“They stopped just outside bowshot and waited. We assumed they delayed for the Dread; nor were we mistaken. Soon after, a wall of darkness gathered at the edge of the Great Forest. It spilled down the hillsides like an ebony tide, enveloping the Unsouled in a shroud of night.
“Only then did the runner return. ‘Where is that damned mage?’ I shouted. He reported he found the guildhall unlocked and empty. Even after searching the building, he found no sign of Meloch.
“I grew fearful then, remembering the mage’s surly spirit and the darkness of his power. Leaving Sergeant Malik in charge, I left to check the main gate, the point of Lakeshore’s greatest vulnerability. As I neared, I saw a soldier up ahead, leaning against the door to the building housing the controls for the drawbridge and portcullis. At last, I recognized Leven, a recruit fresh from his training. Though I shouted for him, he gave no answer. When I reached him at last, I shook his shoulder, thinking he must have fallen asleep, not heard the alarms. Leven fell to the ground and my hand came back covered with blood. Someone had slit his throat from ear to ear.
“I found the door to the gatehouse barred from the inside. I hammered at it with the hilt of my sword, but to no avail. Then, to my horror, the drawbridge began to lower. I shouted for help and two soldiers, Gregor and Simeon, responded. I sent Gregor to find a tool to break through the door. He returned moments later with a pair of wood axes. By then, the drawbridge had reached the halfway point.
“Frantic, we chopped at the door. But it had been built of thick hardwood and designed for defense. Before we got through, the drawbridge slammed down. The Unsouled had already gathered on the other side of the moat. They charged across, but came up short against the portcullis. The creatures hissed and moaned, eyes glowing red as they pressed their faces against the thick iron. They stretched their arms past the bars as they tried to reach us.
“Just as we chopped through the crossbar holding the door closed, the portcullis rose with a rusty, metal groan. We had to stop it. We...” Siminz broke off in a spasm of coughing. Dark red blood stained his lips.
Logen used the damp cloth on Siminz’s forehead, wiping away the blood. Then he filled a small tin cup with water from a flask on a nearby table and tilted Siminz’s head forward, helping him sip at the water to ease his cough. A few moments later, he lay back and mumbled his thanks. Then he continued his tale.
“We burst through the door, weapons drawn. Against the far wall, a dark figure hunched over the windlass controlling the portcullis. He glanced over his shoulder with eyes like glowing fire. Meloch.
“We charged him, desperate to stop the portcullis before the Unsouled got through. But while still halfway across the room, he turned and muttered an incantation under his breath. Black energy surged from his hands and blasted Gregor full in the chest. The blast threw him backward through the air, and his head hit the wall with a loud crack. The concussion knocked Simeon and me to the ground.”
“‘Fools!’ he laughed. ‘You cannot stand against the power of my master!’ Meloch ripped back the folds of his robe and exposed his chest. Blackened and seared, a ghastly wound covered the mage’s chest. A hideous brand marked the peeled and charred skin in the likeness of two malignant eyes. Deep gashes formed slit-like pupils weeping blood—the mark of the Dark Mage!”
Siminz squeezed his eyes shut as though trying to force the terrible memory from his mind. “I do not know how he bore the torment of such a hideous wound. Yet Meloch seemed untouched by pain; rather exalted in ecstatic worship of his dark master. Turning from us, he continued to raise the portcullis.
“Simeon and I glanced at each other before nodding in unspoken agreement. He rose to his feet and charged, screaming to distract the evil mage. With his attention diverted, I gathered my sword and approached from Meloch’s blind side. The mage glanced once over his shoulder at my companion. Then he flicked a casual finger in Simeon’s direction and a surge of black light burst from the tip. The blackness expanded until it enveloped Simeon in a sphere of absolute darkness. And Meloch’s power squeezed him.”
Tears trickled down Siminz’s cheeks. “I... I hope to never hear such screams again.
“The sphere shrank, crushing Simeon inside. His screams did not stop until the darkness had shrunk to half its original size. It grew smaller, and smaller still until it disappeared. Of Simeon I saw no sign. He was... gone.
