by C. L. Murray
The wizard held him with a firm look, one he’d seen many times growing up that asked him to cease his advances into certain areas of discussion. And now, a year after learning what many of those questions would have uncovered, he stared back just as pointedly.
“You felt I was in danger?” he asked. “That’s why you came?”
Nottleforf’s eyes calmed. “It is quite rare when I do not feel you are in danger. And though you were no longer under my care, the instinct to care remained very much intact.”
Thinking back to his years in Korindelf, Morlen could not imagine any specific experience being very different if the wizard had not been there. But then again, he might never have grown to have any at all without Nottleforf’s involvement, however remote it was. “What was I to you, back then?” he asked dryly. “And what am I now?”
He detected a strong urge in the old man to look away, one he seemed to take great pains to fight. “Someone,” Nottleforf answered, “whom I would gladly see realized.” Then he motioned that they should make their way through the forest, and Morlen followed beside him.
He enjoyed the abrasive, musty shroud of falling pine needles, reveling in how distant he now felt from the Isle’s pleasures. This was cold and wet, and here there were things that scratched and bit. He could not walk twenty paces without tearing through a sticky web, its uprooted occupants stinging him with their grievances.
“I’ve no doubt you were somewhat shocked upon waking this morning,” said Nottleforf.
Morlen suspected the wizard must be aware that he’d turned to the Goldshard’s power. Surely he’d been found unconscious in the Isle, still clutching it. Why did Nottleforf not rebuke him for using it, when he’d emphatically prohibited such an act?
Wary to delve into that topic, Morlen kept to the one at hand. “That place wasn’t made by men.”
Nottleforf smiled. “No. It is a ferotaur hive, or was, rather, out from which they’d slink in the night to Veldere in its developing years, taking captive any they could, until the Eaglemasters finally hunted them down and emptied it. Now, it sits vacant, dead, though the legend of hungry whispers from the forest where many were taken, never to leave, is alive and well.”
“And this is where you’ve lived?” Morlen asked. “Since Korindelf?”
“For one who can travel to the ends of the earth and back, a residence is unbefitting,” said Nottleforf. Then he grinned. “Though I’ve come to find, an empty tunnel beneath ground where no man dares to tread can once in a while provide a much-needed night’s sleep. But when I journeyed to Veldere last night, seeing that its people were being shipped downriver to the four lower cities, I proposed Valdis send some here, as well, to ease their brimming capacity.”
Trees swayed up ahead, pushed by heavy gusts beneath wings of departing eagles, and their delivered cargo gradually stepped into view. Walking among them, Morlen soon came to realize that every face evoked memories from the last several months.
Each person smiled kindly while he slowly passed: mothers with children in much better condition than he recalled; men gripping canes to steady themselves against pains of past abuse, with marks that would never vanish. Every one of them offered the same look of gratitude, of reclaimed life, that he remembered seeing when his father had first brought them into the Isle.
More recent faces caught him as well—those who’d elected not to depart for immediate safety, instead taking up arms to help free others. Members of the most recently rescued convoy beamed at him now. There were so many—hundreds, all standing together in tribute to the one who’d saved them, stretching far toward some sort of altar. And, finally drawing closer to it, Morlen slowed his breathing, seeing the dry logs upon which rested a shrouded body, broad and tall.
Turning to Nottleforf, his expression widened to ask what his choked voice couldn’t.
Looking back sympathetically, the wizard gave a somber answer. “You were not all that I brought here.” The two walked to the altar’s edge, from beneath which Nottleforf withdrew a folded garment, letting it flow out as Morlen realized it was his cloak, which he had shed to cover his father’s body. Holding it out for him, Nottleforf said reassuringly, “He would have wanted you to keep it.”
