by David Combs
“And you won’t live long enough to see greatness either, bastard,” snarled the enraged apprentice. Arimasthenes’ black eyes began to glow with magical power, and his lips began a dark chant that Tyrell recognized as a forbidden spell. The younger apprentice had seen his rival secretly using the same incantation to torture a rat in the cellar once.
Black tendrils of magical force lashed from Arimasthenes’ fingertips and wrapped around Tyrell’s limbs. Agonizing fire lanced through his body where the dark magic touched his flesh. A scream ripped from his throat as the magic tore through him like a thousand blades slashing at his skin. His knees buckled, and he crashed to the floor. From the corner of his eye, he saw Rialligen sitting in his chair, head bowed with a look of deep sadness creasing his face.
“Master, help me,” cried Tyrell.
“No, Tyrell. I cannot. You must help yourself. The potential of a mighty wizard rests within you. You have the power to prevail if you choose to wield it.”
Tyrell looked up at the evil leering grin on Arimasthenes’ face. His evil laughter mingled ominously with the sizzle of raw magical power that stretched forth from his hands. Despite the searing agony coursing through him, Tyrell felt a sudden awareness flow through him. A siren song of magic sang to his senses unlike anything he had ever felt before, and certainly nothing that Rialligen had ever shown to him so early in his apprenticeship. With his teeth gritted, and a snarl on his lips, Tyrell fell into the stream of energy that flowed into him, as he stretched his hand out towards his tormentor.
A white-hot blast of lightning exploded from the young mage’s hand, blasting Arimasthenes across the lab. The older boy smashed against the far wall, and his wicked laughter changed to shrieks of fright and pain as his robes burst into flame. Tyrell let out an exultant whoop as the lightning burned his foe, reveling in the seductive lure of the power that inundated him. As the destructive blasts rained from his fingers, though, Tyrell suddenly realized the true danger of the power he had unleashed.
He couldn’t shut the magical fire off.
Fearfully, he tried to aim the destructive power away towards the emptiest corner of the cluttered room, but the lightning roared unchecked, destroying lab equipment, and setting ablaze scrolls and parchments that littered the chamber. Rialligen rushed to his apprentice’s side.
“Tyrell, you must govern the magic lest it destroy you too! Will it to stop. Dominate it, not the other way around!” Though the old wizard screamed his words to him, Tyrell could barely hear him over the roaring waves of destruction that poured from his hands. The magic had begun to turn on him as well, for he felt the fire starting to burn his own skin as well now.
Rialligen grabbed hold of Tyrell’s wrists, attempting to join the young mage’s mind on the higher planes of magic. The lightning coursed over the old man’s frail frame, but the elder wizard held fast. Tyrell watched in silent horror as Rialligen’s skin blistered and peeled. The young man drew his focus to that plane of power that burned through him, and through sheer force of will closed the magical conduit. So abruptly did he cut himself off from the flow of magic that he was thrown back like a babe trying to hold a door against a charging dragon. Tyrell screamed as the backlash of magic ripped back through his hands and forearms. He watched as a network of crisscrossing scar tissue blossomed under his flesh.
The lab was in ruins. Tyrell rushed to his fallen mentor, pushing aside flaming debris to reach his teacher. Feebly, Rialligen looked up and grasped at the boy’s tunic.
“Do not let this deter you from using the power that is yours to command. Your heart is pure, Tyrell. One day, such magic under your control will be used to save the lives of those who cannot defend themselves. You have the ability to master such forces, but only if you do not shy away from them.
“Be the master, do not let the power master you.” The old wizard’s body tensed up, and then he sighed, breathing his last breath.
Tyrell Amalcheal sat up suddenly with a start and strained to see through the dimly lit room in which he found himself. The dream, no, the memory of that fateful day so many years ago slipped away into his mind’s recesses as he studied his immediate surroundings.
