Death Mages Ascent

by Jon Bender

  Death Mage’s Ascent

  Jon Bender

  Chapter 1

  The battlefield was torn and littered with bodies of the dead. Men in black armor lay next to those in red having killed each other in rage and anger. Now all were unmoving next to one another, as if death had finally brought peace between them. Among the fallen a man near six feet in height stood, short black hair framing sharp features and dark eyes which surveyed the carnage surrounding him. His muscular frame tense with anger at the sight of such bloodshed.

  Jaxon wondered if they even knew why they had been fighting, sure each side had been told by their lords that the other was bent on their total destruction. Which in a sense was true, but not for the reasons they may have thought. They were set on extermination of each other if only because they feared so much to be destroyed themselves. It all seemed so wasteful to him, and he could not help but feel shame at being unable to stop it. All the while the true enemy who had orchestrated this massacre sat and calculated his next move. Laughing at those who had been duped into killing each other.

  Walking towards the crumbling walls of the fort which had once held this valley in dominance, Jaxom took in his surroundings. Fires still burned on the ground where mages had set it ablaze. Piles of rubble were all that were left of once mighty golems, before they had been hacked and hammered beyond what the magic animating them could hold together. Shallow trenches had been dug by what looked like the finger of a giant, as powerful cyclones had ripped through the ground, tossing men and horses into the air at their passing. Leaving the bodies broken and forgotten among the many others.

  Stopping, he kneeled next to a man on which he could find no obvious wounds, and only closer inspection of the body showed that his heart had been pierced. The blade had entered under the arm above the plate armor he wore assuring that death would have been instantaneous. It did not matter as Jaxom had no use for the heart, as long as the mind remained mostly intact. Placing a hand on the head of the man he truly looked at his face, finding that it was no man at all, but a boy no more than eighteen years. Short wavy brown hair partly covered a face that had never felt the edge of a razor, and the plate armor he wore made it obvious that he came from wealth. Common soldiers wore only leather or chain mail, likely making him the son of a nobleman who had been given command of a small unit for the battle.

  Returning to the business at hand Jaxom took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the acrid smell of blood and decay. Opening himself to the power of death, he pulled that energy into his body from the space around him. It was always there, like the other energies it was a constant. No matter where you went someone or something had died there in the past, though it was not uncommon for him to find areas where that was not the case. Such as in the deep deserts of the south were no battle had ever been fought, and where no plants grew to provide him with power from their deaths. Today the energy was fresh and abundant from the slaughter the day before, making it no more difficult to channel than taking breath.

  He had once spoken to an earth mage asking what it felt like when he drew the stone in, molding its power to his will. The man had described it as pure steady strength, as if he could move mountains with his bare hands, that nothing could stand in his path and survive the power that was the earth itself. He had continued saying that it was different for each type of channeling, a fire mage for example would feel the same type of power that infused the body but in a different way. For Jaxom it felt nothing like that when he channeled the energy created when a living creature died. There was no raw power, only the clarity and calm that the embrace of the grave brought. His thoughts became clear and sharp, the clutter of life falling away like a stone down a well. Once death had completely filled him, the world came into focus, as if he could finally see it for what it truly was.

  Concentrating Jaxom forced the essence of death to the core of his being, molding it to his needs then directing it to flow down to his hand which rested on the boy’s forehead. The memories started coming, flooding his mind with images of what the boy had seen during his life. Jaxom saw flashes of learning to ride, shooting a bow at distant targets, training with sword and spear, and countless hours before books in a large library. An older man with streaks of gray running though his light brown hair and a short well-kept beard appeared often. No doubt the boy’s father, a serious man who’s eyes shown with pride. Guiding the memories with the force of his will, Jaxom commanded them to show him the battle before the boy’s death.

