The Wizard's Heir

by J. A. V Henderson

  “Now is not the time for recriminations,” Stuart declared, rising. Barrandt fell silent. “We have too long been divided in the face of the enemy, and due to that fact the situation we face today is more bleak than it would have been otherwise. Anthirion fell because its divisions weakened it; the same will befall us if we fail similarly now.” He glanced around the table...nodded at the faces looking at him...and sat, gesturing Barrandt to go on.

  “Rest assured Therion shares your feelings, Scribe,” Barrandt said. “However, there is a new development which may affect our chances.” He signaled Haleth, his countryman, the blacksmith of the late Marshall X’ristofer’s command.

  Haleth stood. “Good elves and men, you’ve ‘eard how my late commander, Marshall X’ristofer, fell in battle again’ the treach’rous goblins of Narrissor, and how nearly we captured this boy who is esteemed so highly. Sin’ tha’ time we’ve posted many patrols across the Narrissorean border and across the empty western borderlands of our country. Thro’ the intelligence of these patrols we detected a party of ‘alf-breeds, Narrissoreans, circumnavigating our lands. We were able t’ overwhelm several flanking bands, but the main group disappeared into the foothills of the Sarranors. One that was killed was a Rifter: that means Gen’ral Krythar was with ‘em. An’ their destination, we learned thro’ interrogating the prisoners, was Labrion.”

  Alik bristled. A number of others—notably General Rigel and the red-haired man who had been introduced as Master Flan—shifted uncomfortably. Several people spoke at once.

  “What of these so-called drakes? Were any drakes seen?” asked Piachras.

  “Perhaps he is not really going to Labrion,” General Rigel said.

  “And where is the drake army?” asked General Pendrax.

  Ciarthan, the leader of Emeria, stood, gesturing for calm. “Peace, peace. Pardon our ignorance. These rifters you speak of are still strange and a little fantastic to us. Pray tell us how these strangers may affect the course of the battle. How many are there and how formidable? How do they battle and how may they be defeated?”

  Stuart spoke. “The rifters have always been an unknown variable. Only Krythar knows how many they are or of what type or with what capability. We do not think there are many. And as for the drake army, General Pendrax, Anthirion has confirmed to us that they may be in any place almost instantly on call from Krythar.”

  Haleth also sat. General Rigel spoke up, “Are they in truth heading for Labrion? That is the question. I have seen first-hand what those drakes can do, and if they are at Labrion when we arrive, we arrive but to die.”

  “Nay, I share not your skepticism,” answered Sianna, speaking for the first time. “I also have fought the drakes, though only once and but a few, and though they were indeed formidable, they are certainly not cause for despair.”

  “Let them come within reach of my archers; then we will see how formidable they be,” declared Cerregan.

  “I pray you are right,” said General Rigel, “but I counsel you, do not underestimate them.”

  General Pendrax spoke, “Whether they, or General Krythar, or the Rifters, are at Labrion or not, the attack must be there. This war hinges on the shards; it is the enemy’s overriding goal to capture the shards and destroy us all. While Zoris remains at Labrion, so near our grasp, we can do nothing but act to take it.”

  “Even if by attacking we destroy ourselves and thus win the war automatically for the enemy?” asked Rigel. “The question stands: are they going there?”

  “Al,” spoke up Alik suddenly. “Aue Zoris i Hydris.”

  The whole council turned toward him, and he shrunk back. Eathril spoke, “This, then, is the youth upon whom we have heard so much depends?”

  “Here is an answer to our troubles,” declared Piachras, rising with a wave of his hand. “If the boy truly wields the shard that controls water, as you guessed, Scribe Stuart, let him bring it forth now that we may behold it and bring its power into the strength we may wield against the enemy.”

  “This is a wise word,” said General Pendrax. “Master Caimbrian, please show us the shard.” Piachras, encouraged, sat back down.

  “Don’t be afraid,” Arrythh encouraged Alik.

  “Hydris qungoes’n ce i ngoe aue yuq’n Deran i Krythar; ve palol-g’s’n-cisha au hoaf aow wa-cazflahstaea,” Alik growled.

  “The stars help us,” General Rigel muttered.