The dim torchlight in the room showed two rows of stone sarcophagi that stretched back into the dark corners of the chamber. Slowly, the grating sound of stone on stone echoed through the cavernous room. Tyrell sensed, rather than saw, dark creatures rising from the stone biers in the gloom ahead.
“Stand down,” he called out with more bravery than he truly felt. “My quarrel is with your dark lord, not yourselves.”
“Ahh, but the master has sent us a plaything,” purred a hissing voice from the shadows ahead. “Come to us willingly, mortal, and your death shall pass far sweeter than if you fight us.”
Tyrell steadied himself with his back against the cold stone wall. He knew that he was in serious trouble. He flicked his hand upwards, creating a soft blue light that pierced the dark shadows to about ten paces around him. He found that he was in a small alcove that opened into the broader crypt. Half a dozen residents of those stone sarcophagi were slowly sauntering towards him. Their otherworldly beauty created a seductive pull that cried for him to join them in an embrace, but the wizard was experienced enough to know the allure of dark magic.
Though pale in general, the light that sprang from his hand did hurt the eyes of the approaching undead, so long accustomed to the lightless world of their tomb. A vampiress with long blond tresses waved her hand, and Tyrell felt the wave of magic that suddenly snuffed out his light spell.
“You’ll have to do far better than that, little mage,” called the lady with her velvety soft voice. “We’ve been around for far too long to be daunted by such feeble magic.” Tyrell tensed as the undead host slowly closed around him. The smell of ancient decay and foul breath battered his senses. Worst of all though, was that he could sense centuries of hunger longing to be sated.
“Come, little mage,” came a different voice in the darkness, male from the baritone. “Join us willingly and it shall prove far less painful than if you were to resist.”
“Besides,” said the lady again. “You have no power to stop us. Your feeble skills will not deter us from taking what we want of you.”
The lady vampire’s words inflamed Tyrell. His mind raced back to the memory of his dead teacher’s words. He had the power to save himself if he only chose to wield it.
The vampires shuffled closer, as Tyrell’s mind raced. If he drew upon the necessary magic, he faced the possibility of being ripped apart by forces that he might not be able to control. However, the vampires would certainly assure him of a similar fate.
A cold finger brushed against his cheek, and Tyrell saw the dimly lit red glow of vampiric eyes in the gloom. He felt the magical tug trying to draw him into that dark gaze and sweet magical embrace. An ominous chuckle pierced the darkness, but it was the long silenced laugh of Arimasthenes that had haunted his dreams over the years that found his ears.
Tyrell’s mind flashed suddenly to thoughts of young Lorelei’s body laid out on the table and the terrible destruction of the fires of Tarnath. He wondered again after the fate of his missing friends and cursed all the terror and destruction that had been caused by Kellen Ambrose.
It was time to end this.
Tyrell Amalcheal opened his mental focus up to the forces of magic that surrounded him, drawing them deep into the core of his being. He felt the power surge through him as it had those many years ago in Rialligen’s lab. He reveled in the charging power as it built within him, but unlike the incident of his youth, Tyrell knew that this time he was in complete control.
He grabbed a male vampire that had crept closest to him by the throat as he released a devastating blast of fire that removed the creatures head from its body. With his other hand, a fanning jet of white-hot flame scattered the other undead away from him, cowering in terror and pain from the blistering light and heat. Another bolt of flame from Tyrell’s hand bore a h
ole through the chest of another vampire, reducing the beast to ash.
The remaining vampires ran for the stairs at the back of the room, shrieking in terror. “The master said that this one’s magic was weak,” cried one. His protest was cut short as Tyrell’s flames engulfed and consumed him.
Tyrell couldn’t help but gape in awe of his own display. The hand that he had once nearly lost to a bolt of magic electricity now rained death upon these evil creatures. He felt the warmth of the magic flowing through him, holding him like a lover in a fierce embrace. His doubts over his capabilities had vanished now as blast after blast of deadly magic exploded forth.
Tyrell Amalcheal was a master wizard.
