EverMage - The Complete Series: A Fantasy Novel

by Trip Ellington

  And so you’d practice simple magics, but leave the grand wizardry to others. Others whom you will avoid at all costs. So you’ll live among the normal people. I suppose you’ll keep all your magicking a secret?

  “I won’t do anything dangerous, that’s for sure,” grumbled Mithris. He felt cool air up ahead, and dared to hope this awful squeeze was nearly over. “And, yeah, I’ll keep it quiet. That way no one tries to murder me.”

  Why do you think wizards live in fortified towers?

  “To show off,” Mithris replied without hesitation. “To impress one another with how powerful and grand they are.”

  Wizards like Ileera, perhaps. Even Nethrin, perched atop his waterfall. But does that really sound like Deinre? Was he so petty, that he needed all the world to see how high his tower reached?

  “No,” admitted Mithris. “I don’t suppose he was. But, as you’ve pointed out more than once, I barely knew Master Deinre.”

  I never said that. I only reminded you that your knowledge was incomplete.

  “Yeah, well.” Mithris shook his head. The tunnel did widen out just ahead. Wiping sweat from his brow, he pulled himself forward and soon he was free of the constricting rocks. Why, the tunnel was nearly large enough for him to stand up in! It felt like an enormous, empty room after the tight confinement he had just passed through. “I hope there’s another way out of here.”

  I’m sure there is, said Vapor. Wizards never build their towers with only one escape route.

  Mithris blinked at that. “We’re in a wizard’s tower?” he demanded angrily. But, as he said the words, he realized they were true. They were in the mountain itself, but this was the lair of a wizard. A very protective wizard, judging from the difficult way in and the erbear left to guard the entrance.

  Mithris quickly followed the cool air back to its source. A fissure in one wall of the tunnel opened out onto a narrow ledge. Holding to either side of the crack, Mithris leaned through and found himself overlooking a lush grotto.

  The cavern was enormous, its more distant reaches hidden in shadow. Before Mithris, and below him, a verdant jungle spread. Ferns and palm trees swayed in a cool breeze. A meandering stream burbled its way among them before emptying into a broad moat surrounding a stout fortress with high, thick walls that looked like thick glass or crystal. Above this grotto, high above Mithris’ own perch but still within the cave, hung a burning globe of fire that gave heat and warmth and life to the jungle below.

  “Okay,” said Mithris, taking in the massive grotto hidden in the bowels of the mountain. He found himself wondering if that magically artificial “sun” burned all the time, or if the wizard re-cast it each “morning.” He shook his head. Whoever lived here must be mad.

  “Okay,” he said again. “This wizard obviously built his tower because he wants to be left alone.”

  That’s likely, agreed Vapor. But you still haven’t answered my question. Why do you think wizards build their towers?

  “Isn’t there something else we should be doing right now?” Mithris asked, gesturing toward the fortress below. “Like figuring out how to get down there, find the crystal, and get back out of here?”

  It’s important, Mithris.

  “Safety.” He said the first word that came to mind, but even as he spoke the word Mithris knew he’d gotten it right. “They build towers for safety. Some of them to keep others out, like this poor mad fool. Others to keep their experiments from getting out, I suppose.”

  He thought for a moment. “I’ll have to have some kind of tower, won’t I? Otherwise, something bad will happen.”

  How long will you keep your tower, I wonder, if all you do is dabble in wards and cooking spells?

  “Okay! You’ve made your point.” Mithris shook his head. “Can we please just focus on what we came here for?”

  Of course. What are you doing standing around on this ledge, anyway?

  Mithris bit off an angry reply. Casting his eyes down around his feet, he spotted the treacherous trail leading down from his ledge to the thick jungle below. He made his careful way down into the grotto. The trail leveled out and followed the course of the stream. Mushrooms grew thick in the underbrush, their broad tops glimmering with an eerie, violet luminescence.

  Soon, Mithris was pushing aside two gigantic fronds and stepping out at the edge of the moat itself. Twenty paces across the torpid water, a drawbridge was shut firmly up in the crystalline wall of the castle. The iron-banded wood of the drawbridge looked strange, fitted snugly into the glittering diamond wall.