  He sat atop a powerful brown mare which twitched and shifted in anxiousness from the mass of men and horses around her. The sun beat down causing him to sweat under the heavy armor he had never come to be fully comfortable in. Before him was massed an army of thousands in black armor, and though he knew that their own numbers were greater, the sight still sent a chill crawling up his spine. Horns blew all along the line ordering the army forward into the attack. Finding courage that was not there, he gave the order for the men under his command to advance. Marching at a slow pace he shouted for them to stay in formation, all the while the enemy stood watching and awaiting their arrival. He found himself with the mixed emotions of wanting to run away, and wishing the command to charge would be given so he could rush forward into the fray. Finally the horn blew and an incomprehensible yell erupted from his throat and the throats of those around him.

  Urging his horse to a speed that would match the men on the ground, he drew his sword and gritted his teeth. The two lines collided in a thunderous crash of metal on metal, men screaming in pain and anger. Swinging his sword at any man in black who came close, he never stopped to see if he killed any of them. Facing them only long enough to strike a blow that would put them down or force them away, stopping to confirm they were dead would only leave him open to attacks from others.

  A flash of red streaked to his right landing among his men, followed by an explosion that shook the ground and threw him from the saddle. Looking up from his back, he watched as more fire balls crossed above him headed in both directions. Dazed he took a moment to admire the beauty of them on the background of the blue sky. He could not recall what he was doing there or why mages would be throwing fireballs into the air. Before he had a chance to ponder the question further powerful hands grabbed him under the arms lifting him to his feet, two of his men helping him to regain his balance.

  “My lord, are you all right?” Asked the man on his left whose name he did not know. Shaking his head he cleared the last of the confusion from his mind, and looking about was surprised to find himself in a tight ring of red uniformed men with their backs to him. They were keeping the fighting away from this little island of calm among a storm of steel and death. After the initial explosion his men had rallied to protect their fallen leader, and he could see from the many on the ground it had cost them dearly. To hold one spot in the ever shifting mayhem only invited the enemy to try and break through.

  “Yes! Break the ring and reform the line towards the enemy.” Just as the man brought his left fist to the center of his chest in salute the ground shook beneath their feet. Snapping his attention towards the enemy a massive figure of stone strode towards them, every step sending tremors through the ground announcing its approach. The golem was over ten feet tall, with arms as thick as a man that ended in two massive boulders. Its entire body was formed of grey stone that had been melded together by a mage, forming a humanoid creature of immense strength. Two rubies glowed from where the eyes should have been, and he could feel the mage staring at him through those gems.

  “GOLEM!” he yelled, alerting his men to the more serious threat. “Axes and Maces to the front,” he said. Knowing that swords would be less affective against the creature. His men shifted were they could in
the press, given a slight reprieve as the enemy backed away allowing the golem to move forward. Its first right handed swing took the head off of a man quickly followed with the left in a downward strike crushing another, then he and his men were on it hacking and slashing to chip away at the stone. The puppet continued to fight, slapping men aside like toys until someone hit an arm hard enough to break it away. Then its opposite leg collapsed beneath it bringing the head with in range of attack. There was his chance, the mage could only control it if he could see through those gems. Raising his sword up above him in a two handed grip, he readied the blow that would destroy the stone creation. Something stabbed under his arm going deep and it was if all the strength had flown from his body. He was falling, his last thought was to wonder why it was taking so long to find the ground before the darkness engulfed him.

  Drawing his hand away from the young man’s forehead Jaxom contemplated what he had seen. The fighting had been as vicious as he had imagined but he had not expected the sheer volume of casting that had been expended. There must have been dozens of mages from many schools wielding their powers against soldiers and each other. Looking up at the destroyed fort, he could see it was a waste of time to bother with further investigation. He had come here to see how the battle had ended at request from his friend the King of Ale’adaria, the neighbor of the kingdom he now stood in. It was obvious that the men of Denra had lost this battle, leaving the invading force free to advance further towards the capital city. The King would want news of the outcome to help him decide what side he should take in the war if any at all. So far Ale’adaria had been able to stay neutral only because other kings and queens were fearful of its might. If one land was to attack Ale’adaria, the others would soon seek alliance against the aggressor to further their own gains. Of the fourteen kingdoms five separate alliances had formed, shifting like dunes in high winds.

