by Chad Corrie
Chapter 19
There are mages and then nonmages
just like there are people and then ants.
—Oserick the Cruel, Nordic wizard king
Reigned 600 BV–480 BV
Valan hunched over the Transducer’s blue stone, caressing it with his thin fingers. Above him hovered the glowing globe, adding dancing shadow and light on the object he’d been obsessed with for months. Runes. Ancient, mocking runes. As always, they continued their soft purple glimmer—another hint at the true power resident within the ancient stone. Yet he was nowhere closer to discovering—let alone mastering—that power than when he’d first arrived. Then there were the hobgoblins: a thorn in his side worming its way ever deeper into his flesh.
How much longer could he endure them, or they him? It was clear he was reaching the end of his efforts. And if it was clear to him, it had to be at least vaguely clear to them as well. The Celetors had been a token gesture—a means at biding more time—but time to do what, exactly? He couldn’t keep his attention continually divided between the tribe and the Transducer. Not if he wished to continue with any hope of success.
But what if he’d been wrong? What if the Transducer was flawed or broken in some way? Could he really be sure it was in perfect working order? It was here before the Great Shaking—even survived it, but maybe not completely intact. He’d read speculation about it possibly being flawed from the start. In his zeal he’d pushed such theories aside—partly because he didn’t want to acknowledge them and partly because he couldn’t verify their validity. But now that he’d spent some time with it and had conducted so many failed experiments . . .
The sound of heavy footfalls pulled him out from behind the stone column with his floating globe in tow. “What is it?” Valan could barely hide his annoyance at the sight of Boaz drawing near the fence.
“I thought I’d see how you’re progressing.” Boaz was calm, but Valan could see the anger blazing behind his eyes. “You’ve used up just about all of the humans.”
“And?”
“There won’t be any more.”
“I figured as much,” Valan said, making his way for the gate. “They were a rarity, but your tribesmen are workable too.”
“There won’t be any more of them, either.”
“Afraid of taking up the lottery again?” Valan cleared the gateway, stopping a few yards from the chieftain, letting the tracking globe highlight Boaz’s horns. The chieftain was yet another mystery he couldn’t solve. His one success—of a sort—with the Transducer, which he could never replicate. “Unless, of course, you’re feeling charitable.” He mockingly invited the hobgoblin back inside the blue column.
“It might be time to make the same offer of you,” said Boaz, watching Valan’s brow furrow, and his eyes become glaring slivers. “The Basilisk Tribe has suffered you long enough.”
“So you think to kill me now, is that it? You’d be a fool to try.”
Boaz unleashed a leering smirk. “There are worse things than death that can happen to a man.”
“An empty threat? Is that what you’ve been reduced to?”
“Who said it was empty?” Boaz turned back for the stairs. “When you’ve killed the last human you’ll have worn out my patience . . . and your welcome.”
“You’ve just doomed yourself and your people,” Valan called after the hobgoblin.
“No, I’ve just saved them.”
He watched Boaz ascend the steps without another word. This was the last thing he needed. More distractions. More opportunities to slow and stymie his work. Damn them all to the Abyss. Bull-headed idiot! If Boaz wanted more dead hobgoblins, he would be more than willing to accommodate. This time he’d send Boaz and all his subchieftains to the very gates of Sheol. Then he could make the ruins his own personal sheepfold.
“A temporary nuisance,” he told himself, fixing his attention back on the Transducer. “It won’t stop the progress, will it?” he asked the column—a habit he’d indulged in of late. One that only increased as the frustrating hours and days progressed. “And I’m close now too, aren’t I?
“Yes.” His fingers absently caressed the cold, blue stone. “Very close now. I can feel it.”
“You’re a weaker fool than I thought.” Cadrith stood over the scrying skull, observing Valan’s recent actions. He didn’t like where things were going. It seemed his lingering uneasiness with the mage was well founded. The artifact had thoroughly gotten its hooks into him to the point of him becoming a liability. And Cadrith didn’t need a liability when things were so close. But what to do? He didn’t have any other alternatives, and it wasn’t like he hadn’t been looking.