  “What did he say?” Marshall Barrandt asked.

  Stuart answered first. “The language is that recorded by the scribes of the times of the Wizards’ Council; it is the wizardic tongue. I am no expert in its translation, but the sound of this sentence seems foreboding.”

  Alik gave a surly grunt and spoke, with difficulty, “It...ah, north-has-gone. They...they were going to Labrion. They...have? Have Floris, also.”

  There was a dreadful pause as this intelligence set in. The realization of what Alik meant slowly spread over all. So Emperor Morin possessed not only the shards of fire, air, and animal life, but now also the shards of plant life and of water. Or he would when Krythar reached Labrion with Hydris.

  “Hope yet remains,” Stuart said. The others turned to him, still trying to work it out themselves but eager to know what hope could yet remain. Stuart proceeded slowly, as though not yet completely sure. “General Krythar may have the shard, but he has not the use of it, for all his affectations,” he reasoned. “Only Emperor Morin and his minion Thaurim have that art. If we can reach the shard before it reaches Thaurim in Labrion, we may hope to use its power to secure the day.”

  “I would give less than even odds of that,” commented Marshall Barrandt.

  “If General Krythar is indeed heading for Labrion, he is not beyond our reach,” Stuart said. “If we ride quickly we can hope to achieve the plateau before him. Yet if we remain hidden, he will believe himself on friendly ground once he reaches Labrion’s pickets. Then a swift strike may capture both him and the shard.”

  “It would needs be swift indeed to take him ere he reach the tower,” General Eathril said. “Moreover, there is the matter of the general’s destination. ‘If indeed he heads to Labrion’...but he may not. What evidence have we but the report of this boy? I mean no offense to Master Caimbrian, but how is it he is privy to the secret movements of our enemy?”

  “Your challenge is a fair one,” Stuart spoke. “Master Caimbrian?”

  Alik snorted. “Deran lied au me. I...followed. But he serving...the shard.”

  “Deran! General Deran?” exclaimed Marshall Barrandt.

  “That explains much,” muttered Haleth.

  “And who is this General Deran?” asked Cerregan.

  “A spy, an assassin, and an adventurer against the light,” said Flan. “Those are the most favorable words to describe him with. He is a rock elf—one of the last pure-bloods. By virtue of his many conquests against the light he has become leader of Narrissor, where fame and valor define one’s social standing. He has murdered many brethren of mine...of ours.”

  “Deran...betrayed. Took the shard,” said Alik icily.

  There was a pause, then Sianna spoke, “In any event, we have no choice but to trust this child. And were his words different, we have no choice but to act as we have already determined. We must attack the Labrion Plateau.”

  Reluctantly, the others began to nod. Ciarthan spoke. “Scribe Stuart, what contingency do you propose, should the shard evade us on the plateau and thus reach Thaurim in Labrion?”

  Stuart thought. Around the table some of the others began to discuss the problem amongst themselves—all but Ravin Barrandt. Stuart met the marshall’s eyes. Barrandt did not flinch; there was no life-hope in his eyes. “In the event General Krythar reaches the tower with the shard,” Stuart spoke, “I fear that an all-out attack on the tower would fail. It might, however, mask our true movement. A small band, three or four at most, could infiltrate Labrion Tower and capture the shards.”

  Malaoenidea said gently, “Such persons shou
ld be gifted thieves, silent hunters, bold, subtle, skillful, able to withstand despair...and at least one of them, if I understand aright, would have to be the youth, Master Caimbrian.”

  “He is the only one who can use the shards if the group succeeds,” consented Stuart, “yet I fear to lose him, should they fail.”

  “They cannot succeed without him,” Malaoenidea foretold.

  “I go,” spoke Alik.

  “I wouldst request the honor of accompanying him,” declared Piachras. “And as for the qualities Mala listed, I may be no thief, but I am not shy in the face of the darkest desperation.”

  “I, for my part, wouldst also go,” said Stuart, “if it were not my part as leader of Ristoria to bestir my people on the battlefield with you, Master Ciarthan, and your commanders...and you, Marshall Barrandt of Therion...and you, General Pendrax, my friend. Yet I call on one here who is not so obligated and whose skill will more than make up for mine. Flan, will you go?”

