Tales of Canai
The Wizard’s Council
By Cody Sherer
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.
Tales of Canai
The Wizard’s Council
Copyright ©2013 by Cody Sherer
All Rights Reserved.
Contents
Map of Canai
Prologue
A Princess of Galimdor
The Meeting of the Council
The War Begins
Combatting the Spreading Darkness
The Siege Begins
The Witches of Telmac Valley
The Net Widens
The Council Stretched Thin
A Splintering of Ways
The Necromancers’ New Pet
Trimming the Insurgents
Hunting the Council
Fire from the Skies
Author Bio
Map of Canai
Prologue
King Francis looked up from his throne to see a man approaching. He scowled as he waited for the elderly fellow to reach him. The man, a powerful Archwizard named Owyn, made no motion to bow or show Francis any respect. Not him again, the King thought as he watched Owyn stop to talk to one of the servants. It was bad enough that the Wizard felt he could tell the King what to and what not to do, but making the King wait while he talked to one of the servants was too much for Francis to handle. He cleared his throat as he glared at the mage. Owyn looked up and smiled while holding up a hand that the King knew meant he would have to wait. The King nearly ordered his guards to escort the man out, but he knew that Owyn would see it as a victory. He took a deep breath and waited for the Wizard to finish his conversation.
“To what do I owe this honor, Wizard?” Francis’ tone made his question seem like a slap in the face.
“Your daughter has risen to the rank of Junior Archwizard. We are holding a ceremony and we thought you would want to be informed. I do so hope that you can make it,” the Wizard’s reply was equally cutting.
“I am a busy man, but I may be able to attend. When is it?”
“It is three days from now.”
“If there is nothing else,” the King began to motion to his guards.
“This development will require Emily to spend more time in the Conclave, of course. I’m sure you understand.”
“She is a Princess as well, Archwizard. I’ve already postponed many lessons on account of your teachings as it is. It is not in any of our interests to see her lessons pushed aside further.”
“I agree, we can take on that responsibility if you let us. It should fit in well with some of her other studies. She is to be the first Archwizard Queen, you know.”
“You will do no such thing. This is my kingdom and you are one of my subjects. One day, you will be one of Emily’s subjects. I am still her father.” The King stood up from his throne.
“Then perhaps you should act like it!”
The Archwizard spun and walked away, leaving the King looking shocked as he stood near his throne. He tried to come up with a reply, but the magician was already gone by the time he had recovered enough to find the words he was looking for. Fool, he thought as he sat back down. The insult could have been aimed at either of the two, but the King saw no fault in his actions. His mind was set on showing the Wizard how powerful he really was. He couldn’t help but laugh as he waited for his advisors to arrive. They would enact his plan and the Wizard would be forced to admit he had lost. The King spoke before his advisors had even taken their seats.
“I need somebody to deliver a message for me. Tell Archwizard Owyn that my daughter will no longer be among those taught by him.”
A Princess of Galimdor
Emily grimaced as the branches from the forest whipped against her face and arms. Her brown hair was filling with smaller twigs, and the skin on her face and arms was turning red. Things had gotten eerily quiet since she had noticed the dark figure tailing her. The past three hours had been the worst. Her steed, a large brown warhorse her father had given her ten years ago, was getting noticeably tired, and her unfamiliarity with the forest made it nearly impossible to navigate. The clearing up ahead didn’t look familiar, but both horse and rider needed the rest. Even the trees and the grass seemed to be inviting her in to stay the evening. She spurred her horse into the clearing and glanced back over her shoulder. The unknown pursuer was nowhere to be found. This dress is ruined, she thought as she looked down at her torn green dress.
A thud sounded almost as soon as Emily slipped off her horse and landed on the ground. Several drops of blood spilled on her boots as her horse galloped off out of the clearing. She spotted a small knife in the horse’s side as it ran out of range of her sight. A man in black armor stepped out of the forest. The crest on the front of his Cuirass was instantly recognizable. The golden hawk with a broken arrow in one claw and a human skull in the other was the trademark sign of the Knights of Doom. She had heard rumors of the Knights of Doom being reinstated by her father, but she could scarcely believe that he would send one after her. He laughed as he approached her.
“What have we here? A Princess all by herself in the forest?” The man stopped a few feet from Emily, his massive sword dragging across the ground as he closed the distance.
“Please, I’ll pay you more than my father.” Emily shuffled backward, her back coming to rest against a tree.
“I’m afraid it isn’t about the money, my dear.” The man raised his sword above his head.
Emily closed her eyes and let out a scream as the man lunged forward. Much to her surprise, the blow never landed. Instead, there was a loud crack and only seconds later the man in black crashed to the ground, his helmet falling aside to reveal his scarred face. His long black hair spilled out over his armor as he stood up to face his new opponent. Another man, named Paul, was standing at the other edge of the clearing. His ragged beard and clothes didn’t fit with the sword he brandished. This sword was one of the finest that Emily had ever laid eyes on. The hilt inlaid with a diamond just below where it connected with the blade, an emerald at the tip of the sides of the hilt, and a ruby on the pommel. The blade itself was a sight to behold; it glimmered in the moonlight as he twirled it in his hand.
