Taerak's Void (Fantastica Book 1)

by M. R. Mathias

  "When you felt it again," Braxton began excitedly, as if a revelation lay in her observations, "The magic I mean. When you felt it again, describe to me where you felt it return from."

  "I felt it approach from the south, but high in the sky, moving like a bird might."

  "Yes, a hawk," Braxton urged her to continue. "What next?"

  "The magic I felt made a circle around the island's perimeter, and then it disappeared. After that, it was like a surge of stark color overwhelmed me for a time, and when it was gone, I could feel you back in your sleeping area."

  "Amazing," said Vinston-Fret.

  "I assure you, he never left the room," Nixy said. "I felt him beside me the whole night through."

  "I'm sure you're right, Nix," Suclair reassured her. "His body very well might have been there with you, but the magic of the amulet was not."

  "You say you felt the magic arrive from the south, not originate from where my body was."

  "Yes, from due south."

  "In the Old World, the city of Scarlee was supposed to be built into a cliff at the sea's edge, right?" He looked at them all in turn, and they nodded in affirmation. "Well, when the dream started for me that night, I was high upon a cliff overlooking the sea. I remember I was so high up I was looking down on the tops of the clouds. From there, I had to fly across the ocean to get to the island, and it makes me wonder if that cliff I started from was in the Old World."

  "That would mean that, since you approached from due south, the Old World lies due south of us," said Nixy. "But couldn't it have just been a dream cliff?"

  "It's something to think about, that's for sure," Suclair offered. "If you have a dream of the cliff again, or of being a hawk, would you please tell me?"

  "Certainly.” He nodded. "I would also like to speak to you sometime about how you and your father can travel great distances with magic."

  "There will be plenty of time to discuss many different things," Vinston-Fret interjected. "This will be a slow passage, and the ship is small."

  "At least they cleared out the goat pens," Nixy said with a wrinkled nose. "The smell was horrible before."

  "I think that might've been the dwarves you were smelling," Braxton joked.

  "Speaking of dwarves, where are they all?" Suclair looked around nervously. "I've only seen Prince Darblin and the goat jouster."

  "The rest of the dwarves were left on the island," Vinston-Fret offered. "They desire to travel without being seen by the human populace. They will wait until another charter ship can be arranged. Besides, most of them need some time to heal."

  "Why are they coming with us anyway?" Suclair's question was asked with a distasteful expression on her face. It was clear she didn't like them much.

  "Do not underestimate the dwarves young sorcerous," the elf said, his voice serious. "Prince Darblin's axe and the champion's hammer will prove useful in the Wilderkind. And if we happen to have to go into a cavern or a cave, their presence will be priceless, for the dwarves know the underground better than any."

  Braxton felt Nixy shiver beside him. "I hope we don't have to go into any caves," she said.

  Braxton thought about how all this started for him in a distant cave not so very long ago. He had longed for adventure his entire life but never in his wildest dreams did he think he would find one this magnificent, full of elves, dragons, and even thick-headed dwarves. Not to mention magical amulets and powerful gems.

  He was sure Davvy would think it all a bard's tale if he were to hear about any of it. So many of Master Finn's lessons had seemed like silly stories that couldn't really be possible. Elves and dwarves were fables from the Old World, even the gothicans, and half-gothicans like Dendle, seemed unreal. They were all just words on pages, and the likes of Debain and his daughter Suclair were made up stories made to entertain or scare children.

  Braxton had come a very long way since he'd found the medallion in the lake creature's cave. He felt Nixy pull closer to him, and he smiled inwardly as he remembered her saving him from the road bandits, and later from the mercenaries.

  "How many days to Ardis?" Suclair asked Vinston-Fret.

  "Seven days, I think. If the weather holds."

  "Couldn't you just zap yourself to Ardis as your father did?" Braxton asked.

  Suclair looked embarrassed and maybe a little ashamed. "No, I'm not that good. I cannot transport myself yet, though my father thinks I should be able to by now."

  "How did you come to Jolin then?" Braxton couldn't help but ask.