  The red-haired man was sitting quietly at Alik’s left, his sleek hands folded elegantly before him. Again the man’s indeterminable sense of familiarity haunted Alik—where had he seen him before? The man spoke, “Master Stuart, you know I will. I am bound to try to free my master, who is held in those vile dungeons beneath Labrion. In any event, I alone know the secret ways of Labrion Tower, having escaped thence with my master once before.”

  “Your first priority is the safety of this boy,” Stuart replied. “Once that is achieved, you are released and may attempt whatever you can to free our brother.”

  “My apologies once more,” spoke up Eathril, “but if our plans must rely so heavily on so few, the credentials of those chosen must be unimpeachable. Stuart, do you trust this man?”

  “I do,” said Stuart. “He and his master are the last surviving members of a resistance group who have tormented Labrion, Brolethiria, and the whole North since their youth, and his reputation, with which you could not be familiar, speaks for itself. His master was brother to the tyrant of Brolethiria, and they fought long and past all hope to restore that nation to the light, suffering much loss and finally imprisonment in Labrion for their pains. Yet they escaped from Thaurim then and have continued for many years to risk life and limb for peace and light, even up until the fall of Anthirion. We may hope in him.”

  General Pendrax, who had been sitting quietly throughout the council, now rose once more. “Master Scribe, once again you show your virtues,” he declared. “Though the hour is dark, yet I may hope that we may take Labrion, tower and all, and even capture these all-important shards. Well done; and well done, all.”

  “We may say so once the war is won,” observed Eathril.

  “And if it is not,” said Malaoenidea, “may fate be mild with us.”

  The armies were already decamped and disembarking by the time the council ended. Horses and elves hurried in every direction, last-minute supplies and arms were distributed, and orders were barked everywhere. Alik, already tired by the meeting, glanced nervously around. Even as he did, however, a pair of dun horses fitted with a stretcher were driven up. “We have prepared transport for you, Master Alik,” declared General Pendrax. “You shall ride the stretcher...at least as far as Labrion.” He scowled, “After that it shall find more urgent use.”

  A third horse galloped up beside the first two as though bidden, a soot-grey mare with night-black tail and mane. Flan walked up to it, revealing a slight limp, and stroked its mane and face. “Bless you, Ashes,” Alik thought he heard the strange man whinny. “And I shall ride ever beside you,” Flan declared to Alik. “The horses shall give you a swift and easy ride.”

  “And here, I think, approaches my own steed,” smiled Stuart, craning his neck to see. Alik could not tell how Stuart knew—whether he heard such familiar hoof-beats amidst the din of breaking camp or could actually see so far through the forest’s thickness. He mounted up into his stretcher with Flan’s help, then Flan mounted his new grey mare, Arrythh waved one last time, and they were off. Off, and almost out of sight before he turned back to see Heao and Jevan breaking through the trees into camp on Stuart’s bold blond warhorse.

  If it had not been for the stretcher, Alik would surely have fallen off and killed himself almost at once. As it was, he dozed off several times unknowing, and only the thought of rocks and grasses blurring past beneath at breakneck speed would bring him back. They did not stop till dinner, and then only long enough for Arrythh to ride up to Alik and give him a long draught of some greenish stewy potion—which was surprisingly refreshing and tasteful and almost at once dragged him deep into a dreamless sleep.

  V.ii.

  From afar off, frosted with early snow and shrouded in fog by an unseasonable warm front from the north, the plateau and mountains of Labrion lay with the antique texture and hue of fossils cast up by the sea. From so far off the plateau seemed drained of blood, lifeless and insomnolent. It was not until one came much nearer that the shadows of the picket camps and the kinetic buzz barely visible around the tower at the tip of the plateau became evident.

  To the south the united forces of Therion, Ristoria, and Emeria were completing their encampment beneath the crest of the mountains commanding the foot of the plateau. The air was still, silent, and somber. Below the summit of the plateau the utter silence of sound and motion set motion to a hundred rocky demons twisted from the land’s bare face.

