Silurian grabbed her arm, nearly yanking her off her feet. “Come on!”
They ran through the gibbet stones, passing beyond the tree before stopping, flabbergasted.
A shallow crater stretched out ahead of them, its far edges bordering the two buildings flanking the exit street. The fronts of the buildings had collapsed entirely. A pile of rubble congested the street beyond, but there wasn’t a serpent in sight.
“Did I do that?” Melody looked at her staff in wonder.
“No. That was the brick all by itself.”
“Wow. Maybe it’s a good thing it didn’t go off when you threw it at that building back there.”
Silurian nodded. “You might want to reconsider the next time you think about using that cave blowy up stuff.”
Behind them, the sound of serpents regrouping got their feet moving. They navigated the deep ruts in the shallow crater and clambered over the rubble of the demolished buildings. Without stopping to look back, they scrambled up the street on their way out of Wizard’s Gibbet.
By the time they reached the southern gates leading out of town, the moon had dropped below the treeline of the eastern reaches of Spectre Wood.
Without thinking, Silurian walked across the invisible threshold of the city’s southern gate posts. His entire body spasmed.
Melody walked through behind him and stopped, startled to see his reaction as he stumbled free of the gate enclosure. The runes on her staff pulsed softly.
“It did it again,” Silurian said, scowling at the vacant gateway.
“Ah, another ward.” Melody inspected the stone pillars framing the gap in the city wall. “Funny, I can’t detect anything.”
“Ya, real funny. Look at your staff.”
“Hmm, it senses an essence of magic.”
“Be nice if it sensed it sooner,” Silurian muttered, running his fingers through his long, static-charged hair.
“Come, let’s be away from here. As a wizard, I don’t appreciate this place.” Melody entered the thick forest abutting the wall.
Silurian gave the city gate one last glare, before fast-stepping to catch up. Any brightness left in the night sky was swallowed by the dense wood. “Do you know where we’re going?”
“More or less.”
“Great, so, no?”
Melody laughed. “Not exactly. We’re in the eastern reaches of Spectre Wood. To our left lies the beginning of the Wilds. We certainly don’t want to go that way. To the west,” she gestured right, “lies over a week’s worth of walking through the bulk of Spectre Wood. I don’t fancy that way either. Besides, the Kraidic Empire lies that way. So, south it is.”
“But that’ll take us into the Innerworld, won’t it?”
“Ye have little faith, oh brother of mine. You forget you travel with a wizard.”
“Mm.” Silurian didn’t sound convinced.
Melody gave him a playful shove in the shoulder causing him to stumble. “Don’t you worry. The Wizard of the North is known for her divine guidance.”
Silurian caught himself and raised skeptical eyebrows.
“We have a good four days trek through these haunted woods. With any luck, we’ll come across the shores of the Lake of the Lost. From there, it’s an easy jaunt west to the Slither.”
Silurian cast his gaze into the darkened wood all around. “Haunted?”
Melody laughed again. “What do you think happened to the murdered spirits of all those wizards?”
Silurian swallowed and checked over his shoulder. Already, Wizard’s Gibbet was lost from sight. “I don’t know. I never gave it much thought.”
“Spectre Wood is home to the anguished souls of hundreds of slain wizards. That’s why no one in their right mind ever comes this way.”
Silurian’s neck hairs stood on end. Perhaps the Wilds were a better option.
“You needn’t worry about the spirits as long as I’m with you. I’m a kindred spirit. If anything, they’ll provide protection for as long as we remain within Spectre Wood. Besides, we are on the outskirts. I pity anyone travelling into the heart of the haunted forest. That’s where the true danger lies.”
Silurian wasn’t sure that made him feel any better.
Sitting around a campfire overlooking the Lake of the Lost, four days out of Wizard’s Gibbet, Silurian and Melody licked grease from their fingers. The carcass of a small turkey crackled within the dying flames.
