Magician's Heir

by D Bruce Cotton

  The Unsouled stayed silent, but Rosner performed a deep bow. “The city will be yours, my master.” Rosner walked toward the stone bridge, the Unsouled close behind.

  As though Rosner no longer existed, the Dark Mage turned his attention to Henslow. A look of endless hunger warped his features. “You,” he rasped, pointing with a gnarled finger. “I think I will take you next.”

  Henslow felt the Dread’s powerful claws clamp around both arms, jerking him to his feet. Propelled forward, he stumbled toward the Dark Mage. He’d known the fear of battle; the realization death could come at any moment. But his past fear now seemed weak and childish, a mere dream, compared to the nightmarish terror he felt now. To contemplate the loss of one’s own soul...

  “I know you,” whispered the Dark Mage, his ancient face only inches away. “Jacob... Henslow, is it not? Lakeshore’s Captain of the Guard?”

  Henslow ground his teeth, determined to hide his fear. “How do you know me?”

  The Dark Mage smiled, the lines of his face forming deep crevices. “I know many people, Captain. You see, I do not take just the souls of my victims. Their thoughts, memories, dreams and desires... those become mine as well.” His smile grew wider. “Would you like to say hello to Jaspher?”

  “Damn you!” Henslow shouted, struggling against the Dread’s grip. “I swear by the Power I will see you dead!”

  “Oh, I think not,” he chided, waggling a cracked fingernail under Henslow’s nose. “You are in my home now, Captain. Here, I hold the power of life and... undeath!

  The Dark Mage once again struck the heel of his staff against the floor. The black fire responded, enveloping him in its freezing embrace. Henslow’s face stiffened, and then turned numb at the nearness of those freezing flames. Blinking once, he heard the giant’s grunt of pain as he strove to break his shackles, then everything around him faded. Nothing remained but two glowing, red eyes.

  Henslow felt his mouth pried open by invisible hands. Wider, wider still... and then his world exploded in pain.

  As each moment crawled to the next, his body passed from torture to torture. Pestilential creatures slithered over his skin, biting and stinging without mercy. Dipped in corrosive acid, his flesh bubbled and sloughed away. Fire scoured his body. The stench of burning hair gagged him as his skin first blackened before falling away to ash, revealing white bone. Massive boils erupted over his body, growing until they burst to reveal suppurating sores. He screamed and screamed, but heard nothing; lost in an eternity of unendurable, unending agony.

  Yet end it did. Henslow now floated in a perfect void of darkness. No light existed; no sound or sensation of any kind. The darkness sought to comfort him, to relieve him of his fears and doubts; urging him to let go and become one with the night. Some tiny remnant of the man named Henslow remained aware, still conscious, still fighting against the evil. But he’d already lost this battle; had become nothing more than an insect screaming defiance as a boot descended from the sky to grind him into oblivion.

  Denial became painful, then impossible. He yearned to surrender, to release his burdens and responsibilities, and find peace. And as his will to resist weakened, he felt some essential part within himself stretching, tearing...

  Chapter 22, Hunted

  With fresh mounts and the Eastern Road now before them, Aristomus held hopes of outdistancing their pursuers. But with each glance at his daughter, he realized they must stop soon. Gray with exhaustion, Alecia’s face now had deep lines not there just a few days earlier. Nor, he admitted, did he do so well himself. The healing brought him back from the verge of death, but he’d require many days of rest and sustenance to regain any semblance of health.

  Cold sapped their meager strength, too. And the guilt of leaving behind Rosner and the people of Norwich weighed heavy on his heart. Aristomus couldn’t escape the belief he’d abandoned the villagers to their doom.

  “Enough,” he muttered, voice rough with self-recrimination. Reaching out, he snagged the reins of Alecia’s mount, slowing them both to a halt. His tone softened as he addressed his daughter. “You must have rest, Alecia.”

  “But, father...”

  “No. No more arguments, Alecia. What good to remain ahead of our enemy only to fall from our saddles in exhaustion? And it will be dark soon. You must have rest,” he repeated.

