The Wizard's Heir

by J. A. V Henderson

  Eathril scowled. “Too few, too few. But we should not speak of that now, with the devils about. Come, we shall lead you to them; then you will hear all.”

  Eathril’s lieutenants retrieved the spears Jevan had seen before and rolled up a net that was attached between them. So that is how they caught the drakes, he realized. Then they set off, Jevan and Heao together following Rigel and Eathril, the as-yet silent lieutenants taking up the rear. If anyone spoke, Eathril immediately silenced them: he had lost too many friends in the battle.

  They headed down the plateau at a pace more brisk than Jevan had taken going up. Now that the pressure was off him to decide what to do, the full scale of the slaughter set in....

  A makeshift camp had been arranged in the jagged mountain waste south of the plateau base. Veiled in fog and darkness, the survivors sat or lay or went about their necessary business in a state of numb shock not yet old enough to have grown into the resolution of pain but yet too old for angry valor. Fires were not lit and only a few tents stood, not for shelter, but for the privacy of war-councils or the care of the wounded.

  Bardach, Sianna’s second lieutenant, slipped gracefully under the flap of the commander’s tent and bowed solemnly. Sianna took notice of him at once and pulled him aside. About the tent, the faces of Ciarthan, Malaoenidea, Stuart, Haleth, and the Therian Marshall Ravinn Barrandt, as well as Sianna’s other two lieutenants, Ceolle and Dain, all turned toward them. Bardach spoke, “My lady, yet more woe: your first lieutenant, Alaina, is no more.”

  “The cost mounts, but still there is no indication of success or failure,” grumbled Ravinn Barrandt.

  “Perhaps Eathril and Heao will come across him while they are out,” Stuart said.

  “Perhaps they will not come back at all,” Barrandt snapped.

  Haleth, the Therian blacksmith and soldier, crossed over to Sianna, bowed his head, and offered his hand. “My lady, Generaless, please accept my condolences on your loss.”

  She nodded and he put his big bear-arm around her shoulders. “You are a good man, Sir,” she said.

  “Haleth, my lady.”

  “Haleth, Sir. While there is yet one such as yourself the North will not have won.”

  “My thanks, Lady, but whether we stand or fall will hang on higher and more dexterous shoulders than my own: such powers as yourself and Stuart, Ciarthan and Eathril, all of you.”

  “And paramount, the boy,” scowled Barrandt.

  The sounds of a commotion without halted the conversation. There were quick voices and a shuffle of feet, then Sianna divined, “Eathril has returned.”

  Eathril’s three surviving lieutenants entered and bowed as one. Eathril himself, as leader of the recent expedition, entered on the heels of his officers. “Most noble Ciarthan,” he spoke, bowing his head, “Arran Delossan, scribe of Hydris Isle.”

  Jevan, Heao, and Rigel entered as he spoke, along with two other survivors of the field. Seeing Eathril bowed, they also bowed, then Jevan spoke, “Ciarthan, Stuart, leaders of the three nations, I am indebted to you for your kindness and aid.”

  “Our warriors are as indebted to you for the opportunity to feed their thirst for swift vengeance while the drake devils are still scavenging the field,” Ciarthan replied.

  Eathril brought forth a net tangled with bloody drake bodies. “Behold, my lord, our earnings.”

  “All have fought bravely and well today,” Stuart spoke.

  “We were annihilated!” Ravinn Barrandt lashed back. All turned, shocked. “The strength and valor of Therion today was crushed by raving beasts!” he rasped. “Our nation was wasted by monstrous vermin and we have nothing to show for it.”

  “Therion did not suffer alone,” observed Ciarthan mildly.

  “No,” the Therion marshall granted.

  “We shall have time to mourn our losses at the end of the ages,” Ciarthan said. “Then we shall remember in full that which we may now remember only in brief. If it seems wise, we shall now speak of events as they have unfolded and things as they stand. Then we shall decide what we may do. When that is done, we will pray over the field and the lives it has claimed, remembering to pray also for we who survive for the harsher trials to come. Spread the word, however—for after that we shall cede the field.”

  There was no argument to that. They all knew what would happen to them if dawn found them with the drakes still there.

  The lieutenants departed to give the news to the remnants of the troops.