“But his sacrifice gave me the chance I needed. I reached the foul mage unseen and swung with all the strength in my body. My blade sliced into the base of Meloch’s neck and did not stop until it wedged against bone in his chest.”
Siminz reached up and grabbed Logen’s shirt. He pulled him close. “But there was no blood!” he gasped. “Meloch spun to face me, wrenching the sword from my grasp. His eyes wide and distended, mouth flecked with foam, he... smiled at me! ‘My master laughs in the face of your petty attempts to stop him!’ he snarled. ‘Lakeshore is but the start. Soon my master will hold sway over all of Tantris!’”
Then he swung, backhanding me. A searing pain shot through my face. It knocked me back across the room. I crashed into the wall and... I woke up here.
“What happened after, I found out second-hand,” he breathed. “With my failure to stop Meloch, the Unsouled poured through the gate. Our soldiers fought with valor, but had no chance. Thousands perished in the slaughter. I fear none would have survived had Sergeant Malik not rallied enough men to fight a delaying action. It gave some few of the townsfolk time enough to launch fishing craft from the docks at the rear gate. Those boats floated offshore, safe from the invaders. As Lakeshore burned, they watched, helpless.
“The townsfolk returned only after the Unsouled had gone. We found some few people alive beneath the rubble.” He turned his burned face away from the two soldiers, his voice a soft whisper. “For myself, I can only wish I had not been one of those found.”
Just then, Mayor Steir bustled back over. “Here now,” she said. “Leave this young man in peace. He must sleep now.” The tears spilling from both eyes belied the harshness of her voice.
Both soldiers bowed their heads in respect and made their way out of the tent. Outside, they discussed what to do next. As the senior of the two, Darius decided Logen should return to Captain Henslow to report the disaster.
“I will remain behind,” said Darius. “It is vital these people reach a place of safety soon. Should the Unsouled return...” The rest he left unsaid.
“Where will you go?” asked Logen.
“Few wagons survived the attack. Even if we found or built enough to matter, the horses needed are either fled or slain.” He shook his head. “No. If any are to survive, we must gather what boats we have and make for the isle of Ciote.”
Logen’s face paled. “Ciote? At this time of year? The storms...”
“Aye, but we must risk the weather,” he replied. “Codtown is the nearest place of any size, but it cannot support so many. The refugees who head there will already strain the limits of what they can provide. Ciote is our best—perhaps our only—hope.”
Logen agreed. The two men conferred for a few minutes longer and then returned to their horses to retrieve their gear. They set up a small camp outside the main tent and tried to get some sleep. Both would need all their strength in the days ahead.
The flames of the campfire had burned down to red embers by the time Logen finished his tale. For a few minutes, no one spoke as they contemplated Lakeshore’s destruction. Adam stirred the dirt near the campfire with the toe of his boot while trying to process Logen’s tale. All those lives...
“You!” Adam started, surprised by the loud shout. He looked up to see Henslow on his feet. Face flushed, he pointed at Adam with a quivering finger. “All of this is your fault!”
“What? You’re crazy! I wasn’t even there!” Adam squirmed back at the sudden onslaught.
Aristomus stood and placed himself between the two men. He gave Henslow a hard look. “Captain, think about what you say. The boy had
nothing to do with Lakeshore. He is as much a victim of the Dark Mage as any.”
“But... I should have been there. It is my responsibility...”
“To what? Sacrifice yourself?” The mage scowled. Then his face softened in sympathy. “Take hold of yourself, Captain. War has come and as it now stands we are losing. It does no good to pass blame or nurse regrets. We must keep our wits; think and prepare. Your leadership is needed now more than ever.” The mage’s hot eyes cast around the clearing and took in all the soldiers who watched the encounter. “Every one of you is needed.”
Henslow’s head bowed in embarrassment. “Aye. You are right, Master Aristomus.” He glanced over at Adam, his back stiffening as he said, “It seems... I must offer my apologies again, Adam Gray. My emotions... sometimes get the better of me.”
