The Chronicles of the Myrkron: Book 01 - The Nine Keys of Magic

by Timothy Woods

  "What did you say to them, Mathis?" Merric laughed, expecting nothing less than a spirit-filled tirade from the younger wizard.

  "After they refused to even hear your message, I called them a bunch of pointy eared, sap-blooded, Were lovers. You should have seen Rydon’s face. It turned all purple and splotchy. I thought he was actually going to attack me. Instead, they stepped into their trees and vanished without another word," Mathis laughed

  "You are correct. That did not help. Did it make you feel better?"

  "It did actually, now that you mention it," Mathis chuckled.

  "I almost wish Rydon had attacked me. I could have eliminated one of our problems that way."

  "That sounds like something Mortow would say. We cannot go down that road. No, that would have made matters much worse. A human wizard killing an elven Elder would have turned all the elves against us, and then Ataum would not have been able to aid us at all," Merric said with a frown.

  "No, Merric, I am nothing like Mortow. Whereas I may wish it, he would have done it. Action defines the difference. Although I dislike the elves, I would never kill one unless I had no other choice. That’s not to say I wouldn’t have lit the seat of Rydon's robe on fire though."

  Merric laughed again.

  "Ah, the brashness of youth. Now, that, I would have given a bag of gold to see myself. What of the dwarves?"

  "They will stand with us. They say the Weres have been raiding into their lands recently. There have already been many skirmishes between them, but they have only been minor harassments. The dwarves have once again taken up posts at East Gate and DelvenPass."

  "Then I think it is time to inform King Brose and have him send his men to guard The Slot. If the Weres are harrying the dwarves, then they are already in the Glimmen Marsh. I have some good news, too. We have found a sorcerer on the other world. He is a sixth key."

  "That is good news. Who are you going to send to bring him back? I know I have classes to teach, but Mieka can handle them. Besides, she likes teaching a lot more than I do. I can go if you want me to," Mathis said sitting forward in his chair.

  Merric smiled at Mathis.

  "I have already sent someone. I know how much you want to see the other world, but there wasn’t time to wait for your return. Micah was better suited to the task anyway. He knows the other world as you do not, and he is a formidable man."

  "Micah, the Avari Lord? How can you rely on him when he didn’t even see fit to aid us at the Purging?" Mathis said curling his lip.

  "Micah had his reasons for what he did and, though I don’t entirely agree with them, I trust him completely. If anyone has a chance to succeed in bringing this young sorcerer back to us, it is Micah."

  "How can you trust someone who is that secretive, Merric? No one knows anything about him. Even the elves, who live for several hundred years, cannot remember a time when his name was not spoken. They say he is human, but he doesn’t age."

  "He is human, and, for all the years I have known him, his appearance has not changed."

  "You actually know him?" Mathis asked shocked.

  "Yes. I have known him since I was younger than Martin. In all my years as well, I have never met anyone who hasn’t heard the name Micah. He has been around a long, long time."

  "There is something unnatural about him. He gives me the chills."

  "Micah is a good man, no matter what you think of him or what hearth tales you have heard about him."

  "You trust him?"

  "I do."

  "If you say so, Merric, then I believe you. It’s just that the man is so mysterious."

  "You have no idea. As long as I’ve known him, he is still an enigma to me. But, he is a great warrior, probably the best this world has ever seen."

  "You think him better than Captain Barque? They say that Barque held The Slot alone against more than fifty trolls until the legions of Branna arrived. And when they got there, Barque stood facing the troll army amid the corpses of those who tried to take The Slot, as if daring them to try again."

  Merric smiled.

  "If I didn’t know any better, I might think you would rather be a warrior than a wizard. Is Micah better than Barque? Let me ask you a question in return. Do you think you are better than I am at magic?"

  "Of course not. You have decades of experience over me. Oh, power for power, I could probably match you for a while, but your knowledge is beyond mine and besides, you’re sneaky. What does that have to do with Captain Barque and Micah?" Mathis grinned.

