The air felt damp and cold, smelling of death. She searched the shoreline and then the slimy looking edge of the channel, seeking the cause of the rotting aroma, but other than water, wood, grass, and rock, there was nothing to see in the lengthening shadows.
The moon had risen in the eastern sky, a semi-circular, white, pitted face, by the time the Grimward fluttered above the increasing waves rolling across the Lake of the Lost. Clutched in its long finger bones, Silurian flailed about, cursing and spitting mad.
In the faint light, Melody watched as her brother was released six feet from the ground. He crashed to the rock in a heap of wet clothes and a clang of metal as his sword and priceless dagger clattered beneath him.
“What happened?” Melody asked, rushing over to help her brother gather himself. “You’re all wet. Did you fall in the lake?”
“That dirty, no good, ragamuffin, bonehead dropped me!” Silurian sputtered, pushing away her attempts at helping him.
She thought the Grimward snickered. She glared at the hovering ghoul. “He dropped you?”
“Twice!”
She was certain the rasping sound the Grimward emitted was a titter.
Silurian was irate, but she struggled to stifle a laugh of her own. She looked away. It shouldn’t be that funny. The whole idea of dropping Silurian into the frigid lake, especially with his layers of heavy clothes and wearing a sword belt, was serious. He was lucky to be alive. The image of the disgruntled spectre purposely dropping her brother, saving him, and dropping him again, just to vent its unhappiness at being forced to capitulate with their demands struck her as hilarious. It was like the ancient spirit had had a childish hissy fit. She couldn’t help herself. Laughter forced its way through her clenched lips.
She snatched a quick look at the hurt on Silurian’s face, and that did it. Her unbridled laughter echoed across the lake.
The Grimward’s rasping chuckles faded away, marking its flight back over the lake.
Melody fought hard to suppress her mirth. “Wait. Where are you going?”
The Grimward spun about but didn’t attempt to return. “Back to my island. I have fulfilled my duty.”
The merriment slipped from her face. “And leave us out here? To face the wyrm? This is when we need you most.”
“I have no power over that beast. Being a spirit, I’m unable to get anywhere close to the earth blood fount. I told you before, the very nature of our existences conflict. I would be the one needing saving.”
Melody rubbed her forehead against her staff to deal with an itch. She was confused. “I don’t get it. If you’re already dead, why would you need saving?”
The spirit’s eyes flared. “The well you seek brims with the essence of life. If you haven’t noticed, I do not.” With skeletal fingers, it indicated the ribs visible beneath its rags. “I represent the spirit of death. If I go anywhere near the fount, the essence keeping me attached to this corporeal realm will be absorbed by the wellspring and that would be catastrophic. The guidance and knowledge I provide to the Wizards of the North will die with me.”
Silurian walked up beside Melody, his sword in hand, water dripping from the hems of his clothing. He pointed the tip of St. Carmichael’s blade at the Grimward. “Guidance and knowledge? Some help you’ve been. From what I hear, no one survives encounters with you because you deem everyone unworthy. What have you done for us? Given us hardship and grief, that’s what. The last thing you provide is assistance.”
The Grimward advanced half the distance between them. “I brought you here, did I not?”
“Ya, real nice. Look at me. I may as well have swum.”
“I can arrange that.”
Silurian took another step toward the spectre, nearly losing his footing and toppling into the water at his feet. “Come and try it, you skinless spook!”
“Guys. Guys,” Melody interrupted. It felt like breaking up a spat between two children. “If the serpent is close by, you’re going to draw its attention to us.”
Silurian glared at her. Taking a couple heavy breaths, he sheathed his sword and crossed his arms over his chest. “He started it.”
With that, the Grimward floated across the channel between the two islands and was soon out of sight.
The siblings stood shivering upon the shore of a remote island, leagues from the mainland, and watched as the Grimward disappeared into the darkness over the lake.
Melody put her hand on Silurian’s back. “Oh, you are soaked. Come on, we need to get you out of those.”