She could tell that both of these men came from vastly different walks of life just by looking at them. The larger man in black was clean shaven with long black hair. His wrinkled and scarred face looked like the by-product of a long and violent life. Paul had an unkempt beard and shorter brown hair. His face and features were much younger and full of life. The man in black stood nearly seven feet in height, while Paul was just over six feet. The newcomer was wearing a leather jerkin over his clothes and had no shield. The man in black wore a full suit of plate mail, all of which was darker than the blackest night. His armor was exaggerated and larger than it needed to be. Intimidation was one of the main weapons of the Knights of Doom.
The tactic seemed to have no effect on Paul. His eyes were full of hatred rather than fear. It seemed as though the mere sight of the man sent him into a rage. He closed in on his larger opponent and then waited for the man to get to his feet. The smaller sword leaped into action as the he stabbed at his opponent’s chest. Sparks flew as the larger man brought his sword up to parry the blow. He whipped his massive sword around in an attempt to sever the other man’s head from his body. The smaller man parried the blow and smiled as a current of electricity jumped from his sword to the other man’s sword. It continued down the Knight’s sword and sent a shock through his armor and body. A grunt was the only satisfaction that was gained from the electric assault on the man in bl
ack. His grueling training regime had been more than enough to resist even the most powerful of magic. This didn’t deter the smaller man. He pressed his attack with a ferocity that was rivaled only by the beasts of the wilderness. His sword gleaming as it slammed against his opponent’s sword once more. He pulled back and stuck again, his movements like that of a coiled snake. The sword connected with the armored man just below his left armpit, sending a wave of electricity jolting through his body yet again. A smile formed on Paul’s face as he continued his assault. His sword was flashing in and out. It connected first with the right side of the other man’s torso and then again with his right leg. The grunts were getting louder and louder with each connected strike.
Sensing that the battle was quickly spiraling out of control, the larger man locked swords with his opponent and shoved with all his might. He then leaped backward and swung a wild strike with the flat end of his sword. It connected as planned and knocked Paul to the floor. The heavily armored man whipped his sword above his head and tried an overhead strike. His opponent rolled to the side and jabbed his sword at the side of his opponent. Yet again, the electricity coursed through the armored man’s body. He swung his great sword with all his might, catching his smaller opponent’s sword with full power. The blow knocked the sword out of the other man’s hands and sent it crashing to the floor. Though unarmed, the smaller combatant was undeterred by what seemed to be a disadvantage.
Paul stood up and threw his hands forward at the armored man. The moisture in the air dissipated as a fountain of flames spewed from his hands and engulfed the armored man. Emily screamed as she watched the man writhing in pain from the jet of fire. The man fell to his knees with a loud grunt. His opponent did not letup until he dropped to the floor in a heap of twisted metal and roasted flesh. Paul waved his hand again and the dirt surrounding the man began to move. It slid out from under the lifeless body, sucking him down before covering him up and creating a small grave of sorts. Emily was slightly frightened, but the command that the stranger showed over the elements had her fascinated.
“An enemy of my enemy is my friend. I believe that is the saying. I’m Paul.” The bearded man offered his hand to Emily.
“Thank you, Paul. I am quite fortunate that you came along when you did.” She took the hand and shook it.
“I have been following that man for three weeks now, up until today I thought I was wrong about him.”
“Following him? Why were you following him?”
“That man was a member of the Knights of Doom.” Paul sheathed his sword and spat on the freshly made grave of his enemy.
“How do you know about them?”
“We have a long history, the Knights and I.”
“Well, we have plenty of time for you to share,” Emily said as she looked up at the night sky in an effort to find north.
“I don’t see how we do,” Paul replied, wiping the sweat of his brow.
“You can’t possibly just leave me here after knowing that man hunted me down.” Emily’s eyes narrowed.
Paul thought to reply, but decided against it. He nodded slowly and started walking into the forest. Emily hurried after him and attempted to start up a conversation, but was met with silence. The woods were far too dangerous a place to be distracted while traveling. She reluctantly followed him through the forest for what seemed like hours. It was her first time in the forests south of Galimdor, and she never knew how much variance there was in the density of the trees. At times, the night sky was completely blocked out by the massive trees. The deeper parts of the forest almost seemed alive. What little she could see in the darkness seemed to be constantly moving. The only comfort that she had was the fact that Paul didn’t seem to be fazed by the moving silhouettes in the dark.
*
The rider held up a small blue flag in his right hand as he approached the camp. Freezing temperatures made it difficult to wave the flag, but the man made the best effort he could. It was the blue truce flag, oft used by the Barbarians of the north due to the difficulty of seeing white flags in the snowy north. Only the Barbarians were brave enough to make camp in the frozen lands. Arcantos didn’t like the idea of being the King’s lackey, but he knew a treaty with the Barbarians would seal Galimdor’s chances of victory. In his mind, the Holy Order was not even worth contacting. The choice was not his, however, and the King felt it necessary to establish communications with both factions.
