Chronicles of the Planeswalkers

by B. T. Robertson

  Fortunately, for Pux, wizards have clairvoyant abilities. Though they cannot predict events with any degree of certainty, they can see outcomes of one's future decisions (especially since Aeligon had known Pux for so long). The night Pux left this came to Aeligon in a dream, and to a few others in the Order. Aeligon, bothered by his apprentice's foolish attempt at worth, volunteered to go and return him to the Order single-handedly. He was granted this, and set out to find Pux. Not long after, Aeligon came upon Pux near the outskirts of the marshes. Aeligon approached with the Djinn having Pux suspended in the air nearly forty feet up. The young apprentice was completely helpless in his efforts to escape. The Djinn had his arms crossed and was mocking Pux, while the young conjurer could do little more than drool at the mouth like a rabid dog. Aeligon stepped in, and bartered for the life of his apprentice. Apparently, something about Pux had caused Aeligon to open his mind with regards to him, unbeknownst to Pux of course. It was in this moment that a choice was placed before Aeligon by the Djinn.

  The Djinns were an ancient force that dwelt in the Vaalüna Plane many ages before any other race. They tended to leave others alone as long as they were left alone. Their powers were far beyond that of any wizard, including Aeligon. This particular efrit offered a wise bargain, not a commonplace tactic for such a deity. He offered to spare Pux's life as long as Aeligon would swear to protect him and be his master until a day came when Pux proved himself worthy of mind. Aeligon accepted. The Djinn was not quite as foolish as Aeligon had hoped. Pux's body was left suspended in the air, and out from his mouth and eyes poured a gray smoke-like fume. It swirled around a bit, then was cast at Aeligon. The wizard held up his staff in defense and the streak of cloud disappeared into it. With a loud crack, the force knocked the wizard to the ground. The Djinn told Aeligon that the soul of Pux resided in the staff, binding Aeligon to his word. If he wanted to keep his treasured staff, which was gifted to each wizard upon their graduation from their school of study, then he would have to care for his unwise apprentice until the time came when Pux displayed both honor and wisdom. Although taken aback by the Djinn's deception, Aeligon could not argue with the wisdom in the decision. He wisely left the marshes and returned to Lünathar with the life of Pux, whose physical body was kept by the efrit. This relationship, thought at first to be devastating and totally irrational to both Aeligon and Pux, turned for the better. Pux's mind was still willing to learn, and his foolishness was kept at bay by the constraints of the wooden prison. The young apprentice learned all he could about using language and mind-over-matter methods to conjure spells. He became quite powerful, causing Aeligon's might to grow ten-fold in his presence. Aeligon could practice and perfect his art while feeding off of Pux for more powerful defensive skills, and visa versa. Wizards were not known for their teamwork abilities, but this was a mighty exception. It saved both of their lives countless times in battle, with the best example being the Great War of Calaridis. Plus, Pux's imprisonment kept him from aging. His physical body was preserved by the Djinn, and the curse, until due time.

  * * * *

  Aeligon and Pux sat on the brink of the former fortress, near the mangled gate. Fresh tracks of horrid creatures were pressed into the choked earth, and trees laid about knocked down and hacked to pieces. Small fires burned here and there. Black smoke curled its way to the blackened sky. Aeligon had seen this type of destruction before, but his mission would not allow distraction at this stage. Death's stench was in the air. The two came upon the carcass of a fallen direwolf, head split open and rotting in a sea of red.

  The mirror.

  He knew that Haarath was responsible because the mirror's location had been discovered. He just hoped that it wasn't destroyed during a fit of insanity. Heading toward Mynandrias Aeligon thought of the danger, and realized that Haarath's insanity was inevitable.

  Dismounting, Aeligon led the horse by the reins toward the center of the city, scanning every inch of ground along the route. Over fallen stones and around deep ditches, he succeeded and finally came upon his aim. Carved into a large pile of rock and rubble, was a path to the hole where the chamber rested.

  It was there; the horse could go no further. Stealthily, Aeligon stepped down into the bowels of the earth, to the chamber where evil resided. Haarath was gone, but his foul stench hung in the air like the fume of a poisonous gas, burning as it was breathed in. It greatly relieved the mage that none of his minions were to be found either. Once inside the chamber, his hopes dimmed and brightened at the same time.

