Maverick

by Curtis, Greg

  It didn’t take long until nothing remained of the head save ashes, but that wasn’t enough for him. As he stepped over the once more lifeless body, Marjan struck it again with the sunbeam, this time charring every inch of its undead, possessed flesh, and most especially that strange insect like third arm, before setting it completely alight. Several heart beats later having reached the door and gone through it, he tossed a fireball into the room, and prayed it would kill anything that remained of the wizard and his workshop. And if it didn’t he had more, much more. The magic was raging through him as never before, powered by his fear, horror and overwhelming disgust, and he knew that more than anything else, this place needed cleansing, with fire.

  Running at pace, he and Bearabus made the far side of the cavern in far less than a minute, trampling and kicking aside any goblin extremities that tried to grab at them, and began heading up the ramp out of it, before he turned back, determined to end this thing for good. A single blast of fire streaming from his fingers, covered the two or three hundred paces between them, and then began melting the rock walls that had separated the wizard’s workroom from the rest of the cavern. Then as the walls melted, surprisingly quickly, he added some more heat, turning the ceiling above the dead, undead wizard into a dripping river of fire, a river that slowly began filling the room and then lapping over the side of the mostly molten walls.

  It was only then that he turned and began running the rest of the way up the ramp and outside into the purity of the sunlight, knowing that even if the wizard had somehow continued to survive that, he was already becoming trapped by the molten rock, in much the same way the spider queen had been so long ago. But as frightened as he had been of her, and logically he knew she had been a much more dangerous opponent, this undead wizard bothered him more. The queen could only kill him, perhaps even eat him, this darkness was about the very destruction of souls. If this creature somehow survived all that had been done to him, he would never be able to free himself. That Marjan vowed to himself even as he fled into the sunlight.

  Still it wasn’t enough. He knew that when he smelled the crisp clean air and noticed the stench still lingering on his clothes and skin, and when he saw the last of the survivors clambering off the ramp just in front of him, before scrambling down the rock face to be with the others, and he had to ask himself how many of their number were now gruesome piles of body parts inside that vile wizard’s lab.

  “Is everyone safe? No one else is inside?” He screamed it at them, slightly hysterically, knowing that he didn’t want to be responsible for anyone left inside, not when he knew this entire place had to be destroyed. It was worse than unclean, it was undead and unnatural, and it needed cleansing, and then burial. He was only too pleased when he heard a chorus of agreement coming from the elves, and knew his path was clear.

  Marjan turned back to the cavern, raised his hands above his head and quickly started building a vortex of sound, wind and force above him, a structure somewhat akin to a tornado, but far more concentrated, and with the fear and disgust and anger still raging through him, it didn’t take long until it was bursting with power. He was tired, he hadn’t slept in days and he’d been burning magic furiously for all that time, yet in the end none of that seemed to matter, all he had to do was think of the evil of that creature, think about the fate of Evensong and the strength just flowed into him.

  Soon the vortex was spinning nicely, all but invisible with its speed, screaming and spitting its fury at the world, and promising complete and total destruction of whatever it hit, which was when he finally released it, letting it fly deep into the cavern they’d just escaped.

  It left his hands, a cyclone of raging fury, racing far faster than an arrow given flight, and before he could even blink he heard it hit the far wall of the cavern, a sound not unlike that of a thousand wildcats screeching their fury at the moon. Then that thousand became ten thousand and they were joined by at least as many bison stampeding across the plains as the ground started thundering underneath his feet and the entire mountain began shaking. Inside he knew the vortex was simply scouring away at the rock surfaces all around it, knocking off every single projection and rough edge, turning them to dust, and then polishing the entire cavern smooth. Of course anything still living inside the cavern, like those hundreds of goblins still embedded in the floor, would be scraped clean, their bloody corpses added to the furious vortex, eventually to paint the walls red. And as for the enemy wizard, whatever he was, if any part of him still lived, he would be trapped inside a tomb of molten rock, sealed there forever, and that tomb in turn would be covered under untold tons of sand and rubble. He wasn’t getting out.

  That satisfied Marjan for a while, especially when after the screaming fury finally died down, clouds of dust began slowly emanating from the cavern entrance and he knew that what remained inside was less than rubble, which was when his body started telling him he had to breath and he spent the next few minutes almost doubled over gasping and dripping with sweat, all but exhausted from his effort, and his fear.

  Finally, when he was calm once again, a quick clean blast of sound at the entrance levelled a small rockslide over it, more for completeness than anything else, and he knew then, that his work was done. The hostages were free, the goblins killed, and the enemy wizard surely destroyed.

