by J D Bowens
Zamari’s boot heels clicked on the stone floor as she walked behind Cassian. Lorna remained in front of her, palms of her hands pressed together muttering a spell. Cassian whimpered in painful anticipation.
“It is a shame to lose you, Cassian,” Zamari said. “You were so valuable. Nemoth gave you such a wonderful and rare Blessing, the ability to understand and use all divina artifacts. Knowledge is given to you just by touching the object. You would have been a great disciple.”
CRACK
He screeched as the whip tore through the flesh just above his shoulder. A thin spatter of blood leapt into the air. He lurched forward in pain. Syanra saw a shadow leave his body and she knew what it was his magic.
With each lash Zamari delivered, Cassian’s magic was drained from him. Synara recalled her own experience with the whip. The magic had returned to her in a couple of days, but the scars on her back remained. She recounted how her heart had felt cold as if touched by ice and her spine tingled with a burning sensation. Her gift being torn from her had hurt more than the actual wounds on her back. Even now as she watched Cassian’s torture, the scars on her back burned anew with the memory.
“Do not fight it so much,” Zamari chided. “If you would surrender to this punishment, you would be in less pain.”
CRACK
Cassian cried and wept, and Synara cried with him as well. He begged and pleaded, but Zamari continued until his voice grew weaker and weaker. His cries for mercy eventually waned and ceased to echo through the dungeon. Zamari continued to whip him even after his soul had departed and his corpse dangled from the chains.
Chapter 13
“Welcome to the Vagabond Trail,” Ewan said.
Consus looked out over the terrain of rolling green hills interrupted by jagged stones jutting from the ground. They looked like green waves frozen in time, with a few trees caught in their tide.
How odd that there aren’t any animals. It had taken them a couple of days to arrive here, but all along the way, he had seen deer, wild ponies, and even a bear. Yet here there was not even a fox; only a few birds dipping in and out of the sky. Consus rode from the back of the group alongside Milo. Karinne and Leiwyn were in front of him and led by Ewan and Kyran.
Karinne made a sour expression and looked at Consus. “’Vagabond’ means vagrant or ill-doer, does it not?”
“Yes, it does but you needn’t be concerned,” Consus said. “Highwaymen, thieves and an assortment of other outlaws once occupied many of the surrounding caves. But that was before the establishment of the Northern Kingdoms and the governors of Grenloch.”
Karinne maintained the sour expression but faced forward, clearly unconvinced.
Leiwyn brushed away a stray lock of hair from her face. “Have you traveled this road before then?”
“No, this is my first. But my brothers have used this road many times.”
“I do not understand,” she said. “We are supposed to be following a trail, and yet I see no sign of a path.” Consus was bewildered as well. He expected to see a horse trail at least but there was nothing for them to follow. Yet Ewan managed to lead them on a winding path around the hills.
“Trail’s hidden from view,” Ewan called back. “We’re to follow the trail markings left by others. Ah, there is one now!” Ewan lowered himself from his horse and approached a large stone that protruded out of the ground. He brushed away the brown and green moss from the lower half of the rock to reveal a crude symbol carved into the stone. “Bah, we got to go that way to the next marker.”
Karinne rolled her eyes. “Wouldn’t it be easier to travel directly through these hills? A straight line is faster than winding about looking for stones.”
“Wouldn’t it be smarter to follow your guide?” Ewan mumbled.
Consus saw Kyran narrow his eyes and glare at Ewan. “Behave yourself,” Kyran said. “Lady Karinne, the hills in these parts are cursed. They move on the plains like whales in the ocean. Look there.” He pointed to a hill to their right just before the horizon. Both Consus and the elf looked for something out of the ordinary but saw nothing.
“I’m not sure I see what you are -” The hill began to sink into the ground, and another rose up beside it. At first, Consus thought it was the sun playing a trick on his eyes. Yet, he could hear the dirt roll over stones and the granite collide with itself. After a few moments, a distant hill to his left had stretched down into a level field. Consus’ horse whinnied, snorted, and stomped its hooves.
