The Warlock Senator (Book 2)

by Sam Ferguson

  Lady Dimwater nodded. “Of course, it has bothered Erik terribly. He has been racking his brain trying to figure out how his father could turn evil and need to be killed, or if there is possibly another son that the prophecy speaks of. It is hard for him to even imagine a situation where he might slay his own father.”

  “I wonder if anyone thought about the possibility that Erik might slay his own father because Erik is the one who turns to the dark side.” His finger tapped the prophecy describing the false champion.

  “The books of prophecy are difficult to decipher,” Lady Dimwater stated.

  “That they are,” Marlin agreed with a nod. “I still have much research to do to uncover the truth behind these words, but until then perhaps we should endeavor harder to wake Master Lepkin before we pull the boy from his coma.”

  “If Erik turns…” Lady Dimwater closed her eyes and sucked on her lower lip. “May the gods be merciful.”

  *****

  Al pulled up the reins and slowed his horse. He swung his right leg over to his left and slid off the horse. He untied his pack from behind the saddle and pulled out his small pot. He could hear the babbling brook just beyond the ferns, and his throat was in dire need of wetting.

  He walked to the water and took a few quick gulps of the cool, crystalline water. Then he filled his pot halfway. He set the pot down on a flat rock and walked along the brook gathering mushrooms. When he had enough he cleaned the dirt off and rinsed them in the water before dumping them into the pot. Next he pulled a pair of fishing lines from his pack and went to work tying hooks every eight inches. Then he foraged for grubs, grasshoppers, and worms to bait the hooks on one of the lines.

  After the fishing lines were ready, he attached one end of the baited line to an exposed tree root and threw the line into the water. After watching it unravel in the current and begin to sink, he dunked the other line into the stream, pulled it out and tied a rock to each end. He set the second line on a flat stone nearby and quickly went to work gathering wood and built a fire. He nestled the pot of mushrooms and water in the flames and erected a spit off to the side for later use.

  Al rummaged through his bag and found a clove of garlic. He wrapped it in a small cloth and then mashed it between a pair of rocks. He took the mushed garlic and sprinkled the moist pieces into the mushroom soup.

  Next, he put up a crude tent. He laid his blanket over a low hanging branch and pinned the sides in place with a couple of metal tacks.

  The squirrels overhead stopped chattering. Al paused for a moment and listened. Hearing nothing, he tossed his pack into the tent and set his axe against a nearby tree trunk.

  *****

  “Don’t muck this up, Blacktongue,” Deglain said. He glanced over to the man next to him. The Blacktongue’s shaved head was streaked with black, angular tattoos that accentuated the hard lines drawn in his face by his prominent cheekbones and pointed chin. The assassin’s irises were as black as the ink in his skin. His slender, sinewy arms reached over his head to draw a wickedly curved black sword. The Blacktongue slipped away without a word, barely disturbing the nearby bushes as he moved.

  “Blacktongues,” Deglain grumbled under his breath. He turned his attention back to the dwarf making camp. Deglain slowly raised his bow and arched his arm over his shoulder to retrieve a pair of arrows. Deglain slid a foot forward to position himself. He froze when he saw the dwarf pause. Deglain held his breath until the dwarf set his axe down and crawled into the tent.

  Deglain readied his arrow and looked to his left. He scanned the bushes, searching for the Blacktongue. As his eyes studies the shadows, trees, and bushes a chill ran up Deglain’s spine. The assassin had vanished entirely from his sight.

  He waited for two more minutes and then took aim with the first arrow. A slight lump bulged out from the side of the tent. Deglain lined up his shot and let it fly. The arrow exploded from the bushes, scattering a pair of finches and sinking deep into its target. Deglain heard a pained groan from the tent and smiled. As he fired his second arrow it only narrowly outpaced the Blacktongue assassin who emerged from the trees like a ghost from the shadows.

  The assassin sprinted in and delivered a devastating chop. The tent was rent asunder by the swift slices and strikes. Bread, leather, and wood were strewn about, but Deglain saw no blood.