  Mithris was just trying to figure out how to get the wizard’s attention when a thunderous voice boomed all around him:

  “WHO TRESPASSES THE ENCHANTED GROTTO? WHO IS IT THAT DARES APPROACH ZERTO’S KEEP?”

  Startled, Mithris took a step back in alarm and readied his wand to defend himself.

  Chapter 29

  Three paces to Mithris’ right, the air shimmered as if from a heat haze. The shimmering mirage resolved itself into the figure of a man. He was impossibly old and wizened, stooped of shoulder and emaciated. Mithris was startled. This wizard—Zerto, was it—must be two thousand years old at least!

  “Well?” demanded the gnarled and shrunken old man. “Who is it that disturbs me, eh? Who are you?”

  No I don’t think so, said Vapor.

  “What?” Mithris was confused.

  “I said, who are you?” repeated the old wizard. He leaned on a walking stick taller than he was. It was of dark-stained wood, and as gnarled as the old man who held it. He hobbled forward then lifted the stick like a heavy speak—too heavy for him to lift very far—and jabbed it weakly at Mithris. “Answer me!”

  Yes, I saw it too.

  Mithris realized Vapor must be speaking to Depths. He wished they wouldn’t do that, not when he could only hear one side of the conversation. The foundation crystals always seemed to choose the worst times to distract him, as well.

  “My name is Mithris,” he told the wizard. “You must be Zerto.”

  Zerto’s eyes narrowed beneath bushy white brows. He opened his mouth in a hissing sneer. Four teeth hung lopsided in his mouth. Mithris had never imagined a person so old.

  “What do you know of Zerto?” demanded the suspicious little man. “Hah? Tell me now, or I’ll blast you to cinders!”

  Mithris threw up his hands, empty palms open toward the paranoid wizard. He tried his best, most reassuring smile.

  Yes, you’re probably right. But where?

  Mithris shook his head, wishing he could tell Vapor to shut up. But this Zerto was on edge enough as it was. He didn’t want to go talking to himself and setting the old man off. Why was he always getting himself into these situations?

  “I…I’d heard tales, of this marvelous tower.” Mithris turned slightly at the waist, lifting both hands higher to gesture toward the crystalline fortress. “The fame of your…enchanted grotto has spread far, Master Zerto. I only wanted to see its majesty for myself.”

  Zerto peered at him suspiciously for a long moment. Mithris held his smile in place. Flattery, he thought. That was the way to win over wizards.

  You shouldn’t have said that, Mithris. Vapor sounded worried. This Zerto didn’t build his tower in such an inaccessible place just to have people talk about it. He wants to stay hidden.

  But the foundation crystal’s suspicion seemed unjustified. Zerto’s crinkled face softened, and the old man broke out in a prideful grin.

  “Have you now? Did you now?” The old man cackled in mad delight. “Well, then.” He waved one hand airily, and the wooden drawbridge opened up. It dropped rapidly, but came to rest on the moat’s edge gently. The bridge lay just between Mithris and the other wizard.

  “You must see inside, then,” said Zerto, his rheumy eyes twinkling. Mithris realized he had made a terrible mistake.

  ***

  Zerto led Mithris through a curving passageway built of the same translucent crystal as the outer walls. Shimmering lights danced behi
nd the crystal, like blue-tinted fires glimpsed through sheets of ice. The light refracted and reflected from every surface. Mithris almost felt as if he were under water.

  “I built it, you know,” said Zerto in the muttering voice of one well-accustomed to isolation. How many years, how many centuries, had passed since this wizened little man spoke to any but himself? “Took many decades and much skill.”

  Zerto ran his hands over his tattered, heavily stained robe. It had been a fine raiment once, cut from luxuriant cloth and delicately sewn. Magnificent a garment as it must have once been, Mithris thought the filthy robe was half a century late for consignment to a dish rag.

  “It’s truly wonderful,” he said aloud. Zerto twisted his neck around so he could peer over his shoulder, and Mithris hurriedly cast his eyes upward to the play of light on the ceiling. He whistled appreciatively. “I especially like the lights.”