The elves in front of them looked startled, the sour look on Karinne’s face replaced by astonishment. “How do they do that?”
Ewan spat on the ground. “These hills have a mind of their own,” he said. “They’re cursed. Trail markers are the only part of the path that doesn’t move. Stay with us, and you’ll stay alive.”
Kyran turned to face the elves and Consus. “As children, we were told that giants lived beneath the hills,” he said, “but that would just be nonsense, now wouldn't it?”
“Not giants,” Milo said. His pony shoved its way to the center of the group. “They are trolls. If you're going to tell a story, you should tell it properly.” Kyran rolled his eyes as the halfling puffed up his chest. Consus was looking forward to another one of Milo’s stories.
“Legend has it that many centuries ago dwarves ruled the northern mountains not far from here. Their kingdom was large and wealthy, filled with great treasures of gold, silver, and precious stones. Their metalwork was the greatest in the northern continent. For many years, they had sent their goods down this very path to the human kingdoms. Indeed, much of the realm benefited from the exorbitant wealth and extraordinary craftsmanship of the dwarf thanes of the north.”
Consus had heard the story several times, but Leiwyn and Karinne were focused on the halfling’s every word. Clearly, it was their first time. He saw that Milo beamed with all the attention he was receiving. Oh gods, his ego couldn’t get any bigger.
“But not everyone was fond of the dwarf thanes,” Milo said. “The trolls who lived in these hills grew envious of the riches, their reputation, and the warm habitations. Day after rainy day the trolls sat huddled in their leaky dwellings and watched as the merchant caravans from the mountains rode down to the humans below them. One day they could not take it anymore. ‘Why should the dwarves be so blessed?’ they asked themselves. ‘Are we not bigger? Stronger? Are we not mightier?’”
“And so, they stormed out of their caves in the hills and unleashed their anger and jealousy on the dwarven cities in the mountains. They smashed their cities and stomped on their homes. They proved to be a worthy adversary, but it was not long before the thanes drove them back into their dirty caves. The trolls swore that their hatred would never cease and they would one day return.”
“‘And how will you do that buried under the earth?’ the dwarven thanes had asked. The thanes collapsed the troll tunnels and sealed off their caves, trapping them underneath the hills. Some say to this day they are still trying to dig themselves out, looking for tunnels that still may be open.”
Leiwyn clapped as the Halfling bowed. “That was a very good telling, Master Milo.”
“Thank you. Some people never appreciate my stories.” He nodded to Kyran and Ewan. “They say I talk too much, but that’s just because they are not very good at holding a conversation.”
Ewan huffed as he climbed back onto his horse. “We don’t all have the gift of hot air like you.”
Consus laughed and turned to Leiwyn. “No one has seen trolls or dwarves in these parts for many years. Some believe that a flowing river of undulating lava lies within the earth that causes parts of this valley to rise and fall--”
Milo yawned beside him. “Oh, how boring. Trolls make for better stories.”
Consus heard a low growl. Dirt and rocks exploded into the air like a geyser from a distant hill. It was just a quarter mile away. Rock and clumps of earth rolled down the slopes. “How wonderful,” he said. He heard Karinne mutter someth
ing indiscernible. He now understood why there weren’t many animals here. Only a brave mole could live in this ever-changing landscape.
“Our forests are much like your hills,” Leiwyn said. “The A'muerla Thros they are called, live deep within the Valenforn. They move about with their enormous roots moving over the ground, stepping over the deer and the bears and other inhabitants.”
“The 'Walking Trees' of the Valenforn,” Consus interjected. “It must be an awesome sight to behold.”
“It truly is. They are magnificent. My mother would tell me that they move about to protect ancient mystical secrets that they carry within themselves.”
“What sort of secrets would the trees have that elves would not know about?” he asked. “I thought the elves knew everything about historical lore.”