  The Blacktongue ceased his savage attack and reach down, picking up a saddle bag and turning to hold it up for Deglain to see. Two arrows protruded from its side.

  Deglain stepped through the bushes. “Where is he?” he shouted.

  The assassin shrugged and prodded the tent with his sword. The blade sunk deep and easily below ground level.

  “I told you not to muck this up!”

  “I did not fire the first arrow,” the man hissed. He flicked his sword to the side and removed the tent from its place. “There is a hole here in the ground,” he said.

  Deglain stopped next to the fire and kicked the dirt. Brown clumps of soil and grit sprayed over the campsite. “Find him you useless…” he stopped mid-sentence and pointed. A dwarf came running up from the stream.

  “Here I am!” the dwarf shouted. A hammer flew from his hand and thunked into the Blacktongue’s chest. The skinny assassin flew backward through the air, limbs flailing about until he crumpled to the ground.

  Deglain reached for another arrow. The dwarf was spinning something over his head. Deglain set his arrow to the bow, but the dwarf was faster.

  A wet cord wrapped around him clumsily, grappling onto him with blinding speed. Deglain stumbled back as a pair of stones slammed into his spine. Deglain moved his arms to shrug the cord off but stopped abruptly as hooks clawed into his skin. Deglain recoiled and jerked against the pain before slamming to the dirt. He writhed around grunting and snorting.

  “Stop fighting it,” the dwarf said

  “You are marked for death,” Deglain growled. “I will not be the last.”

  The dwarf nodded and disappeared back down behind the hillock. He returned a moment later with a line of freshly cleaned fish. Deglain craned his neck around to look at his companion.

  “No,” the dwarf said. “The Blacktongue won’t be getting up again.” The dwarf stood next to a spit and began shoving it through the fishes’ gills. “We need to talk,” the dwarf said.

  “I ain’t got nothing to say,” Deglain hissed.

  “We can start with names,” the dwarf said. “My name is Al, but you already know that I suppose.”

  Deglain clamped his jaw and turned his eyes away from Al.

  Al chuckled. “You know, I hear bears roam these parts. Do you think the smell of fresh fish might attract them?” Al took a small fish and threw it in Deglain’s face, smirking as the cold, slimy fish slid across Deglain’s forehead and fell to the dirt. “That would certainly not bode well for you if a bear did show up and found you lying here in the dirt.”

  “You wouldn’t leave me here,” Deglain responded.

  Al shrugged, pulled another fish and tossed it at Deglain. “Let’s call it an experiment then.” He reached down and pulled the pot from the fire.

  “What’s in the pot, some special spice to entice another predator?” Deglain snarled.

  Al set the pot on a rock and walked toward the tattered tent, where his saddlebag was. He retrieved a metal cup. “No, my friend,” he answered absently as he blew some dust out of the cup. Al returned to the pot, removed the lid and breathed in the aroma. “This is garlic mushroom soup. It’s for me.” Al dipped his cup into the pot and gingerly sipped the steaming contents.

  “So then, what now?” Deglain asked.

  Al shrugged and took another sip. He smacked his lips and smiled to himself, wiping a bit of dribble from his beard. “Well, either you answer my questions and I let you go, or I have dinner and a show.” Al paused for effect. “I don’t imagine it will be too long before a hungry bear catches the scent of our fish though.” Al smiled and raised the metal cup back to his lips, slurping loudly.
/>
  CHAPTER THREE

  “Have you found anything else?” Lady Dimwater asked.

  Marlin shook his head. “Not anything specifically relating to the false champion.”

  Lady Dimwater watched as Marlin studiously devoured page after page of ancient writings. She marveled at the speed with which he read. Then a curious thought came to her. “Marlin,” she started. “How can you read these books if you have given up your natural sight?”

  Marlin smiled. “The mystics who wrote these tomes used a portion of their magic. While I can no longer see the ink with which they wrote, I can see the magical essence in each stroke on the page. This enables me not only to see the words, symbols, and characters used, but also the mood and intent of the mystic at the time he or she wrote it.”

