Wizard of Wisdom: An Epic Fantasy Series (Wisdom Saga Book 1)

by W. C. Conner

  Her hand warmed in his and he felt the slight pressure as her fingers wrapped themselves around his. “You’re a good man, Wilton,” she said, looking deeply into his steel gray eyes. “Our hopes ride with a very good man.” And with that she leaned forward and placed a kiss upon his cheek. Then, her own cheeks burning, she removed her hand from his grasp and disappeared quickly into the army which was preparing to march to the aid of her father.

  Wil looked after her until she was lost from sight. Only when he could no longer see her did he place his foot into the stirrup and swing into the saddle. As he turned the horse’s head in the direction of Confirth Kemp rode up beside him, trailed by Scrubby who had vowed that Wil would never again leave his sight, and Peg who had been told by Morgan – to her great joy – that she could not accompany him into certain battle. Both were now individually mounted on palfreys suited to their limited riding experience, and both of which were far more trail worthy than the plucky plow horse that had gotten them this far. The four of them departed at a canter, intent upon catching up to the honor guard which had departed the previous afternoon accompanying the fallen duke’s body back for entombment in the catacombs below Castle Confirth.

  Behind them could be heard the shouted marching orders as the army of the new Duke of Confirth moved out, bound for Blackstone. Morgan rode proudly at the head of the column beside Roland. When the announcement was made, his promotion to general had been universally cheered by the soldiers now marching resolutely behind them.

  30

  Castle Confirth loomed up before the small party that accompanied Berlayne’s body. The walls which had been bustling with activity just a few days before were empty and quiet now that the army had departed. The word had preceded them that Berlayne was dead and a few of Confirth’s older citizens stood beside the road, caps in hand to offer a farewell to the man who had become increasingly unpopular as Greyleige’s grip had tightened. Some of the onlookers were there simply because of curiosity, but most of these did so out of a sense of propriety only, and virtually all of them were relieved that Roland would now sit the throne of the duchy. Those few watching the solemn procession gave scant thought to the four trailing behind unless it was to wonder at Kemp’s imposing size.

  “The smithy is to the right inside the gates,” the leader of the guard detail told Wil as they approached the city. “You should be able to find it with no difficulty.” And they did, indeed, have no difficulty finding the smithy, but it had been burned and all the tools bent or broken.

  As Kemp looked through the rubble, he reached under some charred boards and lifted out a large piece of a shattered anvil. “By the powers,” he breathed, “I have seen this kind of destruction before in Wrensfalls. Greyleige is nowhere near this time, though. I wonder who could manage this?”

  “It were the black men,” came a voice from the shade of the building next to the still smoldering heap of wood and stone that had been the smithy.

  Wil turned to find a wizened old man with unevenly cut white hair sitting on a stool, a peg leg sticking straight out before him. “Black men?” he questioned. “What can you tell us of the black men?”

  The white haired man hopped off the stool and stumped over to them. He looked first at Wil’s face, then at Kemp’s, then Scrubby’s and Peg’s, then laughed a wheezy sort of laugh. “Them that came right after the army marched out the gate. Black as lumps of coal, they were. I call them men as that’s what they mostly looked like, but only the village idiot would not know them as some sort of demon. Give you the shivers, they do, right up and down your back. ‘Where’s the blacksmith’ they asked in their hissy sort of voices, sort of snake-like. Yes, the blacksmith, that’s what they wanted. And unless my guesses be wrong, I’m wagering all of ‘em be dead by now.” His watery little blue eyes regarded Kemp gleefully. “Missed one, they did, by the look of those arms.”

  Wil smiled at the old man. “Yes, my friend, they did miss one.” He gazed at the remains of the blacksmith’s shop as he continued distractedly, “They did miss one indeed.”

  “Tell me,” he said, turning suddenly serious and looking away from the smoldering ruins, “did you see them do this?”

