by Robert Beers
Milward noticed Adam's look as he sat down. He reached out an arm and halted the boy's attempt to rise again. “Leave the work to me lad. Take this as an opportunity to learn something more about being a Wizard.”
Adam felt the pressure again, building up outside of him. This time, however, it was in several places at once and it moved. One part zipped into the trees, while another group roamed about the glen gathering rocks, which were placed into a circle. When the last rock fell into place, the part that went into the trees came back with a large bundle of sticks and broken dead branches and dropped them outside the circle.
The pressure cut off and Adam looked at Milward. The Wizard face glistened with sweat though the day still had some of the old chill of winter. He looked back at Adam. “Did you follow that?”
“You're sweating.”
“Of course I am!” Milward snapped. “A multiple shaping is one of the hardest to do. Especially if you work to maintain its smoothness.”
“What do you mean, smoothness?” Adam rummaged in his pack and pulled out a cloth that he gave to the Wizard.
Milward wiped his brow with the cloth and then put it into a pocket. “See the rocks which make up the fire circle?” He pointed to them.
“Yes.”
“Look at them closely. What, if anything, do you see of significance in them?”
Adam studied the rocks. As far as he could tell they were just rocks. He shrugged his shoulders. “Other than them being in a circle, nothing.”
Milward snorted. “Look again.”
Adam leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. There was something the Wizard wanted him to see in the rocks, he was sure of it. Should he try a shaping to himself to figure it out? No, he'd probably wind up destroying the campsite, and besides, Milward would know as soon as he started. He stared at the rocks, straining to see what would be there that Milward wanted him to find. Was it color? They were all a melange of gray, pink and brown. Shape? The shape varied little from the usual rounded lump. Size? Well, the size varied..."I see it!”
Milward leaned back. “You do, do you?”
“It's the size. You lined them up according to size.”
Milward smiled and touched a forefinger to his nose. “Right you are. I could have just had them drop in a circle willy-nilly but I wanted you to see what can be done with a little control. You have strength, Adam. More than I've seen in any other Wizard, including what I saw during the magic war, but you lack control. That could make you as dangerous to yourself as you are to your enemy.”
“Is this why we're traveling this direction?”
“Partly. I thought it would be good for us to visit the Winglord.”
“The Winglord? Who's he?”
“He's not a man, if that's what you mean.” Milward lit the fire with a snap of his fingers. Adam felt the sudden rush of power.
“What is he, then, another Wolf?”
“No, a Dragon.”
“A Dragon?!” Adam surged to his feet. “Charity and I were nearly fried by a Dragon in the caves, and you're taking me to see one?”
Milward looked closely at him. “You never mentioned this before.”
Adam told him about the Dragon they met in the caverns and their narrow escape through the cave wall into the creek.
Milward rubbed his chin in thought. “Can you remember enough about this fire breather to describe it to me?”
“I think I can. It had to be at least twice the height of a tall horse at the shoulder. It walked on all fours, had spines running down the length of its back and ... oh, yes, it had things coming out from behind each jaw like eels.”
“Like eels.”
“Uh huh. Oh, and when its saliva hit the water, it hissed like water hitting a hot stove.”
“I see. Do you remember seeing wings on this Dragon?”
Adam ran back over his memory of being chased through the caverns by the Dragon. He tried to picture its back. “No. No wings.”
The old Wizard seemed to relax. “My boy. I'm glad to tell you that what you and your sister ran from was not a Dragon.”
“Not a ... but it breathed fire. Its head was as big as ... as a calf, at least!”
“Yes, I imagine so. The fire was one of the reasons I asked you to describe the creature.”
“Not ... a... Dragon.” Adam repeated the statement, trying to get a handle on the concept.
“As I said,” Milward replied slowly as if teaching a slow learner. “Not a Dragon. I've never had the opportunity to see one of the creatures you described, thank the creator, but I've read about them during my studies back before the war. They are called Firewyrms. A real Dragon has wings. What you saw doesn't fly, but it does breathe fire. Well, it doesn't really breathe it, according to the old records. They are supposed to have a sort of second stomach that creates a gas they can expel at high pressure. The saliva you mentioned causes the gas to burst into flame as it leaves the mouth, hence the so-called fire breathing you saw.”