  There was only one thing left to do. Bring the survivors home and pray the Essaline was with them. It was with that thought in mind that he clambered down off the entrance ramp and began scrambling down the mountainside, past the giant headless corpses of the stone trolls, towards the waiting elves.

  In the daylight, they looked even more battered and bruised than before, their clothes were little more than dirty rags, and the tang of blood filled the air, but they were alive, and that in the end was what mattered. Three or four hundred more survivors of a disaster that had never before been even imagined possible. He allowed himself to feel a little better about that as he hurried over to them to set about helping them.

  “Marjan?”

  An elf, covered in dirt and dressed in rags called to him from among the elves and for a moment he didn’t recognise her. Plastered as they were with dust and grime, hair hanging down in long dirty clumps, the escapees all looked the same. But he knew her voice, even as he started running to her, and she started running to him.

  “Essaline!” In seconds he had her tight in his arms and was spinning her around like a marionette, overjoyed, overcome with emotion. It was unelven, it was probably rude, everyone was staring at them, and he didn’t care about any of that as he felt her once more safe in his arms. There were tears in his eyes, the tears of fear and worry that he hadn’t allowed himself to know let alone cry for all the time since he had returned to Evensong, only suddenly he knew them for the tears of relief and joy.

  “Thank the gods you’re alive!” Like a river running out of him, all the things he’d wanted to say suddenly started pouring out of his mouth as he told her of her family and her home, the children and the town, letting her know that at least they had survived. He only wished he could tell the others the same, but many, too many were dead, and many more badly wounded.

  “And praise the Goddess that you found us my love.” She didn’t object he noticed, to his cavalier treatment of her, though eventually she began pushing at his arms, wanting him to put her down, and reluctantly he obeyed her, not completely sure why. She felt so good in his arms. Essaline didn’t let go of his hands though, instead she held them in her own outstretched hands, until it looked almost as though they were dancing.

  “But then I knew you would.” She stared at him, with what he could only believe was love in her eyes, and he wanted to say something, to melt down into a ball and cry before her, to simply hold her tight again and tell her he loved her, but he could do none of those things. Even if it hadn’t been improper in their society, there was something serious in her green eyes, something he didn’t quite understand, but which he knew was important.
<
br />   “That is your nature. Is it not so High Priest Verral?” She raised her voice a little and spoke clearly so that all could hear, and Marjan suddenly noticed that a lot of elves were busy staring at him, staring very intently, and somehow he didn’t think it was because of his crude display of affection.

  “I believe you are right Priestess Essaline. His calling shines through him very clearly right now, as does her will.” An older elf started speaking, his words puncturing the stillness of the air, while all around there was only silence. But then since he was a high priest, make that the high priest for Evensong, that was only to be expected, even if he was like the others, a dirt covered statue dressed in rags.

  “And so it falls to me to name you, Marjan once of the Allyssian Forests.” The high priest stepped forwards from the others, a strange green glow emanating from his hands, but an oddly welcome one and nothing like that which had come from the undead wizards lab. He indicated that Marjan should kneel before him, and though he didn’t know why, he did so when Essaline finally let go of his hands and started indicating that he should do the same. She was smiling, and obviously happy, and he could never have refused her anything, no matter that he had no idea what was happening. It was important to her and she was happy, what else could matter?

  “In the name of the Goddess and under her guidance, I name you Marjan of Evensong, mage defender. May you always walk in her grace.” He placed his hands directly on the top of Marjan’s head and he felt a strange warmth pass through them into him, unlike anything he had ever felt before, and yet for all that it was new and strange, not unwelcome.

  Mage defender? Marjan remembered the term from long before, an elven battlemage, war spell or spell-sword, and while he wasn’t completely sure it described him, he liked it. Not because it gave him any great status among the elves, he wasn’t sure if it did, not because it was any magic rank that he knew of, but simply because it felt like coming home. He knew then, as he hadn’t known before, that he finally had a home, a place to call his own, people to serve and a land to embrace, and mostly a way to serve them. It had been a long time since he had been in that fortunate position. Besides, he liked the title too, not the mage, that was simply what he was, but the defender. As he had told Master Argus long ago, he could fight, but he had to know whom his enemies were. But now he had finally seen his enemy and more than that, he had found a reason to fight, and that was even more important.

  “Thank you High Priest Verral.” He rose to his feet guessing that the ceremony if that’s what it was, was over, and they had things to do. First among them he had to get these four hundred and some elves to somewhere where they could shelter, rest, clean themselves and take some food, not that he had any food for them yet.