  “Oh, aye, I seen ’em do it, I did. It were horrible. Yes, it were horrible. Five of ’em there were. Green fires and smokes and lightnings flashing in the doors and windows. And then, the whole thing just went up in a flash of fire and the black men were gone and our own Alvin and his apprentice with them.” He shook his head. “Aye, it were a horrible thing.”

  A canny gleam came into his eyes as they stared at the destruction. “This be the one they were after, I’d wager,” he stated, moving his glance from Wil to Kemp and poking his finger against Kemp’s arm. “Well, it were a good job they missed him. This be that dratted Greyleige’s work and no doubt about it.”

  He laughed his wheezy laugh once again. “Use those strong arms of yours to make whatever it is they don’t want made and take it to that dratted wizard, lad. He’s the one responsible for this dratted peg leg o’ mine,” he said, lifting the offending peg into the air, “and I’ve got no doubts he’s responsible for this, too … and I’ll not never forget or forgive him either one!”

  Looking down at the polished wooden peg as he set it back down on the ground, he bent over and gave it a whack with a stick he held in his hand. “Dratted wizard and his meddling ways with that dratted weakling Berlayne. Dratted leg. Dratted...” His muttering voice trailed off as he stumped back to the shade of his porch. Wil and Kemp exchanged an amused glance as Scrubby and Peg looked around for a place to sit.

  “I can’t do whatever it is you need done without a bellows and tools and anvil and materials and ... well, without a blacksmith shop,” Kemp observed.

  As Kemp talked, Wil was staring at the remains without really seeing them. “Magic destroyed this. Why couldn’t magic restore it?” He looked at Kemp as he spoke.

  “Are you powerful enough to do that?” Kemp asked. “After all, according to our friend on the porch there, it took five of those black things to do this much damage.”

  “I don’t know,” Wil allowed, “but you won’t be able to do what needs doing without a smithy to work in. I certainly didn’t have any success working with Eldred on visualized magic, but I really had no incentive to make it happen then. Well, I really do now. Anyway, there’s only one way to find out and that’s to give it a try.” He studied the layout of the remains of the shop and asked Kemp for his best guess as to what the shop looked like prior to its destruction. The remains of the shop gave the appearance of having been destroyed by an enormous lightning strike.

  As they stood discussing, it the old man hopped down from his stool and called over to them. “I can show ya what it looked like,” he said. “Wait right there.” He disappeared through the door of the little building, emerging a moment later with a piece of smooth shingle in his hand. “Here it be,” he said proudly, showing them a very fine drawing of the open front of the shop rendered in charcoal upon the shingle. Wil and Kemp looked at him appraisingly.

  “I were a map maker and artist for the old duke back before Greyleige even had the name he carries now,” the old man said. “Used to be I’d hang my drawings out for people to buy, but hasn’t been much call for my work in several years.”

  Wil reached into his pouch and took out a piece of silver he could ill afford to give up. “You have earned far more than this, my friend,” he said, holding the coin out to the old man, “but this is all I can afford.”

  The old man looked at the coin and shook his head. “Don’t want yer money,” he said. “I’ve got me a feeling I’m gonna see a show worth far more than that little piece of silver.” Whereupon he winked and stumped back over to his stool.

  “Perhaps it’s the gemstone calling for aid?” Wil wondered aloud. He turned to Scrubby and Peg. “I think that you two and Kemp should find a place away from where the smithy was. I have no idea whether I can do this, nor what to expect if I can.
” The three of them hastened obediently away to stand at some distance from where the old man sat, watching intently as Wil turned to face the remains of the smithy.

  Wil concentrated on the drawing before closing his eyes and visualizing the blacksmith shop whole and functioning with tools in place. There was a brief sensation of movement, much as he had experienced when standing before the Old Forest, but nothing else. He opened his eyes anticipating the same sort of result he’d had with the candle exercise and found the smithy restored, the charcoal glowing in the forge, the tools hanging on their pegs, the anvil atop its heavy log base. He looked over to the old man, then beyond him to his three companions and found them all standing with their mouths open, looking back and forth from him to the restored shop.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “It just shimmered back into existence; no lightning or smoke,” the old man said, eyeing Wil with astonishment. “I were right, for certain,” he continued, “that were worth far more than a single piece of silver. Trouble is, nobody’ll ever believe me. But I know what I saw.” He squinted at Wil. “Who did you say you were?”