Adam remained silent. After a moment, Henslow turned and walked away from the campfire.
Chapter 11, Seir
The next two days crawled by. The company rose early and rode until well after dark. For Adam, the journey proved wearisome. Travel by horseback no longer pained him, but with the Great Forest behind them, the terrain remained unchanging. Always the lake to his left, featureless plains to his right and the narrow road stretched out before. Even the constant fear of attack faded somewhat as the party continued toward Seir.
On the third day, the company left the lake behind at last. Now Adam had only the endless fields of brown grassland to occupy his attention. The ground tended upward as the lake fell behind and Adam estimated they’d climbed several thousand feet in just a few hours. The air grew colder, the wind’s icy tendrils slipped past gaps in their clothing.
Just as Adam started to ask Aristomus how much further—for the third time that morning—the company reached the top of a rise. Far off in the distance he saw a wide expanse of blue water. At its edge, a sparkle appeared in the morning sunlight. He turned, the question forming on his lips, but the mage answered first.
“Seir, Adam,” Aristomus said. “We have almost reached our destination.”
But though now barely visible, the city remained many leagues away. It grew larger as morning grew into midday, but several more hours passed before Adam could make out any details.
The sheer size of the city impressed him. Aristomus had shown a talent for understatement when he said Seir dwarfed Lakeshore. The massive walls surrounding the city soared at least 150 feet high. Every hundred yards along the wall, a fortified tower rose another 50 feet taller. Composed of dark-gray granite, the stone had flecks of a silvery substance running through it. Adam guessed it to be the source of the glimmers he’d seen while still far off. The walls curved to the north and south until they disappeared in the distance.
Like Lakeshore, farmland covered most of the outlying area. A city of such size must need huge quantities of food to feed its population. Industrious workers labored to bring in the harvest before the onset of winter. The road wound through the fields to the city’s main gate, two massive wooden doors banded in thick iron. The doors stayed open to traffic as dozens of wagons and hundreds of people mounted and on foot streamed in and out of the city. Though the city now blocked any view of the ocean, the smell of salt and raucous calls of gulls wheeling through the sky reaffirmed Seir as a coastal metropolis.
The company took their place in line. Once through the huge gate, they moved into a cavernous, stone-lined tunnel illuminated with torches on the walls along both sides. Adam marveled at the thickness of the walls, noting several small, dark holes just visible in the flickering light along the tunnel’s ceiling.
Henslow noticed his interest. “Murder holes,” he explained. “The city’s protectors use them to fire arrows or drop rocks, burning oil or boiling water onto any enemy who breaches the gates.” Adam shivered, his stomach queasy at the thought.
At the far end of the tunnel, the company moved past another open gate and back into sunlight. Adam blinked a few times to clear his vision. Then he gawked in open wonder at the city. People, horses and wagons packed the wide cobblestone streets. The stone buildings here rose much taller than those in Lakeshore with many rising eight stories or more. But the colors caught Adam’s eye more than the architecture. Bright pastel shades of blue, yellow, green, and red marked each of the structures. Even with their black tiled roofs, the buildings made the city appear a kaleidoscope of colors sparkling in the afternoon sunlight.
The crowds parted around the riders and gave the gruff soldiers a wide berth. Even so, Adam noticed many stopped to gawk at the tired, ragged group. “What are they all staring at?” he muttered to Aristomus. “You’d think they’d never seen travelers before.”
“Oh, travelers are not an infrequent sight, Adam,” he replied. “Even large groups of soldiers are not unusual. But it is uncommon to see an assembly as battle-worn as our company. Though rumors of the Dark Mage’s return are heard on every street corner, Seir itself has remained mostly untouched by the bloodshed others have suffered.”
Adam watched as two women in thick woolen dresses pointed at him, whispering. “Yes, well it seems a little rude to me,” he replied.
“True,” agreed the mage. “But harmless, at least. And I fear it will not be long before they, too, will fall under the shadow of the Dark Mage.”