  Lady Dimwater nodded. “That is intriguing,” she said.

  “Let me show you something,” Marlin offered. He grabbed a brown tome and set it before Lady Dimwater. He opened it and pointed to the third paragraph. As Lady Dimwater slowly stumbled through the archaic passage, Marlin grabbed another book and pointed to a paragraph in it. “These two passages describe the same event,” Marlin said. Then he leaned back and waited patiently for Lady Dimwater to finish reading.

  “I don’t understand,” Dimwater said when she finished. “These two passages contradict each other. I didn’t realize the mystics could err in their prophecies.”

  “They made no mistakes,” Marlin said cryptically.

  Lady Dimwater pursed her lips and studied the two passages for a moment. A smile tugged at the left corner of her mouth and her eyes brightened suddenly. “I understand,” she said as the answer dawned on her. “The mystics used false prophecies as a defense mechanism, in case the tomes fell into the wrong hands. The mystics knew all along which is the correct passage, but only the intended reader- you with your true sight, could decipher the mystery. Am I right?”

  Marlin nodded with a pleased smile. “Well done,” he said. “My gift of true sight allows me to discern between them. If a mystic were to write falsely, it left a visible mark on the text. Conversely, if a mystic wrote truly, it left a different discernable mark for me to see. Therefore, I can glance at opposing prophecies and know which is false, and which is true. As you can imagine, this cuts a lot of time out of the process for me, but would take the intruder years, if not decades, to go through all the versions of each prophecy. Then, to try and make sense of the many variations would likely drive him mad. The mystics were quite clever.”

  “That they were,” Dimwater agreed. “Are there ever any prophecies that you can’t discern between false and true?”

  Marlin sighed. “Prophecy is a difficult and dangerous tool to use. From what I understand, a mystic would have a vision, write it down, and then meditate upon its meaning. Once the meaning was clear, the mystic would write down a passage in a magical tome of prophecy. Most of the time a mystic knowingly records his or her vision accurately in one book and falsely in one or more other books, and I can always discern between the two. These books are then combined with that of other mystics into large prophetic tomes, mixing false and real visions at random so that no one book can contain all of the answers. However, there are occasionally some passages that I cannot understand.”

  Lady Dimwater scrunched her brow. “What do you mean?”

  “It is a rarity, but sometimes the mystics would have visions which they could not understand themselves, regardless of how long they meditated. These visions are recorded in a special collection of tomes. They are extremely dangerous to use, for none of our order can decipher their truth any more than the mystics could.”

  “Can anyone else decipher them?”

  Marlin nodded slowly. “There are some references to an immortal mystic who resides in a faraway land. This mystic is said to be able to decipher the forbidden prophecies, but as of yet no one has been able to locate this mystic.” Marlin sighed and closed the two tomes and pushed them away. “One of our order, a priest by the name of Tatev, knows more about this. He loves to study the more obscure texts. Perhaps we can talk with him if we need to find this immortal mystic.”

  Dimwater nodded and looked back to the closed tomes. “You didn’t say which passage was the correct one,” she noted.

  “They are both false,” Marlin said with a smile and a quick wink.

  Dimwater laughed and shook her head. She opened her mouth to ask another question when the door to the chamber burst open.

  “Prelate, forgive the intrusion, but Master Lepkin is waking,” the priest said.

  “Excellent!” Dimwater exclaimed as she flew off of her seat and made for the door.

  “Hold on,” Marlin said grimly.

  Dimwater reluctantly turned and saw that Marlin was concentrating heavily. “What is it?” she asked.

  Marlin kept his attention focused on the priest in the doorway.

  Dimwater turned back to the priest. “Well, out with it!”

  “I don’t know,” the priest said. “Lepkin’s aura is different. I can’t explain it better than that.”

  Without another word the three of them went straightaway to Lepkin’s chamber. Though the walk seemed to Dimwater to take hours, it was only a matter of minutes before they arrived. Marlin stopped in front of the door and turned to Dimwater.

  “I am sorry, but I must ask you to wait out here, just until I know what is going on.” Dimwater frowned, but nodded her understanding. Then she watched Marlin and the priest enter and close the door behind them.