  "I prefer to think of myself as crafty. Sneaky has such a negative connotation," Merric said with feigned indignation. Then Merric's eyes twinkled as he laughed.

  "The result is the same either way. Besides, you have the advantage of having trained me," Mathis added.

  "Barque was trained by Micah."

  "Barque was not Avari. He was from Branna, a Captain in the King’s guard."

  "At one time, he was Avari. For some reason, he left the isle and came to Branna. When King Callos saw his skill, he made Barque a Captain in the Royal Guard. Barque stayed in Branna and never returned to the Avari. He served King Callos and his son, King Caspin, before he passed from this world."

  "Captain Barque was Avari, trained by Micah? That’s not in any of the histories."

  "No one knew he was Avari, and who would believe that an Avari would leave his isle to serve a King?"

  "How do you know this? Did Micah tell you?"

  "Yes. One night when I was young, I asked Micah about the Avari, what they were like. He told me that they train constantly with swords and with their bare hands so that they can purify their minds from thoughts of war."

  "That doesn’t make any sense. Training for war would only increase your desire for it."

  "That’s almost verbatim what I said to Micah. He told me that when you achieve a certain level of skill, it is no longer about being better than others, but about being better than one’s self. That is when war is purified from the mind and all thoughts turn towards mastering the blade and body so they can become one with the mind. As a youth, I didn’t understand what he meant. As an old man, I see the wisdom of his words."

  "If you say so, Merric."

  Merric’s gaze came back from far off memory to lock onto Mathis’ eyes.

  "I need you to relieve Martin at the scrying basin. We have been monitoring the young man on the other world ever since we found him. He has been unconscious since they took him to their healers. I know that Micah has already located him, but has not made contact with him yet. I don’t know what he is going to have to face to get the young man back here, but I want to know if anything happens so we can move to aid him."

  "Sure, Merric. I’ll relieve Martin as soon as I grab something to eat. I’ll report anything I find out."

  "Unless it’s important, just give your report to Mieka when she relieves you. If it is something we need to act on, report to me immediately," Merric said.

  "As you wish." Mathis stood and bowed slightly to Merric then vanished on the words of a transport spell.

  Merric removed a sheaf of parchment from his desk and, dipping a quill into his ink well, he began to pen a letter to the King. Finishing it, he signed it and rolled it up. He held a bar of sealing wax over a nearby candle until it began to melt and sealed the rolled up parchment with it. Pressing his ring into the soft wax, the official seal of Kantwell, a blazing M insignia, was imprinted into it. Merric stood and picked up the parchment. He walked to the window, opened it, and spoke softly out the window.

  "Hic meus lacuna quod refero meus dico."

  He stood there for a few minutes until he heard a loud humming sound from outside. Merric stepped back from the window as a small, gray blur sped through the opening and landed on the back of his chair. Merric looked at the small creature and smiled.

  "Thank you for coming, Drakkin," Merric said.

  The small gray creature’s lips parted in a toothy grin. The creature was about three feet long, includin
g his tail, with silvery gray scales and gray wings folded on his back. It had a long snout, bright, golden eyes, and taloned feet. Drakkin was a member of a small species of dragon called Swiftclaws, named for their incredible speed and fierce dispositions when angered.

  "Greetings, Merric. Fine day for hunting is it not?" Drakkin replied.

  "Very fine indeed. Could I impose upon you to deliver a missive for me?"

  "Where is this missive to be delivered?" Inquired Drakkin, cocking his head to one side.

  "To the King, of course. Would I call you to deliver a missive to anyone less important?"

  "I should hope not," Drakkin said standing taller on the back of the chair and puffing his tiny chest up, revealing a bright silver underbelly.

  "Of course I wouldn’t. Only the most important missives to the highest ranking people would I call you for."

  The smile on the tiny dragon’s face broadened.

  "Now that my ego has been sufficiently stroked, what is this missive?"

  "Ah, my friend, it is truly good to see you again," Merric laughed.

  "Of course, you are honored, for I would come at no other’s behest. Now about this missive..."

