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

by Timothy Woods

  "You are just saying that to make sure I don’t have any fun." Branik finally smiled.

  Micah chuckled.

  "Now, if you two are ready, I suggest we get moving. Rand, I recommend that you take your horse and head back to the main force. This end of The Slot will not be safe for one man alone."

  "I will accompany you thru the pass, that is, if you don’t mind, my Lord," Rand said.

  "We go by a different means. We will not be going through The Slot," Micah informed him.

  Rand looked at him puzzled. The only route into Branna was through The Slot unless one wanted to go all the way up and around through the dwarven kingdom. And that would easily add a week to the travel time, but he was not about to question the Avari Lord.

  "As you say, my Lord. Branik, Reek, it was nice seeing you again." Rand turned and gathered Fire’s tether line and mounted up. He waved to them as he turned Fire and headed back into the pass.

  Micah waited for him to make it around the first bend and then walked up to Branik and Reek.

  "We now travel on the wings of magic again. I will be dropping you off about a day's run from Kantwell. Get some rest and head there at first light. Merric knows you are coming, and so does Michael."

  "Will you be joining us at Kantwell, my Lord?" Reek asked.

  "Eventually. I have some other matters I must see to first. Train him and guard him well. Since you undertake this task of your own free will, I commission you to the Blood Pact. Your lives before his. Agreed?" Micah asked grimly.

  "Aye, my Lord," they both answered bowing before him with hands clasped.

  Micah withdrew his little silver flask and took a drink from it. He pocketed it and clasped both men on their shoulders. He spoke softly the words of a transport spell, and the three were instantly gone from the clearing, leaving the little campfire to burn itself out.

  The trio appeared in a field of tall grass, the sky above them blazing with starlight. The wind blowing through the grass was the only sound around them.

  "Kantwell lies a day's journey northwest from here." Micah pointed off behind him and to the right.

  "The village of Kell lies over that hill. Rest here for the night and head for Kantwell tomorrow. You should be able to get there by nightfall. Tell Michael I had to leave on business, and that I will return as soon as I can."

  "We will protect him, my Lord," Reek assured him.

  "He will be in good hands, of that I have no doubts. Good luck, Avari. May the Great One’s smile be ever on you," Micah proclaimed as he stepped back. He muttered the words of a spell and vanished.

  "Well, we better find such rest as we can in what’s left of this night," Branik said.

  "I will take first watch," Reek replied.

  "No, you sleep, I’ll watch. I am no longer tired," Branik countered.

  "If you wish," Reek shrugged. He walked around flattening the grass, and then laid his cloak out and was asleep almost instantly.

  Branik walked off a little way towards the village. He sat down in the grass, cross-legged, his head and shoulders all that could be seen above the tall grass. He closed his eyes and opened his mind to the world around him, relying on the sounds of the plain to warn him of any approaching danger. As he settled, Branik began to hear Reek’s gentle breathing and the sounds of crickets beginning to chirp again as they realized these intruders meant them no harm and returned to their nightly routine.

  An hour later, Branik heard a distinct sound that did not belong. His eyes snapped open, and he sprang to his feet. He whistled lightly and saw Reek’s head pop up and cock to one side. Quickly, Reek also was on his feet, throwing his cloak around his shoulders. The sound was louder now and there was no mistaking it. There was a battle raging in the small town of Kell. Both men broke into a run as they headed for the village. They crested the hill and caught the smell of smoke rising from the village. Even without the smell, they could see several great blazes. It seemed the village was being put to the torch. Rand nudged Branik’s arm with the back of a hand and pointed.

  "Look there, a large group just off to the north side of the village."

  "Aye, and by the size of them, they can only be ogres. How could they have gotten all the way up here? That large of a group should not have gone unnoticed," Branik commented dourly.

  "They would if they traveled as we just did," Reek told him.

  "Well, however they got here, we know how to send them back," Branik said starting to draw his swords.

  "Nay, my friend," Reek said placing a restraining hand on Branik’s arm.

  "We have a mission and can ill afford injury or death. There are too many of them and no defensive position within the village." Reek could feel Branik’s arm tighten with barely contained rage.

  Branik knew Reek was right. Even as they watched, the fire spread to most of the village, and the ogres were moving off to the northeast. If they had run straight to the village, they still would have been too late to help its people. Shoving his sword down into its sheath and gritting his teeth, Branik turned back towards Kantwell.

  "Come on. I want to be in Kantwell by tomorrow afternoon. Merric needs to be informed as quickly as possible."

  "Aye, I am done with sleep this night. We will run," Reek agreed.

  Both men took off at a run down the hill. They had a lot of ground to cover and neither wanted to waste any more time. They fell into a sustainable, ground eating pace for a few miles then quickened for the next mile. They would run in cycles like this until they reached Kantwell. Every time Branik would think of the village burning and its people being slaughtered, his pace would quicken. Reek understood how his friend felt. Killing in battle was one thing. Watching helpless men, women, and children being slaughtered for sport was quite another. Now the task of training seemed onerous to him as well. He would have preferred to follow the ogres and waylay them at some strategic spot where their numbers could not be brought to bear. Even then, it would still be chancy, for there had been well over two hundred ogres out there and only two of them. It would only take one wrong move, and they both would end up dead. Fighting thirty or forty Weres in a defensible pass was a much different prospect than a couple hundred ogres out in the open. Plus, ogres were much more organized in their military groups and could have a shaman or two among them. No, he made the right call. They would have been throwing their lives away for nothing more than a few minutes of vengeance.