Leiwyn laughed as Karinne rolled her eyes. “We could not possibly know all the mysteries of creation. We do know much of the recorded events in the continent, but we certainly do not know everything. The A'muerla Thros are almost as old as Amarant. They were the first trees in creation. I used to imagine there was a secret glade that the trees were protecting. Others believe they are not hiding anything at al; it is just in their nature to move, same as you say it is for these hills. My tutor told me that there used to be an ancient temple of Arden that moved among them.”
“Had you ever searched for it?”
She gave him a sly smile. “Search for a hidden temple that is carried by walking trees? Of course, I have. Who would not try? I never found it though. I suppose such a thing is not meant to be found.”
“Forgive me for asking, but what is your fascination with the ancient gods?”
Leiwyn appeared contemplative as she looked ahead to the moving hills. “Our history is a part of who we are now. Though all those who could remember Arden and Nemoth have passed from this world, their stories have defined our civilizations. Knowing the accuracy of those stories and where they came from provides a sense of purpose. And I long to know if they were real. Don’t you wonder yourself?”
“I do not,” Kyran said before Consus could answer. “There’s no use in wondering about things beyond our control.”
He ignored his eldest brother’s interruption. “I suppose I wonder at times. Do you think you’ll find a sanctuary by the Nor Sea? One would think such a thing would have been discovered hundreds of years ago.”
“You would think I should be able to find a temple being carried about by trees. Things are hardly ever as simple as they seem.”
The ground rose up beside them to form a pocket of air that escaped from the earth and spewed a shower of dirt on the group. “Look out,” Ewan barked.
Consus lifted an arm to shield against the rock fragments and chunks of dirt. His horse whinnied and stomped and almost bumped into Leiwyn's. He saw the halfling struggle to keep his pony under control. A fist-sized stone hurled toward him. “Duck,” he said to Leiwyn. He grabbed her shoulder and leaned forward.
The stone sailed over their heads and struck the rump of Milo’s pony. The pony reared and screeched and broke into a frenzied run away from the trail. Milo hollered and tugged on the reins, helpless to stop his mount.
“Blasted little nuisance,” Ewan said. He charged after the halfling.
Kyran cursed and turned to Consus. “Stay here on the trail,” he said. He kicked his heels into his horse and followed Ewan.
Consus’s stomach turned in anxiety as he watched his brothers chase after Milo. The ground around the pony heaved up like a hill. Ewan pulled a length of rope from his side and formed a lasso. He twirled it into the air and snared it on Milo’s torso. He yanked and pulled the halfling off the pony. Milo bounced and rolled along the ground before Kyran reached him.
“I got him,” Kyran said plucking Milo out of the dirt. He plopped the halfling behind him, and Milo fixed his arms around Kyran’s waist.
The earth beneath Milo’s pony crumbled and its short legs were caught in the soil. It whinnied and snorted as the ground swallowed it up.
Consus breathed a sigh of relief as his brothers and Milo returned to the trail. Milo shrugged off the rope, brushed away the dirt, and rubbed a bruise on his arm. “Well,” the halfling said, “that was terrifying.”
“Daft idiot,” Ewan said. “Are you looking to be troll dinner?”
Milo motioned to Karinne for her canteen, and she gave it to him. He poured water on his head to rinse away the dirt and handed it back to her.
“Will you be alright?” she asked Milo. He nodded and shook the water from his face and hair. “I don’t understand. I do not see the purpose of taking such an arduous and ridiculous trail. Why waste our time and risk our lives?”
“You said you wanted ‘discretion,’” Ewan replied. “No one goes down this way. Not even the Servants of the Quintetta and their swordsmen. If you want to avoid them, this is the road you take.”
Chapter 14
Altin breathed a sigh of relief as his destination came into view. There was never a more captivating sight in all Amarant than the magical city of Anidrack. It was home to the College of Arcana and hundreds of mages, a thousand miles south of Normead. Anidrack was poised at the edge of a cliff on a jagged mountain deep within the jungles that bordered the Southern Empire. Sharp conical spires of gold and turquoise domes stood out against the verdant jungle background. The towering buildings were made of a glossy granite from the surrounding mountains with veins of marble caught in their bricks.
