Red Wizard of Atlantis

by Ravek Hunter

  Myrllin felt the wind buffet the layers of his gray robes, sending the cold air beneath its folds and causing a shiver to ripple through his body. He knew the creature was close. When he saw it, it came from below, moving fast and low over the trees, up the side of the rocky incline, and then up the tower, never losing momentum until it stopped, suspended in midair just in front of him. Myrllin was never unimpressed by the beauty of the creature and its size. A massive red claw and then another, either of which could have crushed him with little effort, came to rest on the embrasures that surrounded the landing surrounding the narrow tower. Myrllin was sure he felt the tower sway when the red-hued Dragon settled its weight upon them.

  “Why have you summoned me, Myrllin?” The red worm’s eyes squinted narrowly, and he spoke in a deep resonance that sent vibrations washing over Myrllin.

  Myrllin faced the creature, unperturbed. “I need you to take me to a village on the northern coast of Eriu.”

  “What will you ask me to do when we get there?”

  “Nothing, Dergo.” Myrllin opened his hands in a gesture of innocence. “You only need to transport me there quickly and without rest, and then you may return.”

  “Very well, wizard,” the Dragon agreed. “It will be cold at the altitude I will ascend to travel at the most favorable pace. You should ready yourself.”

  “I am ready now,” Myrllin replied. “What is your price for this journey, and how quickly can you get me there?”

  “It is a small thing to take you there, Myrllin.” The Dragon shifted, knocking a chunk of the parapet from the crenellations where he sat. “I will decide the price later. It will be reasonable.”

  Myrllin liked Dergo. He was a young Dragon of the red variety and had an extraordinary intellect. He arrived at Myrllin’s island two centuries ago seeking protection—protection from what, Myrllin did not know. He suspected the wise Dragon was far more than a simple creation of the Tuatha De that managed to liberate himself from Fomoire. Dergo reminded Myrllin of another Dragon he knew: Senjit, a Golden Dragon sired in part by a god, whose lair was on one of the fabled Isles of Gades. But tonight it was with this Dragon that his concerns lay, as Dergo could deliver him swiftly to his brother’s aide.

  “How quickly can you get me there?” Myrllin demanded impatiently. He was in a hurry and did not care how much effort would be required to take him to his destination.

  Dergo’s eyes widened for a moment at Myrllin’s tone, then relaxed again. “Two days with no stops to eat or rest, and my price will be higher.”

  “Damn your price, worm!” Myrllin snapped. “You live safe on my island with plenty to feed you. Do as I ask!”

  The great red heaved its head high into the air and growled at Myrllin’s aggressive reply, smoke trailing from its flaring nostrils, then settled itself again just as quickly. “As you wish, wizard. I sense your need is considerable, but mind your respect. I am no mere mount for your convenience.”

  Myrllin felt a little abashed at the Dragon’s mild reprimand, but he knew he deserved it. “Forgive me, Dergo. Wodanaz needs my help, and the need is great.”

  Dergo bent low in front of Myrllin. “Then ascend my scales and find steady purchase so we can be off.”