  Alecia dismounted, nodding her head in acquiescence. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed. Aristomus hurried to help, leading her off the road and into a thick copse of evergreen trees. Their limbs had blocked some of the recent snowfall, providing a small, but somewhat dry space where they could rest. Aristomus scooped up a pile of dead needles and then spread a thick blanket over the top. Alecia curled up, falling asleep as soon as her eyes closed.

  After covering her with a second blanket, the mage fed and hobbled the horses. Then, careful to keep Alecia always within sight, he searched for firewood. Soon, a crackling blaze provided warmth while a pot of tea heated. Aristomus watched his daughter in the flickering light, the orange flames adding a false touch of color to her pale cheeks. Leaning back against the tree, he allowed a sharp wedge of bark to dig into his back to help him remain awake. But exhaustion and quiet proved too great an adversary. Eyes sagging, he, too, soon fell asleep.

  A TWIG BROKE WITH A sharp crack, dragging Aristomus from his slumber. Groggy with sleep, he looked around, unsure for a moment what had wakened him. He remained silent, listening, praying he’d heard nothing more than a small animal or a branch snapping under the weight of the heavy snow. Then somewhere nearby, a bush rustled.

  The mage jumped to his feet and kicked snow over the fire, plunging the clearing into darkness. Then he shook Alecia, careful to remain as quiet as possible.

  “Alecia,” he whispered. “Wake up!”

  She awoke with a start. “Father?”

  “Shh! Move!” he murmured. Another twig snapped, closer this time. “They are here.”

  Alecia’s eyes widened in panic. Scrambling to her feet, she gathered up the blankets and stuffed them into a saddlebag. The mages climbed into their saddles just as the first Unsouled broke through the underbrush. It gave a hooting cry of alarm, bringing others crashing through the twisted brambles and naked bushes.

  Aristomus and Alecia dug in their heels. Their mounts, unnerved by the noise and smell of the creatures, bolted from the clearing. The mages clung to their saddles, giving the horses their heads. But once clear of immediate danger, Aristomus pulled back on the reins to slow his mount. They had the advantage of speed, but endurance belonged to the enemy. Their best chance lie in staying ahead of the Unsouled while conserving what small amount of stamina remained to them.

  Alecia’s horse surged onward. But she pulled up short after realizing no one accompanied her. The initial surge of adrenalin gone, she again felt on the verge of collapse. The few, meager hours of sleep had not helped. When he caught up, Aristomus stared at his daughter’s pale face, feeling a chill which had little to do with the cold night air.

  But they had few options: stand and fight or continue fleeing. Aristomus knew an extended battle would prove suicidal in their condition. He cursed himself for ever allowing Alecia to join this foolhardy expedition.

  Behind them, the Unsouled stumbled from the trees, eyes glowing a sickening red in the dark. A dozen, then more than a score of the foul creatures poured from the trees onto the roadway; a surging wall of decaying flesh. Knowing he must slow them down, Aristomus reached out and slapped the flank of Alecia’s horse. The terrified mount whinnied and galloped away. Alecia looked back in horror before disappearing into the black night.

  The mage freed Rosner’s staff from the leather thongs binding it to his saddle. The smooth wood felt strange in his hand; similar, yet so different from his own. Closing his eyes in concentration, Aristomus tried to summon the Power. The staff remained silent. His mount danced, nervous, as the Unsouled drew closer. In his frail condition, the mage had little strength left; his tenuous resources deplet
ed. And the strangeness of the staff fought him, too.

  Aristomus refused to fail. Concentration drew beads of sweat on his brow even as his breath expelled billows of white vapor in the cold night air. He struggled against exhaustion and fear, fighting to draw a single spark...

  The sudden crack of electricity caught him by surprise. The pale, yellow lightning dancing on the tip of the staff bore little resemblance to the hot, white energy he’d summoned in other battles. But it would have to do.

  Aristomus focused on the Power, feeding it until the tiny spark grew to a ball of energy no larger than his head. He cast it at the charging creatures, squinting as the lightning exploded in a burst of light. Bodies flew in all directions; clothing and even flesh catching fire from the discharge.