“Do the flying dragons breathe fire?”
“I don't think so ... never heard of one doing it. I'm sure Mashglach would have mentioned it sometime...” His voice trailed off in thought.
“Whose Mashglach?”
“The Winglord, of course. Didn't I tell you his name earlier? No? Well ... Mashglach is the chief of the Dragons, the Winglord. They are the Oldest and wisest creatures living. I don't think anyone knows their origins; they're shrouded in the past like so many of our beginnings.”
“Are they dangerous? The Dragons?”
“Oh, of course. As would be any creature as large or as strong. But if you mean, are they dangerous to you or I, then I would have to say no. Mashglach and his people are my friends. Of course I've had a few centuries to get to know them. Give it time and they'll be your friends as well.”
Adam tossed a small stick into the fire. “Ok. I'll give it a try.”
Milward looked at Adam in a studying way. He found himself doing that more and more. He really didn't know what to do with the boy. On one hand, he was scared pissless with the sheer volume of power the lad could bring into a shaping, and on the other, he was dying to see what he could do with it. “Yes, I suppose you will.”
Adam got up and walked over to his pack. He opened the top and began pulling out supplies for supper. Some dried meat and a few herbs and spices packed in small individual skins, two small cheeses covered in wax and a bag of dried vegetables.
Milward watched his preparations. “Stew?”
Adam looked up from measuring out a dark green herb. “Yes. We've got the time and I think we'd both prefer it to eating the stuff cold and dry.”
Milward grinned and smacked his lips. “On the money, lad. I'll get the water.”
* * * *
Gilgafed tested the barrier. It gave slightly with a rippling effect as if he'd dipped his finger into a still pond. More of the power was applied, and it gave further. “Soon,” he thought. “Very, very soon.”
* * * *
From their camp, Adam and Milward followed the trail as it passed over the eastern plateaus. Near midday, the ground rose into an area of high downs covered with bracken and heather. Bright yellow butterflies danced in the lavender scented air, ignoring the passage of the old Wizard and his charge in favor of the nectar the flowers offered.
Beyond the heather the downs rose sharply in a rise of moss-covered stone. They topped the rise and looked down into a rent in the earth. On either side of the ravine entrance, the ground rose slightly and then fell away as the table of two sheer plateaus.
Milward pointed to the opening. “There it is. The beginning of the ravine that leads to Whistle Bridge.”
“Why is it called that?” Adam peered into the ravine. The sunlight only reached so far. The heart of it looked to be black as night.
“You'll hear the reason yourself when we get to it. The wind creates a whistling sound as it passes over the span.”
Adam looked thoughtful. “Who built
the bridge?”
“So many questions.” Milward stopped Adam's apology with an upraised hand. “It's all right, I don't mind, really. I was the same way as a youth. Drove my parents and teachers to distraction, I imagine.” He patted his pouch belt. “Whistle Bridge wasn't built, as far as anyone can tell. If it was, it was before recorded history. Some say the wind carved the bridge out of the naked stone itself. Some say it was first water, and then wind. Some say the Dragons themselves made it back when they had their cities.”
“Their cities?”
Milward set off down the path toward the ravine with Adam slightly behind him. “Yes, I said cities.” His tone of voice betrayed mild annoyance. “Dragonkind is far, far older than mankind. Legend has it that one city still exists in the far north at the outer fringes of the frozen wastes. Chrysostom, I believe it is called. Some ancient texts say the Dragons even had ships that sailed to the stars.”
“Did they?”
“Can't say. Mashglach won't speak of it. I think something about the subject embarrasses him. Just understand this, Adam. When you meet Mashglach, you're meeting a being that was alive nearly ten thousand years before you were born. Their concept of time is different from ours. Most of what mankind does is beneath their notice, like the Mayfly is to us.”
