The Melaki Chronicle

by William Thrash

  His blue light lit a face not of this world. Something demonic and crawling with evil. It screamed in a wordless hiss as it flung its claws forward. His shield was battered aside on the second blow.

  “Shield!” said Talin. His arms were making stabbing motions. The demon-thing reeled back.

  Melaki reformed the shield and felt three more attempts to batter it aside.

  The wizard made his hands claws and swiped. From five paces away, furrows appeared in the skin of the thing, erupting blackish blood. Then Talin changed manipulation.

  Melaki's stomach heaved. He was going to throw up.

  The wizard's manipulation now was of the tenth ward – exactly what Melaki had refused to work. The summoning and control of demons. But he watched, trying to maintain the three patterns of his own. He watched Talin form a summoning in reverse with none of the safeguards. This was an area of the tenth unknown to him and the results were explosive. Talin deliberately entered the creature into a state of summoning in reverse, without safeguards, and then released control of the manipulation. Melaki had learned that releasing control was deadly to the caster, but what Talin did in reverse was immediate and final.

  The demon-thing exploded in a spray of flesh and bone. It looked like it unravelled.

  Melaki knew he could never accomplish what Talin had just done – not without using the very magic he refused to use. He released the shield, panting, and then threw up.

  Talin grunted. “Try not to splash my robes.”

  He coughed, trying to clear his throat. He spat and wiped his chin. But while he had refused to use spirit-magic, he did watch. He noticed a common vibrating connection between Talin and his manipulation and the thing and its own manipulation. He would need to see more and think on it.

  “And the cachement.” Talin smiled in triumph. “I pity those who follow in succeeding charters. We will have snatched up all the best.” He kicked bones out of the way.

  Melaki sighed heavily, feeling tired. The barrow around him was simple, but far more elaborate than the simpler constructions of the villagers. There was a beauty of simplicity in what he saw. Several biers were arranged in lines along both sides of a long and large tunnel. Stone arches reach up and overhead toward each other. Wooden beams, old and rotted covered over everything as if someone had slapped a boat upside down over the biers. And, of course, the whole thing was buried under dirt.

  A typical barrow.

  The skeletons laid out on the biers were old enough to be browned and brittle. Their weapons were calcified.

  “Oh, my, yes,” Talin said. His voice was low and lustful, filled with desire and greed.

  Melaki looked over the wizard's shoulder. Five necromantic gems pulsed deep and purple – almost black. They were set in a bed of silver and gold baubles and medallions. The pulse seemed to follow the pulse of Talin's veins. He withdrew his sensing of the other's magic and briefly wondered if there was a connection in between the pulsing and Talin.

  “Here you are,” the wizard said. He handed over the smallest of the gems. “These three shall pay our share to the imperial forces here. And I shall have this one.” It was the largest.

  Melaki pouched his new gem. The two alone could be exchanged for enough gold and rubies to pay his way out of the Altanlean Empire and set him up somewhere, albeit in an austere fashion. Though he was not greedy, he wanted more before haring off to pursue his own studies. A tower somewhere would be ideal. A view of the waters above, the surrounding lands, and a place above the smells of anyone nearby. A quiet place for study.

  “We will inspect the area tomorrow,” said Talin. “Make sure it is all cleared. If it is, I will call for the imperial to confirm and ratify my claim.”

  Melaki took a look around at the sleeping dead. Forever sleeping. He nodded.

  * * *

  Melaki noted his thoughts down onto parchment. Talin was sleeping nearby.

  There appeared to be a similarity in the magic used by spirit-wielders and the demons. The idea made some sense to him, but he wondered at the connection and that the magic should be used against itself.

  Was it being used against itself? What if in being used, it supported the very magic that was supporting that which was destroyed? Could evil aid evil? Assuredly. Could evil hurt evil if it meant furthering the aims of evil? That was a thorny question in his mind. Good would not hurt good to further good because that would entail an evil intent towards an element of good. But with evil? Did evil care? Did evil have morals? Did evil have standards? Evil might have standards, but it did certainly not have a conscience.