“Thanks to good old Grim Bones,” Silurian complained, his wavering voice matching the shivers wracking his body.
Melody’s staff bathed them in a warm, orange glow. “Here, stay close. Let’s find some wood to make a fire.”
“What about the serpent?”
Melody looked around. “Come on, we’ll climb above that arch to the treeline. Surely it won’t be able to reach us up there.”
As they walked up the slope, Melody asked, “Dirty, ragamuffin, bonehead? Really?”
Silurian scowled at her. “It’s the best I could come up with at the time.”
She lifted her face to the dark sky and laughed.
Silurian huddled naked beneath Melody’s black cloak, unable to shake the chill from his bones. With the help of her staff, she had been able to get a generous fire burning well back from the top of the stone arch that apparently signified the entrance to the serpent’s nest. She had made a makeshift rack out of sticks like he had done for her and draped his clothing over it to dry. His sword lay unsheathed beside him to allow its scabbard a chance to dry out.
She knelt beside the fire, holding a ‘y’ shaped stick as she heated a stone bowl containing the remnants of a root Silurian had never seen before—the bubbling water inside turning a dark shade of purple. How she carried the bowl in that sack of hers defied his simple comprehension of the wizard world.
“Watch your sleeves,” he warned.
Melody pulled the bowing stick from the flames and lowered the bowl to the ground. She grabbed the flat, leather bag behind her and rummaged through it. “Ah ha,” she said, triumphantly producing first one, and then a second, small, wooden bowl. Using the voluminous sleeves of her wizard’s robe to protect her hands, she dispensed equal amounts of her concoction and handed a bowl to Silurian. “Here, this should help.”
Silurian sniffed at the pungent offering, the spicy scent causing his face to scrunch up. “Ach. What’s this?”
Melody smiled. She sniffed and sipped sparingly at her own bowl. She coughed and almost spat out the little she had taken in. Recovering, she said, “I can’t remember what Phazarus called this plant. It’s the root of something that can only be found much farther north of here.”
“Up by that worm’s lake?”
Melody laughed. “You mean wyrm. Yes, the dragon warding Lurker’s Tower. Anyway, Phazarus said it was hard to come by.”
Silurian raised his eyebrows. “No wonder, if it’s watched over by a dragon.”
“Ya, well, that’s the only piece I have left.”
“What’s it supposed to do again?” Silurian asked, examining the odd coloured broth. He hadn’t built up the nerve to try it yet, especially after seeing her reaction.
“Not entirely sure. It’ll drive the cold from you, that’s for sure. It’ll also make you very sleepy. I’d say by the way it smells, it’ll probably clear out anything ailing you as well.”
“That’s reassuring,” Silurian grumbled, daring to bring the bowl close to his mouth. The vapours rising from its surface made his eyes water. He coughed and put the bowl on his lap, eyeing it suspiciously. He wondered how his sister, who claimed she could recite every tome he had seen on Dragon’s Tooth, and even more spells that were only handed down verbally, couldn’t remember simple things like what this bizarre root was capable of.
She sipped noisily at her bowl, staring into the fire.
“If this stuff is so good for us, why don’t we just eat
it?” Silurian asked after a while, as he held his breath and brought the cooling broth to his lips, determined to choke it down.
Melody regarded him like he’d cracked his nut. “Oh no, we can’t do that. It would kill us.”
Silurian spat out whatever he had in his mouth. “Huh?”
Melody laughed and drained the rest of her bowl. Wiping her mouth on a cuff, she said through a long yawn, “It’s fine. Just drink it, silly, so I can have my cloak back.”
Silurian stared at his bowl. Garnering the courage, he tried not to breathe through his nose as he downed the acidic liquid. The after-taste was worse than he imagined. He uncorked a waterskin she had procured from her bag and guzzled half the contents.
“See,” she smiled at him knowingly, “that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
The sour look he gave her made her laugh again.
“It’ll do you good.”