  “Hmmm,” said Zerto. His upper lip rippled with a blown exhalation that sounded like flatulence. The strange little wizard continued down the hall, his too-long walking staff slapping regularly against the crystalline floor.

  This one’s witless, said Vapor. Mithris kept his agreement to himself.

  The curving corridor ended abruptly, opening out into an enormous room. Zerto took a few steps past the end of the hall, then spun in place. Stretching out his arms, he indicated the cavernous chamber. It, too, was constructed of crystal. But here, the lights playing behind the walls came in a tumult of varying shades. There were reds and pinks, magentas and violets, a sultry orange flickering in contrast to blue-green shimmerings. Waves of light splashed across the ceiling high overhead, melting against one another and mixing their hues to produce new bursts of vibrant color.

  Mithris drew up short, wide eyes slowly taking in the grand chamber. He did not have to feign amazement.

  “This,” proclaimed Zerto in his crackling, reedy voice, “is my Arcanium, where I perform my greatest feats of magic.”

  Mithris looked down from the breathtaking ceiling and took in the rest of the room. The chamber was five-sided. The walls met at odd and mismatched angles in the corners. He and Zerto stood opposite the longest wall. In the center of that wall stood a tall dais which bore an altar shaded by a massive arch of solid gold. Candles of red and black wax alternated along the length of the altar; their wicks burned green.

  Beneath this altar, set out from the wall several paces, sat a long, wide table cluttered with spellbooks and magical implements, crystal flasks and miniature cauldrons, jars stuffed with dried herbs or filled with arcane liquids that bubbled.

  The rest of the cathedral-sized Arcanium was given over to free-standing braziers. These stood about as tall as Mithris’ chest. Their wide, shallow bowls were filled to the brim with simmering hot coals sprinkled with fragrant spices that sizzled and sent pungent smoke wafting up into the air.

  This was the Arcanium of Zerto. It was truly an impressive sight, all the more so for the almost comical contrast presented by the proudly smiling little wizard who stood before Mithris. Zerto must have been an impressive wizard at one time; the shriveled gnome standing here now was pathetic and mad.

  “How did you do it?” Mithris asked in wonder.

  “As I said, long years and dedication. Skill and craftsmanship, mm-hmm.” Zerto nodded to himself. He spun suddenly in place. “My Arcanium alone took fourteen years, even with the help of…”

  The ancient wizard broke off suddenly. He ceased his mad spinning, and one hand darted into a fold in his robes. Bony, arthritic fingers seized around a large pouch hanging from a leather cord about Zerto’s throat. Touching the leather pouch calmed him. He stroked it lovingly, and watched Mithris through eyes narrowed in suspicion.

  “Tell me, boy,” he said, releasing the pouch and shoving it back beneath his robe. He shuffled quickly over and stood right in front of Mithris, looking up at him from beneath those bushy white brows. “Who sent you?”

  Oh bother, said Vapor.

  “What? I don’t understand.” Mithris was afraid he did understand. He swallowed a nervous lump in his throat. “Why, no one sent me here. I had only heard…”

  “You heard nothing of Zerto’s Keep! Nothing!” The old man’s crinkled face flushed purple with fury. He pounded his staff furiously against the floor. Flecks of spit flew from his lips as he raged. “A secret, that’s what my Grotto is! No, you were sent by one of them!”

  Zerto waved his hand and barked an esoteric command. There were five doors leading out of this room, Mithris noticed as the doors all slammed shut in unison.

  Chapter 30

  “Now wait a minute…” Mithris held up his empty hands in front of him, taking a step back from the furious little gnome confronting him. “I told you, Master Zerto. No one sent me!”

  The wizard opened his mouth to scream another accusation, but held back. Peering at Mithris with unbridled suspicion, the wizened old man scratched his chin in thought. “Not from one of them, you say? Bah. Too young you are. Tell me, boy, who is your master?”

  Mithris swallowed again, and licked his lips. He did not lower his hands. “My master was Deinre,” he told Zerto. “But he was slain, near to nine months back, by another wizard called Eaganar.”

  “Deinre. Eaganar.” Zerto barked the names, then shook his head. “I know them not. But this Eaganar slew your master, did you say?”