Sensing a movement in the shadows, he shifted his attention to the corner of the room. “Sargis?” Cadrith called forth light from the skull crowning his staff, forcing the shadows to retreat into the farthest corners and crevices they could find. There was nothing there.
“Looks like the Abyss is finally getting to you,” a feminine voice said, guiding his gaze to the window. Before it stood one of the more visually pleasing beings the Abyss ever produced.
“Hardly.” Cadrith stood his ground as the woman named Tara gave the room a careful study.
“Still living like a beggar, I see.” She slinked forward, folding her black swan wings behind her as she did.
“Not for much longer.” He dimmed the light on his staff.
“So the mighty Cadrith Elanis is about to spread his wings at last.” Tara slowed as she drew near the scrying skull, sneaking a peek in the process. Her tan skin and white hair contrasted her pure-black eyes. Taller than Cadrith by shoulders and head, her strange form didn’t detract from her alluring curves and feminine graces. Not even the small ivory horns poking out of her forehead could mar her unnatural beauty. “You won’t reconsider the offer?”
“You don’t have anything I want,” he said. “Neither you nor your patron.”
“Sounded to me like she did.”
“No. I’m going to succeed.”
“Still bold and arrogant, I see.”
“Confident,” he corrected. “Just like I’m confident no matter how much she tries, your patron won’t succeed. And I’m not going to stay to help her fail.”
“Too bad,” Tara pouted. “I think you would have enjoyed it.” On any other man her allure might have had some pull, but Cadrith was a lich. There was only his spirit anchored to his dry old bones. Any temptations the ocubus might have offered meant nothing to him.
“Are you at least happy to see me?” He watched her draw near. Her measured steps showed off her legs through the slits in her form-fitting skirt. Slit from the waist down, the brown leather fell just above her knees, allowing her tall black boots to clearly be seen. She wore a thick black belt lined with silver plates and fastened with a circular silver belt buckle crafted into a crown of thorns. From it dangled pouches and a small assortment of items, most notably two sheathed daggers—one for each side—both within easy reach.
“I was beginning to think you might have lied,” said Cadrith.
Tara was the last part in his plan, a fail-safe and a way of taking care of other matters that might arise. After five years in the Abyss, he managed to get in contact with her patron, someone not only sympathetic to his cause but willing to help bring it about. At least that was what he’d thought initially. But the days became weeks and then months, until he thought he’d never hear from Tara or her patron again. He might not have been too concerned if it had been any other matter—after all, the Abyss was full of liars—but he’d paid a dear price to secure what he sought.
“Did you now?” Tara crossed her arms below her breasts. Each wrist was adorned with a steel bracer, the two etched with the same twisting, thorny vine design.
“It’s been over two months. So do you have it or not?”
Tara’s hand went for her belt, where the few items attached there jingled until she raised her hand, opening her palm and revealing a small glass vial. �
��I think you’ll find it was worth the wait.” She placed the vial into Cadrith’s waiting palm. He cautiously studied the green substance within the clear glass container. Only a cork stopped it from spilling, but he had no intention of letting a single drop go to waste. Next to his magic, this was the most precious thing in his possession.
“I wonder what Sargis would say if he saw us together?” Tara crossed to Cadrith’s throne. “If he learned of what you were doing.”
“Are you implying something, Tara?” Cadrith clasped the vial tightly in his bony grasp and watched her playfully plop into his seat.
“Just thinking out loud.” She draped a naked leg over an armrest. Naked, that was, save for the dagger strapped to her inside thigh. “You do know how hard that poison was to come by, right?”
Cadrith ignored her antics. In some ways he supposed she couldn’t help but act true to her nature. She was an abysmal incarnate after all—an aspect of the Abyss itself given sentient life and form. “And I trust my payment was more than sufficient.”
