Nicholas Raven and the Wizards' Web (The Complete Epic Fantasy)

by Thomas J. Prestopnik

  “You think you have won, taunting me with that smug grin?” Ranen asked, rubbing his bloody wrist.

  Eucádus shook his head. “This is not smugness, but wonder. Look behind you!” He pointed at the dual moons. “They’re even more beautiful rising in a clear sky.”

  Ranen glanced over his shoulder, seemingly unimpressed. “If the full Fox and Bear supposedly herald good fortune, then it is all flowing Vellan’s way,” he said with confidence. “So that’s a strike against you. Now shall we finish this fight with blades?” he asked, indicating their swords lying upon the bridge a short distance away. “Or continue as we were?” he added, holding up his hands.

  “You decide the method of your downfall,” Eucádus quipped, eliciting a sneer from Ranen. But before he spoke another word, a second, more forceful tremor rocked the bridge and roiled the water below it, throwing them both to the ground.

  They met the stone with audible groans and lay there until the shaking stopped. As they slowly stood, a deep and powerful rumbling drifted from the north and filled the air as if an angry herd of cattle were stampeding beneath a thunderous sky. The two men instinctively glanced at the mountain and noted a narrow, cloudy strip of dust and snow racing down the southern slope, seemingly in destructive slow motion.

  “That can’t be good fortune for Vellan,” Eucádus remarked, his astonished eyes glued fixedly to Mount Minakaris. “Don’t you agree?” He turned to Ranen who suddenly charged at him like a crazed bull.

  “I’ll decide the method of your downfall!” he cried, lunging at Eucádus and shoving him against the western side of the bridge so that his upper body lay suspended backward above the now swiftly moving river.

  Eucádus absorbed the full impact of Ranen’s hit which drove the breath out of him and sent a spasm of pain through his body. Both men fought, crazed and wildly off balance, and after teetering upon the top of the railing for a few seconds, they tumbled over the side and dropped like stones with a terrific splash into the choppy waters below.

  They plummeted beneath the surface which boiled like a kettle over fire, yet the water remained cold. Eucádus held his breath as his descent slowed, a swirl of strange emotions overwhelming him. He felt as if two faceless voices were competing for his loyalty and devotion, the first promising a life of boundless joy and ease while the other offered only a trail of intermittent struggles and sadness. Yet as he rose to the surface, he detected a dreary emptiness and soullessness in that first voice which repelled him, making him long for the invigorating and strengthening force of the second. But both voices dissipated from his mind when he burst through the surface and gulped down the sweet, cool air of the evening as the Drusala bubbled riotously around him.

  When he glanced toward the north bank, he saw Ranen emerging from underwater as well. But before he could shout or swim over to him, the current grew more powerful and carried the two men down the river. With only seconds to spare before being swept under one of the bridge arches, they each swam a few quick strokes toward the other, positioning themselves to be pushed against the nearest bridge support. Moments later, their bodies were slapped against a wide, stone support as they struggled to hold onto the crevices in the masonry. And though they were only a few feet away from each other, neither could communicate over the noisy rush of water that battered them relentlessly. They held on and waited for the river to calm, wondering what had caused the strange and powerful turmoil along the Drusala. Soon their eyes widened in disbelief as they gazed westward, sensing that things were about to get worse.

  Just beyond the western border of Del Norác, the Drusala River curved northward into the surrounding mountains and woods. It was here at a point on the river near the southern reaches of the Champeko Forest where Vellan had years ago cast his enchantment upon the water, causing his spell to flow down through Kargoth and beyond. Now, at that same spot, after the second tremor had sent shockwaves through the ground and roiled the waters of the Drusala, a burst of cold stream erupted from below the river like a geyser, sending a thick blanket of mist rolling over the surface and upon the banks on either side. Following the path of the Drusala, a dense, rolling wave of white mist continued to shoot out of the water, moving like a swift snake. Eucádus and Ranen saw the approaching wall of fog racing above the distant treetops like a giant, ghostly apparition until it curved around the western river bend and made straight for them. The men gripped the stonework and tucked their heads into their arms as the wall of mist continued to burst up from the water and swept past them, swooping over and beneath the arches like a wild wind that sped beyond the city until it disappeared down the river valley to the eastern reaches of Kargoth.