He had held the power within him all along. He realized that the call he had received from the Book of Torax’alamien would only have summoned him if he were worthy enough to control the incredible feats of magic that the tome contained within its pages.
Tyrell began to give chase to the retreating vampires, racing up the stairs that they had fled to. He paused a moment when he heard again the scrape of stone on stone, and he realized that more of the sarcophagi below were opening. Glowing eyes and razor-sharp fangs began to appear one after another. Tyrell knew that the vampires ahead of him moved with supernatural speed, but Tyrell couldn’t leave this infested crypt at his back. He had to finish this quickly.
The wizard closed his eyes and dropped his consciousness into the whirling eddies of power that surrounded him. He barely heard the snarls and hisses of the approaching undead. He simply stood and delved into the arcane energies around him. Raw magic filled his every cell. The hisses below him began to turn into anguished and panicked cries for Tyrell blazed like a summer sun surrounded in a corona of fire. Finally, he opened his eyes and looked down at the vampire horde below.
“Find your peace now,” he whispered, but the magic filling him made his voice boom across the stone chamber. Tyrell used his entire body as a conduit for the blast of fire. An inferno roared from his entire body directed into the space below. The vampires’ screams could not be heard above the roar of Tyrell’s mystic flames. So powerful was the bolt that the stone itself began to melt, and the brass torch sconces melted away. When the eruption finally subsided, the air before him shimmered from the ultra-intense heat. Of the vampire horde, no trace remained.
Tyrell’s knees buckled, and he slumped against the wall. His vision clouded, and he could taste blood in his mouth. It would seem, he thought to himself, that even the mightiest wizards might have limits. He shook his head to clear his vision, then left the crypt in pursuit of the remaining three vampires.
He thought about the display he had just delivered. Given the time, he wondered just what sorts of feats he might be able to accomplish. A flitting fear dashed into his thoughts that he might accidentally tap into something that would seduce him to the point of corruption. With the kind of tremendous power that he had just used, he could level entire nations. He would have to make certain that he only used his powers for the right reasons.
Tyrell shook his head again, realizing that he had far more immediate concerns at the moment. Leveling continents would have to wait until later. He followed some short hallways, and after another small flight of stairs, he found himself in the castle’s main hallway, dominated by a grand staircase. The three vampires stood at the top, their jaws wide open in complete shock of the rumbling display of power that they had heard even from here.
Tyrell held his arms out wide to the side. “I was afraid you wouldn’t wait for me,” he called up the stairs. He hoped his bravado was more convincing than he felt at the moment. He still hadn’t gotten his second wind back quite yet. If these three took too much out of him, he might not have anything left to give when he faced off against Kellen. The vampires backed away down a hall forcing Tyrell to move quickly to keep up. As he reached the top of the stairs, what he saw made his heart leap.
An open doorway revealed a library in ruins. Books were strewn about, furniture was overturned and broken. In the hallway where he stood, a great battle had obviously taken place here with more broken furniture, and the telltale ash of destroyed vampires adorned the carpet. Tyrell felt that this had to be proof that his friends had at least made it this far. Perhaps they had already carried the battle to Ambrose. With a savage smile, Tyrell hoped that they hadn’t already finished off the black-hearted bastard without him.
The three vampires spread out in the hallway before him. Their eyes were full of fear as they warily watched the mage’s slow approach.
“Tell me where your master is. You need serve him no longer, and I can send you to your final peace with as little suffering as possible.”
“The master said you had no real power. He said you were the weakest of the three,” hissed the alpha female.
Tyrell sighed. “It appears your master was gravely misinformed.” One of the two males leaped suddenly towards him, but the wizard’s hand moved faster still and let forth a blast of fire that reduced the vampire to a heap of smoking ash. “I don’t suppose either of you would prefer to be a bit more cooperative, now would you?”
The vampires snarled and charged.
Tyrell threw another jet of flame, but the shot went wide as his knees started to go out from under him. He needed a chance to rest, and these skirmishes weren’t going to help with that.