  "It is a letter to the King warning him of the encroachment of the Weres into Glimmen Marsh. They skirmish with the dwarves and may be headed through The Slot into Branna. Mortow is beginning to make his move again."

  "Ah, so it is a war missive I would be carrying. Herald of approaching doom and all that. I like it." His tiny, golden eyes glowed brightly.

  "Yes," Merric said solemnly.

  "Then I will take it to the King for you."

  Drakkin spread his leathery wings and they began to thrum like the wings of a hummingbird. He sped to Merric and hovered in front of him. Merric held out the parchment, and Drakkin took it in his front claws.

  "Fare you well, Merric. I am off to grace the King’s court and to herald the coming of the enemy."

  "Farewell, Drakkin," Merric said.

  The tiny dragon zipped out the window and, as Merric watched, it streaked off and a loud popping sound announced its departure. Merric chuckled to himself. Those little guys are such amusing creatures. Now, I must get word to Ataum that the elders are moving against our alliance. Merric stood tapping his right index finger to his lips. Perhaps I should have gone to the elves myself. Mathis is too hot headed to deal with the likes of Rydon, and Rydon is too mule headed for his own good. I’m certainly glad Ataum is nothing like his sire. The elves will need someone level headed and far thinking to lead them in the future. They can’t stay locked away in their forest pretending that the world around them doesn’t exist.

  Merric walked over to his desk and picked up a tiny, crystal bell. He shook the bell and a pure, high note emitted from it. He sat down at his desk and waited. The mate to the little bell would chime in response in the duty office, summoning whoever was on call. Merric waited about ten minutes, thinking of all the things that needed to be done, when a soft knock sounded at the door.

  "Come in," Merric said.

  "Master, you called?" A diminutive mage in gray robes with a red sash and two black stripes on it asked timidly. Her hooded head was bowed and her hands were folded within her sleeves.

  "Melora, isn’t it?"

  "Yes, Master."

  "Come in child. Just because I’m Headmaster doesn’t mean I’m an ogre," Merric said with a smile to try to put her at ease.

  "Of course not, Master." Melora entered the room closing the door behind her and stood before Merric’s desk.

  "Stand up straight my dear and remove your hood. I would see with whom I converse."

  Her hand trembling, Melora removed her hood and looked up at Merric, a stricken look upon her face. Merric beheld a small woman in her mid-teens, blonde with blue eyes, her face still rounded with youth.

  "Now, my dear, I may look like an ogre, but I assure you I will not eat you," Merric said smiling gently. A small smile passed Melora’s lips.

  "I don’t think you look like an ogre, Master."

  "Well I’m glad to hear it. If I looked as bad as all that, then I would frighten away half the students. How are your studies going?"

  "They are going fine, Master. Mistress Mieka is a very good teacher."

  "I see you have opened the second door." Merric continued to smile, indicating the two black stripes on her sash.

  "Yes, Master, just last week I found the second key."

  "Excellent, my dear. Keep at it and follow Mieka’s instructions and you’ll be a third key in no time."

  "I will, Master." Melora smiled, seeming a bit more at ease.

  "Now, for the reason I called you. Since you are the one on duty, it will be your responsibility to inform Mieka or Mathis that I have to go on an errand. I’m not sure when I’ll return. Tell them I said to carry on with the tasks I have already given them, and I will see them when I get back."

  "Yes, Master. I will tell them."

  "Very good. You can go back to your studies after you have done that. I won’t be needing anything else."

  "Thank you, Master." Melora bowed and headed for the door.

  "Melora…" Merric called out as she opened the door.

  Turning back to face him, she replied.

  "Yes, Master?"

  "Don’t hesitate to come see me if you have any questions or you need to talk. I am a teacher as well as Headmaster."

  "Thank you, Master. I shall remember that." Melora closed the door behind her as she left.