  “I’m just plain Wil,” he returned.

  The old man shook his head in contradiction of Wil’s words. “Nothin’ plain about you, Wil,” he said as his three companions arrived.

  Of the three, only Kemp was able to speak. “All we can do is try?” he exclaimed. “Well, if that was just a try, the world had better stand back once you know what you’re doing.” A huge smile spread across his face. “By all the powers, Wil, Caron was certainly right about you.” He shook his head. “Now then, we’re wasting time. I’m actually beginning to believe we can do this, so let’s get started.”

  Wil’s head was spinning. The shade of Gleneagle had told him he had the potential for such power within him but until that moment he’d had no faith that he truly did. He had no idea how he had done it, but it had been so effortless, so exhilarating, so stimulating. The memory of it was simultaneously frightening and fascinating. The possibilities of such power stirred his imagination like a temptress, seductively caressing him, arousing the fire within him, leaving him breathless with desire.

  I understand now, he realized, shocked at the intensity of the feelings swirling within him. I could do so much with this power.

  It was only the deeply ingrained mistrust and contempt of wizards which had been obsessively nurtured during his sixty-five years of life that kept him from immediately testing his abilities again. The power was as an itch in his mind that demanded to be scratched as he stared at the restored smithy. I must beware!

  By the next afternoon Wil had sketched out the shape of the talisman that Kemp was to construct. As instructed by Gleneagle, he followed precisely the shape and dimensions of the drawings contained in the scrolls that he had committed to memory.

  “Why don’t you just blink this thing into existence like you did the smithy?” Kemp asked as Wil drew the talisman onto a piece of parchment.

  “If I could, I would, Kemp,” Wil replied, “but I can’t. The scrolls specifically warned that the talisman would be useless if created by magic. It must come from the elements and the hand of man.”

  He held the parchment up at that point and turned it toward Kemp who grunted as he recognized the image Wil had drawn on it. “Uh, it’s a lock?” he asked.

  “It is indeed a lock, Kemp, and I am the key,” Wil responded. “I am the key both figuratively and literally, for it took me to find it and it will take me to unlock it.”

  “What happens when you unlock it?” Kemp asked as Wil handed the drawing to him.

  “It opens itself to all the elven magics stored in the Old Forest,” Wil said quietly. “I’m not clear exactly how it will work against Greyleige, but the elf’s shade told me that the battle of our magics will result in the ascendancy of the powers of whichever of us is the stronger.” He fell silent for several moments.

  “I’m afraid, Kemp,” he said. “I could easily fail, for there is so much I don’t know. The one thing I know for sure is that I must face him or we will all perish for certain.”

  Kemp reached over and placed his large hand on Wil’s shoulder. “For what it’s worth, Wil, I’m afraid also.” With that, Kemp started to work on a sandwich of metals from which the talisman which was to be made. It would contain three different metals, almost as if it were an alloy, but instead of melting the metals together they would be layered one on the other. The outer layer was to be of silver, representing the metal used for elven weapons. The inner layer was of pure gold representing incorruptible purity. Between the two precious metal layers was to be the special alloy made of a mixture of base metals infused with sulpher that would act as proof against dark magics. Kemp finished up with a chain of silver with which to hang it from Wil’s neck.

  Wil watched Kemp closely as he worked. “You may have missed your calling, Kemp.” he observed. “You would make a fine jeweler.”

  “You stick to being a wizard and I’ll stick to being a blacksmith, thank you very much,” Kemp replied, wrinkling his nose in disgust at the suggestion.

  When he was finished, Kemp looked at it critically. “It’s very pretty, Wil, but it looks like just another trinket – a large one, for certain, but a trinket nonetheless.”