“Now that was a meal,” Silurian said. He got up from the rock he had been sitting on and threw some more bits of scavenged wood onto the fire. He laid down next to the pile of brush and settled in, enjoying the warmth. The night promised to be the chilliest yet since leaving the upper reaches of Dragon’s Tooth. The fire’s rhythmic crackle and pop, accompanied by the flickering shadows it cast on the trees around them, was hypnotic. He closed his eyes. Other than not being able to forget about the wraith that had spied on them back in Wizard’s Gibbet, he felt more content than he had in a long, long time. He found himself searching the woods for any sign of the wraith, but hadn’t sensed its presence since.
Melody remained on a fallen log on the far side of the fire, gazing at the full moon’s reflection on the lake’s surface, the hint of a smile on her face.
They had put many leagues behind them but Zephyr and Castle Svelte still seemed like a lifetime away. She had been forced to act like a wizard on a couple of occasions now, and the results hadn’t been reassuring. She obviously wasn’t confident of her skills. They were erratic at best.
Silurian’s voice noticeably startled her. “What are you thinking about?”
“Huh? Oh, nothing.”
She blinked. “Come on, I know you better than that. You never think of nothing.”
She remained quiet for a time. When she spoke, he had to listen closely. “I was thinking about Phazarus. About how different old Marble Eyes was. How kind he was.”
Silurian propped himself on an elbow. Marble Eyes? “Phazarus? You actually liked him? Even after what he did to you?”
Melody mulled over his words and nodded. “Yes, actually. Not at first, mind you. I guess you had to know him. Sure, he was gruff with outsiders. Leeches, he often called them. People who never took the time to figure out the solutions to their problems. He once said to me, ‘If you possess the awareness to pose a question, then you possess the wisdom to formulate the answer. Laziness is the culprit.’”
“Seemed like a strange duck to me,” Silurian grunted.
Melody smiled, her eyes dreamy. “Perhaps. I can see why you might think that. But smart, let me tell you. The things he said…the places he claimed to have visited. At first, I doubted everything he said. I thought to myself, ‘there’s no way one man could’ve seen and did what he claimed,’ but thinking back to all that’s happened since I was taken, I’m inclined to believe the merit of his tales. And, that’s got me thinking.”
“Oh, oh.”
Her smile faded. “I believe I know a place we can go to see about enchanting your sword.”
Silurian sat up. “Where?”
“Grimward.”
Silurian mouthed the word.
“It’s not a place, really. It’s more of a spirit.”
“A spirit?”
“Yes. Phazarus often spoke of the Grimward. He promised to introduce me to it, but never did.”
“He was going to introduce you? To a spirit?”
“Not just any spirit. The Grimward was the head wizard during the Arcanium trials.”
Silurian looked confused. “Arcanium trials?”
“It’s a long story.”
“They always are with you wizard types.”
She ignored him. “Suffice it to say, the Grimward is the spirit of the original Wizard of the North. I forget his real name. I think Phazarus mentioned it once.”
“I’m confused. If the Grimward, or the person he used to be, was slain along with the other magic users of his time, how does this illustrious position still exist? Wait, don’t tell
me. Another long story?”
Melody spat out a laugh. “I’m afraid so, but listen to this. Phazarus claimed the Grimward watches over an ancient source of arcane magic. One stemming from the earth itself.”
“If that’s true, why hasn’t anyone ever heard of it before?”
Melody stood up and walked around the fire. She paused to feed a couple chunks of wood into it, and then stood with her back to him, staring out across the expansive lake. Her words, when they came, gave the impression that what she imparted was done so hesitantly. “Being a fellow wizard, the Grimward will only make itself visible to another gifted person. Being the Grimward, his spirit is said to be, how should I say this—not happy. Only a wizard of pure heart may seek out the Grimward and hope to live another day.”
Silurian waited for her to expand on her revelation, but she remained quiet. Framed in the moonlight, her robe covered body appeared stiff. He got up and walked to her side. Her expressionless face told him she was scared. “What are you saying?”
She turned to gaze into his ice-blue eyes. She reached out and pulled a stray lock of his hair from his cheek. “Many benevolent wizards have attempted contact with the Grimward. Of them all, only one person has survived the ordeal.” She swallowed and looked away, her next words but a whisper. “Marble Eyes.”
