“I want no part of any war,” Searon said.
“I’m afraid it’s too late…” Karceoles’s eyes wandered off, as if searching for something.
Searon began to wonder what the old man was talking about, but before he came to an answer, four draeyks jumped out from the trees with axes raised. He raised his claymore and blocked an incoming blow at the same time. Karceoles raised his staff and blocked the strike of the axe. Searon found it strange when the axe didn’t slice through the wood, but the old man blocked it, creating sparks with his staff as if it were metal. Karceoles swiftly moved his staff with ease, blocking every strike by the draeyks and adding offensive parries of his own at an ungodly speed. Searon, already in a weakened state, had a tough time battling the draeyks. They outmaneuvered him, and then one struck him in the knee and caused him to fall off his horse.
Searon continued to fight from a kneeling position and was able to overcome a draeyk and strike it down. As he did, there was an incoming blow from behind that he wasn’t fast enough to catch. An axe sank into his shoulder, forcing him to fall flat on the ground, his face in the dirt. Searon tasted crunchy leaves, with a bit of blood in his mouth. At that moment, Karceoles slew his draeyk, and he raised his staff to point at the last two creatures by the warrior. Searon rolled over to stare at the two lizards above him as a swirl of orange flame escaped the tip of Karceoles’s cane and tossed the two draeyks at lightning speed into a thick tree. Their piercing screams were the last sounds of their existence.
Karceoles walked up to Searon and offered his hand. The fallen warrior hesitated. Sighing deeply, Searon accepted the help and got to his feet with the old man’s aid. He looked around to see four dead draeyks, and his eye twitched when he looked at Karceoles.
“What are you?” Searon asked tilting his head.
He studied the old man and noticed his deep-brown cloak covered his tan robes with a hood. The old man’s eyes were no longer orange but a dark brown that seemed to flicker with slight hues of orange every few seconds. With his tangled-salt-and-pepper hair, he looked strange without a beard to warm his face. It was custom for most of the older men of the land to grow beards, but this man seemed to make a point of keeping it shaved.
“I am a wizard. As I have said, I am stronger than you,” Karceoles said, lowering his cane to rest upon it.
Astonishment came to Searon, as he’d only heard rumors and stories of wizards. If they’d ever existed, they were supposed to have gone extinct at the same time as the dragons. He couldn’t be sure if the old man was telling the truth or not because he had never seen a true wizard or knew what they looked like. The only thing he remembered was they wore robes and cloaks and held a staff. It was also known that their power resembled their eyes and robes. However, Searon considered how ridiculous orange robes would look upon the strange old man.
“What is that?” Searon asked, pointing to the large wooden scepter. It was the plainest weapon he’d ever seen that held so much power.
“This is called a zylek, which means channel of energy. It is customary for wizards to carry one so we can focus our power instead of using it blindly,” Karceoles smiled. “It also shows how much smarter I am than you. Now, you can make a comment about how great-looking I am, and all three things I’ve said about myself being more superior than you can fall right into place.”
“I don’t know how your mind works, old man, but no woman would find you attractive ahead of me,” Searon beamed at the old man’s confidence.
“We’ll just have to see about that,” Karceoles said, taking a step toward Searon and twirling his zylek with his strong, wrinkled hands.
“Aren’t you supposed to have orange robes? Or are the stories false that match powers with robes?”
“My robes are orange.”
Searon looked again.
“They’re old…and dirty.”
“Why do they have to be the same color?” Searon asked.
“If not, the magic that burns through me will burn through whatever clothes I wear. Therefore, wizards have learned to wear the same color, lest we wander naked.”
“Are there a lot of wizards?” Searon asked, watching the old man closely, unsure if he could trust him.
“I am the last one left of Calthoria who is worth a grain of salt,” Karceoles explained. The wizard raised his zylek, inspected it closely, and watched with concentration as it transformed from brown to orange.