He raised his eyebrows at that. “If it doesn’t kill me, first.”
The cry of a gull woke Silurian from the best sleep he could remember. Other than the dull morning light, everything looked the same as it had last night—the fire still blazed while he remained beneath Melody’s black cloak. He must’ve fallen asleep soon after drinking that purple swill. The only thing different was the fact that Melody was nowhere to be seen.
He stood up, keeping the cloak tight about his nakedness, partly to prevent the cold air from nipping in, but also in case his sister was watching over the campsite from somewhere nearby.
“Mel?” he called out, and walked over to his clothing, absently thinking how much filthier they looked when not on him. Receiving no response, he called again, louder. “Mel! Where are you?”
Still nothing. She couldn’t have gone far, not with the fire burning like it was.
His clothes felt dry to the touch. Looking around to ensure she wasn’t in sight, he slipped into his breeks, the leather leggings so hot from their proximity to the fire that he almost had to take them off again. He shrugged out of the cloak and pulled his shift over his head. Donning his jerkin, he stuffed the garment into the top of his breeks and laced them up.
The warmth rose a sheen of sweat on his face as he slipped into his leather boots, and put on his tunic. Everything felt tight, as if he had gained weight overnight.
He buckled his sword belt around his waist and tied the leather thong keepers holding the heavy belt in place. The inside of his scabbard was still damp so he decided to carry his sword.
Melody’s voice sounded from the archway. “Silurian, over here.”
It took him a few minutes to reach her position partway down the steep slope of the entranceway. He handed the cloak to her.
“Thanks. Do you have all your stuff?”
“Ya, I believe so.” He checked his meagre belongings, specifically for Soul Biter and his half-empty waterskin.
She slipped into the cloak, taking time to adjust her bulky robes. “I have good news.” Her face lit up. “I saw the turtle.”
Silurian grinned. “Big, isn’t he? And long.”
“Ya, ya. Anyway, I saw him slither out of there.” She indicated the tunnel beyond the arch with her staff.
“Great, now all we have to do is go in there and get back out before he returns.”
“I think we have the better part of the day to do that. Look at the channel leading into the tunnel. See the water level?”
“What about it?” Silurian asked. A pool of water sat stagnant within the borders of the granite hollow before the entrance to the tunnel.
“It appears the Lake of the Lost is so big, it has its own tide.”
“How do you know that?”
“This morning, while you were snoring, I sat here and observed. The retaining wall of that lagoon was underwater when the sun came up.”
Silurian looked to the grey skies. If there was a sun, the thick clouds were doing a good job of hiding it.
“I believe the serpent can only come and go with the tide.”
“Ah,” Silurian nodded, appreciating the relevance. “Then let’s go.”
The edges of the tunnel floor, not submerged beneath the lagoon, were slippery with algae. Silurian grimaced as he slipped and caught himself with his hands. The last thing he wanted was to get wet again.
It wasn’t long before the tunnel around them was lost in darkness. Melody said something indecipherable and her staff illuminated the dingy passageway in an orangey hue. In many places, ponds and puddles marked dips in the tunnel floor. The passageway was much cooler than the outside air as it slowly wound its way into the island’s interior. It almost seemed as if the tunnel had been burrowed out of the earth by the serpent itself.
At one point they were forced to remove their boots to walk through water up to their knees before reaching a higher section beyond. Melody hiked up her robes, but there was nothing Silurian could do about getting the lower part of his breeks wet again.
He leaned against an outcropping of rock to pull his boots back on—the process made difficult by his wet skin. He studied the walls, noting what appeared to be a high-water mark. Depending on the variations in the tunnel’s roof, that mark placed the majority of the passage underwater during high tide. “What happens when the tide comes in?” His voice echoed.
Melody had already gotten her boots back on and was peering ahead. She turned to give him more light. “I was wondering the same thing. I hope to be out of here before that happens.”
“How do we know what time it is?” Silurian stomped down on his heel a couple of times, driving his foot home.