“Oh yes, she’s been quite pleased with your generous gift. It will go a long way in helping her efforts.” The ocubus’ eyes drifted toward the scrying skull once more. “But you’re wasting it if you’re still looking to only use it as you first intended.”
“There are a few other kinks that might need some smoothing out down the road.”
Tara raised both eyebrows. “Must be some kinks.”
“I’ve allowed you a greater freedom than most, but only for so long.”
“And here I thought you just enjoyed my company,” Tara purred.
“Your patron has her payment, and I have the vial.” He held up his clasped hand, emphasizing his point.
“Are you trying to get rid of me so soon?” Tara pouted again. “I was just getting comfortable.”
“I’m sure you were.” Cadrith’s flaming sockets met Tara’s pearl-like eyes. “But you can only stretch my patience so far. So unless there’s anything else your patron requires . . .”
The ocubus surrendered the throne, pouting once more for good measure. “No, though I’ll tell her you’ve turned down her offer.”
“Fine.”
“Having a wizard would have really made a difference, especially one who knows so much about crossing the divide . . . and Tralodren.”
“She’ll survive, I’m sure.”
“Oh, she will, but I can’t say the same about you,” she replied, returning to the window. On her way she stopped and considered one of the tapestries fluttering in the faint breeze. On it was an image of a woman. The spiked red nimbus behind her head was still clearly visible despite the years. The image brought a smile to Tara’s lips. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Cadrith. I hope you know what you’re doing, else we might see you back here faster than you’d like. And then you might not find my patron so accommodating.”
“Then it’s a good thing I’ll have the vial close at hand.” His icy words turned down the ocubus’ heat. Flapping her wings, Tara leapt out the window and into the late afternoon air.
Finally. It’d been a dangerous and uncertain tradeoff, but now that he had the vial it all would be worth it. Had he still been able to use the small sample he’d acquired when he’d first met Sargis, he would have. But the poison had long dried out and lost its potency. This new vial, on the other hand . . .
He stood for a moment more before sitting on his throne. “Now what about you?” He peered into the scrying skull, returning to his previous quandary. He rested his staff beside him, letting its light fade. As the shadows ventured out of hiding, Cadrith pondered. He’d been grooming Valan for months—even with his apprehensions. He needed someone to cast a spell with the Transducer to create a force powerful enough to open a portal into the Abyss. The pieces were there, but his options were dwindling. And if he couldn’t use Valan, who else was there? He had to choose quickly, lest Valan destroy the column or the portal before he could act.
Though Cadrith couldn’t see or feel it, a dark shape gathered behind his throne as he pondered. Unlike Sargis, this form wasn’t humanoid, rather a swirling mass of black tentacles. These same tentacles explored around the throne and over the lich, covering him in a writhing canopy. As he extended his hand over the scrying skull one of the tentacles went with it, touching the skull in the process. The action birthed a ripple across the surface just as Cadrith waved his hand above the ancient bone.
Suddenly, a new scene emerged: a group of people moving across the Grasslands of Gondad. It was nothing of great interest, but the skull had revealed them to him for a reason. There were three humans, a dwarf, and two elves. An interesting mix, considering the elves were Patrious and one of the humans was a Nordican, but beyond that nothing of any apparent concern or interest. But again, the skull had revealed them for some reason, calling for a closer inspection.
“And where might you be going?” he asked the image.
As if on cue, the Patrician woman at the lead began discussing their plans with a blind priest—of Saredhel, it appeared. They were discussing reaching the ruins in the jungles of Taka Lu Lama. Ruins Cadrith knew held the portal and the Transducer.
“Interesting.” He leaned closer. “What?” He suddenly made the skull focus on the image of a golden-robed wizardess who’d crossed the viewing area just a moment before. He’d only seen her faintly from a distance, but upon closer inspection he thought he recognized a familiar connection.