  Again, the look of shame came over her. Her cheeks and bald head mottled with red splotches as she studied the ship's wooden deck at her feet. When she spoke, her voice was quiet. "My father brought me with his magic."

  "Well, what can you do?" Braxton asked, hoping to cheer her a little bit.

  "I can move an object from far away." Her voice sounded a little defensive, before she added, "If it's not too big." Putting her hand on her hips, she cocked her head to the side, thinking. "I can make fire from air, and I can make a ball of light to guide us through the night. I can levitate myself for a short time and, sometimes, I can speak with small animals, but only if they want to speak with me. Oh, and watch this.” She closed her eyes and made frantic, but rhythmic motions with her hands while speaking words Braxton had never heard before. When she opened her eyes, and threw her arms forward, a pulse of yellow energy shot out across the water and hit with a steaming splash.

  Everyone who had witnessed the act looked at her in amazement.

  "I can do the same thing with a ball of fire as well," she said proudly, but then started rubbing her bald head. "But I can't quite make it go exactly where I want it to."

  Braxton suddenly figured out that she'd burned all the hair off her head with one of the fireball spells and said quickly, "Do not practice your fire magic while we are on the ship."

  "Definitely not on the ship," added Nixy.

  "I'm very pleased you decided to join us," Vinston-Fret said to Suclair. "You're growing ability will no doubt prove useful."

  "Especially if that wood dragon you told us about is still around," Braxton said it more as a joke than anything, but he saw his words had sparked an idea in the elf's mind.

  "What wood dragon?" Nixy asked with a sharp tug on Braxton's shirt.

  Suclair was nodding that she, too, wanted to know about this.

  Braxton and Vinston-Fret looked at each other for a moment. Braxton was glad when the elf began to recount the tale he'd told at the fire.

  The storm hit the third day out from Jolin. It came on them with unexpected quickness. One moment it was bright and sunny with a light, late summer breeze, the next it was dark and gusty with raindrops the size of fists pounding the deck. Thankfully, all the companions made it below safely, though Braxton wasn't sure if the crew was as lucky. Some of them were ordered to stay in the rigging and bring in the sails to keep the heavy winds from damaging them. The task wasn't complete when the violent storm hit and Braxton and the others were ushered below. Braxton's respect for Captain Pickerell grew immensely when he saw how he stayed on deck in the thick of it with his men until they were done with the task.

  Unlike their first voyage on the Luck of the Little, Braxton and Nixy weren't quartered in a horse stall. The goat pens had been cleaned and divided, each area split by a hanging blanket. On one side, the two dwarves had settled in and Braxton and Nixy had taken the other. On the other side of the horse stalls, the other goat pen had been divided, and the three elves split the area with Suclair. This worked out well for Suclair who was still a little frightened by the rude, squat dwarves. Where she was, with the quiet elves, she could study her magic in private. Her fear of the storm, however, outweighed her fear of the dwarves for she was on their side of the boat huddled next to Nixy, who was huddled even closer to Braxton.

  Thunder boomed high above them and shook the ship with its low rumbling reverberations. Rain drummed on the deck above them in a continuous clatter and they were fo
rced to roll from one uncomfortable position to another with the sea's massive swells. The deck leaked in a few places, and a trickle of water found its way to each of them with regularity. It was a scary, unsettling experience where everything seemed to change chaotically from one moment to the next.

  More than once, Braxton thought the ship might've rolled completely over, for he found himself looking up at the floor, or at least thought so. The boat was tossed and turned on the angry sea like a child's toy, and as thunder boomed again, so loud it hurt their ears, the three humans huddled together even closer.

  "What is that noise?" asked Suclair over the din of the rain.

  On the other side of the blanket dividing their area a rumble, rumble, rumble thump. Rumble, rumble, rumble, thump, had been going on for some time.

  More worried about the ship and the storm, both Braxton and Nixy had tuned the sound out, but since Suclair brought their attention back to it, curiosity began to eat at him.