  He penned a few notes and extinguished his blue light. He cast out a quick sensing of the area around them. The village was as quiet as the dead still piled in the central square.

  Perhaps he would bury them on the morrow.

  Maybe he would let them sit where they were as a reminder.

  Hmm. A reminder of what?

  He drifted into sleep, releasing his senses, succumbing to the exhaustion, surrendering to the replenishment of sleep.

  A figure formed.

  Was this yet a dream?

  Nihtu had said he could control dreams. Could he? He seemed to have no control over whatever was forming before him.

  Out of the swirling blackness of his imagination in slumber formed a hideous figure that exuded hunger.

  Was it possible to feel hunger in a dream? He could not recall doing so. A singing wail increased in his dream until he could no longer ignore it. It was a harmonious wail of sound, vibrating against his senses. It was at once forlorn and full of intent.

  A warning? A message?

  He shifted over onto his other side, briefly awakening and troubled by his sleep. Then he drifted again.

  The presence was there.

  It was near, but not near.

  What?

  He could not make sense of it in his mind.

  He was told something then, with rapidity. Something important. Something dire. He caught none of it. He grasped, trying to fetch from his memory what was said. He recalled not a single word. In frustration, he cried out.

  He woke himself croaking urgently, but not voicing anything but the sound of a frog.

  He rubbed his eyes and flopped over. He pulled his blanket up and drifted once again into sleep. This time, there was no presence.

  * * *

  Melaki pointed. “There.”

  “I see it,” Talin said. His eyes were squinted.

  They rode their horses, the wizard on his prancing stallion controlled by force and he on his mare - placid, docile, but attentive.

  “I will sense when we get close,” Talin said.

  They rode towards the zombie in the fields of the farm on the outskirts of the village.

  Soam's Crossing it had been called. But no one called it that now because there was no one left to call it that and the only remembrance was marked as a few squiggles on a parchment Talin carried.

  Did anyone care? Did the dead care?

  Talin blew the zombie into a blizzard of stinking chunks.

  Melaki was happy to let the wizard do the work. Forming two patterns was taxing enough. If he was needed, Talin would demand. But until then, the other wizard took pleasure in demonstrating his superior skill.

  He's good. He's better than me. Stronger in the spirit-magic.

  The wizard stopped and reached out with his senses. “There, that way.” He pointed.

  Melaki could sense nothing. Was that Talin's greater experience? Was that a difference in ability? Power? He thought he felt a connection, but he was not really trying. Did he care? He did. But did it matter?

  The duo rode towards Talin's pointed finger. Tila kept up with the wizard's stallion.

  His hair and cloak blew back with the speed of their passage. For a moment, both were almost identical in figure – streaming forward with purpose, with confidence, and with determination.

  An eruption of violence and magic disrupted their advance. There in the gr
ass, a full hundred paces from the graveyard of the next village was a deathly white figure.

  Talin said nothing. He began a fast manipulation.

  Melaki formed a shield without being told. Then he formed a pattern of force.

  The white thing flung some evil against Melaki's shield. It rebounded.

  At least this time he did not feel sick.

  Force magics from both Talin and himself resulted in the eruption of the white thing into flying fragments of something wet and disgusting.

  Talin tried to control his stallion. “That should satisfy the imperials.” He looked around, spinning his horse. “It's cachement must be somewhere, but it could be anywhere. Probably the graveyard yonder. Killing it out here away from its lair will make quite a search. I will let you do that tomorrow.”

  Melaki nodded. The village and its surrounding areas had been cleansed. He would find the thing's lair, eventually.

  “I will depart tomorrow, and pay the charter fees. I will bring the inspector and we shall proceed with our claim.”

  His claim.

  They rode back in silence. They crossed over the humps of stone walls that spoke of an older time, something before the recently deceased villagers.