“How did you become friends, then?”
Milward smiled at the memory, though Adam didn't see it. “I think it was because I kept turning up. Wizards live longer than other people, you see. Around my fourth century, they began to notice I was the same little man they'd been bothered by the previous century. After that, it was just a matter of communication.”
Adam noticed it was becoming dark. He looked up. The opening that was the top of the ravine glinted far above them. He reached forward and tapped on Milward's shoulder. “I can't see where I'm going. Maybe we should walk a little more carefully.”
“Not to worry, lad. There's nothing much between us and the bridge except the occasional pebble.”
“What's that I hear?” Adam's hand gripped Milward's shoulder this time, stopping him.
“Eh? I hear nothing, boy. We're too far away to hear the wind in the chasm.”
“I hear something. Listen.”
Milward strained his ears. There was something. The boy had better ears than he did, obviously. Being young had its points. It was a chittering, just on the edge of hearing. It put the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.
“Do you know what it is?”
He could feel Adam turning to put his back to his as the silken hiss of the sword leaving its scabbard told its own tale. The lad has good defensive instincts, at least, he thought. “No, I've never heard anything like it. Jars the nerves, doesn't it?”
“It puts mine right on edge.” Adam agreed. “It's getting louder.”
“I hear it.” Milward raised his staff. It began to glow and a crackling nimbus of octarine purple infused the staff, lighting the area where he and Adam stood, along with a radius of about two yards.
“It seems to be coming from everywhere. It ... it sounds evil.”
* * * *
“I have you now.” Gilgafed watched the old Wizard in the scry glass. It had taken nearly all his available power, but if he didn't miss his guess, the brat was with the old fool, even though something hid him from the scry. What he had summoned would deal with them both, the old Wizard's new strength and the security of the world be damned.
The single door to his chamber opened tentatively. He whirled to see Cobain with a silver service tray and a bottle of wine.
Gilgafed leveled a shaking finger at his servant. “How dare you!? Get out! Get out, and don't come in unless you are summoned.”
Cobain shuffled backwards out the door, and shut it.
The Sorcerer grunted and turned back to his glass. He did not want to miss a second of this triumph and his thorn's removal.
* * * *
The light from Milward's staff threw the shadows of the ravine into a sharp, purple-edged focus. They could see things moving in them. The sound grew louder, and a scent, equally as disturbing as the sound, reached their nostrils.
Adam's lip curled in disgust, and he growled in his throat.
“Steady, lad, don't go wolf on me. We've no idea of what we face here.” Milward cautioned him.
The sound was all around the edge of the light, now. Adam's sword wove an intricate pattern. “You don't know what these things are?”
“I've only a vague suspicion, Adam, and I am hoping by Bardoc's beard that it's wrong.” Milward raised the hand not holding the staff.
Adam felt the now familiar pressure of a shaping. A glow began coalescing around the Wizard's hand similar to that around the staff. Small arcs and streamers of energy leapt and spat from his fingertips. Adam felt the pressure increase and then let go. A blue white bar of fire shot from Milward's hand and transfixed ... a something. He had no name for what he saw, only that he wished he never saw anything like it again.
Its coloring was dead black, like the ash found on a cook stove pipe. The head had no ears and no nose, only a gash that opened and closed continuously. The mouth dribbled, and a semi-thick drool spattered against the ravine wall it clung to. It had two arms that extended from a torso with no shoulders and short curly fur resembling an advanced growth of mold. Six legs extended from the end of the torso like those of a Black Widow. The hands and feet were alike, with two digits each ending in a hooked claw. There were no sexual organs visible. Its eyes glowed with a sickly green illumination under the blaze of Milward's fire.
It scuttled out of the shaped bolt and back into the shadows. The chittering came from the movement as its joints rubbed against each other.
“Balls!” Milward spat the expletive.
“You know what these things are?” Adam swung the sword up to block a swipe by one of the creatures. Sparks flew where blade met claw.