  The water continued to shove Eucádus against the bridge support, but each successive wave grew weaker until the surface of the river was once again calm. The relentless noise that battered his eardrums had quieted as he slowly lifted his head and looked around. But he could see very little as the river, the bridge and the area along the banks on either side were bathed in a soupy, white mist. He called out Ranen’s name, but getting no reply, he feared the worst and swam to the north bank near the garrison.

  He reached shore and crawled out dripping wet through the thinning mist and collapsed in exhaustion, not caring if the enemy might be around. After resting a few moments, he raised his head. The enemy! Eucádus realized that he still considered Vellan and his army as the enemy. Though lured by the river’s magic, he had not succumbed to the enchantment of the Drusala and wondered why, having been awash in its turbulent waters for so long. But before he figured out the answer, a gentle breeze dispersed some of the moonlit mist along the bank. Another body lay facedown close by, apparently asleep as he noted the steady rise and fall of the individual’s back. Streaming down the person’s shoulders was a rope of long, black hair tied with a familiar blood red ribbon.

  Eucádus sat up, tired and sore, yet wary of the danger posed by his former friend. “Ranen?” he softly called. “Can you hear me?”

  Ranen’s body shifted as he deeply exhaled. Moments later, his eyes opened. He turned his head and faced Eucádus, looking at him with confusion and weariness. Eucádus, however, detected a drastic change in Ranen’s expression that he had not seen a quite a while, a familiar air that recalled to mind better times and unbroken bonds of friendship.

  “Eucádus? Is that you?” Ranen asked, wondering how he had come to be in this place.

  “Yes, my friend. Are you hurt?”

  “My wrist hurts,” he muttered, slowly sitting up and wincing. “And where–” He looked around bleary-eyed, scratching his head. “Where are we?”

  “That is a long story,” he replied, grinning with joy. “But one I’ll be more than happy to tell you after we properly fix your injury.”

  He observed a vibrant clarity in Ranen’s eyes that dispelled the anguish in his heart. Gone was the cloudy veneer of hopelessness and despair that had lately defined Ranen. Vellan’s spell had somehow been broken, and because of that, the leader of the Oak Clearing, and Eucádus’ dear friend, had at last returned to the land of the living.

  William and Brendan somberly led King Cedric and Tolapari to their grandfather’s body. As they recounted the story of his valiant death, the second, stronger tremor coursed through the ground. The violent shaking made the land rise and fall in spots as if a giant serpent was burrowing just beneath the surface, toppling several people in their group to the ground. King Cedric and Tolapari, who had just dismounted their steeds, grabbed onto the horses to steady themselves during the powerful upheaval until it subsided.

  “I’m beginning to think the good fortune of the rising full moons is but a childish myth,” Ramsey said as he stood up and brushed himself off.

  “As am I,” Brendan agreed, getting to his feet and extending a helping hand to his brother. “Strange things are happening here.”

  “I even hear a roll of thunder though the sky is clear for miles,” William said.

  “That isn’t thunder,�
�� Tolapari said ominously, pointing north at Mount Minakaris. “Look!”

  Everyone turned and stared in awe at a distant avalanche of snow, ice and rock coursing down the southern slope of the mountain and flattening Vellan’s stronghold as if it were crushing a hut of sticks and clay. Left behind was a narrow scar running down the center of Minakaris and an enormous cloud of dust that swirled and somersaulted in the shimmering moonlight.

  “A childish myth?” King Cedric remarked to Ramsey with a glint in his eyes.

  William shook his head, momentarily speechless. “Can you explain what just happened?” he finally asked the wizard, tugging at Tolapari’s sleeve.