Helleden’s Order
Karvus was of two minds after his meeting with Helleden. The sorcerer had marched into the imperial pavilion and put in place the terms of the Kraidic Empire’s involvement with Zephyr’s occupation. It was all Karvus could do not to march his army back up the Slither.
Karvus feared no one. Not even the sorcerer. But, neither was he naive. Were he to countermand Helleden’s orders, he knew he could, at the very least, expect a visit from the Sentinel. That wasn’t a prospect he cared to entertain. With Krakus’ murder, Karvus was elevated to the exalted position of Emperor of the Kraidic Empire. He owed it to the empire to remain alive.
Several days had passed since the sorcerer’s gruesome demonstration with his father, and Karvus hadn’t received any further instruction from Helleden. His troop commanders were at their wit’s end trying to maintain order and discipline within the ranks.
The gods, how he hated sorcerers—magic users of any kind if truth be told. It was no wonder his ancestors had eradicated their ilk from the living. Well most of them. Obviously, they never completed the job.
He paced about his palatial tent, absently throwing curses at his hounds, their presence the only comfort he derived from life on the march. Unlike his father, he was a faithful husband to his three wives back home at Kraken Reach. As emperor, he would be required to move to Kraken Castle far to the south of the Reach. How he hated that stuffy tomb.
He picked up an empty flagon and threw it across the tent. It struck the wall beside the door and fell to the ground where it broke at the feet of a startled Kraidic warrior who had just pushed through the entrance flap.
“My Emperor.”
Karvus glared at the black-bearded man swaddled in leather and furs, a black warhammer strapped across his back. “What is it, Tygra?”
“The sorcerer is on the move.”
Karvus bit back the angry retort he wanted to blurt out. Tygra Keen was his personal aide, and in no way deserved his wrath. The man had served faithfully for years. He had also been the first into the fray when the Sentinel had attacked Krakus. How he escaped that confrontation with only a few scratches and a nasty bite to his forearm was a mystery.
“Where is he now?”
“The latest report has him speaking with his commanders. From the looks of it, my emperor, all signs point to him mobilizing the demon horde.”
“What of the Sentinel?”
Karvus noted the nervous twitch pass across Tygra’s face. The man was used to being beaten by Krakus for not knowing the answer to a question.
“We don’t know, my emperor. There is no sign of the beast.”
With great restraint evident in his reddening face, Karvus said, “Very well. Keep me informed. I want to know where Helleden is at any given time. Everything the man does. If he so much as sneezes, I’m to hear of it. Is that clear?”
“Yes, my emperor.”
“Then get out.”
Tygra stood up straighter, pulled back the tent flap, and disappeared.
Karvus stared at the spot his aide had just occupied, a gust of cold air marking his departure. The jagged shards of glass from the shattered flagon mocked him. He was becoming his father. Something he vowed he would never let happen. All because of that damned finger-wagger. In his entire life, only one person had ever vexed him so, and he’d slit her throat a long time ago. It was apparent he’d have to take matters into his own hands again.
“My emperor?” a female voice sounded from outside. “May I enter?”
Karvus frowned. He recognized the voice. What now? “What is it, Faux?”
The tent flap parted. One of his father’s concubines poked her pretty face into the pavilion. “Commander Keen asked me to attend to a broken…oh, it’s right here.”
She was dressed in heavy grey furs. A lined hood draped across the back of her shoulders flopped forward to cover her long, blonde tresses as she knelt and carefully deposited the glass shards into a worn, leather bag. She had taken up a position between the tent flaps, allowing cold air to waft in.
Karvus waited, the little patience remaining in his possession strained. He silently willed her to be quick about it, but she was meticulous. “For the love of the serpent, don’t hover between the flaps, woman. Get inside before you freeze my arse.”
Faux stood and closed the flap, her eyes downcast, awaiting the inevitable. “My apologies, my emperor.”
Karvus sighed and strode over to his favourite chair—the one he had sat in when the sorcerer had made his first appearance before his father.