  Without hesitation, Myrllin climbed atop the massive beast and cast shields upon himself against the cold and the agitation of the headwind. “I am set, Dergo. Let’s be off,” he commanded, and Dergo, the Red Dragon of Hy-Brasil, took to the skies with a few beats of his leathery wings and soared upward into the starry night.

  ~~~

  For two days and two nights, Myrllin flew atop the mighty Red Dragon. Across the Primal Sea in the north they soared. The few ships he spied below appeared small and surreal, like children’s toys traveling one way or another for trade or plunder. With few prompts, he kept the Red Dragon on course and in line with the direction he knew Wodanaz would be waiting. Then on the morning of the third day, they passed over the coast of Eriu, north of the city of DunOinos. Myrllin deliberately chose a route that skirted human habitations so as not to cause a panic and continued over the forests and vast swaths of grassy plains where the enormous mammoths grazed before approaching the lower peaks of the Vuro-Menjo, the most northern mountain range in the Western Kingdoms.

  Protected by his shields, Myrllin couldn’t feel the blistering cold, especially frigid at the altitude that they flew, and he worried momentarily for the well-being of his winged host. From all appearances, Dergo remained unaffected by the weather, his scales warm to the touch where Myrllin sat, and they flew on. The mountain range was narrow where they crossed, and soon vast forests of spruce and pine came into view through the low-level clouds below.

  By midafternoon Myrllin could see the coastline where Eriu met the Sea of Dragons in the north, and he instructed Dergo to begin his descent. There was a village on the shore, but that was not their destination. Instead, the red-hued Dragon spiraled slowly down to an extensive clearing in the forest about a league away. Whatever Wodanaz was involved with, he didn’t want to risk exacerbating the situation by frightening the villagers with the sight of a Dragon. Living just across the sea from Fomoire, where Giants and Trolls and all manner of beasts that had been exiled by the Tuatha De were settled, the humans no doubt had their fair share of troubles already. It was said that the northern marches of Eriu and Lyonesse were the most dangerous tracts of land on the planet to survive, and they captured the imagination of adventurers from all parts. They flocked there to prove their heroics . . . and most often only demonstrated how well they died there.

  Slowly, stiffly, Myrllin climbed down from Dergo’s back and fell the last few feet, nearly tumbling over with how weak and numb his legs had become.

  “Do you want me to wait for you here?” the Dragon rumbled.

  “No.” Myrllin stretched his weary limbs. “Once I find my brother, we will stay together for a while.”

  “As you wish, wizard. I think I will hunt one of those mammoths we passed a few leagues back. Rabbits grow tiresome after a while, and I am voracious.”

  “Do not stay long in the Kingdoms, Dergo, even this far north,” Myrllin warned. “I cannot protect you here.”

  Myrllin wasn’t sure, but he could swear he saw a look of indignation on the Dragon’s face. “I can take care of myself,” he growled. He barely gave Myrllin a chance to retreat to the protection of the trees to avoid the undercurrent from his wings before he took off in a steep ascent into the gloomy, cloud-laden sky above.

  “You’d better,” Myrllin grumbled before he turned toward the forest. He was a league away from the village and on foot; he reckoned it would be nightfall by the time he reached it.

  After an hour of walking through the thickly wooded forest, Myrllin realized that he must be angling away from where he guessed the village was located. It was an unexpected detour, but it really didn’t matter. He was going to his brother whether he was in a village, a cave, or up a tree. None of which would surprise him. Although Wodanaz had a wonderful charisma, he also had a penchant for getting himself into tight spots. He enjoyed engaging with the ordinary folk and manipulating their direction or becoming involved in their causes. Humans were a chaotic race at the core of it, and Myrllin wondered how they ever managed to scratch out a civilized existence. Something more than magic was guiding their fate, he reckoned.

  Any other time Myrllin would have enjoyed a walk through a wood such as the one he traveled now. It was teeming with a fantastic population of wildlife that he was rarely fortunate to observe: the long-haired elk, a spotted snow leopard, and the illusive woolly rhinoceros along the fringes were among the rarest sightings. None of them hindered his way, at least not in the waning daylight, and he wondered what terrible creatures skulked these woods in the darkness at night. He didn’t plan to meet any of them, as he expected to exit the forest well before darkness found him.

  At least he hoped so.

  The ground Myrllin walked over was flat and clear of brush, with the trees sp
aced far enough apart so that they did not delay his trespass through the wood. It was not long before the forest thinned and ended altogether at the edge of a broad, grassy plain. The wind was strong from the north here, bringing the smell of salt air that touched his tongue while the last rays of the sun bent beneath the western horizon. In the distance ahead, he could see the flicker of light, perhaps from a campfire, which seemed to blink at regular intervals as if it were being eclipsed every few seconds by someone moving in front of it.

  That was where he would find Wodanaz.