A tall mahogany colored stone wall encompassed the city. Beneath the walls, a river flowed through the city’s center and cascaded over the cliff edge in a splendid waterfall, a wondrous rainbow emerging from its depths.
Altin wiped the sweat from his brow and pet the messenger fox sitting beside him. The evening air was humid and muggy. His ride from Normead had been arduous but swift. The magical driverless carriage Margaret had sent for him had traveled with little rest, stopping when Altin demanded it.
I suppose I should be thankful. A ten-day journey reduced to three. At last, I can enjoy the accommodations of an inn and perhaps a few pints with some old friends. Of course, he would only do so after meeting with Margaret. What could be so pressing that the Dean of the School of Truth would call me back?
There were five schools in the College of Arcana: Illusion, Enchantment, Alteration, Combat, and Truth. The School of Truth was held in higher regard than the other schools. Whereas other schools allowed magically gifted students to apply for a seat, students of Truth were chosen by Arcana at a young age when they discovered their True Eye. The Eye brought out a special talent in each student and gave them a deeper connection to the power of Arcana.
The selection was rare. Other schools maintained a student population of one or two hundred. The School of Truth seldom exceeded thirty. She must need my particular gift.
A sense of dread washed over Altin as the coach approached the gates. He noticed the white flames filled the fire-pits along the walls. Altin exited the carriage with his belongings once they entered the city. He stopped the nearest passing guard, the messenger fox running under his legs and into the crowded streets.
“Pardon, sir,” Altin said. “The white flames - those are funeral flames for college faculty. Has one of the teachers passed?”
“Yes, just a couple nights ago,” the guard said, “Dean Thagula of the College of Truth.”
The dread became a knot in Altin’s gut. He dropped his bag and barely managed to hold his staff. “How? How did she die?” Altin asked.
“I believe it was her heart, sir. The Archmage Valderma and the other deans have not said a word yet.”
Altin let the guard carry on down the street. There was no sense in asking the guard when he could ask Valderma himself. He picked up his bag and jogged to the Holodrin Spire, a tower that stood near the center of the city. Altin crossed a bridge that spanned the river flowing under the city to the college grounds.
The large polished steel doors had no handles and no doorman,
a mystery to those Ungifted. Altin’s reflection stared back at him, distorted by the countless raised symbols that dotted the doors. He raised a hand to his reflection and watched as the palm glowed a bright purple light. The light changed into a purple eye, the symbol of Truth. The raised symbols on the door sank into the surface of the doors.
They opened to a dark room as Altin lowered his arm and closed behind him as he entered. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. He recognized the five peculiar doors that lined the wall of the circular chamber he stood in, their images mirrored on the glassy floor. Each door was different and represented a school of the College of Arcana. Though he could no longer see their colors, he remembered them from his childhood.
The red door for the School of Combat stood closest to him. Empty suits of armor stood beside it holding their swords in salute. An orange door for the School of Alteration was next to it, a wall of tree bark lined the doorpost. Patches of moss sat upon the orange door with tiny colorful flowers peeking out. On the opposite wall was the gold door for the School of Enchantment. Odd runes and symbols carved into the door glowed with a strange light. The door to the School of Illusion was hidden to normal eyes but thanks to Altin’s True Eye he could see the plain wooden door nestled beside the School of Combat’s.
In the center of the room was a large black oak desk. Behind it sat a gray-haired woman. Her skin was paper thin and wrinkled, and her dull milky white eyes stared at the blank page of a large tome that lay before her on the desk.
"Master Edderick?" the old woman said. “It’s been a long time since you graced this city with your presence. A little more than a year now.” She whispered something to the quill in the inkwell on her desk. She waved her hand, and it rose up to dance upon the blank pages.
“Hello, Sarin. I have just heard about Margaret. Is Archmage Valderma in his quarters?”