“Beats me. We don’t, I guess. Let’s hope this wellspring, or whatever the Grimward called it, isn’t too much farther. What time do you think it is now?”
Silurian caught up to her and looked about as if that was going to provide him with an answer. “It feels like around high noon. When will the tide return? Tomorrow?”
A nervous laugh escaped Melody’s lips. “That would be nice. Phazarus claimed the tides have something to do with the sun, or the moon, or something like that.”
“The sun or moon? That’s daft,” Silurian said as he gently prodded her with an outstretched arm to walk while she talked. The tunnel curved to the left into the darkness ahead—the smooth rock beneath their feet continuing along uninterrupted by further water hazards. “You know how far away they are? At least a fortnight’s walk, I would bet. You might as well say the Gods control the water flow.”
“Ya, really. I don’t know, to be honest with you. I wish I’d listened to Phazarus more when he was intent on boring me with this kind of information.”
“Some apprentice you must’ve been.” The floor rose unexpectedly, causing Silurian to stumble with the elevation change.
“Ya, well you should watch where you’re going, mister clumsy pants.” Melody laughed, and then stumbled herself. “I’d like to see you listen to old Marble Eyes drone on and on and on. Everyday, of every week, for years on end. See how much you’d fade out.”
Marble Eyes? There was that reference again. He was about to ask her about it, but she started talking again.
“I think he said that tides change with the seasons. Basically, they come in and out twice a day. If that’s the case, I would guess we need to be out of here before sundown.”
Silurian did a quick calculation. If they had to, they could probably move quicker on the way out, but even then, it only left them with another hour—two at the most—before they had to think about leaving. He dreaded the thought of being caught in this hole by the serpent. He laughed at himself. They wouldn’t have to worry about the lake creature if they weren’t out of the tunnel by the time the tide came back in. They’d drown long before it made a snack out of them. Unconsciously, he picked up his pace.
Chasing a Wizard
Tygra Keen marched diligently ahead without complaint. Thin ropes, wrapped around his massive shoulders, dug into the folds of his fur cloak as he pulled a small skiff across the uneven ground south of the Lake of t
he Lost. Sweat rolled off the man’s bearded face despite the cool temperature of southern Kraidic. It had been a shame to leave the horses hitched to a cypress many leagues behind them now. The beasts would have been a godsend pulling the boat, but the ground had become too marshy for the mounts to continue the journey into the northern reaches of the Forbidden Swamp as it abutted the Lake of the Lost.
Karvus wasn’t surprised. The effort required to drag the wooden boat through the woods was an impressive feat. Thankfully, the abandoned hunter’s camp they had located the boat in wasn’t too far from the water’s edge. Unfortunately, however, the boat had a noticeable crack in its hull. It had probably been hauled to the inland camp with the intention of repairing it one day.
They had travelled for a few days through the northern swamp region, following the lead of Karvus’ hounds. The Serpent’s Eye remained lifeless upon his ring finger, the gemstone as dead as it had been on his father’s finger.
Karvus still fumed over the loss of his two dogs—killed by Helleden’s demon before he was able to convince the wraith that he and Tygra had been sent by Helleden.
Helleden’s demon scout, the one that tracked their quarry out of Wizard’s Gibbet, had caught up to Karvus and Tygra two days ago. Without so much as an apology for the dogs, the demon reported the Wizard of the North and a companion had crossed over from the bottom fringes of Spectre Wood to the first of two big islands on the lake’s eastern shore. Before Karvus could take issue, it was gone.
Karvus had been this way twice in his lifetime. Both occasions were many years ago when his father had attempted to cross through the Wilds and into the Forbidden Swamp to steal into central Zephyr unnoticed. Had it not been for the godlike heroics of his father back then, their entire expedition would have been absorbed into the trackless swampland and never heard from again. Those were the days when Krakus the Kraken had been at the height of his reign. Karvus had to admit, his father had been a great man. He spat. Once.
The Wizard of the North Page 26