  His horse reared in terror, eyes rolling. Aristomus tightened his grip on the horse’s neck, fighting to remain conscious, as it turned and fled. That last use of the Power brought him to the edge of death. Behind him, the creatures milled around in confusion. Galloping hard, the stench of burning flesh fell behind. Far too soon, he spotted Alecia’s horse at the side of the roadway, nudging through the snow to find a few precious blades of tough winter grass.

  “Alecia, we must go!” he called. “They will recover soon! We must be away before...” Then he saw her crumpled form lying on the ground. “NO!” The old mage threw himself from his mount, fear and exhaustion forgotten. He knelt by her side and felt for a pulse. There. Light and thready, but perceptible. She lived. He breathed a silent prayer of relief as he chaffed her cheeks, trying to rouse her.

  Eyelids fluttering, Alecia awoke to confusion. “Father? Where...?”

  “No time, Alecia,” he replied, looking back over his shoulder. The Unsouled had already regrouped. And somewhere close, he sensed a Dread approaching. “We must go.”

  “So... tired.”

  “I know, my daughter.” He clenched his teeth, biting back tears. “But go we must.”

  Their time had run out. Freeing her staff, he tied it in place beside his own. Then he gathered the girl in his arms and somehow lifted her into the saddle. Once he’d climbed up himself, Aristomus wrapped one arm around his daughter. With a last, regretful glance at the second horse, he dug in his heels and set off at a canter.

  HOURS LATER, ARISTOMUS jerked awake. Their horse had wandered off the road and, by some miracle, both he and Alecia remained in the saddle. The sky above had lightened, but thick dark clouds obscured the horizon, bringing the threat of still more snow.

  Aristomus glanced over his shoulder and breathed a sigh of relief at the empty road. During the night, they’d angled away from the Great Forest. A broad plain between rolling hills now surrounded them. He felt naked so far out in the open, but at least he could see for several leagues in all directions. Reassured the Unsouled were nowhere in sight, he decided to stop. The horse needed care and both he and Alecia desperately needed food to regain their strength.

  “Alecia,” he called, adding a gentle nudge.

  She came awake with a start, but relaxed when she saw no one but her father. Aristomus dismounted and helped her down. Stifling a yawn, she asked, “Where are we, father? I do not... everything is so hazy.”

  Aristomus paused a moment, studying Alecia’s face before answering. She’d regained some color, though she still appeared gaunt and half-starved. The sleep helped, but they needed food more now. He placed a feeding bag over the horse’s muzzle as he spoke.

  “I believe we have passed the fork of the Eastern and Wood’s Edge roads,” he replied. “We must turn to the southeast to reach the Stonemar River ford. From there, it will be a few days’ ride to the Dark Mountains.”

  “So close?” she asked. The harsh lines softened as her face came alight with momentary excitement. “How long will it take us to reach the giants?”

  “It is difficult to say,” he replied as he dug bread and dried jerky from a saddlebag. He handed both to Alecia, who tore at the food, ravenous. “We lost one horse along with half our provisions. Unless we find a way to resupply, there will not be enough to see us through. No, daughter.” He shook his head as she stopped to look at her meal. “Eat now. We will deal with the lack of food when there is no alternative. For now, we must both regain what strength we can.”

  The old mage sighed. “Of greater concern are the Unsouled. They follow and, unlike us, need no rest.” He sat down next to Alecia with a stifled groan. “Without help, I fear the rest of our journey may prove a difficult one.”

  The conversation lapsed as they concentrated on their meal. Only frequent glances over their shoulders revealed their continued concern for the monsters stalking them.

  ARISTOMUS ALLOWED THEM little time for rest. The two mages continued onward the rest of the day, taking turns walking to spare their mount. A biting wind picked up, the cold sapping their already meager strength. Though the clouds continued to threaten, no snow fell.

  The terrain changed little as the scant light leached from the sky. Full dark arrived soon after. With their vision limited and no landmarks to guide them, it became difficult to maintain any sense of direction. At last, Aristomus called a halt.

  “Perhaps they have given up the chase,” he said, his voice expressing little hope. “Regardless, we must have rest. I will take first watch.”

  While Alecia spread out a blanket, he fed and watered the horse from their dwindling stores. He couldn’t risk a fire. Not only did they have no fuel, but the light would be visible for leagues, drawing enemies like moths to a flame. Aristomus spread the second blanket over his daughter and sat down beside her, trying to make himself comfortable on the cold snow. Only moments passed before Alecia’s shivering breaths deepened into sleep.