  Branik’s pace increased again and Reek kept stride with him. He knew Branik’s rage would fuel him all the way to the steps of Kantwell, so he poured on some more speed to let Branik know he felt the same. Branik matched the increased pace, and they ran thus for over a mile before easing back again. The night would be a long one, but this was a clean exertion that was familiar and calming. The run would burn the rage out and leave them more focused for what lay ahead.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Micah materialized in the library of his house near the Oakrin grove. He looked around, knowing that nothing would have been disturbed in his absence. He took out the little silver flask and went to his wardrobe. He had used more of the precious liquid in the last five days than he had in the past twenty years, and there was no indication that this new trend would let up any time soon. He opened the finely carved mahogany doors and slid the clothes aside. Micah touched a panel on the back and it popped outward just enough for him to hook his fingers behind its edge and open it. Within the three foot square opening rested a large, platinum vase, perhaps a foot and a half in diameter and over two feet tall, with strange, engraved symbols covering the outside. Some of the patterns were recognizably Celtic in origin. Others were far older and more enigmatic. Steam rose off the vase just like the little flask. Micah took the flask in his teeth, lifted the vase out, and carried it over to a reading table near the rear window. He opened the lid on the vase and peered in. The dark liquid inside came to just about the halfway point on the vase. He replaced the lid and set his hand over a large Celtic symbol in the c
enter of the vase.

  "Patefacio in nomen vita," Micah chanted, holding the little flask open below the symbol. He removed his hand, and a stream of the dark liquid began to flow from the center of the symbol into the little flask. When the flask was full, Micah placed his right index finger on the symbol above the stream and whispered.

  "Subsisto." The stream cut off immediately. Micah capped the little flask and returned it to his pocket. He picked up the vase and carried it back to its hiding place in the wardrobe, and closed the secret door. He slid the clothes back into place, closed the wardrobe doors, and then strode from the house and down the path to the Oakrin grove. The leaves rustled at his approach.

  "Welcome, Micah." The sound was that of the wind blowing gently through the leaves.

  "Greetings, my friends. I have returned to this world bearing a man of most peculiar powers. I would ask if you might be able to shed some light upon them."

  "Ask then."

  "He has spontaneously opened seven doors of magic. Until just a few days ago, he had no prior knowledge that magic even existed. Now, he is a seventh key. Not only that, but the words of spells come to him without his knowledge of the language of magic. In all my years, in all my research, I have never encountered one such as he. In fact, what he has done was previously considered impossible."

  "AHHH, a Myrkron again walks the land. It has been long since one of their kind has been born; but we remember them," the winds replied with satisfaction.

  Micah’s eyes narrowed.

  "A Myrkron? That is a word from my native tongue."

  “It is a word far older than your language. Its origin is tied in with the forming of all creation.”

  “In my language, Myrkron means sun fire,” Micah commented.

  “That is fitting since your people were sun worshippers. In the language of the universe, it means divine gift. Myrkron are only born once every ten thousand years, and then, only come into their powers under certain circumstances."

  "And what circumstances would those be?" Micah inquired.

  "That, we may not tell you, just as we may not tell you of his powers," the winds replied with obvious regret.

  "May not or cannot?"

  "It matters not. The result is the same. Tell us, what kind of man is he?"

  "Frightened, confused, compassionate. What would you know?"

  "Do you feel he is a steadfast man? One who would not be corrupted by power?"

  "I do not know him very well, but in the time I have spent with him, I have come to believe he is a good man. Who can truly say, though, what lies within another? If power would corrupt him, it is beyond my ability to discern. Long ago, people would have told you that I was a good man, and we all know that is untrue."

  "Self-degradation does not become you, Micah. Expiation was given to you long ago. Your works have since furthered the light."

  "There is no expiation for what I am!" Micah exclaimed savagely.

  "The spirit of the land knows you, Micah, for what you truly are and has not rejected you. Why can you not take solace in that knowledge?"

  "Because no matter what I do, it can never erase the evil I have visited up on the world."

  "But that evil has been erased. You yourself have banished it."

  "As long as I exist, it can never truly be gone. You know this!"

  "That is untrue, Micah. Just because you do not have the means to eradicate it, does not mean it cannot be done."

  "This line grows old!" Micah’s voice had risen to a harsh roar that echoed off the surrounding trees. The leaves of the great oaks trembled with its volume. In the silence that followed, Micah heard the low, rumbling growl of a large predator, answered by another. Two gigantic, black wolves moved into the clearing. They walked between Micah and the Oakrin, heads lowered menacingly with their ears flattened back. Micah looked at each of them and bowed his head. He turned and began to pace.

  "I am sorry, my friends, but, as you can see, the evil is still there." He gestured to the two wolves that, sensing the change in his tone, perked their ears forward and sat back on their haunches.