  “There is a clearing with a stream running through it not half a league north of here, and as I recall it had some berry bushes, and probably fish as well. I suggest we head for it now before the sun sets and make camp for the night there. And in the morning we can head on for Evensong.”

  “A good plan Marjan. People if you could make haste and form into a column, and perhaps cut some splints and cord for stretchers, the injured will need to be carried.” Elder Felesily surprised him as she appeared out of nowhere, took over, quickly assembling the former prisoners into an army, but at least it answered one question, where she was. Of course it raised others.

  “Is Arvine with you?” He whispered it to Essaline, suddenly frightened of the answer as he remembered anew that Essaline hadn’t been taken alone, but happily he didn’t need to be.

  “Yes, she’s at the rear, helping with the injured. She will make a fine healer one day. My family?”

  “They’re well, the children too. It is only you three who were unaccounted for, and Elder Maine would have come with me except for the fact of his broken foot. He thought he might slow me down.” That wouldn’t have stopped him though, except for the fact that the healers refused to let him out of bed for at least several more days and were maintaining a watch on their most difficult of patients. They said it was something about him needing to keep his leg raised to reduce the swelling. Besides he had work to do as well, duties to perform, and so he was relegated to lying on a makeshift cot giving orders to anyone within earshot, and worrying. But not for much longer.

  This evening when the fires were lit the words would flow and he would be told. At least someone would have some welcome news.

  ****************

  Chapter Eighteen.

  The water was warm thanks to a spark from Marjan’s fingers into the little stone basin he’d made out of the rocks at the side of the river, and the soap lathered easily on the end of his brush before gliding over his face, and for the first time in ages it seemed to him, the world was coming right. He needed that, everyone did.

  A full three months had passed since the attack on Evensong, and while the worst of the destruction had been cleared away and work had begun in earnest on the new town, there was still too much pain remaining.

  More than five hundred people had been killed, and at least as many had been badly injured, and those numbers would have been far higher had it not been for the near miraculous abilities of the elven healers. Though the infirmaries were still full, they had very nearly brought the dead back to life, allowed the lame to walk and the blind to see. That was invaluable when there was already so much grief all around them, and so much work to do by people so sorely tested.

  Some days Marjan wondered how the people carried on under such burdens of pain and fear, and yet they did, doing what had to be done, even somehow putting the pain behind them. They carried on when he was stunned that they didn’t just collapse into bundles of wretchedness on the ground and weep for their suffering, and somehow they had begun slowly wresting a miracle out of their tragedy. Evensong was slowly but surely being rebuilt, and with it the people themselves were appearing to become who they had once been.

  It helped that three long months had passed without an attack, and Marjan like many others, was almost beginning to hope that the evil was over, that it had finished with them. The weather was good too. Even in the cool nights the temperature was mild and when sleeping with a natural heat source like Bearabus not too uncomfortable, until she rolled over on him and he rediscovered how heavy she was even for a cub. Still he made sure every evening to heat some stones for his nearer neighbours sleeping under canvas with him, just to make sure that everyone was comfortable, while others prepared the great heating stones first thing in the morning for the cooks to prepare breakfast. In truth Marjan could not have said he was too uncomfortable, especially now that winter was past and sooner or later he knew, he would have his old cottage back.

  Essaline still visited him every day, when she had the chance, and when she didn’t he made sure to see her, even if it was only for a few minutes. Time was precious and they were both extremely busy, but still they found a few moments together every day, and that for the moment was enough.

  The real pain of his life wasn’t in his relationship with her or her family, nor the physical discomfort of sleeping rough or having to share quarters with thousands of other elves, it was simply the sadness that was all around him. In the grief of all those who had lost loved ones to the evil. In the pain of those who still limped or held their broken arms tight. In the tears that so many silently shed as they remembered the loss of their homes, the destruction of their town. Every day, though it was not so constant as it had been at the start, he was constantly reminded of the tragedy they had already endured. Time would heal the people he knew, but time was a slow healer and the memories would endure.

  At least the children were stronger. Maybe having lived less they’d had less chance to form close bonds with those they’d lost, maybe they were too young to fully understand what had happened, maybe they could more easily forget as the horror of the past was replaced by the hope of the future, but whatever the reason these days they ran around laughing and playing, often creating nuisances of
themselves, but no one would ever tell them off. Yet in the dark of night he knew, many still wept as they tried to understand what should never have been.

  Fear though, that was what truly kept Marjan awake at nights. Fear that the enemy would return, somewhere, somewhen, somehow, and the tragedy would be repeated. He wouldn’t have been so troubled except for the fact that he like everyone else still had no idea how they’d made it across the heavily warded land in the first place. No more did anyone else, not at least that they would say.