  Rumble, rumble, rumble, thump. Rumble, rumble, rumble, thump.

  "It sounds like it coincides with the roll of the ship," said Braxton.

  "Shh," Nixy hissed. "Listen."

  Rumble, rumble, rumble, thump. Rumble, rumble, rumble, thump.

  "By the gods, what is it?" Suclair asked again. Her expression showed she wasn't really sure she wanted the answer.

  "I don't know, but I'm about to find out." Nixy pulled the blanket aside. Just as she did, the ship lurched, causing her to accidentally yank the blanket all the way down, revealing the origin of the sound.

  "Are they alive?" Suclair asked as the two dwarves went rolling away from them side by side across the plank floor with a rumble, rumble, rumble, thump.

  The thump came when they hit the wall on the far side of their area and remained there until the ship leaned the other way, sending them rolling back across the floor to hit a chest on the nearer side.

  "I believe they are just passed out," said Braxton with a disappointed shake of his head.

  "Oh, the poor things," said Nixy. She took the blanket she'd pulled down, and while the unconscious dwarves were across the space she wadded it up and put it against the chest so that when they came rolling back across the floor there was just a rumble, rumble, rumble. They were spared the thump because of the blanket. In the moment they were suspended there, she pulled Braxton's blanket off their pallet and hurriedly placed it in a similar fashion against the wall on the other side.

  "I'll never get the smell of dwarf out of my blanket now, you know," Braxton said angrily.

  "Don't be a baby," Nixy chided. "I'll wash it before we get to New Scarlee."

  "What will I do for a blanket until then?" He asked feeling a bit miffed. "We have ten days or more until we get to New Scarlee. We haven't even made it to Ardis yet."

  "We will just have to share my blanket," Nixy said matter-of-factly. "Now shut your mouth about it."

  Shut up he did. Thoughts of sharing Nixy's blanket for the next few days made Braxton forget about the storm altogether.

  Part III

  The Void

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Upon hearing from his spies in the Sorcerious that Debain was asking questions about his present endeavors, Reaton-Stav decided to relieve the kingdom of the old man's meddling. After all, that was all Debain's limited power allowed him to do. Reaton-Stav, on the other hand, had found true power. After years of praying and sacrificing to the darker gods of magic, one had finally answered his call. Pharark, the demon of destruction, had come to him in a dream and shown him how to tap into energies that would rival those wielded by the legendary wizards from the Old World.

  His fascination with the dead took a whole new turn. Pharark wanted an army that could withstand magical attack. He needed them to take control of the Sorcerious away from the Old Ones, and thus take away that advantage from King Barden. Reaton-Stav's ever growing number of undead servants was turning into just that army.

  These soldiers couldn't be scared away by tricks of the mind. They wouldn't run in fear at the first signs of unexplained magic. They would burn, yes, but they wouldn't feel it. They would fight on, impervious to all around them until they were all but ash. Their will would be fixed to Reaton-Stav's will in a single-minded purpose. They wouldn't be able to be turned into mice or sparrows, and since they were no longer alive, they wouldn't be able to be transported away. They were dead and the Old Ones at the Sorcerious had forbidden any form of magic that affected the dead. No one had ever studied the spells used to stop them. They were made up of nothing more than animated decay, and soon, Reaton-Stav would march them right through all the resistance the Old Ones could muster.

  He would take control of the Sorcerious, just as he had taken over the unsuspecting Pental Monks and taken their castle-like monastery as his first prize. He'd had all the monks killed. They served him now in death. He also renamed the secluded, easily defendable place the Necratorium, and he relished all his newfound powers.

  Now Debain was poking around, meddling. Reaton-Stav couldn't allow this. Why Debain hadn't already transported himself to Camberly was puzzling. Instead, the old man waited around the docks in Ardis of all places, after spending three days holed up in his protected chamber at the Sorcerious back in Halden. Reaton-Stav's curiosity was piqued so much that he held back his eagerly waiting assassins as he watched on through the eyes of a crow perched atop a building across the way from the dock.