  Quickening his pace, Myrllin cast a spell of night vision and was careful to avoid the ruts and gullies that littered the soggy terrain. He still maintained his shield against the cold. Even though it was summer, this far north almost felt like winter, especially at night. Had it been winter, the ground in this place would have been frozen and covered with at least a foot of snow. He was glad it was not winter yet.

  The campfire was less than a league away, and he was impressed by the maker’s ability to keep it lit in the stiff breeze. Then he thought he heard something strange, a tune perhaps, carried on the wind from the direction of the solitary light. From the little he had caught, it sounded like a lively melody that one might expect to hear in a tavern with the aim to inspire drink and merriment.

  Myrllin’s anger flared. If Wodanaz had brought him here on the pretense of trouble and it turned out to be another one of his drunken binges, Myrllin swore he might turn him into a goat for a week. He calmed himself with the assurance that his brother, as much of a befuddled drunk as he might be at times, would never be that irresponsible.

  With a start, he became aware of a pair of large luminescent eyes close to the ground about thirty paces ahead of his path and to the right. The eyes glowed not because they reflected the glow of the firelight—that was too far away—and not because of any illumination Myrllin carried, because he had none. The eyes were luminescent because the light came from within the creature that waited and watched, and only a creature of magic cast a glow from within.

  Had it been a beast of nature, Myrllin would have continued on and evaded it or sent it running in fear with a harmless bolt of flame, but this thing could not be avoided or frightened away, so he stopped. His abrupt action as much as trumpeted to the creature that it was spotted, and it rose reluctantly from its crouch. By the blackest of black silhouette that contrasted against the darkness behind it, Myrllin could see that it was an immense creature at least five times his size that stood on two massive legs thick with knotted muscle. At that distance, his night vision could not resolve any detail, yet when it slowly approached closer, Myrllin was able to determine that he was about to encounter a nightmare. It stopped only a few paces away and regarded him with an expression of curiosity. It had not charged, which Myrllin might have expected from the stories he knew about the atrocity that stood before him.

  They stood staring at each other for a long moment, neither moving nor speaking, and Myrllin thought with some humor that it was like two great alpha male long-haired elk sizing each other up before the sudden violence of their enormous multipronged horns crashing against each other in their struggle for dominance. The monster could easily reach him if it chose to, and Myrllin, not knowing what to expect, was ready for that. It’s knobby, muscular arms were long and nearly touched the ground next to its almost hairless body that could only be described as barrel-chested—if barrels were ever built that large. Topping its sharp, angular head, there was a bit of spiky hair—Myrllin couldn’t tell what color in the dark—and it had protruding brows and a long, pointed nose.

  It licked its narrow lips, and Myrllin could see a flash of long, dagger-like teeth within its wide mouth. Then, to his greatest surprise, it spoke, “What are you?” The words came out sharp and jagged in a baritone that to anyone else might have been spectacularly terrifying.

  “The what is not important.” Myrllin showed no fear in his reply. “It is the who that you address, and my name is Myrllin.”

  “Mer-lin . . . Why do you not run in fear of me, Mer-lin? Do you not know what I am?” The creature straightened its spine from its natural bent and stood imposing over him.

  “Very impressive, I must say.” He really was impressed. “And yes, I know your kind. Although I have learned only tonight that the Tower of Tongues benefits you as well. Because of that alone, I am glad of our meeting.”

  “You know my kind?” The beast hunched again and thrust its head forward and close to Myrllin’s own. “Then you should be running in fear before I tear your limbs from your body and feast on your tender innards!”

  Myrllin laughed in the grotesque face only inches away. “You already know I am not without defenses, or you would have attempted what you boast.”

  The creature snorted and pulled away, still close enough to strike at him if it chose. “Are you going there?” It gestured to where the campfire burned brightly.

  “I am,” Myrllin admitted. “What do you know of it?”

  The creature pounded the ground with a massive fist. “A madman has enthralled my brothers, and I cannot free them, lest I am caught in his snare as well.”

  “I see,” Myrllin shrugged. “Well, you are from Fomoire and are forbidden by the Tuatha De to leave its shores, yet here you are. It sounds like your brothers will not end well.”

  The beast straightened again and pounded both fists this time. “We are hungry! And the animals that the humans tend are easy to kill. The humans themselves are also good to eat, if mostly less satisfying.”

  “That ‘madman’ you refer to is likely my brother, who is a traveling minstrel, and he has a particular soft spot for humans.” Myrllin leaned casually on his staff. “Perhaps we can arrange a bargain?”

  “What bargain, Mer-lin, which will prevent me from eating you?”

  “You assume much, Troll,” Myrllin glared back. “But let’s consider for a moment that perhaps I can help you.”

  “Speak plainly!” the Troll bellowed.

  Not reacting, even in the slightest, Myrllin continued, “I will promise not to kill you and your brothers, and in exchange, you return to Fomoire and never return.”

  The Troll nodded his acceptance. “If you lie, Mer-lin I will hunt you down and make you watch while I devour your parts.”

  “Fair enough!” Myrllin exclaimed. “Now stay here. I will return in a while.”