Weighed heavily to the ground, Morlen took the cloak, glad to feel its sturdy softness around him as he donned it once again. Then, Nottleforf waited patiently, looking to him for permission, and, taking one last glance at the silent, still outline beneath the unwrinkled sheet, he gave it. Nodding in acknowledgment, the wizard pressed both hands flat to the air until kindling sparked into flame, and soon the pyre raged high, consuming all upon it. Morlen turned and walked away, needing to see no more as the mountain of light released its smoke high above the forest roof, then slowly crumbled to dust in his wake.
After an ensuing hunt, Morlen and the rescued prisoners congregated in the underlying complex for a festive banquet. The center tunnel opened into a modified great hall flanked by roaring hearths with chimneys that pierced the forest floor above, and they dined together at many tables. Each was laden with steaming bowls of rabbit stew, platters of roasted wild pig, and goblets that brimmed with dark ale brought in casks from Veldere.
Morlen savored the melted marbling throughout each tender cut while he sat beside members of the recently freed caravan, with Nottleforf at the head of their table. All of them appeared to have grown much closer over the past week.
“Terrible shame,” the burly farmer among their group wheezed after a large gulp of ale. “I could tell there was something not quite right about that fellow. Scars like that… from what I saw the guards do to so many, if they ever were driven to burn, they were driven to kill. They made no exceptions… I should’ve known.”
“None of us could have,” assured the bearded man opposite him. “I was the closest to him of all of us; he even helped me, though, I didn’t understand his true motives.”
“Enough talk of him,” spoke the woman close beside this one. “He’ll get what’s his, as will all who ever carried a whip behind any of us. Probably at this very moment they’ve pooled into the capital, right under King Valdis’s spear. The Crystal Spear, mind you, a powerful weapon against such foulness.”
Grinning next to her, the man placed his hand over hers. “One of the many fine things I’ve learned of my new wife is how talented she is at regaling an audience with all sorts of legends and stories buried by their respective kingdoms.”
She smiled in return. “Buried, but not forgotten.” Then, facing the rest of them, she asked, “You know of the crystals, yes?” Their blank faces baffled her. Morlen casually focused on his meal, unready to divulge any knowledge on the topic. “They were formed almost a thousand years ago, in the time of Korine the Ancient. And just as Korine was said to be powerful and kind, there was another being who lurked in the shadows, who conjured tremendous destruction and despair, turning men to beasts, and beasts to things far worse.
“He lured thousands with promises of power and long life, twisting and deforming their flesh and bones so they would make war on all others, until the Blessed Ones rose up and halted their oppression, for a time. And Korine cast Him down from these very mountains above us. But, the Enemy dragged Korine down, too, and they both slammed to the ground with such force that parts of them were fused together, creating a crystallized pool.
“And Korine washed Him away with the river that mingled with both of their shed energies. The Speaking River, it came to be called, as some who later found themselves immersed in its depths claimed to have heard prophetic messages from it. Then Korine, gravely wounded, gathered up the crystals and entrusted them to the land’s protectors.”
Morlen’s hip suddenly felt quite bare as he couldn’t help but think of the sword lying a stone’s throw from where they sat. But the Goldshard’s comforting embrace reminded him he was well-equipped for any danger.
“Speaking of whom”—the woman smiled at Morlen now, her attention a pressure he struggled to bear
—“you wouldn’t happen to know anything about the first inhabitant of the Forbidden Isle, would you?” she asked hopefully. “The hero who helped the Eaglemasters drive out the shriekers in the Battle of Korindelf? Surely he’s a celebrated figure among your people, isn’t he?”
Morlen pretended to be intrigued by the table’s surface, chewing far more than his current portion required. Know? What did he know of Morthadus besides an ancient origin story, besides a claim that they were of the same bloodline? That blood’s potency had been greatly diluted before flowing through his veins, and he doubted Morthadus would even recognize him as an heir if their paths crossed.
But, maybe such an encounter could help him grasp the heritage his father had always wanted him to find, or finally verify that he had no connection to it. If he found the one for whom the legend was told, he could learn the truth and no longer need the legend.