  “That’s right. Killed him and moved right into his tower. I had to flee. I’ve been on my own ever since. You’ve got to believe me, Master Zerto. Nobody sent me. If a wizard tried to send me somewhere, I’d wait until I was out of sight then run straight the other way.”

  Zerto considered this, rubbing his chin. Mithris held his breath. It was eerily quiet in Zerto’s Arcanium. Vapor was being uncharacteristically quiet. Mithris hated when the foundation crystal did that. It usually meant something awful was about to happen to him.

  “You can’t trust any of them,” the old man said, sounding tired beyond reckoning. “Not a single one. Wizards! Bah! They plot and scheme and weave their foul webs. Bah! Wizards!” He threw up his hands in exasperation. Zerto shook his head, and then his eyes fell on Mithris again. He reacted as though he’d forgotten the young man was there.

  “Well.” Zerto jabbed a finger at Mithris. “You know the truth of it, don’t you? Yes, I can see you do. Wizards! Best stay away from that ilk. Nothing but trouble. They’ll take what’s yours, mark me on it. Every time. Bah. Enough of wizards.”

  Zerto turned his back on Mithris. Raising his staff, he spoke two words. The door in the nearest wall to his right opened outward. Zerto started toward it.

  “Come, lad. Let us step outside for a moment. There is something I would have you see.”

  Mithris blinked. Outside? They were surely sixty paces or more beneath the earth. With a shrug, he followed the stooped wizard. Beyond the open doorway was a crystalline balcony. It extended from the outer wall of Zerto’s tower, overlooking the enchanted grotto.

  Zerto stood waiting for him in the center of the balcony. As Mithris joined him, the wizard gestured outward with his staff. Mithris looked out over the palms and the ferns and the mushrooms and the burbling stream. It was quite a view, he had to admit, though the wizard’s substitute “sun” would never fool anyone. He wondered how long it had been since Zerto actually went outside.

  “I’ve always known they would come for me,” said the mad old wizard. “It’s only a matter of time. But you will see I am well protected here.”

  Zerto took hold of his staff in both hands. Standing unsupported, with his feet planted far apart, the little man swayed off balance but managed not to fall. He lifted the long staff before him, closed his eyes, and spoke an incantation.

  The sound of churning water erupted below. Curious, Mithris stepped forward to the fluted railing which circled the platform of the balcony. Leaning cautiously forward, he looked down.

  The moat he had seen earlier wound its way all around the crystalline fortress. It was fully
twenty paces across even at its narrowest point. Now, the turbid water in the moat was frothed by a magical current. As Mithris watched, the churning water lifted itself beyond the bed of the moat and formed a towering waterspout. The surging water wavered and danced but the fluid tower did not collapse.

  “Look to the drawbridge,” cried Zerto, then spoke another magical word.

  Mithris looked. The wooden drawbridge, he saw, had been left down. The massive water spout rushed toward it, then fell apart upon reaching the bridge. A million gallons of water crashed into the bridge. Anyone standing upon it would have been swept away and surely drowned, if not crushed to death outright.

  Zerto cackled with delight.

  “See,” shouted the mad old wizard. “See how I am prepared for them?” He howled another cantrip, and rumbling sounded overhead.

  Leaping back from the rail, Mithris looked up. For the first time he noted the humongous shards of yellow crystal, topaz perhaps, suspended from the cavern roof like stalactites. Each shard must be a dozen paces long and weighing a ton or more. Their down-facing edges were sharp. The topaz crystals shook and rattled and broke free of the ceiling.

  These crystalline missiles fell gradually and then hung still in mid-air a dozen paces above the balcony. Zerto, still gripping his staff in both hands, waved the this way and that. Wherever the wizard pointed, the topaz shards flung themselves with uncanny speed. They became sharply whistling golden blurs in the air that struck their targets with terrific force.

  Mithris watched, astonished, as one of the shards struck a tall, thick-boled palm tree. It sheared the wood like a massive axe. Thin, razor-sharp splinters exploded through the air. The undamaged shard of topaz changed direction in mid-flight, darting back up toward the distant ceiling as its fellows smashed boulders apart of ripped trees asunder before they too returned to their customary place above.