  Merric thought to himself, I really need to get involved in their instruction again. If the other students are as afraid of me as she is, then I need to spend more time with all of them. I don’t want to become known as the sneaky ogre of Kantwell. Damn Mortow anyway. If it wasn’t for him, I would have the time to teach as I should. Oh well, for now, it can’t be helped. Merric stood, spoke a few words, and vanished.

  The court of King Brose was being held in the main assembly hall. The stone of the sunken floor was dark granite, but the walls were of white marble shot through with veins of black and gold. The exposed beams of the ceiling, lofting a good thirty feet overhead, were white washed. The hall itself was seventy five feet long and fifty feet wide. There were four recessed fire pits spaced evenly in the base of the walls of each side of the room. The entrance stepped down three steps from the large, iron bound, oak doors.

  At the far end, five steps ascended to a platform that held two carved, wooden thrones. Seated in the right hand throne was the King himself, resplendent in a crimson cloak and gold crown studded with rubies. King Brose had ascended to the throne ten years ago after his father’s death from a wasting sickness. Brose was a man of average height and build with blonde hair falling to his shoulders and a close cropped beard of the same hue. Blue eyes peered out from under a prominent brow, observing the proceedings with intense scrutiny.

  To his right, in the other throne, was seated a youth of eight summers. Prince Faden had golden hair and blue eyes that matched those of his sire. He also wore a crimson cloak, but on his head was a plain silver circlet. As they listened to the arguments of a border dispute between two neighboring farmers, the young prince squirmed in his seat, wishing he was at play out in the gardens.

  "Be still, Faden. It is important that you learn to judge accurately and fairly," Brose gently chided his son.

  "But father, I’m bored. Why should I care whose land the stream runs through?" whispered Faden.

  "Because a King must attend to all matters in his realm, be they large or small. To you, the stream means nothing, but to these two men, it is essential to their livestock, and therefore, to their livelihood. All things in the realm are important to someone, and your judgment in the future will determine the lives of men."

  "Master Doleman, Master Kern," The king interrupted their arguing. He had heard enough to understand the situation.

  "Yes, Sire?" They both replied in unison.

  "Since the stream runs roughly down the border of you
r lands, it is my judgment that fencing be raised by both parties. The northern half of the land will be fenced ten feet from the western bank of the stream, allowing Master Doleman to water his livestock there. The southern half will be fenced ten feet from the eastern bank allowing Master Kern to water his stock there. Is that agreeable to both parties?" The King asked.

  "Yes, Sire," both replied again bowing.

  "Then it is so decreed. And gentlemen." They both looked up at him.

  "Try not to let the fence be a barrier between the two of you, only between your herds."

  "Yes, Sire."

  As the two men turned to leave, there came a great thrumming noise and a burst of wind blew through the hall, scattering the papers on the scribe’s desk. Everyone in the room lifted their arms up to shield their faces from the blast. When the wind gust died down, the men lowered their arms, and there before them, hovering ten feet from the ground, his wings a blur, was a small, gray dragon. Everywhere throughout the hall were gasps of amazement, for very few had ever seen a Swiftclaw up close.

  "Oh look father, a Swiftclaw! Can we keep him?" Piped the young prince.

  The little dragon’s head snapped to the little prince and issued a small puff of indignant flame. The King laughed heartily.

  "No son. Swiftclaws are not pets. They are…free roaming, noble dragons." The King stood and inclined his head to the dragon.

  "So Sir Swiftclaw, what can the Court of Brannin do for you today?"

  The small dragon inclined his head to the King and, as he did, the King noticed the scroll in his claws.

  "King Brose, I am Drakkin. I bear tidings from Headmaster Merric in Kantwell. It seems the dwarves are under attack by the Weres, and Merric thinks they could be headed for The Slot."

  Murmurs broke out throughout the hall. The King turned to the guards.

  "Clear the hall."

  As the guards shepherded everyone from the hall, the King strode down the steps from his throne to stand on the floor.

  "Merric sent a message for me then?"

  "Aye." The little dragon flashed forward and dropped the scroll down to the King, the wind from his wings causing the King’s cloak to flutter and snap. Drakkin flew back a distance and hovered.