“What brings a mage into the sacred lands of the northern tribes?” One of the tribesmen shouted.
“I seek an audience with your leader. I am an emissary from the King of Galimdor.”
“So shall it be. You will follow our lead.”
Arcantos dismounted from his horse and followed the man through the lively camp to the center tent. The tent was nearly three times the size of the other tents and he could feel the warmth even before the tent flap was opened. Inside of the tent was more remarkable than Arcantos could have imagined. Rugs, tapestries, and even a few paintings were spread throughout the tent. Decorations of elven and dwarven origin were also littered about the tent. It seemed as though the contents were meant to inspire awe, but the placement of said objects was somewhat lacking. Arcantos held back a chuckle as he approached their leader.
“I see that the Barbarians have kept their reputation of being messy.” Arcantos remarked as he took a seat opposite the leader at the great table in the center of the room.
“Our enemies have invaded our lands and stand at our doors and windows. We haven’t the time to organize our things.” The leader was older than was expected for the Barbarian peoples.
“Perhaps if the younger blood was allowed to take charge.” Arcantos glanced at the man to the chieftain’s left.
“I am no less fierce than I was ten summers ago. My age should not fool you, Mage. More than fifty summers I have seen. Forty years my father led our people. If I am to follow in his footsteps, then twenty more must I rule. My son will see his time when I am dead and buried.”
“How then, shall your people survive? Your father was at least seventy when he was slain, will you too let your weakened state destroy your people?”
“Silence! You were allowed into the great tent for an audience, not for the berating of me or my people. Though your words ring some truth, our people are not like the other Barbarian tribes. I am no more the champion of the people than the young men of twelve that train every day to bring glory to the tribe. My place is to speak for the northern tribes. Our answer to your King is that while the Ogres still raid our provinces, we shall not participate in your wars.” The leader’s words were final.
Arcantos felt a pang of guilt as he rose. The King would be most displeased with the answer. He exited the tent and watched the Barbarians interacting around the fire as he plotted his course for the next group of Barbarian tribes and hoped for the best. If he failed again, the King would undoubtedly take away his position as court mage. This would be a blow that the Knights of Doom would not take lightly. As such, Arcantos reached deeper inside and decided to show restraint in his meeting with the next tribe of Barbarians. The Barbarians watched as the mage pulled his robe around him and trudged off into the distance until he disappeared into the blizzard.
*
Paul and Emily arrived at Carmalia just as the sun dipped below the horizon. The town was one of the larger towns in the southern kingdoms. Their King was one of the few that owned his own castle outside the perimeter of the city. As the capital of the Kingdom of Carmalia, the town of Carmalia was home to one of the more prominent Wizard Conclaves. The Conclave was run by an Archwizard named Rolin. His expertise was said to be illusion and healing. He was known throughout the land not only as a man of wise council, but also a man of great benevolence. This was the help that both Paul and Emily sought. The citizens rushed into their homes as they saw the two walking down the streets of their fair city. Why are they afraid? Emily wondered as she glanced over at Paul. His left eyebrow rose as he watched the p
eople of Carmalia retreat into the safety of their homes.
“Pay them no heed. The Conclave is south of town. We’ll leave them alone as we pass through,” Paul said, noticing Emily’s hesitation.
The Conclave was larger than any of the other buildings in or around the town. Its massive stone walls were four stories and the entire structure could hold at least five hundred students. As they approached the massive arch at the entrance, they were approached by two wizards. They had a short conversation about Archwizard Rolin before being sent into the courtyard. More than fifty students were practicing magic in the courtyard. Their skill levels varied greatly. This is so different from the Galimdor Conclave, Emily thought as they wound their way through the students and headed for the tower on the other side of the complex. It rose above the rest of the Conclave and made everything look quite small. The Archwizard’s quarters were at the very top of the tower.
“Are you new here?” One of the teachers asked.
“Yes, we are looking for Archwizard Rolin,” Paul said as he extended his hand to the man.
“Head inside and to the left. The air chamber will send you all the way to the top.”
“Thank you.”
The inside of the tower was cozier than either of them expected. On the far side of the room was a fireplace above it was the portrait of a wise looking mage. It had a placard underneath the painting that read “Archwizard Rolin.” The man looked rather young for an Archwizard, his hair was black on top with patches of gray on the side and his beard was peppered with gray. Each side of the fireplace had a staircase that spiraled up to the next floor. Inside the room were three doors, each one labeled for easy navigation. The room on the left read “air chamber,” the closer room on the right read “Head Alchemist’s chambers,” and the other room on the right read “Head Enchanter’s chambers.” Paul opened the door to the air chamber and waited for Emily to enter first. The room was empty except for a small panel that had small buttons with numbers on them. As Emily’s finger got closer to one of the buttons, a small scroll rolled out from behind the panel. It had a list that showed what each number corresponded to. The Archwizard’s chambers were on the tenth floor. Emily waited until Paul was standing next to her before pressing the button.
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