  The mirror had not been destroyed, but a new dread fell upon the wizard. His task grew graver and far more dangerous. To find out what Haarath was being called to do, he knew that he would have to gaze into the mirror. Aeligon closed his eyes. The memories of evil long ago invaded him, caused him to shudder, and he fell to his knees. He did his best to cling to his staff, but felt fierce hands grabbing him. He let out a groan, and fought it with all that was in him. Standing up once again, he faced his own reflection in the mirror and prepared for the journey he knew he had to take.

  * * * *

  Aeligon stared into the face of the mirror, which dared him to step into a world unseen by human eyes for over two thousand years. It was mounted against a wall of stone waiting to devour the soul that came calling to its evil purpose. Strangely, it had never aged. He couldn't believe the mirror was here and yet, somehow, felt in his heart that it had always been. Spider webs had taken up residence in the darkest corners of the room, the air giving away its age with its stale personality. It hung there shining like a beacon into the night of a violent storm on the sea, a castle built upon the rock. Its deceitfulness swayed even the wisest of hearts, and Aeligon was no exception. What power dwelt beyond this thing? Was Hydrais’ spirit truly banished? Is this just some new evil rising out of the ash of a twisted Plane? These and many other questions were vomited into the mind of the Healer, and a cold sweat broke out on his brow. He had heard the call of the Master of the Mirror, but knew he could not obey, for it had already laid its egg in the mind of another. The spell to unlock the secrets found within was unknown to Aeligon. It had been gifted to Haarath alone by the hand of his new master. The evil thing could read hearts and minds and would know of Aeligon's wish to destroy it, whatever it was.

  "Haarath,” Aeligon muttered aloud, after a long period of silent pondering. Closing his eyes, he began to despair. Silence fell upon his heart and he knew not what to do. He had the mirror right there, but he could not find a way to see what Haarath had seen. Though bestowed with plentiful and willing knowledge, none suited his current quandary. Then, he had a thought. “Perhaps I should shatter this artifact. Casting a stone into its center would surely rid the world of this shiny swindler of hearts."

  "Yes, yes, shatter it, shatter it!” yelled Pux as the staff shook. Pux's face could not be discerned in the staff, for he hid in fear. Aeligon did not realize that he had spoken aloud.

  Aeligon's frustration manifested itself. He drew a rock from the floor near the pedestal. His arm wound back and, when he flung the stone toward the reflection, something happened that took him by surprise. With the rock halfway on its course, the mirror protruded a long, skinny streak of fog, similar in shape to an arm with five thin fingers at the end. They stretched open and caught the rock midway, stopping it. The fingers wrapped tightly around it. Aeligon stepped back a few paces and grasped his staff with both hands. The fog hand drew back and thrust the rock toward the wizard at a terrifying speed. Aeligon dodged and swung his staff. He struck the rock, and sent it flying to the opposite wall. The blow would have shattered a tree, but Aeligon's staff was blessed with a bit of strength from a shield spell, Pux's doing for sure. The slithering hand hovered in the air, fed by a swirling cloud that had engulfed the shimmering surface of the mirror. A voice came from within, low and resonating. Aeligon had seen many fell things in his lifetime, but this evil escaped his memories. His brows furrowed, and his eyes narrowed to focus on the apparition.

>   A long, horrid laugh vibrated the walls of the chamber, sending more cracks through them. Then, the voice rang out from the churning mirror.

  "Aeligon, last great wizard in the Order of Light, your meddling will surely be your undoing. I will rip your body limb from limb, and scatter your remains across Vaalüna and the seven realms. Fool! You are too late!” The voice was thunderous, and carried a great burden of evil. Aeligon could not tell who or what was speaking, since no visual impression of the creature could be seen in the mirror. He readied himself and responded with his well-known confidence.

  "I will not heed such a threat tossed by a being that hides behind smoke and mirror,” taunted Aeligon. “I will not bow to your will as Haarath did. Show yourself and enact your curse of me, or go back to the safety of your prison.” His own voice carried a strength that countered the evil. His form grew, and the tension between the two formidable forces rose to stifling levels. More cracks formed in the walls; pieces started to break apart and shatter on the already broken floor. The mirror shook, the force within it growing angry at Aeligon's defiance.