“Could it really be?” Casting a simple spell upon the skull, he watched with growing interest as the image of the sable-haired mage shifted into an attractive blond Telborian woman instead.
“Seems you were a better survivor than you thought, Kendra.” He watched the image fade back into the sable-haired mage. “And as fate would have it, you’re going to help me finish what I started. But first we need to see how strong you are . . . as well as how useful you’ll be beyond my return. And if you’re anything like your foremother, I’m sure you won’t disappoint.”
The scene then shifted to the young Nordic knight in their company. “You might be useful too,” he said, bringing the glass vial in front of his sockets. “Though finding the right venue for our introduction could be challenging.”
Cadrith didn’t like the way this new opportunity had seemingly come out of nowhere. But the scrying skull was doing its part: showing him anything of possible interest for his plans. It was just a little too coincidental, finding the new mage in the mix. But he wasn’t complaining. He needed things to move quickly, and he was confident they still could after some slight alterations.
He sat back with a small degree of satisfaction. As he did the mass of tentacles behind him vanished, leaving him truly alone once more. Waving his hand over the skull, he brought the image of the wizardess forward, letting it dominate almost all the viewing space. She was young but so very close in appearance to her ancestor. He hoped that was all they shared. He didn’t want to contend with the same temperament as well. Then again, he’d need someone of the same caliber once he was back on Tralodren. All the better to watch and learn while he could.
Chapter 20
I swear my allegiance to the republic and emperor,
with Aerotripton above all.
—Oath of the Elyelmic army
Yornicus assessed the cohort’s situation from the center of the elven soldiers. He didn’t like what he saw. What remained of the first cohort of the Tenth Legion—forty men from the once one hundred strong—set themselves in place. Once more they’d mingle their blood with their approaching foes’ in the Marshes of Gondad’s murky waters.
“Keep at it.” Adicus, their captain, sought to encourage his men from his position near Yornicus. They’d been battling a force of about fifty lizardmen who’d come upon them from the trees and underbrush predominant in the area near the jungle of Taka Lu Lama. Even with the lizardmen’s simple weapons and near-naked frames, anyone could see the battle wasn’t going the elves’ way. Nothing had since they’d enter
ed the marshes.
They’d lost sixty men so far, reducing the cohort to just four squads—a pale shadow of the glory they’d presented upon departing Claudina months earlier. Ruthless nature, having to tediously probe every inch of the terrain, and other matters like this surprise attack wore down the weary men. Though they had the numerical advantage, they didn’t have the raw muscle of their opponents, and the longer they were forced to endure these additional trials without adequate food and rest, the more Yornicus saw their end creeping ever closer.
They’d already lost what remained of their supplies to another group of lizardmen a few days before. And that had followed their initial loss of supplies to another lizardman band shortly after entering the marshes. That encounter had forced them to take some unplanned and risky measures with equally damaging results.
“They’re trying to surround us, sir.” This was Ibrin, one of the four remaining sergeants. Like the rest of the elves, his formerly short hair had grown some since their departure from Claudina. None of the elves looked polished anymore. The pomp and pride in presentation had fallen aside in favor of gritty survival. And if they were to continue seeking the completion of their orders, it’d get grittier still.
“I know,” Adicus shouted over the clamor of the battle. Yornicus, as well as the captain, could see the lizardmen fanning out and forming a circle around them. After corralling the elves tightly into a cluster, it would be easier for the lizardmen to close in and slaughter them like sheep. Any other time the lizardmen would have been sorely mistaken, but now . . . Well, now was a different story.
“Each squad take a point.” Adicus motioned for ten men to divide into the cardinal directions. “Keep tight formation and hold the line.” Adicus took to Yornicus’ side, now in the middle of their number, seeking to take out whatever might make it through. The lizardmen, however, had other ideas. Their clubs and spears sought to draw more elven blood, but for now the elves’ armor and swordplay were holding.