  Making his decision, Jaxom stood and stepped away from the boy who in death had given him more information than he ever could have in life. Searching the surrounding area he found what he was looking for, the young man’s horse lay dead on its side twenty yards away its remains in good condition for his purpose. Jaxom could see its ribs on the right side had been crushed inward forming a deep depression in the chest, most likely caused by a rampaging golem that the earth mages were so fond of. Fixing the damage would be easy and would not leave the ghastly scar his repairing of a slash would have caused. Drawing more of death into himself, he once again molded it to suit his needs. Stretching out his hand he cast it into the animal and the ribs began to reset, popping into place with loud cracks until the chest was whole once again. The powerful legs began to twitch as his magic took hold of the carcass, its eye snapping open to emit a white glow that reflected the power reanimating it. Rolling to its hooves the risen horse stood and waited for commands. Exerting his will on the animated horse Jaxom instructed it to walk towards him, a simple test to assure that it was under his control.

  In the past when he had first begun learning to cast, Jaxom had lost control of a dog which had turned and attacked leaving scars on his leg. He had destroyed his creation on instinct with a direct strike of energy, casting a column of black and white smoke into the dog causing the animal to decay quickly until it simply fell apart. It was also that day that he realized such direct attacks were far more draining for him than other mages.

  Mounting the mare and settling himself into the saddle, he was thankful for the reprieve. It had been his idea to walk into Denra instead of riding, leaving his sword behind so as not to draw attention to himself. The idea had been sound but he was grateful the need for stealth had passed, his untiring mount would now reduce the return trip to three days. Taking up the reigns he guided his horse away though it was an unnecessary gesture, the animated creature would now obeyed his thoughts as if it was Jaxom’s own arm.

  He felt a mixed sense of relief and unease at returning to Ale’adaria as he considered the kingdom and its capital city Ale’adar home, though many there would be happy to never see him return. His friendship with the king and a few others kept those people from voicing their opinions to loudly most of the time, but Jaxom had come to accept their prejudice long ago, learning to never show that their taunts still bothered him. Even with the intolerance waiting for him when he returned, it still felt good to be going home.

  Chapter 2

  From his vantage point on a hill overlooking his home city of Ale’adar, Jaxom could see the many lights of torches and lamps lighting the streets and buildings below. He had ridden through the second day straight into the night, stopping only to relieve himself. The reanimated mare never needing to rest or drink had allowed him to arrive after dark as he preferred. At the center of the sprawling city stood the palace with its high walls and towers. Watching over the city and its people in quite guardianship. Choosing to arrive at night drew less attention to his entrance into the city, no one would dare to threaten a mage of any school, but it was not beyond their courage to blatantly stare and whisper at his passing.

  It was two hours after dark as he approached the eastern gate of the outer walls. On a whim he had decided to ride the undead steed into the city, and let the whisperers be damned. The King would give him a talking to about not unnerving the good citizens, but was it his concern if they feared his magic. If he truly wanted to unnerve them, he could have reanimated a man and rode him down the cobblestone streets. Laughing quietly to himself at the thought, Jaxom envisioned himself on the back of a bloodied soldier approaching the palace gates. What a commotion that would cause among those good citizens.

  Reaching the iron barred gateway to the city, a voice hailed him from the other side. “Hold where you are stranger and declare yourself.”

  It was Cribble, a captain of the guard who had no problem showing his dislike for a death mage. Cribble took great pleasure in making comments just loud enough to reach Jaxom’s ears, remarking on how the air had a smell to it whenever Jaxom passed by, as if something had died leaving an offensive odor. Jaxom had decided the best course of action for such remarks was simply to ignore them. He could easily kill the man, maim him, or do any number of unpleasant things that would not soon be forgotten. What had stayed his hand was that the man was also one of the most loyal in service to the King

  Slightly annoyed with the challenge, he chose to play along as it was the fastest way to gain entry. “Magus Jaxom, advisor to the king,” not giving a surname as he had never taken one, being the adopted son of the previous King.