“Are there more lands across the seas?” Searon asked, never having heard such tales about other continents. He was sure it was plausible, and there were some tales of people traveling to other continents, but he hardly believed those stories.
“There ought to be. How else might the kheshlars have migrated here?” Karceoles said, pulling his hair out of his glowing eyes and raising his eyes at Searon.
“There are kheshlars here? Where are they?” Searon asked. His heart raced. “I’ve only heard stories of kheshlars showing up here and there but never knew there were any here.”
Tales of kheshlars traveled across the land, but none had ever been seen, and Searon wasn’t sure it was any more than a story. His past few years had been filled with relentless traveling through human villages and cities, searching for draeyks to slay; he had never come across any kheshlars. He stroked his horse’s mane as he pondered these thoughts.
“There’s an entire section of their territory deep in the forest here in Calthoria. They have a capitol there called Sudegam,” Karceoles said.
“That is unreal,” Searon said, trying to remember the old stories of kheshlars that he heard.
“What is unreal is a foolish man trying to seek out all the draeyks of this land by himself. The draeyks of this land more than triple the numbers of humans,” Karceoles said with confidence.
“Don’t preach to me, wizard; I can handle myself,” Searon said, gritting his teeth. Talking to the old wizard had grown exhausting, and he was tired of wasting time.
“Everybody has problems with the draeyks, boy; you’re not the only one who has lost something because of them,” Karceoles said as he sighed and drooped his head to one side.
“I don’t know how you know so much about me, wizard. I live my own life. I don’t need you telling me what is stupid or not,” Searon murmured, reminiscing on his haunted past. He wondered if he was that transparent to the wizard and would have to do better guarding his emotions.
“You don’t need anyone to tell you that facing them alone is stupid, boy. You already know that. This is another reason why I am much smarter than you,” Karceoles smirked, expanding his chest to show his masculinity.
Searon clenched his eyes and held back his anger, remembering his family and how much he missed them. “Despite what you think, I will not quit hunting the draeyks.”
“I’m not asking that you do. I’m merely suggesting that you be smarter about it,” Karceoles said, holding his zylek from his body and letting it glow the brightest orange. Flashing swirls of orange magic enveloped the top of it; those swirls seemed to dance.
“And how is that?” Searon asked. He was interested in any information that would lead to the death of draeyks.
“Go to the kheshlars, and ask for their help. There is a great war coming soon, and if you humans can get the kheshlars to ally with you, you can defeat the draeyks once and for all,” Karceoles said. The swirls cascaded out from the zylek and disintegrated into the crisp air.
“From what I heard about the kheshlars, they do not ally themselves with anyone who is not kheshlarn,” Searon said, remembering the stories of old. It was often said that to ask a kheshlar for help was asking for a woman to be quiet during the birth of her son.
“You must try,” Karceoles pleaded, eyes less focused and more concerned, watery in the sunlight.
“You are mad, wizard. I must do nothing. You cannot burst into my life and make demands of me; now leave me be,” Searon said before putting his claymore back into its scabbard and turning away.
“Actually, I can, and I have. You will go to Sudegam, and you will ask for the aid of the kheshlars in the upcoming war against these reptilian creatures,” the wizard said with hardened eyes and pursed lips.
“I will not. What war?”
“A leader has risen. It is time we have one as well.”
Karceoles raised his zylek, and orange magic trickled from it that caught Searon’s plate mail on fire, burning through to his flesh. He dropped to the ground and rolled until the fire put itself out in the brush, but the hot metal still burned against his flesh.
“Fool, do you think torture is going to work on me?” Searon growled. He could always handle pain; he had already lost everything he cared about, and physical pain meant nothing to him anymore.
“Yes…Yes I do,” Karceoles smirked deceivingly.
Another swirl of orange magic flowed from his zylek and froze Searon in a block of solid orange ice. He was still conscious and stared at the wizard in disbelief, his eyes shifting but his body unmovable.