  “I cannot,” he replied, his eyes still fixated on the incredible sight before turning to the prince. “The particulars elude me. But if those tremors and the mountain’s fall is any proof, I think I can safely say that Vellan’s power no longer holds sway in Kargoth.”

  “Would that it were so,” King Cedric remarked with cautious optimism. “But I should like more proof.”

  “You may soon have it,” Brendan replied with astonishment as he glanced west up the river. He indicated for the others to look as a wall of thick mist shot wildly out of the water among the distant trees. It swiftly emerged around a bend in the river and sailed eastward along the watery course, unhindered by the bridges as it swept past them with lightning fury and disappeared far down the valley, leaving behind in its wake a listless fog drifting lazily over the Drusala and lapping upon its dewy banks.

  “Proof enough?” Tolapari asked with a mirthful chuckle.

  “It will do for now,” the King replied, shaking his head in wonderment as everyone else looked on with similar expressions. Each speculated how badly the interior of the mountain must now look compared to the destruction outside.

  Their bewilderment only multiplied moments later when a deafening silence blanketed the field, punctuated with the brief, persistent clattering of discarded swords about the landscape. Everyone was astounded to see that nearly all of the fighting had stopped. Troops from Vellan’s army wandered about in a daze, their swords dropping from their hands or tossed aside in horror upon realizing what they had been doing. Soldiers from King Justin’s allied armies, who only moments ago were battling Vellan’s men to the death, now walked up to them and spoke comforting words, explaining to the confused men where they were and how they had arrived here. Even men from the Northern Isles who had not drunk from the river relinquished their weapons, some surrendering on the spot while others, sensing defeat, fled into the woods and hills, all weary of the long and brutal war.

  King Justin witnessed similar scenes along the streets of Del Norác, having walked with Prince Gregory and Malek from the apple orchard to the city’s northern border. Despite his injured shoulder that throbbed with pain and greatly tired him, the King listened to many stories by men now freed from Vellan’s enchantment as he made his rounds. Soldiers in his army, at first shocked by the enemy’s sudden surrender, explained to their former foes where they were and how they had succumbed to Vellan’s will.

  “I had been captured with several others during an Enâri raid on our village in Linden,” a young man told a group of soldiers while King Justin, Prince Gregory and Malek looked on. The man’s eyes were now as clear as crystalline water. “We were forced to march for many grueling days to Kargoth. The last thing I remember was stooping down by a river for a drink that the Enâri captain happily allowed us to take. And now I just woke up here,” he added, looking around in dismay at the injured and dead. “But that was late last spring since you say we are now in the year seven forty-three.” He sat down on the stone steps of a burnt and battered shop and sighed. “I can’t imagine my wife’s state of mind right now.” He looked up at King Justin, pale with worry. “I wonder if I’ll ever see her again. She’s the love of my life.”

  Nicholas looked at Ivy with growing fear after the first tremor had ceased. The soldier from Kargoth, holding her at knifepoint near the rushing stream, awaited his decision to either fight or allow them to proceed down the mountain. Nicholas knew that a sudden attack on his part might alarm the man and end Ivy’s life. Letting him leave with her as a prisoner seemed the only viable option, though Nicholas was already planning a silent pursuit through the woods afterward.

  “Decide now!” the man shouted, his whiskered face contorted beneath a pair of clouded eyes that looked on in a deadened stare. “Or I will decide for you.” He pressed the flat end of the blade against Ivy’s neck as her hands and lips trembled.

  “Wait!” Nicholas called out, gazing upon Ivy as tears welled in his eyes. He knew he must let her go one more time in order to have any chance of saving her, and the decision shattered his already broken heart. But as he was about to concede to the enemy, Ivy offered a wisp of a smile, indicating that she understood his dilemma.

  “It’s all right, Nicholas,” she softly said as a tear rolled down her cheek. “The day is not yet over.”

  He tried to offer a comforting smile as he gripped the hilt of his sword, understanding that he couldn’t win this particular battle by fighting. “I love you, Ivy, and I’ll never stop searching for you,” he said. “Never.” He wiped a tear from his face and let the sword fall to the ground.