  Aristomus chewed on a tough piece of jerky with grim purpose, determined to stay awake and give Alecia more time to recover. He pulled his tattered cloak closer, huddling against the sharp wind. Perhaps we should separate, he thought. If I send Alecia south with the horse, maybe I could draw them away from her.

  The mage blinked once, and then again, harder. Alecia lay mere feet away, but she seemed to be... fading. Had he fallen asleep? Aristomus shook his head, holding one hand up in front of his eyes. The darkness made it difficult to see, but... aye! His hand faded, swallowed up by creeping darkness.

  “Dread!” he shouted. Jumping up, he ripped both staffs loose from their bindings just as the first Unsouled emerged from the Dread’s cloying darkness. Awakened by his warning, Alecia ran for the horse. But before either could mount, one of the foul creatures grabbed the horse’s foreleg, biting deep into its chest. The animal shrieked in pain, rearing to throw off its tormentor. But the Unsouled held tight while three of its brothers joined in, tearing at the horse with hands and teeth until they dragged it to the ground.

  Aristomus swung his staff, the metal-shod end connecting with one creature’s skull. “Flee!” he screamed. He grabbed Alecia’s arm, running as fast as his exhaustion would allow, away from the knotted cluster of Unsouled and the pitiful screams of their dying horse. Twenty yards from the attack, his vision cleared; the surrounding dark almost like day after the Dread’s black power. Alecia stumbled at his side and he handed over her staff to use as support.

  “What do we do, father?” she asked, tired voice weak with strain.

  “We run,” he gasped, “until we can run no longer. And then we fight.”

  The two ran, lurching over the snow-covered hillocks, glancing back at the approaching shadows coming closer as the enemy gained ground. Then Alecia slid to a sudden halt. Aristomus almost fell as he tried to avoid slamming into her back.

  “Alecia! Do not stop now!” he panted. “Keep running!”

  But Alecia stared ahead in shocked silence, eyes wide with despair. Aristomus turned his head, dreading what he would see.

  Far across the plain, an ebony pool of darkness flowed, swallowing the snow-covered ground like a ravenous, insatiable beast. Speechless, they watched as the darkness spread in an ever-widening
arc, cutting off all possibility of escape. The Dread had herded them into a trap!

  Shoulders slumping, Aristomus turned and placed a gentle kiss on his daughter’s forehead. In her eyes, he saw grim defiance, a determination to fight to the end. Nodding once, he placed his back against Alecia’s and waited for the approaching darkness.

  Chapter 23, Flight

  Craigen struggled against his chains, teeth grinding while the muscles in his arms and shoulders stood out like steel cables. Blood ran in thin streams from his lacerated wrists. But he disregarded the pain; tried with all his might to ignore the terrible screams coming from the human called Henslow.

  The links in the chain shackling his wrists were thick and heavy, but composed of cast iron rather than forged. Cast iron is more brittle. So if he just had the strength...

  The human’s screams fell silent. He took a quick glimpse; saw in the man’s slumped shoulders he had reached the end of his endurance. The human’s mouth stretched wide and by the Dark Mage’s ravenous look, only seconds remained. The giant held no illusions. He would be the Dark Mage’s next victim.

  Bone-deep fear flooded Craigen’s mind, but it didn’t compare to his growing anger. The chains rattled as he drew his hands together; creaking as he jerked his wrists apart. To have come so far only to fall into the clutches of the Dark Mage. Clink, clink, crunch! To face death, not only of the body, but of his soul. Clink, clink, crunch! To know he would never again see those he loved. Clink, clink, crunch!

  A low growl came from Craigen’s throat. It mounted, tearing past teeth clenched in rage, swelling to a roar of furious denial. Clink, clink, SNAP! The chains shattered as he snapped his hands apart again. His release caught both Dread by surprise. Craigen jumped to his feet, bringing both fists down on the head of the first and crushing its skull. The second, he grabbed by the throat and one leg, lifting the massive creature in the air and throwing it with all his remaining strength.