Karceoles shook his head, allowing his tangled white-and-gray hair to seemingly float in a breeze of magic. “Some fools never learn.”
Chapter 2
Shivers traveled down Searon’s partially frozen body as he stared through the orange ice that gave the world a lightened appearance. The color made the trees look a dark brown, almost black, eerie. He shivered as the cold ice encased his body. The surrounding orange clouds and deep-brown sky infused him with a lifeless feel. His face was finally free of the ice, and what he heard was far from lifeless. The sounds of animals hit him like a loose pebble tumbling from a cliff, and at first he felt overwhelmed. Life seemed to flow more there than he had ever imagined before. Each plant made a different sound and moved in a different way, as if they whispered to each other as they stared at Searon. Birds of all kinds sang in chorus with each other instead of the sonic competition that he’d grown so accustomed to. He could hear the contrast of blue jays, robins, doves, eagles, and so many others that he couldn’t name.
Searon looked to the trees surrounding him and realized that he wasn’t in the same place. His shoulder no longer pained him, and he wondered if something in the ice had healed it. No longer were there bare autumn trees with scattered colorful leaves; now he was looking at a forest of pine trees. The smell was so overwhelming and minty from the pine needles that he could taste in his mouth. He allowed the pleasant smell and taste to settle through his nostrils and mouth, soothing his mind. He recognized the white-and-red cedar trees, thick and bushy with leaves that were soft to the touch. There were also white fir trees, tall and thinned through the trunk. The needles were small, filling each branch. Red fir scattered the area, as well, and had different traits than the white fir; they were thicker and held longer needles. Most impressive, though, were the sequoias that draped the land surrounding Searon. The sequoias scraped the sky, nearly touching the clouds. Searon felt like a gnat in comparison. The trees looked older than time.
Searon struggled as he broke an arm free of the ice and fought to rip chunks off of his body. When he was free, he took a few steps forward and stumbled on the rough ground covered in pinecones. He noticed that he was alone and that the arrogant wizard was nowhere to be found. His horse was also nowhere to be seen, and besides the animals and chilled breeze, sound remained absent. He rubbed his neck, looking at the various bushes on the ground with small green leaves and red berries. His hand brushed against one plant that he’d always heard tales of but had never been so deep into the forest to see. It was a fern, one of the most beautiful plants that Searon had ever seen. The branches came out with a scattered variety of leaves that tapered off the long branches and grew shorter until reaching the end, each branch looking like a long triangle. A smile reached his face as he studied the forest surrounding him until his stomach rumbled from hunger. Behind him, hooves patted against pine needles, crushing them. He felt the hilt of his claymore and swiftly turned around.
Behind him he saw the wizard riding a large, shining brown horse, and his own white-and-black striped horse traveled alongside. The wizard held three rabbits in one hand and two ducks in the other, with a grin upon his face. He tossed the animals toward Searon, who was about to say something about being dragged to such a place, but fell silent as his stomach grumbled even louder.
“Well, don’t just stand there. Prepare a fire!” the wizard barked.
Searon hurriedly organized small branches and logs in a cube, wedging dried pine needles and bark between the legs. Carefully, he pulled out his flint and steel, making sparks to light the dried needles. His stomach barked with hunger, and he carefully tied the rabbits and ducks to branches that he spun around the fire.
“What is wrong with you, old man? You can’t just force people to go where you choose,” Searon spat.
“Of course I can. I’m a wizard. You’re just being stubborn,” Karceoles smirked.
“Who’s more stubborn, the one who doesn’t agree, or the one who drags him along anyway?” Searon grumbled staring at the orange pool of water at his feet.
“You’ll learn that I always get my way. If you weren’t going to come of your free will, then I knew I would have to pursue other avenues of convincing you,” Karceoles snickered.
“What is it going to take to get rid of you?” Searon snapped.
“Come with me to the kheshlars, and ask for their assistance,” Karceoles said, motioning forward.
