hard, but an awful sound coming from ahead made him falter. The sound of stone grinding upon stone. All at once he hit a wall at the end, slamming hard into it. He gasped to get his breath back and frantically searched for an opening in the solid stone but there was none. He was trapped, no way out, and the footsteps were almost upon him.
He whirled around and put his back against the wall. He tried to calm himself and catch his breath, fighting uselessly against the rising panic as the footsteps came clos
er. He desperately tried to gain some control over the Flow that was unwilling to do his bidding.
The footsteps pounded upon the floor making that strange clawing sound and now he could hear the clinking of armour, the horrible sliding sound of a blade being drawn. His tiny orb of blue light flickered weakly as a dark figure formed in the blackness. Freydel’s grasp on the Flow was completely lost in the terror that shuddered through him, fear that was worse than dragon fear.
The figure stopped abruptly less than ten feet away and in the weak light Freydel saw a shadow twice the height and width of a man. A three-peaked helmet encased his face and a heavy man’s torso, the size of a giant, was sealed in thick black armour. Only his bulging biceps and elbows were bare, revealing pale grey flesh and hands that were encased in thick metal gauntlets.
His legs were partially armoured in chain-mailed leather to mid-thigh beyond which thick dark scaly Saurian skin glistened in the light. Huge black-metal greaves extended past the knee and beyond them his bare reptilian feet, armed with razor-sharp claws. The feet of a Saurian only larger. It was those claws that made the strange scraping sound as he walked. A massive thick curved blade made of black metal hung at his left side and an equally menacing claymore hung on his right.
Freydel could not make out any features, did not want to make any out as he tried tear his eyes away. Only his mind denied what he looked upon, who he looked upon. The awful realisation that he had not, in fact, made it past Maphrax in the astral planes undetected dawned on him. Baelthrom was actually scouring the astral planes, not turned away from it.
Dear Goddess, pray he did not discover the Wizards’ Circle. Perhaps it is only the orb that was detected, Freydel could only hope that what he thought was true.