“Morthad—” Nottleforf suddenly broke the silence while everyone turned to listen, abruptly drinking from his goblet before Morlen’s gaze reached him. He held up a hand to beg their pardon as though he’d been choked up. “More than… a few times,” he resumed with a scratched voice that slowly cleared, “I have heard of the Isle’s first warrior.”
Could Nottleforf really know Morthadus? Or, at least, could he have known him at some point long ago? Why hadn’t he ever considered the possibility before? Nottleforf had kept so much else a secret from him. Maybe he knew where Morthadus resided this very day, where he’d been since departing the Isle.
“But”—Nottleforf coughed and took another sip of ale—“his legend was limited to the Battle of Korindelf. And it endured long after the city’s liberation, bolstered by the many courageous acts of his descendants, whom I came to befriend, to my true benefit.” He looked across at Morlen this time, raising his cup in a humble salute, and Morlen lifted his as well, though comforted little by the gesture.
How could Nottleforf presume to recognize him as one of those he mentioned, after witnessing his failure in the Isle? Only now would he be able to demonstrate real courage, real greatness, when before he’d just been fooling himself. Now, relying on that which had brought him true strength, his potential would be endless.
Nottleforf cunningly changed the subject. “In my exploration of this hive, which, I will admit, still contains scores of passageways I’ve yet to travel, I discovered something extraordinary embedded within a crack along one of the rock walls. Something even my eyes would have likely missed had it not revealed itself through a chance flicker of torchlight.
“And, prying it out, I held it to the light: a fine gem, rare beyond measure, so beautiful that I kept it, and would like to show it to all of you now.” Sounds of delight traveled around the table; Morlen, too, was not uninterested to see.
Pleased by their eagerness, Nottleforf pushed back his chair and drew from under the table a strange copper contraption that resembled a disproportionate spider. It had a central compartment the size of an acorn, from which projected a circle of many long, narrow scopes like stretched legs, each one fitted with a clear magnifying lens through which to look.
Levitating it over the platters of food, he brought it gently down at the table’s center, its protruding scopes resting mere inches from each of their enthralled faces. “Due to its size, I’ve housed it within this device,” Nottleforf said in response to the questioning looks from all sides. “This way it might be seen up close by many at a time. Peer now into the chamber where sits the gem, and describe it.”
Smiling at one another as though about to partake in the night’s entertainment, the guests lowered curious eyes to the scopes before them. Morlen strained at first to see anything at all through a brown web of lashes that brushed against the circular glass. He retracted his head and then set his eye to the scope repeatedly, when finally, a bright core within the blurred cylinder sharpened as the gem appeared, clear as could be.
It was rough, and irregularly shaped, neither square nor round, with grayish silver veins etched through sky blue stone. Strange, it was not quite as extraordinary as he’d imagined, and he withdrew to look around at all the others, none of whom had yet uttered the fairly simple description he was about to give.
“What a gorgeous red hue,” blurted the man beside him without raising his head, “almost purple near its edges, and so smooth too.” Morlen furrowed his brow at this, hovering over his own lens as the qualities his neighbor announced remained completely absent.
“I’d check that eye if I were you, friend,” the gruff farmer snickered down the table. “Maybe you took one too many blows to the head while we were in captivity, or else you’d see the grassy green here the rest of us do.”
“What?” the woman opposite him laughed. “You’ve the worst eyes of any of us to see cloudy orange as anything near green.”
But, looking to her husband for support, she found none. “Cloudy I’ll grant you,” the bearded fellow said tentatively, “but, quite distinctly yellow… maybe orange near its top corners,” he added.
“Corners? It’s shaped as an oval, isn’t it?” she asked, turning to Morlen, who, in courtesy, looked once more, finding it quite unchanged.
Rumbles of dissent echoed from everyone present, none of them abandoning their emphatic appraisal.
“Lenses,” shouted one. “It’s a trick with the lenses. They must change color for every scope.”
A man beside him waved this off as nonsense. “Mine is clear as a well’s still water, and shows me the gem as you’d see it too if you hadn’t already drunk three goblets.”