  One shape moved upon the dirty white plains heading toward the plateau. Presently it resolved into a small group, all unmounted and close to the ground. Most were half-breed Narrissoreans by their dress and movement, but there was one exception: a tall, lean, striding black form that could have been no other but Krythar.

  Alik clutched the rock ledge before him. And there, he thought he could make out, was that villain Deran. “Ve sa veat,” he declared in a low voice.

  Stuart peered out over the rocky slopes down to the base of the plateau and nodded. Arrythh and his father, Haleth, Sianna, Piachras, and Flan were also with them. Piachras spoke up, “Is he certain? If we attack too early....”

  “This party has the aspect of the one Marshall Barrandt’s scouts reported,” Stuart said, “and the leader certainly has the aspect of General Krythar.”

  “He is!” Alik hissed urgently.

  “Their defenses are formidable,” remarked Haleth.

  Sianna sniffed. “Leave that to Emeria.” She rose.

  “Spread word then that we attack at once, and as planned,” said Stuart. “General Pendrax and Sianna will take the front, then General Cerregan and Marshall Barrandt will strike through with their cavalry to capture the shard. Alik and his appointed guardians shall go with the latter...as shall I.”

  “If you should fall!” objected Sianna.

  “Then follow Ciarthan,” Stuart replied. “Yet I feel that fate is with us.”

  “Then may it favor us,” muttered Flan, eyeing the desperate plateau.

  Alik stood deliberately, urged by the thirst and the need for action, for change, for escape...and the sudden motion, coupled with the lingering weakness of his body, sent waves of nausea through his brain. By force of will he remained standing and hurried awkwardly through the file over the rise.

  Arrythh turned to General Pendrax. “Father, I want to go with him.”

  General Pendrax watched Alik leave, then the others as they left after him. “If he should fall, there will be no hope left for us,” he said slowly; “but if you should fall...then there would be no hope left for me.”

  Over the rise, the weary troops were already mounting up all around them at the signal from Stuart and Piachras. Flan’s ash-grey mare galloped up at the sight of her master, and Flan mounted smoothly to her back. “You ride with me,” he said to Alik, taking him by the hand. At once something like an electric tingle seeped into Alik’s hand like melting butter. He jumped up to mount even as Flan pulled him up, leaning without strength but with perfect fluidity—and he was on. Trumpets sounded in his mind and war-cries filled
the air, but all about them was only wearily efficient silence.

  Flan rode along the front line, surveying the preparations of the Therian and Emerian cavalry units dissatisfiedly and impatiently. By no signal Alik could discern, the columns began to march out. Flan did not try to proceed to the head of the column but simply nodded his head, setting the misty grey mare in motion. Soon Piachras joined them on a gallant-looking charger. Two large Emerians accompanied him, similarly mounted, each studiously analyzing Alik but refraining from speech. Alik shifted uneasily but a moment later thought he recognized Stuart moving amongst the procession of riders ahead. He thought the greying head beside the scribe must be Jevan, but couldn’t be sure. Then he felt a nudge on his shoulder and turned to find Arrythh grinning at him.

  “We are brothers by fate, my friend Alik,” Arrythh smiled. “I have been granted to go with you.”

  The mountains, sharp with weathered flint and ore, crept in on either shoulder higher and higher. The trail, littered with gravel slides and broken rock, wound deeper and deeper. Unmelted snow covered most of the trail on one side and the mist became thicker as they descended. Once there was a blur of something shaggy and dull white amongst the rocks above, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. Flan, however, Alik noticed when he looked back, had drawn one of his knives.

  They reached the bottom of the defile moving, as Alik felt, at a deadly crawl. By now, he thought, Deran would be well nigh halfway up the plateau. Around them now the sharp mountains dropped away into crumbling hills. Amidst the rock he could see a proliferation of scorpions and darting lizards. Just over those hills, within distance of a battle-cry, lay Labrion’s pickets. He didn’t see the cause of their delay until the moment was almost gone: General Pendrax’ armies were drawing up around their flank to attack.

  Suddenly he saw Cerregan stand up in his saddle at the head of the column and raise his bow and arrows. “For Amrill!” he shouted. In one fluid moment, the column of riders transformed into a cavalry charge.