Adam frowned. Now that’s a sobering thought. For a moment, he remembered the horror of Codtown and Logen’s tale of Lakeshore’s demise. If something so terrible happened to a city the size of Seir... He felt sick at the thought.
The company continued along the streets, passing merchants who called out their wares while groups of ragged street children dodged the traffic. Adam lost his way after only a few turns. Each avenue appeared much the same as the last. But the buildings grew taller and of better construction, the clothing of passersby richer and more fashionable. At last, the street opened into a vast courtyard and the cobblestone lane split to encircle a wide greenspace already turning brown with the approaching winter. At its center stood a tall fountain topped by a pair of crossed stone staffs. A spray of crystalline water formed a wide fan behind the staffs and the late afternoon sun transformed it into a golden sunburst. Adam recognized the symbol from the sign outside the Mage’s Guild in Lakeshore.
“Eddingford Castle, the guildhall of the Council of Mages,” confirmed Aristomus.
Behind the fountain rose a dour and imposing castle of thick stone. Rectangular, the castle had square crenellated towers at each corner. The stone fortress looked ancient and out of place compared to all the colorful buildings they’d passed earlier. Encrusted splotches of mold half-concealed by decayed ivy vines marked the castle’s pitted stone walls.
“Seems kind of... foreboding,” said Adam.
“Aye, well mages are an austere lot,” murmured Aristomus. “But trust me. It is much warmer and more cheerful on the inside.”
The company rode around the fountain and dismounted in front of the castle. Aristomus, Adam and Henslow handed their reins to a soldier and entered through a massive doorway opening on noiseless, well-oiled hinges. The immense room had plush rugs of red and gold covering the stone floor. A wide staircase at each end of the room curved upward to meet at the second floor landing. The stairs framed a wide, cleared portion of the floor decorated with an elaborate tile forming the Mages’ Guild symbol. A few thick tapestries decorated portions of walls lined with tall bookcases filled with ancient tomes.
The three men waited as an old man and woman dressed in servant’s attire approached. As they came closer, Adam realized old didn’t do the description justice. These two were ancient; their faces creased and worn as old dried leather. The woman wore a black wool dress and a spotless apron, both of which appeared freshly pressed. Tied back by a black handkerchief, her thick gray hair appeared the consistency of fine wire. The man dressed in similar attire—black trousers and coat with a linen shirt so white it hurt the eyes. Draped over one arm, he carried a white cloth which he held across his chest.
After a short bow,
the old man gave a formal greeting, “Master Aristomus, Captain Henslow, welcome. The Council is expecting you. Please, come with me.”
“My thanks, Vilmer,” answered the mage.
Adam took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “Well, no sense in making them wait, then. Let’s get this over with.”
Aristomus appeared uncomfortable as he looked back at Adam. “Um, I do not think you are expected tonight, Adam. The Council will wish to hear the details of our journey and the specifics of your arrival first. Marisa here will escort you to your room. You will receive a summons tomorrow at the appropriate time.”
The mage reached over and pulled Adam’s staff from his grasp. “I am so sorry, Adam, but I must take this as well. Once the Council clears you, I will return it.”
Adam felt abandoned as he watched his two companions follow along behind the old servant. But he turned and gave the maid a small bow and a half-hearted smile. “Well, it appears you are my escort for the night, my lady. Please, lead on.”
The old woman chuckled, “Just Marisa, young sir. No need for such formalities with me. Please, come this way.”
The maid took him toward the right-hand stairway. As they climbed toward the second floor, Adam asked about the old castle’s history.
Marisa ran her hand over the polished wood of the stairway bannister. “Ah, Eddingford Castle is ancient, young sir. It dates to a time before even the Council of Mages. Erik Eddingford, a self-styled baron, built it back when Seir was still nothing more than a fishing village. He hired a small band of mercenaries and used the castle as a base to extort taxes from the villagers.” She chuckled again, “The ‘Pirate of the Plateau,’ they called old Baron Eddingford, though not to his face. And a very successful pirate, too. He grew quite wealthy preying on the weak. But, as is the habit with most men of power, what he had never seemed enough. It led to his eventual downfall.
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