Nottleforf’s hearty laughter mingled with the table’s stubborn unrest, growing stronger until all fell quiet, staring at him quite puzzled. With a wave of his hand, the central compartment out from which the scopes protruded opened at its top, and from inside rose an object the size of a blueberry, floating above for all to see. It was colorless, shapeless, composed of thousands upon thousands of different hues and forms, textures and shades, all connected together in one indefinable mass.
“What you each saw,” said Nottleforf, “was but a minuscule part of the whole. Yet, you asserted that it was the whole, that there was nothing to be seen past the edges you perceived. There are those who will look at something so small, so incomplete, for so long, it becomes their everything, and they forget how much is outside of it. To them, I would say, do not mistake a facet for the gem.”
Nottleforf’s attention fell firmly on Morlen now, silently imploring in a way that so closely resembled the unwelcome look Matufinn had often given, searching for awareness that was nowhere to be found, until the only response could be to look away.
The farmer broke the silence. “Well, I’ll say this, lord wizard. Caring little for your trickery myself, I’ll gladly listen to any advisor whose lessons are accompanied by meat and ale.” Others at the table laughed with him, but Morlen remained quiet as Nottleforf placed the gem back inside his multi-scoped device.
Soon the clatter of empty plates brought the large gathering to its feet, signaling time for rest as many retreated to their respective quarters. Offering nods of respect to both Nottleforf and Morlen, the rest of the group took their leave, and, though Nottleforf stayed seated, Morlen rose with them. After one last studious, prolonged glance at the wizard, he strode swiftly back through his own chamber and exited up to the surface.
Veldere was just visible beyond the treetops, and Morlen found its stillness far more unnerving than the clashes of steel against steel that were soon to fill it. Felkoth’s army would flood the city any minute now, expecting their sudden appearance on its streets to spell doom for the king and his people; instead they would find themselves tangled in the Eaglemasters’ awaiting snare. But, would they break through it nonetheless, spreading their flames through every home, to every bird and rider?
Coated in snow, he shuffled at the sound of doors creaking as Nottleforf came to stand beside him. His presence was slowly becoming more distinguishable through the bustling energies of s
o many others nearby.
The wizard stared far off through the trees and said forebodingly, “Felkoth will not be beaten so easily. He may not realize what sits prepared for him, but neither do the Eaglemasters know the true extent of his drive to conquer. Whatever the outcome of this night, I fear it may be just the beginning.”
Morlen stood unmoving for a long while. “You knew him,” he said, still looking ahead while the wizard turned to him.
“Knew?” Nottleforf asked, pausing for clarification, though Morlen was sure he anticipated his aim already.
“Morthadus,” he answered with certainty, the wizard’s mealtime slip having left no room for doubt on the matter.
At mention of the name, Nottleforf faced sharply forward, giving no answer. Morlen’s eyes followed him this time, and would not soon leave.
“Do you know him still?” he persisted, though this remembrance was the closest to anger he’d ever seen in Nottleforf, whose jaw tightened disdainfully at the question. “I don’t know what conflict existed, or still exists, between the two of you,” Morlen pressed on cautiously. “But, I think it might do some good, for me… maybe help me better understand where I come from, if I could find him.”
Nottleforf’s face relaxed a little, his many wrinkles gradually unfurling again while he peered far away. “It’s been centuries, Morlen,” he replied at last, in a voice far more somber than usual. “I no longer know where he is, or how I could possibly find him.”
Even this dim admission made Morlen’s heart beat stronger, leading him to a trail that was faded yet not completely lost. “But, you did know him, and you know, or at least suspect, where he might be now.”
Nottleforf fell silent once more, raising a stiff shoulder between himself and Morlen.
Desperate to keep this chance from vanishing, Morlen maintained pursuit. “You may have believed you were protecting me by keeping me from the truth when I was younger. But, I’m asking you now, don’t keep this from me. Please.”