  “I love you too, Nicholas. And we will be together one day. I know it.”

  “But not today,” the soldier remarked, knowing he had bested Nicholas and could get on his way. “Kick that sword over here.”

  With grudging obedience, Nicholas struck the sword hilt with the tip of his boot and sent it sliding over the dirt road until it lay within the soldier’s reach. The man bent down and grabbed the weapon, his eyes and dagger upon Ivy all the while. He cast it into the stream where it disappeared into the frothy, moonlit waters.

  “Now what?” Nicholas said with contempt.

  “Turn around and walk away,” he said. “And if I glance over my shoulder and see you following, she’ll pay the price.” He gripped Ivy by the arm until she nearly cried out.

  “Stop hurting her!” Nicholas shouted, using all his willpower to keep from lunging at the soldier.

  “She’ll be fine,” he replied with a smirk, “once she drinks from the river.”

  “I’ll never do such a thing!” Ivy said as she put up a struggle.

  “You’ll die if you don’t!” he told her before glancing sharply at Nicholas. “Now leave!” he ordered, placing the knife close to Ivy’s throat. “This is my last warning.”

  Nicholas, reluctantly preparing to do as instructed, gazed lovingly upon Ivy, still not fully convinced that leaving was the right thing to do. Seeing the hesitation in his eyes, she gently nodded to ease his overwhelming guilt.

  “Go on,” she whispered. “Do as he says.”

  “Listen to your woman and leave!” the soldier angrily replied. “It is time to end this madness.”

  “Very much so.”

  Nicholas was about to walk away when he thought he heard a familiar voice whispering in a breeze. He hesitated, not sure if he had imagined it as a heavy silence settled among the trees and mossy rocks. Ivy noted the puzzled look upon his face while her captor clenched his jaw in frustration, ready to explode. Then the second tremor mercilessly rocked the mountain.

  All at once, Nicholas, Ivy and the enemy soldier were knocked to the ground. The trees around them swayed and creaked in the sudden upheaval and the stream water sloshed over the sides of its stony banks. The shaking lasted for a few seconds and then stopped. Nicholas, easing himself up on one knee, saw that Ivy and the soldier had been separated in the fall and jumped to his feet, ready to leap between her and her captor. But the soldier, anticipating such a move, scrambled to his feet with the dagger in hand and planted himself between Nicholas and Ivy, ready to strike.

  He and Nicholas glared at one another, silently daring the other to make a move, when a deep, distant rumbling reverberated through the air. Around the mountainside to their west, at a higher elevation and out of their
sightline, an avalanche let loose and roared down the rocky slope in a thunderous din. And though the trio couldn’t see a thing, they heard the cracking of stone, the shattering of ice, and soon thereafter, what sounded like the snapping of trees as the growing roar gained speed in its descent. Moments later, clouds of dust and fine snow billowed high into the sky to the west in a line that began near the summit of Mount Minakaris and extended down the center of the southern slope. Soon a steady gust of wind blasted past them, swaying the tree branches and raining specks of sand and ice. Finally, a horrific crash sounded below near the mountain base before all went eerily quiet.

  The soldier from Kargoth, still poised between Nicholas and Ivy, looked around in a daze. He wondered where he was and why he was holding a knife as the shimmering moonlight filtered through the trees. Nicholas noted that the glazed, cloudy appearance of the man’s eyes had cleared up and the tension in his face had vanished, making him appear younger and unthreatening compared to seconds ago.

  “Where am I?” he asked, stepping aside so that Nicholas and Ivy now faced one another with similarly perplexed expressions. The man dropped his dagger with a look of disgust and remorse, fearing he may have threatened the two strangers. “Forgive me if I tried to hurt you,” he softly told them, rubbing his hands across the sides of his head as if trying to jog his memory. “But I am at a loss.”

  “It’s all right,” Ivy whispered with a gentle smile, walking toward him without fear. “You have not been yourself lately.”