“What makes you think they will join our cause?” Searon asked. The course of action the wizard wanted to take seemed useless, knowing the stories of kheshlars. Searon remembered the stories told of a selfish race that only cared for themselves and the trees.
“They won’t…but one will.”
“One? One. You froze me in a block of ice to drag me halfway across Calthoria for one bloody kheshlar!” Searon spat.
“Yes,” Karceoles paused. “Let me explain,” he sighed and pulled out a long-stem pipe that he carefully filled with tobacco. “A long time ago, a kheshlar touched the untouchable. She did what every other kheshlar was too scared to do, in an attempt to save her own mother. For the kheshlars, dark magic is forbidden, but that was precisely what she studied. Foolishly, she thought dark magic was the only way to save her mother. The problem with dark magic is it is too powerful for a single person to control, and she was consumed by it. Her sister was forced to murder her to prevent her use of the dark magic further. When they looked for her remains, they were nowhere found.
Dark magic is a powerful thing, and it very powerful. It can reverse death, but it comes with a cost. The dead walk in a shell of their former selves. That particular kheshlar, filled with dark magic, strayed away from the other kheshlars until she found the draeyk settlements. With her intelligence, she united the draeyk tribes with her as their leader. Then she launched an attack against her own kind. The only thing she had left was revenge, revenge for the kheshlars killing her. This was nearly a hundred years ago when the kheshlars defeated her. She fled, injured, never to be seen again. Her sister still lives. I have a feeling that for the kheshlars, there is still a need to know what happened to their kin that strayed away from the path of the light.”
“And this sister is the one you seek?” Searon asked.
“Ah, yes. You are smart indeed, boy. Blood is thicker than water, they say. Well, I say they are fools. Blood is thicker than molasses, and twice as sweet.
“What is her name?” Searon asked.
“Starlyn is her name. What do you think this remaining Starlyn desires more than anything?” Karceoles asked.
Searon thought for a moment before stating the obvious. “She wants to find her sister. Depending on her condition, help her come back to how she was.”
Karceoles grinned, “Yes, you do learn quickly.”
“And her sister is with the draeyks?”
“She was, years ago. I do not know where she is now, but Starlyn thinks she is, and she spends a lot of time hunting draeyks. The sister does not matter
, what matters is an alliance with the kheshlars, and if they believe she is with the draeyks that can be an advantage.”
“And if she’s not?”
Karceoles grinned from ear to ear, “We’ll improvise. Kheshlars are very protective of their lands…and all those who tread on it.”
“I can see your logic, wizard, and so I will assist you, but if this doesn’t work, I’m off on my own way,” Searon said reluctantly.
“Fair enough,” Karceoles agreed.
“So where is this kheshlar?”
Chapter 3
A slight breeze tickled Searon’s unshaven face as he quietly crawled up the hill. The reek of vinegar and spoiled eggs rotted in his nostrils and mouth, and he had to use all his energy to block out the nauseating sensation. The clattering together in the distance sounded too much like swordplay. He knew the sound too well, and this echo wasn’t practice; it was a struggle. His claymore gleamed crimson in the morning sun as he peered down the hill. At the bottom, Searon noticed a woman wearing clattering plate mail that formed a skirt above her knees, with thick plated turquoise boots and a large diamond of gold in front.
On the woman’s sides were five draeyks, all with high-held one-sided axes with large spikes on the opposite side. She defended herself well, parrying from one to the next, with a complex technique that resembled a graceful shadow-sword technique, except that she carried a hammer. With the way she fought, it seemed she was twirling a feather. It was a sight to watch her singlehandedly battle five draeyks at once. She swirled her hammer and twisted her body, sometimes spinning through the air between two axes with only millimeters to spare. Searon watched in awe as she spun in the air, twirling as her left leg collided with the jaw of a draeyk. The draeyk fell to the ground just before she used her hammer to bash its head in. As she fell, she struck another in the chest. Both fell, lifeless, before her feet touched the ground.
The Crimson Claymore Page 2