  The force that held the mirror captive to its might must have realized the folly in fighting with the wise mage. The gliding arms recoiled into the mirror, and the swirling fled with a hiss. Aeligon had called its bluff, and the foe retreated back into the depths of the dark and fetid world beyond the glass. As it turned, no detail could be discerned. Cloud and ash masked the form, but in its flight Aeligon could see it trailing off into the distant Northlands. The image first made west toward the bogs and marshes of the Cursed Glades, or Quagmirth as it was commonly called, then it carved a path slightly eastward toward Dunandor. It was then that Aeligon knew that which he had so mercilessly pursued. Though his strength faltered considerably due to the strain of struggle with the evil phantom of the mirror, his mind was fully aware of his quarry and his quest. The mirror became darkly opaque. Spent, Aeligon sank to the ground, although his half-smile hinted at his revived hope.

  * * * *

  For a good while, Aeligon rested against the pillar until his strength returned and begged him to rise. Prior to departing, the wizard knew he had but one chance to destroy this mirror before it could ensnare another. His wisdom led him here, or perhaps it was the foolish prying of Aerinas. Whatever it was, there was a pressing in his heart to do what Haarath could not ... destroy the mirror. Though its full purpose could not yet be determined, Aeligon had seen and heard enough. No amount of study or research could save even the most hardened, wise minds of that age. Perhaps if Ashinon were alive, he could pursue such a task. Aeligon's mind was wandering, swaying from fatigue. He picked up the rock that he had thrown at the mirror an hour before. This time, his toss went unmatched. It struck the mirror's center, sending streaks outward like the web made by a spider. Pieces flew as the glass was unseated from its frame. The shards came to settle on the floor of the chamber, and Aeligon noticed something peculiar. The edges of each piece and sliver glowed with a greenish tint. Aeligon stepped closer, crouched down, and examined them.

  "Interesting,” he said aloud as he withdrew a small cloth from his bag. He wrapped one of the larger shards in it carefully, making sure to not expose even one tiny fragment to the light.

  "Perhaps there is a use for you yet,” he spoke to the shard, and turned for the staircase leading up to his horse. Outside the hole, Rajan stomped and kicked the ground knowing that his master, the only master he cared about, could very well be dead. Horses of those days were very gifted in mind as well as in spirit. In the service of their masters long enough, they became extensions of their souls, bound together by some unseen link that spanned many leagues. Some, like Aeligon, could even speak to the horses in languages that most had long forgotten, and thus the bond was even stronger. When Aeligon emerged from the hole, Rajan knelt down on his front knees, lowering his saddle to within inches of the ground to make mounting that much easier for the man. Greatly pleased, the wizard pulled from his leather pouch a sugar cube prize, which Rajan quickly scooped up with his lips. Aeligon patted him on his neck and conveyed his thanks. With his fortitude replenished, the wizard proudly sat atop Rajan and urged the horse southwest through the debris and the twisted gate. He was determined to follow the band of creatures headed for Mynandrias.

  Rajan galloped as he never had before. He bore Aeligon back through the Hollow Wood, and across the Tunin River by way of the Bridge of Fwalin. From there, it was not long before they reached the path into Mernith Forest that the minions used.

  "Quickly now, Rajan,” said Aeligon in a hurried voice, “we mustn't linger in these woods either, for the elves are in great peril, or will be very soon. I can feel it."

  The despair that had captured Aeligon when he looked into the mirror faded altogether. A new fear sprang up inside him, elevating his senses on the path toward Mynandrias. He could tell that the creatures were goblins and their tracks mingled between those of direwolves. By Aeligon's estimate there were about two hundred beasts in all, maybe more. These two breeds of creatures were unholy, but together wielded a power that was unstoppable by most civilizations, especially in so great a number. Goblins never marched in companies, or in formation; they just ran about wildly, never making an effort to hide their tracks. It wasn't difficult to guess their path; their destructive nature could be told by the slash marks in the trees made by their scimitars. The tainting of Mernith had begun, but Aeligon did not know to what end. The horde had at least a half day's lead, and with the rough terrain there was no gaining on them.