  “Do you regret anything?” he said. He regretted asking it immediately.

  “Regret? Me?” Talin said. His voice was several shades of offended. “No, why should I be regretful, and over what?”

  Melaki shook his head. What could he say? Are you offended over using evil to destroy evil and have you really done so? Do you regret using evil?

  Talin sighed with exasperation. “The questions of initiates were never to my liking.”

  “I am not an initiate.”

  “A month ago you were.”

  “I am not an initiate.”

  Talin sneered at him. “You think those braids on your sleeve qualify you as one of my status?”

  He sighed, realizing once again he would get nowhere with Talin. Sometimes he could learn from him; sometimes he could not. “Never mind.”

  Talin seemed pleased and rode ahead, nose held high.

  One stripe of braid. That is all that separates us.

  They rode into the stable area of Soam's Crossing. His repair-work had made a viable and livable area for them in the midst of the dead village.

  With the horses tended, he entered the tavern they had secured. The windows were boarded against surprise and the door warded with magic.

  Still, he reached out and sensed the building.

  It was empty.

  That meant safety in an area such as this.

  Melaki formed a fire pattern and blew a blazing inferno into the fireplace and the logs there. He formed an additional pattern and heated the cookware. In seconds, their stew was ready to eat.

  Talin nodded at the bowl offered him in the light of the fire. He spooned the contents until the bowl was empty. “Maybe I shall bring in some farmers to work the farms.”

  He pursed his lips. Talin would only do that which profited him. What did he care about farms? He was certainly waxing great about his kingly ambitions...

  “A rightful ruler cares about his--”

  Melaki burped. Loud. “Sorrow, wizard.”

  Talin dismissed it as easily as a simple stomach cramp.

  He finished his stew and eased back before the fire.

  He was not aware of falling asleep.

  The vision came as he started to dream.

  He gritted his teeth, fighting it, forcing it back. But it came on, relentless, as the light brightens the waters above in the morning. As the fingernails grew on his fingers, as the day slipped to night. Inexorable. He saw darkness and weight.

  How can I see weight?

  He saw it. Felt it. Weight, all around. Water.

  Water was everywhere. It hung in the mists of the air. It flowed in rivers and gathered in great oceans. Why should he dream about water?

  Was he dreaming?

  Then the sadness hit him. The fury. The anger. The sorrow. The regret.

  Water washed away all that he was in a torrent from above, driving him down, underneath the surface of a water he was now in.

  How had he gotten here?

  But such questions did not matter to him. Not at such a time as this. He needed to swim – find the surface. Or drown.

  Drown.

  He was being rocked. No, he was being shaken.

  “Melaki!”

  A voice drifted to him, coming closer, gaining speed.

  He awoke, gasping, shaking, his back on the floor of the tavern. The fire roared brightly next to him. Talin leaned over him, annoyed.

  “Do you have a sickness?” Talin said.

  He tried to sit up. “I...”

  “Yes?” said the wizard.

  Weariness and despair overcame him. The inevitability of his vision destroyed any resolve he had. “I just want to sleep.”

  Talin scowled.

  He drifted off once again into a very deep sleep.

  * * *

  Melaki smelled the air. Damp, fresh, and only tainted with the slightest bit of death.

  Normal.

  Talin had been gone since morning. His ride would take six days there and six more back. He sat looking at the fire, the morning light creeping through the shuttered windows.

  He would scout certain of the buildings today. Talin had allowed as much as his claim to whatever he wanted in the village.

  How magnanimous of him.

  He would find a place separate from Talin. The wizard's conceit grated on him.

  He can brag his crap to his horse.

  Later, he would start searching for that cachement where they had killed that white demon out in the middle of nothing. It had to be somewhere.

  He got up and went outside. He eyed the pile of bones in the square. Without thinking, he groaned. He knew he would be burying them so he would not have to look at them.

  Frowning, he set about that immediate task.

  Finish it.