Faux grabbed the last piece of glass and stood, her head lowered. She glanced at Karvus from behind long lashes, a sultry pout on her lips. She turned to face him full on, allowing her unclasped cloak to fall open, exposing her otherwise unclad body. “Is there anything else my emperor wishes of me?”
Karvus took a prolonged look at her nakedness before he turned his head and grumbled. “No, and for the love of hell, cover yourself up. You’ll catch your death.”
Faux lifted her head and gave him a confused stare. She wasn’t used to being treated so. She was either beaten for her transgressions, whatever they might be, or ordered to perform whatever whim suited Krakus. Never had anyone worried about her catching cold. “I’m sorry, my emperor,” she stuttered. “I’m not sure what you—”
“Oh, just get out,” Karvus barked at her.
Faux bowed her head and made to leave. “At once, my emperor.”
“And stop saying, my emperor! It’s annoying.”
She stopped with her hand on the tent flap. “I’m sorry, my…” She gaped at him, not knowing what to say.
“Hold,” he snarled. He wanted to beat the woman to vent his frustration. He was in a miserable mood. Perhaps a bit of company would pull him out of the funk he had fallen into. Yesterday he had given the eulogy over his father’s makeshift funeral pyre. He had never been overly fond of the man, so it had been a short ceremony. Even so, his father’s death had shaken him more than he cared to admit.
“M’lord?” Faux’s faint voice brought his attention back to her.
Perhaps the innocent company of someone not directly involved with the warring side of the campaign would ease his tension. “I’ve changed my mind. Come on in and make yourself comfortable.”
A smile of relief softened her expression. She turned and went to shrug out of the heavy furs.
“And for the love of hell, keep your clothes on!”
“My emperor?” She was clearly confused. “Oh, sorry, m-my lord?”
“Karvus, dammit. The name is Karvus. Use it.”
“Um, y-yes, m…Karvus.” She cowered inside the tent flap at a loss for wh
at to do next.
Karvus sighed. Maybe company wasn’t such a great idea after all.
The tent flap opened, admitting Tygra Keen. He quickly noted the two occupants in the pavilion; the woman on the bed and Emperor Karvus sitting in his chair, beside it. Tygra dropped to a knee on the black throw rug, his eyes downcast. “My emperor. Helleden approaches with the Sentinel.”
The Sentinel? “I thought you said the creature wasn’t with the sorcerer?”
“It wasn’t, my emperor. And then suddenly, it was.”
Karvus glowered at the top of Tygra’s head for a moment, incensed that the man had disturbed the relaxing conversation he was having with Faux. He couldn’t remember a time he had actually just sat and talked with a beautiful woman, casually getting to know about her. He didn’t think he had even afforded his first wife that courtesy. The kneeling presence of his aide had shattered the glamour. The time had come. “Wait for me outside.”
Without glancing at the woman on the bed, Tygra stood up, nodded his head, and departed.
With a sigh, Karvus stood, retrieved his battle-axe, and stormed from the tent, not sparing Faux even a sideways glance.
Four squads of Karvus’ crack troops had already taken up position around the pavilion. Dozens of hounds stood alert, ears poised, sensing the approach of the sorcerer and his beast.
“No one is to make a move on them unless I give the order,” Karvus said to Tygra.
The aide nodded and hurriedly informed the squad commanders. When he returned to Karvus’ side, the emperor said, “Wait for me inside.”
Tygra nodded and slipped through the tent flap.
The hounds began snarling. The dark form of the Sentinel could be seen lumbering toward Karvus’ central pavilion through the makeshift city of dun-coloured tents. Two squads of Kraidic warriors formed up around the beast. Somewhere in the writhing mass, Helleden Misenthorpe nonchalantly followed along, as if he was partaking of a carefree stroll. The sorcerer’s flippant behaviour rotted Karvus to the core.
By the time the spectacle stopped in front of the emperor, the hounds were pulling on their leads, their teeth gnashing at the air and barking furiously. A dozen wary Kraidic warriors stood guard between Karvus and Helleden, poised to attack.
The Wizard of the North Page 14