  It was near evening when Aeligon had to stop. The sun took its last few remaining breaths before it sank below the line of the mountains. He and Rajan were weary from pursuit. They halted near a small brook that fed the Tunin River. Quickly, Rajan drank large draughts of the cool water, while Aeligon pulled chunks of bread apart and ate them. A few plump carrots were fed to Rajan, and were greatly appreciated. From where the duo stood at the edge of the small stream, Aeligon could see tracks smashed deep into the muddy banks on either side.

  "This is where they crossed, Rajan,” he said. “And look!” He stooped down and reached into the clear pool of sluggish water, pulling a piece of metal from it that still shimmered in the fading light. There was no mistaking that it was a shard of metal from the armor of one of the goblins.

  "They are equipped for battle, not just for pillaging or robbing,” said Aeligon grimly.

  Rajan nickered softly and Aeligon said nothing more. They were off again with renewed vigor and spirit. No more than a few hours from the city borders, they took on a new caution in their steps. Eyes were of hawk's precision. Rajan aided in the search. Carefully they stepped into the realm of the Krayn Elves.

  They continued on.

  In the distance, there came the sudden rumble that resembled thunder clapping without lightning. The earth shook. Aeligon readied his staff, and drew his sword from its sheath, all the while moving forward. Wild screams were heard in the distance. Aeligon knew that the city was under siege at that moment. He rushed Rajan along as fast as he could, but he knew that he was too late to stop the onslaught that had been planned by Haarath. They continued forward through the forest, but with less hope and more fear of what lay beyond their sight. If he could just make it to a peak or a rise in the land where the battle could be seen, perhaps he could summon a fury from the sky to aid the elves in their purpose. The land was rocky and bumpy; no such summit existed. They neared the city of Mynandrias and, hence, the borders of the Mernith Forest before it ran into the Tunin River.

  An hour had passed slowly. The screams had hushed. The battle had either pushed its way through the gate and into the city, where the screams would probably have been deafened by the high walls and thick trees, or ceased with the elves victorious. Intense anxiety and hope filled Aeligon. He still carried his sword in his right hand, feeling the power throb throughout his fingers. This sword, dubbed Reaper, had been passed down to him by the High Mage in the Order of Light. It was said th
at many magical endowments were bestowed upon it by the Order during its forging, gifting the steel with a supernatural essence. It was part of Aeligon. It would have no other master. Its glimmer had been lost, for the air was thick this night and a peculiar fog clung to the ground, consuming all but the head of Rajan in its grip. Its purpose only served to aid the pair, as it concealed them also.

  Aeligon heard the clanking of metal again, coming toward them from off to the right. No screams or wicked cries were heard, but a bustling that sounded unlike any animal or fowl. He halted Rajan and listened intently, straining to hear all that he could. Sight was becoming a better ally since the fog had thinned, but it still clung stubbornly. The moon crept back into the sky and shed a bluish light down on the befuddled earth. Then, he saw them. Running silently through the trees, a horde of the remaining wolves and goblins were struggling to break free from the forest. Aeligon sat perfectly still atop Rajan, watching, yet unseen. Their expressions were a mix of fear and terror, mingled with anger. They stopped to catch their breath, huddling together while looking around frantically. Aeligon was concealed by brambles, and took to eavesdropping on the unsuspecting group.

  "Bah! Curse those elves,” barked one of the grungier ones. “And curse that Haarath for sending us here."

  A roar went up among them and the arguing ensued.

  Another yelled, “All this for one blasted elf? What fer? If Haarath would've done the job right, we wouldn't have to be ‘ere."

  "Yeah, yeah,” they all yelled together in unison.

  "Those elves are great indeed, and it would take an army greater than this to destroy such a wall,” screamed yet another.

  "Gah, you know nothing, Gorgithon,” accused the marked leader of the pack. His armor was emblazoned with decorations of war that surpassed any of the others. “These elves are not great, but this one, this Aerinas among them ... he is the fear of Haarath and the fear of our Master. The resistance was rallied by him, and the cause of the destruction of our brothers."