  He brought a cart by hand and began to pile bones. Then he stepped back.

  This will be faster.

  He patterned force and began moving the bones into the cart with more ease and speed.

  And cleaner. He wiped his hands.

  They snuck up on him. He was not prepared.

  But they were not sneaking. He just was not paying attention.

  “Hail, wizard.”

  Panic shot through him as he spun. He released his pattern immediately. He had been using his magic without the oily cover. Bones dropped and clattered to the ground. Behind him were two people.

  Ah. He recognized them – the mercenary husband and wife from the tavern. He had a heavy pack on his back. She had two.

  He smiled, embarrassed. “Hail.”

  “Would this be Soam's Crossing?” said the man.

  “Indeed.”

  “Ah, very good.” He fetched a map from a pocket and then came close to Melaki. Pointing to the map, he said, “This is where we are, yes?”

  He nodded.

  The man looked around and then finally off towards the east, squinting. He looked back to the map. “We took the village next to yours. Talam's Ford.”

  “Oh? We shall have neighbors? We saw your village while we were sweeping the area. It looked and felt clean, but we did not get too close. Not our claim, you know.”

  The man looked uncomfortable. “Good to know. Those undead can be unnerving. I am Neret and my wife is Tila.”

  Melaki blinked. “Tila?”

  His horse nickered from the stall.

  I could not possibly ever tell her she shared the name of my horse.

  “Yes, Tila,” Neret said. He frowned. “Is something wrong?”

  “No, nothing. I am Melaki.”

  The man still frowned. “Might I ask a favor?”

  Melaki stood next to a jumble of bones and a cart trying to look casual.

  Neret pointed behind him to Tila. “She took a gash to her kne
e from a ghoulish thing. Would you...?”

  Healing, of course. He's making her carry a double load with a wound? Neret fell several notches in his estimation. Down to about where he viewed Talin. “Certainly. Come inside and take some rest. I will delve her injury.”

  They followed him into the tavern.

  “It is rather dark in here,” said Neret.

  “Oh? Yes.” Melaki formed the two patterns, oily and light. Blue light flared. He fixed it to a sconce and blew his usual inferno into the fireplace.

  Neret laughed. “I suppose you had no need to carry lanterns and oil.”

  Tila unburdened herself of her packs and sat by the fire. She sighed heavily.

  “No, I suppose we did not.”

  “Quite an advantage for travel. And you have horses, too? There were none on the boat.”

  “Summoned.” Melaki was keenly aware at the moment of how much he took for granted. “I could attempt a summoning out here and bring you some horses--”

  “Not necessary--” Neret said. His scowl was filled with pride.

  “That would be wonderful--” Tila said. Her eyes were bright with hope.

  His breath caught, uncertain what he should say. He looked back and forth between his proud eyes and her pleading ones. “I would be pleased to offer a gift to you as a token of friendship and good relations between neighbors.”

  Neret started to open his mouth, a look of rejection on his face.

  Melaki did not give him the chance. “That is, if your wife does not mind caring for them.”

  She looked at him, her eyes piercing and understanding. A ghost of a smile fluttered across her full lips.

  Neret pumped his chest once and looked thoughtful. Put in that manner, his pride was undamaged. His wife would be doing the work of caring for them. He nodded. “We would accept such a gift, then.”

  Relief washed over Tila's face but was quickly concealed.

  “Allow me to see the wound?” He knelt by her. He looked over at the kettle and pointed, then wiggled his finger. Flame burst beneath it. When he looked back, she had unwound a rag from her knee. The wound was indeed a gash. It looked red, angry, and very painful. He hissed.

  “Is it bad?” Neret said.

  Likely he only cares that she would not be able to carry their gear. He placed a hand on her thigh. She flinched. He placed his other hand on her shin. She was still. He could feel the warmth of her skin through her breeches. But some of that could have been infection. He delved. The wound was deep, infected, and spreading a malignancy. He released and let go of her leg. “Yes, it is bad.”