  *****

  “Has he spoken?” Marlin asked as he walked up to Lepkin’s bedside.

  “No, prelate,” one of the other healers replied. “But he has moved and started groaning a bit.”

  Marlin scanned Lepkin’s aura. The intensity of the colors he found was astounding. White, yellow, red, blue, and green hues pulsed throughout Lepkin’s body. A cord of purple coiled around the outside of the aura while an egg-shaped orb of white grew in his chest and cast golden rays throughout Lepkin’s body.

  “This is perplexing,” Marlin said to no one in particular.

  “When we saw the change in his aura, we slowed our healing.”

  “No,” Marlin said with a shake of his head. “Let’s finish waking him.” He looked to the others and waved them over. “Join with me,” Marlin directed them as he placed his right hand on Lepkin’s forehead and his left upon Lepkin’s chest, just over his heart. Two more priests came up and did as Marlin had, placing their hands directly over Marlin’s hands. Green energy started to flow from the three, starting in their chests and coursing down their arms to their hands and finally mixing with Lepkin’s aura. Once the connection was made, another priest came up and placed his hands on Marlin’s shoulders, augmenting Marlin’s efforts by sending his own energy through Marlin. Two additional priests augmented the other two healers.

  No one spoke. The only sound in the room was the warm, vibrant hum of the healers’ energy as it flowed into Lepkin. Their energy spread through Lepkin’s aura strengthening limbs and waking muscles. After twenty minutes had passed, Lepkin opened his eyes.

  “It is done,” Marlin announced wearily. The healers all broke the connection with Lepkin and stepped back, giving Marlin room to speak. Marlin studied Lepkin’s aura. It was even brighter now than before, as though Lepkin was a prism before the sun.

  “Can you move?” Marlin asked.

  Lepkin nodded and rolled to his side before pushing up to a seated position.

  “How do you feel Master Lepkin?” Marlin asked.

  Confusion rippled through Lepkin’s aura.

  Marlin placed a reassuring hand on Lepkin’s shoulder. “You may feel a bit strange for a few minutes as your body adjusts. You went through quite an ordeal during that battle. I’m sorry to press you so soon, but we need to talk, Lepkin. I have discovered some things…” Marlin let his words hang unfinished. He saw the confusion growing in Lepkin’s aura. “Master Lepkin, what is wrong?” Marlin asked.
/>   Lepkin looked up with a frowning face. “Why do you keep calling me Lepkin?”

  *****

  Trenton wiggled his fingers behind his back. His wrists had long ago ceased aching and resigned to the ensuing numbness. He tried to twist his torso to loosen the iron’s grip on him, but instead it only seemed to pull his shoulders farther behind him. The wagon lurched into a rut, slamming his head into the wooden wall. He shook it off and looked up to the barred window above him.

  A toothy grin met his gaze from behind a bush of black hair under his guard’s short, wide nose. “Havin’ fun, milord?” the guard mocked.

  Trenton grinned up at him. “I always have fun looking at freak shows,” he shot back. “Which circus did the senator pull you from?”

  The smile disappeared. “I would keep my insolent mouth shut, if I were you,” the guard warned. “The senator will stop to eat in the next village, and when he does you will be under my supervision.”

  Trenton winked. “A dinner date sounds lovely,” he said.

  The guard growled and moved away from the window. Trenton let his tough façade fall away as he looked up to the starry sky. His eyes watered and a tear slid down his left cheek. Another bump in the road jerked him to the other side. The iron chain snapped him back to place. He leaned his head against the side of the wagon and stared at the brightest star he could see.

  “Just, let me see my boy one more time,” he whispered to the heavens. “That’s all I ask.” A dark cloud blew in from the side, obscuring his view through the window and hiding the stars from him. He dropped his head and looked to the floor of the wagon.

  Some time later the wagon rolled to a stop. Trenton heard shouts and hollers mixed in with heavy footsteps. The guard popped back to the window with a wide, evil sneer.

  “We have arrived,” he said.