“You are weak, little mage,” said the female. “Your power is newly found, and you have stretched yourself thin. This shall be easier than we anticipated.” With a howl, she jumped into the air and flew towards him. Afraid that he would be further weakened if he drew on any more magic, Tyrell tried something unexpected.
As the vampiress’ clawed hands reached for him, Tyrell grabbed her wrist, twisted, and used her own momentum to hurl her across the hallway where she slammed face first into the hard stone. Tyrell’s satisfaction was stolen quickly though as he was hit from behind by the remaining male vampire. In a tumble of limbs, they crashed to the carpeted floor.
“You die now, mage,” growled the vampire into Tyrell’s ear. “You, my friend, shall be mine to torment for all eternity.”
“Like hell, I will,” snarled Tyrell. He snapped his head back into the nose of the vampire and was satisfied with the resulting crunch of bone. He threw an elbow back that caught the creature in the jaw, and sent it rolling off of him. The lady vampire was suddenly back as well, though. With her supernatural strength, she lifted Tyrell from the floor, slamming him against the wall. Her long fingers closed tightly around his throat.
“Time to die, mortal”
Tyrell grabbed the fiend by her ears and jammed his thumbs into her eyes. She shrieked as Tyrell tore at her with a barbaric savagery that would have made his missing ally proud. As her fingers loosened around his neck, Tyrell punched and kicked, shoved and clawed, as he sacrificed finesse for brutal efficiency. The blind and flailing vampire whirled into a floor sconce, and the gossamer material of her dress lit up from the flame of the candles. Tyrell threw just enough magic power at the fire to boost the heat output, and the lady fell, ablaze and screaming, over the balcony railing. Tyrell saw her disappear in a puff of soot and ash.
The wizard whirled around to again face the lone male vampire that stood between himself and Kellen. “And then there was one,” he said coldly. Tyrell’s head throbbed from the brawl and the excessive use of magic. He had to catch his breath soon. The vampire fell to his knees with his hands outstretched in surrender.
“Mercy, I beg you. Your thief chased the master down the hall behind us,” he said as he jerked his thumb in the direction of a side passage. “Your warrior friend followed behind shortly after. I swear that is all that I know. Please spare me!” The vampire looked pathetic as he waited for Tyrell’s response.
Tyrell held his hands out to his sides. “I am a merciful soul,” he said. The vampire’s ferocity suddenly roared back into its visage, but Tyrell had expected an attack. As his hands swung back around to aim at the vampire, he grabb
ed hold of a broken leg of a destroyed hall table. As the vampire lunged back to its feet, Tyrell shoved the makeshift stake through the creature’s chest. With a howl of agony, the vampire burst into flame and collapsed into ash. “But not today,” he finished. Tyrell leaned heavily on the door frame beside him. He started to slide down the wall to have a quick seat, but his senses suddenly perked up as he became aware of a being of great magical power.
Kellen Ambrose was very close, and he wasn’t happy.
With a groan, Tyrell ran for the hallway that the vampire had indicated to him earlier. As he passed through the opening into the long hallway, he stopped suddenly as he saw the battle damage laid out before him.
Scars of flame, blades, and sizzling acid scored the stone down the entire length of the hallway. Tyrell could only imagine all the insidious traps that had been triggered that were necessary to cause such damage. He said a quick silent prayer that his friends had safely navigated past this point.
Shouts from the far end of the hallway drew his attention, and the clash of battle renewed his vigor. He sprinted down the ruined hallway and leaped up the short stair that led to the tower guardroom. What he saw as he fell against the door jamb filled him with both hope and fear.
Galen lay slumped against the wall. Blood ran from the young thief’s mouth, nose, and ears. Shadow Reaver skittered across the floor just as Tyrell slipped into the room. The wizard’s eyes darted to where the blade had come from, and he saw Nestor and Kellen locked in mortal combat.