  As scribe of Ristoria, the duty fell on Stuart to relate the events of the day. He undertook the task without the slightest elaboration or art. “After the initial attack of the beast army,” he reported, “we lost sight of Generals Krythar and Deran and their party. Our lines would have been crushed completely had it not been for General Eathril’s arrival. With the help of his gliders and nets and firebombing, we were able to retreat and rejoin the rest of our forces. In the retreat, however, we were separated from the wizard’s heir and his two guardians. They scaled the plateau face while we held off the attack, and what has happened to them since, we may only guess.

  “The remains of our army was fought back to the base of the plateau, but then the enemy attack disintegrated. Shortly thereafter, the drakes arrived: the end of the battle.” He concluded and stepped back.

  “This was rather the beginning,” Sianna declared. “Till now, there has been only terrorism and fleeing. Today we showed the emperor’s minions that we will not bow lightly to his monstrosities.”

  “We will not,” agreed Stuart, “but I fear when he hears of this day’s bloodshed he will know that there is little left of us. General Cerregan fought bravely against the drakes, and had his troops had arrows left to shoot they might have cut apart the fell drake army once and for all. Yet now he lies dead, and most of his troops with him. And from Therion, not one of the marshalls has returned, but only Marshall Barrandt, who fought valorously. And for Ristoria, we have lost General Pendrax and his valiant son. And other leaders we have lost: Sianna’s lieutenant Alaina, Eathril’s lieutenant, Plean, to name a few. Of all our forces, not one in ten remains.”

  “Yea, this battle has been folly,” Marshall Barrandt declared.

  “Was it by guile that I won your aid?” Stuart replied to him. “Did you not know the odds against us?” The marshall did not reply. “Very well, then,” said Stuart. “I believe this day’s actions have been a success, as bloody as they seem. I believe Master Alik Cambrian has captured the shards, or at least one of them, and that he remains alive even now.”

  “What makes you think that?” asked General Rigel.

  “My friends,” he answered, “it is clear to me now as I wish it had been before this day began that Thaurim used the power of his shard Zoris to create and control the beast army we fought. That this beast army disintegrated at the end reveals to me he no longer controlled it, and has not yet recovered control of it. Moreover, Krythar is still present on Labrion Plateau, as is all too evident by his drakes; but if he were in possession of the shards he would have rifted away to Krytharion City long ago and left Labrion Tower empty. Then, carrying the power of five of the seven shards of the Stone, Emperor Morin would use that power to find the remaining two and would destroy us utterly.”

  “May he and his drakes rift to perdition!” Marshall Barrandt declared. Haleth, Rigel, Eathril, and some of the others joined in with a bitter cheer.

  “Pardon my ignorance,” spoke up the blacksmith Haleth, “but if I read the situation aright and the Cambrian boy is still alive—as yet—then is not our only hope to take what strength we have left and make an attempt on the tower? For he must be there if he has managed to take the shards.”

  “True and false, I believe,” said Stuart. “True, we must find him, but he may not be in the tower any more. If he were, the drakes would be swarming every exit from the tower to keep him there. But on the contrary, they are searching the whole plateau, as we have seen.”

  “That’s not searchin
g, it’s looting,” groused Barrandt. “They tear up bodies, scatter bones, torture the wounded, and fill the air with their bloody screaming.”

  “The master of the demonlings does not now completely control his minions,” Ciarthan, the leader of Emeria, suddenly spoke up. Stuart nodded thoughtfully, and the Emerian lieutenants cast down their eyes.

  “The point is lost,” Barrandt declared bleakly. “Even were we sure of the boy’s location, we have no one left to send to him. We might hope to excise him by sending in a small force of our most phantasmal heroes...but of course we have no such knowledge. We could set up a perimeter of scouts around the plateau, but the drakes would be more likely to find him, and we would only lose the scouts to the drakes.”

  “That is true,” said Stuart.

  “Well, what do you suggest, Marshall?” Jevan interjected. “He is out there—that much is certain—and he is our only hope.”