  “In fact, that’s all it is at present,” Wil replied, “but that will change momentarily. I’ll need some time alone now to make it more than that.” Kemp nodded his understanding and left the smithy. Turning the corner of the doorway he could hear Wil’s voice as he began reciting the enabling words of the high elven magic that he had memorized from the scroll. As Kemp waited across the street, a brief but intense flash of blue light shone from the blacksmith’s shop.

  Alone inside, Wil watched as the talisman pulsed faintly with a blue glow. Lifting from the bench where it had lain, the chain floated over his head to settle on Wil’s chest with the talisman coming to rest beside the green gemstone. He looked down with wonder at the softly glowing talisman, now primed and ready to be activated upon the recitation of the spell of summoning given him by the scrolls.

  In Blackstone, Greyleige smiled grimly as an echo of the power of the high elven magic shuddered through him, diverting his attention from those who stood awaiting his instructions. He sensed by its very nature that the wave of power he felt was not of human origin which could only mean that the Key had come into his own.

  So, my greatest challenge is finally at hand, he thought. The elf will have told him of a battle of magics to come. His smile changed to one of complacency. Whoever he is, his own magic is untested and he knows only of a battle. But the magic will be of wits and wills, not spells and the blunt force of battle magic. What he does not know will be his undoing.

  He turned back to the five dark creatures which resembled men and smiled coldly at them. “Wisdom is your destination,” he said with quiet authority. “There are wizards there who have defied me. They are to be disposed of and the town sickened both physically and in the minds of the inhabitants as was Wrensfalls, only more so.” His hand pointed toward the door. “Go now!”

  The five walked quietly from the room and Greyleige turned to the brooding young wizard standing against the wall. “Why are you here?” he asked, his face expressionless. “You were not given permission to leave Castle Gleneagle.”

  “One of my agents was discovered as she sent my most recent message to you. I was forced to have the worm neutralize her.”

  “Was this the one close to the Princess?”

  “Very close, Excellency. It was she who saw brief glimpses of the scrolls when the Princess had them out. The girl was illiterate, of course, but what she saw remained imprinted in her memory. Had I not been able to draw those bits and pieces of what she saw from her mind, you would not have even the limited amount of knowledge you do of the Gleneagle scrolls.”

  “Then we have lost any further access to information in the scrolls,” Greyleige said calmly.

  “We have, Exce
llency, but I believe her usefulness had come to an end in any case since the Princess is no longer in the palace and has not consulted the scrolls in many months. Once the girl was dead, I felt I could be of more value to you here at Blackstone.”

  What he did not say was that he had left quickly once he learned that Gleneagle’s personal guards had started asking pointed questions about his relationship with Nicolette. More especially, he had welcomed the opportunity to return to Blackstone because he longed to be near the source of the power that had corrupted him so completely; to be near it so he could feed upon it and grow ultimately to challenge and overthrow Greyleige, for he knew that his innate potential exceeded that of the High Altarn’s.

  But the young wizard would never realize that ambition, for upon his last word he spasmed and dropped to the floor. A thick red pool of blood spread around his head from the hole in the base of his skull. Greyleige waited for the green worm to drop from the hole, then leaned over and picked it up. “I don’t share your feelings,” he said. He popped the worm into his mouth and swallowed it before the magical essence of the dying young wizard contained within the worm could escape in the sickly green vapor.

  After wiping his mouth fastidiously with his little finger, he turned to Bertrand who looked a bit green himself. “Clean up this mess, Bertrand,” he said as he started for the door.

  31

  The slanting rays of the late afternoon sun threw the scene before him into a hazy golden relief as Gleneagle sat atop his horse on a low rise looking across the expanse of the Crelleon Plain. Below him, his army moved toward what had been the Wizards’ Guild compound the last time that he had ridden through. Where before there had been an open plain with a cluster of buildings and thick groves of trees marking the compound, there now arose a massive fortification made entirely of black stone quarried from the nearby mountains. A great tower at the center of the fortress rose high above the walls, overlooking the entire plain. He had heard of the fortress’ size and impregnability, but what he faced beggared the descriptions in the reports which he had discounted as hysterical hyperbole.