“They're called Chivvin, if I'm any judge of legend. They're not supposed to be here.” Another bolt leapt from his hand.
“You mean this ravine?” Adam leaned back to avoid a lightening slash.
“No! I mean this world.” Another bolt of fire lit the ravine. A metallic smell followed it. “These shapings should be destroying them. They only look like insects. They're from someplace other than our reality. But my power only sends them back into the shadows.”
Something began tapping on the door of Adam's mind. “Where do the legends say they come from?”
“The writings speak of them coming from the other side.” Milward sent forth his shaping again, but the brilliance of the bolt was markedly less than the ones before.
“The other side of what?”
“Dreams. These are the creatures of nightmare. They can only ... Bardoc's Beard! I'll fry his filthy stinking guts!”
“What?”
“They had to be summoned. There's no other way for them to come through. It's that Sorcerer's doing. That fool doesn't know what he's playing with. I'll flay his hide from his bones. I'll light his balls on fire and feed them to him whole. I'll...”
“Light!” The door to Adam's mind opened. He half turned to share his idea with Milward, and had to duck as one of the Chivvin leapt at him. From his knees, he swung upward at the juncture of head and torso. It felt as if he'd struck an anvil. A loud CHINK and a shower of sparks followed the strike, and the Chivvin flew over Milward in two pieces. The torso landed on its back, and the legs clawed at the air like a beetle flipped onto its back.
“Aaarrgghh!” Milward cried out and began dancing around. The head had latched onto the toe of his right boot, and the jaws worked, trying to chew through the tough leather. He pointed his staff at the head and sent it rolling into the darkness with a surge of energy.
He backed up against Adam and raised his voice to be heard above the increased chattering of the Chivvin. “You said something. What was it?”
“Light. It's the light that scares them. I'd bet my sword on it.”
Mi
lward shook his head. “You may be right. I should have thought of it before, but now I'm nearly knackered. I doubt I could float a pebble.”
“What can we do, then?” Adam parried slashes from a group of Chivvin clinging to the ravine wall above him.
“You'll have to do it, lad. We'll have to chance it.”
“What do I do?”
“As you build your shaping, think of sunlight, pure, white, sunlight. Remember how it looks, how it feels, and put those memories into the power, and direct the shape of it to where you want it to go.” The Wizard looked around them. “In this case, I'd say everywhere.”
Adam concentrated as Milward had instructed. He thought of light, pure and blinding white, filling the ravine as he built the shaping. The pressure of the power grew and he opened his eyes prior to releasing it. There was a glow coming from his skin and his clothing. Small sparkles, like diamond dust, danced and skipped through the air.
The Chivvin closest to them edged back from the glow, their chittering now loud enough to cause pain. Adam had to shout to make himself heard. “Close your eyes!”
He released the shaping at the same time he closed his.
Irritation caused by the glow forming around the targets caused the Chivvin to back away. It grew brighter, and the irritation became pain. They increased their cry in defense, but the pain grew and then blossomed into agony. Blinding white radiance enveloped them and they began to break apart; smaller bits crumbling into even smaller bits that then floated away into the all-consuming light until they were gone.
“You can open your eyes now, lad.”
Adam opened his eyes. It must have worked. Milward didn't use that tone of voice unless he was well pleased about something. Adam saw no Chivvin left in the ravine. It had worked.
* * * *
Cobain answered his master's summons. He found Gilgafed roaring drunk, lying in a pool of ancient, very expensive wine, and surrounded by a number of empty bottles.
His master waved him over with the loose-limbed movement of the very, very drunk.
“Ah, Cobain! He did it again. The brat destroyed them, even ... even my sh, shumminmumums ... summons failed. A toast!” He raised an almost empty glass. “A toast to failure.’ Hic’ A delicashee I've not tasted for nearly a ... a... a thousand yearsh.” He up-ended the glass and slurped loudly. He then brought the glass up close to his face. “Drained. Jush like me.” His eyes rolled back, and he began to snore.