  “If he is out there,” Barrandt replied, “that is Master Stuart’s assessment. I respect the scribe’s opinion, but I do not share it. Anything may have happened, and not the least conjecture is deception by Thaurim. It may be the boy managed to take the shard—though if so, what then? Can he fly, or summon birds to carry him away? No. It may be he died escaping and the shard is temporarily lost. It may be that the shard was recovered but taken away by Krythar, leaving the drakes to finish off the last strength of the south. I suggest this: we treat this battle as a total loss, and plan from there.”

  He paused, surveying the acid of his words at work, then added, “As for Therion, we will return to our homes, evacuate our people, and prepare the fastnesses of our nation against the end. Emperor Morin will not keep us long; then the armies of the North will join with those of Narrissor and Sûrthia to the south. Yet they will find Therion strong to the end; the keeps of Theris and Calai have never fallen, and they will find that we will give them a battle worthy of much heroic verse—if only there will remain anyone to sing it.”

  “Nay, Sir,” spoke up the Anthirian General Rigel. “What you propose is suicide. Emperor Morin certainly will not wait long—and the fame of Therion’s high places goes not unnoticed—but consider that the enemy will not engage you in fair combat. Everything he has done to date has been by deception, fear, and monstrosity. He indeed possesses strong armies, but he hides them behind his artifices. If you entrench yourself in fortresses however strong, I fear you will only end as my Anthirion did.”

  “Your counsel is well received, friend,” Marshall Barrandt replied sadly, “yet if we abandon the fastnesses, it may be we will be cut apart the easier on the plains. This decision only the king can make, and I will go to him now. Master Haleth, come.”

  Haleth hesitated. “Sir, I would stay.”

  “Haleth?” Barrandt exclaimed.

  “My heart tells me that if this boy is Therion’s only hope, then all my strength is wasted for nothing if I do anything but seek him out, however vainly. I pray, do not command me otherwise. This sacrifice is hard enough, knowing that the only probable result is that we two will be buried in separate graves, many miles apart.”

  “Haleth, if you love your country....”

  “Marshall Barrandt,” Stuart cut off the Therian, laying a firm hand on his arm, “let the man go.”

  Marshall Barrandt stood trembling several moments, what he would do next completely unreadable. Then, whirling, he left.

  There was silence for a few moments, then the sounds of a commotion from outside. “Therion leaves in anger,” Ciarthan declared to Stuart in his aged, fatherly tone. “You have prevented trouble here, but what will happen in the future?”

  “There is still the guardian prince,” said Stuart. “Whoever comes to him for protection will not be turned away, and his fortress is well-hidden—at least until such time as Morin may reunite the shards of the Stone and see it in his heart.”

  “Yet will he accept that invitation now?” spoke up Malaoenidea, the Emerian minstreless, nodding after Marshall Barrandt.

  “I see,” said Stuart. “Not from me...but from his king he will. I must send emissaries back to Ristoria in any event; they will simply pass through Theris on their way.”

  “Let it be so,” Ciarthan declared.

  At that moment the tent flaps burst open around a rush of chaos. The first thing they saw was a phalanx of armed guards with swords and knives drawn—two Therians, four Ristorians, and six Emerians. At their center was a tall man wrapped in a dark cloak with a monstrous gold sword bobbing eagerly at his belt, then a hairless giant of a man covered with rubbery, wrinkled, pale skin, here and there with fresh burns, and then...Piachras!

  “Piachras!” exclaimed Sianna.

  “Hold, guards! Peace, all!” exclaimed Ciarthan.

  The dark-cloaked man pushed through the guards, drawing his sword and falling to his knee. With his free hand he pushed back the hood of his cloak to reveal a shock of bloody, oily, unkempt black hair and a ghost-white face.

  “Xaeland!” cried Stuart.

  “My master, chief scribe of Ristor, Stuart Channethoth,” Xaeland declared, “may the Light shine on you always; where is the boy?”

  “Peace, brother. He is not here; but I am glad for your return from the dead. But where is Flan?”

  Xaeland shuddered, standing and sheathing his sword. “Flan, the son of Feoryl and Enlyss, the grandson of Tharron and Hileain and of Foryl and Beryn, has gone on. His body is buried beneath the ruins of Labrion, and though sorrowfully darkness and evil blood desecrate his grave, there is no time to make amends.”

  Stuart bowed his head, saying, “Thus passes a worthy man. Now there remain but three knights of the Page’s Order.”