  “Forgive me master Jaxom I did not recognize you,” he said with a smirk. Leaving off the proper title of magus and supplanting it with one given to an inn keeper or shop owner. “If you give me a moment I will have the gate raised,” Cribble said over his shoulder, leisurely entering a side door leading to the gate room from where the portcullis was controlled.

  It took several minutes longer than it should have before the gate slowly began moving upward into the city wall, stopping at head level and forcing Jaxom to duck before riding under. Approaching the door the captain had entered the man stepped back out wearing a self-satisfied smile, a smile that slowly disappeared as he got a closer look at Jaxom’s mare. He had not noticed the glowing eyes of the reanimated horse before, and now stood in shocked silence as he realized that the animal was not alive.

  On a whim Jaxom decided now was a good time to put the offensive man in his place. Stopping his mount in front of him, Cribble never even looked up he was so concentrated on the horse. With a thought the horse turned its head to stare directly at the Captain, whose response was to jump back placing a hand on the hilt of his sword.

  “Thank you for allowing me entry captain,” which finally got the man’s attention. His eyes shifting up to meet Jaxom’s own black irises. “I will be sure to inform the king that his loyal servant performed his duties admirably,” Jaxom said. The Captain took another step back giving a quick nod.

  Slowly the horse turned its head forward again as Ja
xom moved into the city, taking a great amount of self-control not to smile as he did so. The off handed insult of being called a servant had not seemed to register with the man, though it was immensely satisfying to say. The last bit with the horse had been for dramatic effect, almost bringing Jaxom to outright laughter at the man’s response.

  Jaxom’s ear caught a mumbled “Dirty grave robber…” as he began to ride away. A direct insult that Jaxom could respond to by punishing the man or having him punished by the king. Matters of station were not as strictly enforced in Ale’adaria as in other kingdoms, but that was crossing a line. A death mage he may be, but a mage none the less, and clearly the superior to a captain of the guard. In the end he simply ignored the statement pretending not to hear it, satisfied with leaving him in an unsettled state of mind.

  It took him more than an hour to reach the castle but it was time he enjoyed. The night allowed him to wander and experience the city freely, without looks of fear and loathing following him wherever he went. Few people beside the tavern patrons where ever out at night, and they kept mostly to their drinks. Entering the castle’s stables was far less troublesome as the guards there allowed him in without a word. Dismounting in the courtyard a sleepy eyed boy stepped out to greet him. Taking the reins from Jaxom’s hand, he nearly dropped them when he looked into the animals eyes.

  “She will not harm you,” Jaxom said hoping to calm the boy. “Just find a quiet corner and brush her down.” No point in having his creation’s coat unkempt. “She will require nothing beyond that.”

  “Yes magus,” the boy replied shakily while taking up the reins again. Jaxom gave the horse a mental command to follow the boy’s lead before moving towards the castle.

  Stopping by the kitchens which were always operating for the staff and guards who worked at night, he enjoyed a plate of sliced ham and freshly baked bread before then continuing to his rooms to grab fresh clothes. His “rooms” were actually just two small adjoining rooms in a part of the castle that received little foot traffic. Lighting a small lamp hanging on the wall near the door Jaxom moved forward into the quaint accommodations. The outer room held sparse furnishing with only a small writing table and chair in the corner, on which light from a window would reach throughout most of the day. Off to the right was a plain cushioned great chair sitting next to a tall book shelf holding books on numerous subjects that he had taken an interest in over the years. There were many on the histories of the kingdoms as well as books of the known animals that resided in them, thinking it prudent to learn about an animal’s capabilities if the need ever arose to reanimate one.