  ~~~

  Myrllin contemplated the scene in the “camp” that he came upon an hour earlier. Thirty-eight Trolls, he was precise about the number because he counted them many times over, were dancing in a wide circle around a slightly elevated hill. To complete the vision of madness, on that hill Wodanaz stood near a small fire with two shivering and exhausted humans lying at his feet. Wodanaz was aware Myrllin was there, as were the humans and the Trolls. Yet not a thing had changed since his arrival.

  Myrllin watched the flows of magic to interpret the purpose of the drama that played out before him. His brother was playing a fast-paced tune on a flute made of gold that had the magical effect of causing the Trolls to dance, a strange limping-hopping sort of thing, in a circle around where Wodanaz played. From what he could gather from the humans and the intermittent, truncated fragments of thought from Wodanaz, who desperately tried not to disrupt the melody, was that they had all been there for several days. So long that the Trolls had danced a trench waist deep into the soft earth. Wodanaz apparently had captured the Trolls with his enchanted music when they attacked the village, then brought them out to this remote location, away from the settlement. Unfortunately, the innkeeper and his wife from the inn where Wodanaz had been playing were caught inside the ring of Trolls from the start and unable to escape. There had been one other with them at the time, a scullery maid from the kitchens, but she was torn to pieces from the start when, in a panic, she tried to escape the ring.

  The hours ticked by while Myrllin considered what he could do to save them. If Wodanaz stopped playing, even for a few seconds, the beg
uiling spell would be broken, and the Trolls would be upon them all. Although he was confident that they could kill roughly half of them right away, the other half would surely finish them. And he couldn’t strike them down one at a time either. If he did so, then that too would break the spell, and the creatures would be free. As best he could figure it, he only had a few choices left, and none of them were good for the people stranded in the ring.

  There wasn’t much time. Myrllin knew that as strong as Wodanaz was, he would fail from exhaustion sooner than some of the Trolls, and it would be a risky bet that Myrllin could kill the ones left standing before one got to his brother. He considered several other options, weighing their risks in his head, and finally settled on one he thought was the best choice.

  Wodanaz! Myrllin called with his mind. His brother looked up slowly from the sitting position he had assumed when unable to remain standing any longer. He looked bleary-eyed and on the edge of fainting. The effort of weaving the magic into the music over such a long time had taken its toll.

  Myrllin just needed him to hold on a few moments longer. I am going to cast an area spell that should encompass all of the Trolls and stop them where they stand forever! Just before I do, I will surround you and the two humans with a shield to protect you from its effects. Take care to stay in the shield!

  Wodanaz stood up on unsteady legs, and Myrllin issued instructions for the innkeeper and his wife to clear the fire and take positions, one on each side of his unstable brother. Then they were all leaning on one another for support waiting for him to commence with the miracle that would free them. The Trolls reacted with fits and snarls while they danced, knowing that something was happening that would not favor their survival, even if they did not know what.

  Myrllin had to time the spells just right. The first spell would protect Wodanaz and the humans, breaking the spell restraining the Trolls in the process, and the second would cover all of the beasts immediately thereafter.