The Wizard's Tower 02

by Peter Last

  “If that’s true, how did you end up at the academy?” Senndra asked.

  “As it turned out, my entrance into the academy played to Molkekk's advantage,” Timothy answered. “The task he had in mind was going to take me there anyway, and the fact that I was already enrolled would keep suspicion off of me. I hated myself for being under Molkekk's thumb, but I didn't have a choice. My family was locked away in Vollexa Temp, and there was nothing I could do about it. By doing Molkekk's biding, I was able to keep them safe, so that's what I did.

  “After we invaded the evil city, I searched for my family. I didn’t expect to find them alive, but even seeing their bodies would have given me a sense of closure. I found nothing and can only guess that they’re buried in one of the countless unmarked graves outside the city. Anyway, their absence marked the end of Molkekk's hold over me. I was finally free.”

  “And then you helped to kill the wizard,” Senndra said softly. There was clearly much more to this young man than met the eye. “I'm sorry about your family.”

  “They are in Elohim's hands now,” Timothy said. “I only regret that Molkekk was able to use them to bend me to his will.”

  Silence fell between the two young people. Senndra did not say anything, but her heart burned for Timothy. She forgave him, of course. Because her father had died while she was still young, she understood the pain the loss of a family member produced. Had she been in Timothy's situation, she would also have done whatever was necessary to protect the ones she loved.

  “Well, that's the story of why I served Molkekk,” Timothy said. “Like I said, I don't expect you to forgive me, but I just hope you understand why I did what I did.”

  He started to rise, but Senndra stopped him with a hand on his knee.

  “If we're going to make this work,” she said, motioning to the two of them, “you have to promise me that there won't be any more secrets.”

  “I promise,” Timothy said, sitting back down and taking Senndra's hand in both of his. “No more secrets. If I think of any, I'll blurt them right out.”

  “Well, you can start with this,” Senndra said. “What exactly did you do for Molkekk?”

  “You won't believe me if I tell you,” Timothy said. Senndra gave him a look, and he added, “But I'll tell you. As I said before, I have nothing to hide anymore. The solitary task Molkekk assigned me was to protect, at all costs, the lives of Lemin and Vladimir.”

  “Protect them?” Senndra asked in surprise. “Why would he want you to do that?”

  “I don’t know,” Timothy answered. “I didn't know who they were at the time the task was given to me, but now I wonder what his interest in them might have been.”

  “Well, whatever the case, it doesn't matter,” Senndra said. “All three of them are dead.”

  “Molkekk might be dead, but not the other two,” Timothy said with a smile.

  “Not dead?!” Senndra exclaimed and suddenly sat upright. “But they were in the tower. They were destroyed with it.”

  “My dear lady, when I’m given a task, I do not fail, especially when it has to do with protecting my friends,” Timothy said. “When we finally confronted Molkekk’s illusion in his tower, I saw first-hand how powerful and cunning he was and knew that might alone would not bring about his downfall. I needed to be as cunning as he was to throw him out of stride. The only thing I had to my advantage was the information that he wanted Lemin and Vladimir alive for some reason, and I reasoned that destroying them would arrest his ability to fight, at least momentarily.” Timothy dropped his eyes to avoid Senndra’s before resuming his explanation. “To my shame, I must also admit I wanted nothing more than to thumb my nose at him, and killing his prized magicians was the easiest way I could think of doing it. I do regret some of the motivation for my actions, though not the actions themselves. The result was spectacular, and we were able to destroy Molkekk. Well, at least the illusion of him.”

  “I’m not following you,” Senndra said, holding up a hand to stop Timothy’s explanation. “You said Lemin and Vladimir are not dead, and yet you killed them to distract the illusion.”

  “I haven’t given you all the details quite yet,” Timothy answered the unspoken question. “I created a portal and tricked Molkekk into thinking it led to hell, the place of eternal death. Then I shoved Lemin and Vladimir through it. Of course, the portal didn’t actually lead to hell.”

  “Where, then?” Senndra asked.

  “That’s the embarrassing part,” Timothy said with a dry laugh. “I have a penchant for destruction magic, and portals don’t come easily to me. The design wasn’t my own but something I learned from Lemin. He was just introducing the concept of portals and never told me where it led, but I was able to remember the construction of it. I’m not saying the decision was a good one, and my pride and anger were certainly what drove me to it. But I take comfort in the knowledge that at least they’re someplace Lemin will recognize.”

  “That’s true, and the two of them are resourceful magicians,” Senndra commented. “No matter the case, it’s out of our hands now. The only thing we can do it send up a prayer for them to Elohim.”

  “Agreed,” Timothy said. His thoughts and prayers had been with Lemin and Vladimir since he had sent them through the portal, but it wouldn’t hurt to do it again, especially to ease Senndra’s mind.

  Epilogue

  Consciousness is a fickle thing, the man thought. When there's a particularly bad situation or memory that someone wants to forget, consciousness seems to never leave, hanging on by the slightest thread to torment you with thought or action. On the other hand, no matter how much someone wants, no, needs to remain cognizant of their surroundings, a good smack to the head will send consciousness running. And then there was the whole situation of being partially conscious, aware of surroundings but unable to do anything.

  That was where he found himself now. Just moments ago, he could feel the heat of flames and gagged at the smell of burning sulfur. He had the strangest feeling, and then it was all gone. For one blessed moment there was nothing to sense, nothing to feel, until gravity yanked him toward the ground that he was clearly not on anymore. Branches slapped his face and arms as he plummeted downward, slamming to a stop in the relatively soft earth below. Something landed heavily on top of him, driving the breath from his lungs.

  For a moment he lay on the ground, assessing the pounding in his head and gathering his breath. Finally he rolled the object off of himself, noticing that it was a boy. He checked the boy to assure himself that he was alive before sitting on the ground beside him.

  It was raining, he realized, and the ground he sat on was soaking wet. It occurred to him that he was still wearing his armor and weapons, though the information meant nothing in his current situation. If he had some flint and steel or some food, that would be something, but he was fairly certain he did not. No matter, he would just have to tough it out.

  The body beside him moved, and he helped him sit up. At first the boy did not know where he was, but he recognized the man.

  “Where are we?” Vladimir rasped.”

  “I don’t know,” Lemin answered as he looked at the dripping trees around him. “But if you can get up, we can go and find out.”

  About the Author

  Peter Last was very nearly born in an elevator and has continued to be unconventional ever since. He is the sixth child in a large family and has had a conservative upbringing by Yankee parents living in the south. Despite having been homeschooled from kindergarten until twelfth grade, Peter has an expansive social life and has never been locked in a closet. He began writing his first novel, Guardians of Magessa, at the age of eleven, receiving great encouragement from his family in the form of compliments such as “Your book is actually not that bad!” He is currently slogging his way through his fifth and final year in college, doggedly working toward a degree in Civil Engineering and promising himself he will have more time when he graduates. In the little spare time he has, Peter
writes a blog (www.peterlast.com) where he posts short stories, reviews books and movies, and addresses a mixture of serious and absurd topics, from global warming to pencil sharpeners. Peter’s other hobbies include drawing, dabbling in amateur film directing, and discharging powerful firearms at shooting ranges. Between school, his social life, and his hobbies, Peter has been forced to cut back on unnecessary activities such as sleeping. At present, he is busy with yet another series, Shadow for Hire. Book one, The Wages of Death, will be released in the spring.

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