  "Roam and Jewl can sense it. There is no need for you to guard them, my friends. I may get angry, but I would never harm the Oakrin," Micah assured the two wolves.

  The smaller of the two stood and walked up to Micah. He stopped his pacing and faced her. Standing, her eyes were just slightly above the level of Micah’s own eyes. The huge mouth opened, and she began to pant. The gesture reminded Micah of a smile. The great head came down and butted him gently in the chest.

  "Jewl wishes to know if you would like to meet her pups. She says that sharing in new life might help you forget old pains," the winds informed him.

  Micah could not help but smile.

  "So you have finally thrown a litter, have you?" He reached up and stroked the side of Jewl’s head. He looked over at Roam.

  "I suppose you are just as proud as she is about this?"

  Roam’s mouth opened, and he began to pant as well.

  "I knew it," Micah said laughing.

  Jewl turned her head, clasped Micah’s forearm gently in her teeth and tugged him towards the forest.

  "Yes, I will go see them." Micah told Jewl removing his arm from her mouth. He looked up at the Oakrin.

  "I still have questions. I do not consider this conversation concluded."

  "We are not going anywhere, Micah. Calm your mind and then return to us. Mayhap we can answer a few of them."

  "Very well." Micah turned back to Jewl.

  "Lead on, I will follow," Micah said as he shifted his own form to that of a black wolf. He was not nearly as big as they were, so he had to lope to keep pace with them as they melted into the forest. Roam let out a deep, long howl as he moved among the trees. Micah found himself answering in kind.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Blood and strange body parts were flying in all directions. His attackers were being cut down by a whirlwind force in front of him. He turned to see a glowing pair of eyes set low to the ground. The sleek feline form behind those eyes bunched in readiness to spring. He tried to call out, then, just as the cat leaped at him, he sat bolt upright in bed. Sweat soaked his blanket and, as he ran a hand through his hair, Michael could feel it was plastered to his head with perspiration. He didn’t know what had awakened him, but he was glad it had. Michael could feel his heart racing and looked around in fright, not immediately recognizing his surroundings. The moment of panic fled when he realized that he was in Kantwell, lying on the bed in the room Merric had assigned him. His heart was beating so hard he could feel it throbbing in his neck and could hear the thump of it in his ears. Michael took a couple of deep breaths and tried to will his heart to slow. It was working. He placed his right hand over his eyes with thumb and middle fingers spanning his temples.

  "Alcedonia," he whispered, feeling his heart slow to a normal pace and his muscles unknot.

  Michael looked around the room again and noticed that the sky outside his window was just starting to turn a pinkish color. He threw the cover off and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The room was chilly and the sweat soaked clothing made him even colder. When his feet hit the floor he jerked them back.

  "Damn! I never knew stone could be so cold." Michael was looking around for his boots when a knock at the door startled him enough to make him jump.

  "So much for the tranquility spell," he muttered.

  "Yes, who is it?" Michael called out. He waited a few seconds and, when no reply came, he heard another knock.

  "Of course! The ward." Whomever was out there could not hear him. He stood up on the cold floor and went to the door. The bolt was open. He smacked his palm to his forehead.

  "I’m not a very good listener it seems. I went to sleep without even locking the door." Michael opened the small brass sight door. Looking through it, he could see a gray robed, young man with copper colored hair. He opened the door and motioned for him to come in. The man took a step forward and rebound
ed. Looking very disconcerted, he cocked his head at Michael.

  Michael merely smiled and stepped out into the hall.

  "Sorry about that. Micah must have warded my room against intrusion."

  "That is quite alright. Being new to this world, I am sure you are apprehensive about a great many things," the man replied softly.

  "Martin, isn’t it? I remember you from last night. Merric said you would be my guide until I learned my way around."

  Martin nodded, grinning.

  "Aye, Merric asked me to show you around before class and bade me bring you this." Martin held up his right hand. In it was a folded dark blue sash with a single black stripe on it. Michael took the offered sash.

  "Thanks. If you’ll give me a few minutes, I’d like to wash up, and I think I’ll throw on one of those robes. It might be best if I tried to blend in around here for a while."

  Martin chuckled.

  "With that sash," Martin said pointing to the mass of blue in Michael’s hand, "there is no possible way you could blend in. There are no wizard apprentices here anymore. You are the only one."

  Taken back a bit, Michael asked.

  "What do the colors mean?"

  "Well, the gray robes are a designation of apprenticeship. The red sashes denote magicians, yellow for sorcerers, and blue for wizards."

  "And the black stripes?"

  "That marks your rank in keys. Depending on how many doors you have opened, you have a stripe for each door within your designation." Holding up the end of his own sash, he continued.

  "My sash is yellow, therefore I am a sorcerer. I have one black stripe which indicates I have opened the fourth door. If I had two stripes it would mean I had opened the fifth. Your sash is blue indicating you are a wizard. One stripe means you have opened the seventh door."

  "Ok, that makes sense," Michael said bouncing the sash in his hand.

  "I suggest you hold any other questions until after your mourning toilet. We have a lot of ground to cover, and I can answer your questions as we walk."