  “And yourself,” put in Xaeland. “And Piachras, if he so wishes...for his deeds in the tower proclaim him more than worthy.”

  “What does this honor entail?” asked Piachras.

  Xaeland answered, “A page knight vows to fight all evil and monstrosity, especially the spawn of the dragons, and to bring peace to the world by all he does. He accepts the condemnation of those who hate the light in exchange.”

  “That I would have anyway,” Piachras replied. “If there is no more to it, I accept the vow wholeheartedly.”

  “So be it,” said Xaeland. “Formalities foregone.”

  “Xaeland, if we have time, let me introduce these others present,” Stuart spoke up.

  “We do not have time,” Xaeland replied. “There is the boy, and if he did not return to you, there’s no knowing how far he might fly.”

  “Fly?” asked Sianna.

  Xaeland gave her a patronizing smile and put his hands together to make flapping movements like a bird. Then he turned back to Stuart and said, “He jumped out of the tower window. He had both the shards with him and he called out something in the wizardic tongue as he went—I believe to do with birds, though it’s a term I’ve never heard before. That’s another thing: I am frankly puzzled by his ancestry. But regardless, as he jumped I saw that he was caught up by some giant birdlike creature. I was only able to see that they originally headed in this direction; thus by luck I came upon the edge of your camp and thought he had returned.”

  “But he hasn’t,” Sianna observed.

  “Obviously,” Xaeland replied a little irritably. “So we’ll keep going. We’ll need provisions, supplies—whatever you can spare—and volunteers. Piachras and Caelhuin are going—then who?”

  “Here at last is the quest of the ages—and I am too old,” Ciarthan said.

  “I’ll go,” declared Haleth.

  “And I,” Stuart noted. “I shall appoint Kai Arnon to lead the army north in the place of our dear beloved General Pendrax. Praying that they are not forced into an encounter, my presence will not be needed for the time."

  “Ciarthan and Eathril, and my lieutenants, shall be able to take care of our people,” Sianna declared. “I too shall accompany you.” Stuart gave her a surprised look and detected a note of defiance in her beautiful smile.

&
nbsp; “We are also going,” Jevan spoke up. “Master Heao Sedhar and I. I have a responsibility to the boy which I have thus far failed at miserably, and Heao also wants to come.”

  “And you are?” Xaeland asked shortly.

  “Arran Delossan, Sir, scribe of the isle until its invasion.”

  Xaeland bowed. Jevan could not get a good feel of the terse, overly-formal, roguish but evidently respected man with the pasty white skin, gaunt frame, and grimy black hair. “I was hoping, Scribe Delossan,” Stuart said, “that I could count on you to deliver the report and my counsel to Ristoria and Therion.”

  Jevan nodded. “Sir, anyone can deliver that message. Besides, I have been trying to get hold of Alik for years now. Heao and I have both lived around him for years. We may be useful.”

  “That is true,” Stuart replied. “I fear we may be up against the boy himself in our endeavor to find him.”

  “Then it is settled,” said Ciarthan.

  “For Anthirion and the shield of Taiz’,” spoke up General Rigel, “I will round out the number to nine. I am General Rigel,” he introduced himself to Xaeland, “and while I may be old, I will be of use. As Anthirion is no more, I have no other path to follow than this most necessary one.”

  Xaeland nodded, and if this speech brought back to him the memory of his comrades felled by the servants of the Anthirian crown, he did not show it. He let out a single, deep breath and took a seat on the ground at the side of the tent.

  “You look exhausted,” Stuart observed. “Let food be brought for our brother.”

  Xaeland nodded. “And water, if possible,” he added, holding up his begrimed hands.

  “Tell us, Sir,” Ciarthan spoke, “of your adventures, if you will.”

  “Briefly,” sighed Xaeland. “I was captured by the enemy in the destruction of Anthirion. My life was spared at first because they hoped to coerce from me news of Alik’s whereabouts. I met him in Anthirion—he was suffering from temporary blindness due to a concussion, an easy matter to cure if one happens to have the right tools. My companion Caelhuin and I fought off the drakes long enough for him to escape, but we could not fight them off forever. We were taken to Labrion and thrown in the dungeon until Flan—with Alik and Piachras and the Essadden elves—found us and rescued us.”