  Debain was pacing to and fro, nervously. He held a small bundle as a medium-sized ship slowly made its way toward the dock. Debain kept glancing at the ship. It became clear he was waiting for it.

  This caused Reaton-Stav to think about the young boy with the magnificent medallion and his caraveneer girlfriend who had so recently foiled his attempt at getting the artifact at the docks in Stell. Apparently, they had escaped his assassin for he hadn't heard from his man again.

  Those two had sailed off to the isle of the elves, for who knew what reasons. But all these things tied in with what the old man was about, he was sure.

  Then Reaton-Stav saw the familiar words on the side of the approaching ship, Luck of the Little. He knew he had assumed correctly, for that was the name of the ship the boy had escaped on.

  The ship presented problems for his plan. Now he couldn't just kill the old man, he had to watch and wait. He would probably have to capture him in order to find out what was going on. He needed to know how much of his plans, and more importantly, his master's plans, were known. Who knew what Debain was up to? What did the elves have to do with it? The answers he would wring out of Debain however he had to.

  A sudden wash of anticipation came over him when he realized he would get to test his new power against Debain. He was no fool, though. Reaton-Stav understood how knowledgeable Debain was, and that he could transport himself away to anywhere on a whim, so the window of opportunity between observation and action would be a small one. Watching on through the eyes of the crow, from the safety of his distant Necratorium, a plan began to form in his devious mind.

  If he could pull this off, Pharark would be more than pleased. So much so he might be rewarded with more dark knowledge.

  Debain felt eyes on him. Two men watched his every move. One sat lazily under a tree at the end of the small group of waterfront shops called Seaman's Row. The other watched through the glass, from the common room of the Happy Sailor Inn. He was the more immediate threat for the Inn was not twenty paces from the end of the dock. What Debain wasn't sure of was whether they watched him or if they waited for the ship to dock. The five hundred gold pieces now being offered for Lord Braxton's medallion was quite a large sum.

  He had heard children in the area speaking of the reward. Some of them had even memorized and recited their descriptions. To keep two sets of eyes waiting for them near the dock in Ardis wasn't outside the realm of possibility, especially if Reaton-Stav had somehow come up with the gold to pay for their services. Where a fool like Reaton-Stav would have come up with any g
old at all was beyond Debain. And what by the gods was he doing with all those corpses? It was insanity.

  Debain refused to believe the rumors that his former student had acquired a large dwelling in the Little Mountains and was up to no good there. Well, he believed the failed student of magus was up to no good, but not the rest. Debain was sure that Reaton-Stav was using the cantrips and tricks he'd learned as a student at the Sorcerious to stir fear in the common folk and build an illusionary reputation of some sort, but Debain was certain the boy wasn't smart enough to have managed the use of real high magic.

  Word of the hefty reward for the medallion had been circulated heavily across the coastal cities and served as some sort of propaganda giving the common folk the impression that Reaton-Stav was more than what he was. It also served a few other purposes Debain believed were beneficial to Reaton-Stav by nothing more than sheer luck.

  Reaton-Stav was definitely not smart enough to know that the reward for the medallion would keep the mercenaries and bounty men from chasing the smaller compensation being offered for the capture of the grave robbers plaguing every area south of Antole, and now Antole itself. The larger offering also kept Reaton-Stav appearing to be the victim of the theft of a valuable family heirloom and not even remotely suspected as being involved in such a pitiful business as coffin theft.

  Debain simply had no respect for Reaton-Stav or his abilities. The grave robbing was a small problem, unimportant in the grander scheme of things. The gothicans were amassing outside of Nepram, and if they took Nepram, the kingdom would be vulnerable to southern attack, not to mention a wave of wood and rock trolls, and who knows what else about to storm out of the mountains.

  Reaton-Stav watched on from the crow's vantage as Suclair, the idiot girl who had burned all the hair from her head in a fumbled attempt at a simple fire spell, came off the ship. She was followed by some of the crew and a small, hooded person who Reaton-Stav figured had to be an elf due to his graceful gait.