by Aaron Thomas
The man nodded his head while rubbing a small triangular goatee. The man was covered in stark-white hair that was the only thing giving away his elderly age. Bowie looked around the crowd as he waited for someone to speak and noticed that someone was using wind magic in a funnel shape around the stage. Bowie didn’t understand its purpose, but there was still a great many things he did not know about magic.
Finally, the man stood and approached Bowie, taking Bowie's outstretched hand between both of his. His hands were warm and dry. They were rough and calloused as if the man had put in a great many years of hard labor.
“Welcome to the great hall of Myoria. Very few people come to visit us here, Master Crescent. We are happy to welcome you to our humble town, Master Fletcher.”
Bowie took a step back and bowed, “It is a pleasure to be in your town, although I don’t think it is so humble.”
The man gave a smile that said he disagreed and gave a firm shake to Bowie’s hand. He stepped around Bowie and addressed the crowd, “I would like you all to meet Master Crescent; fletcher, archer, war hero, and wielder of wind and earth. As you can see, Master Crescent, this cone of wind here amplifies your voice so that everyone in the room can hear you. Everything we speak to one another will be done before them.”
The crowd erupted with clapping and cheering. Bowie felt a little hot, knowing that the hundreds of people in the room were listening to his conversation with the mayor.
The white-haired man waved his arms, and the room fell silent.
“I am Scott Eldelsmith, mayor to this town. Sitting in the room is the city council,” Scott said, waving his hand around the room. “You see, it is a long standing tradition amongst the rogue wizards to invite every grown man and woman to sit on the council. In ages past our decisions were made for us, but not anymore. Each person in this room has a say in our path as a people.”
Bowie nodded his head as he looked around the room, waiting for the mayor to continue.
“Master Crescent, I have been told that you sought us out. Why is that?” Scott asked.
Bowie cleared his throat, “There are battles being fought, and we need your help.”
The mayor gave Bowie a face that said he needed to continue his explanation, but Bowie had said what he had come to say. Besides, he was always better at negotiating when his mouth was shut.
Finally, the mayor unclasped his hands. “Let me give you a bit of history on the rogue wizards. You see, back during the days of Heathmos, the wizards were split into two groups. One of the groups we know as the Elder Wizards. They gave themselves the name thinking themselves wise and more powerful. These wizards thought themselves so wise that they sought to control the elemental realms through schemes and plots. They manipulated kings and nobles into giving guided wizards seats of power throughout the realm. Any wizard that did not follow their ways was cast out and called a traitor. The shunned were sent to dwell in the only hovel that was left for them.”
“The second group of wizards sits before you now. We are the Rogue Wizards, as they call us. We have resided here in this swamp for a great many years. We grow the trees and shape the land to keep our homes and numbers hidden. When the Rogues first arrived here, we banded together to protect ourselves. Over the years our numbers have grown from those the Elders cast away and from new children from those already here.”
“On two occasions we have ventured out of our land. Once, to face the Elders to claim more fertile land. Our people were killed to the man, every last one of them left to rot in the desert. The second time was only a decade ago. A tyrant king had sent wielders to kill any wizard he did not control. Our people refused to join, and a wielder named Dylan Everheart slew our group of one hundred emissaries.”
Bowie noticed the room was silent and even saw tears in the eyes of those closest to him. Scott came closer and turned Bowie to face the largest part of the room.
“Tell us again why you need our help,” Scott said to Bowie, just loud enough he was sure everyone could still hear.
Bowie looked out on the crowd trying to find the proper points to negotiate on. The only problem was, Kilen controlled the goods to which he was negotiating. The Rogues wanted land, and Kilen had the land. Bowie was sure Kilen wouldn’t be too happy if Bowie promised them lands for helping. He would have to try a different approach.
Looking around the room, his eyes fell on a pitcher and goblets sitting beside the raised floor. Bowie crossed the distance and poured the contents of the pitcher into a goblet. It just happened to be a red wine, which he drained out of the goblet as fast as his throat would let him. When he finished, he took another look around the room and repeated the process.
Wiping the spilled wine off his face onto his sleeve, he resumed his position at the front. He began thinking about everything the Rogue Wizards may want. They wanted most of all to be out of the swamp. Second, perhaps, revenge on Dylan or the Elders. So he knew where to start.
“You are right, the Elders have waged war and manipulated kings for many years. I have heard Ria talk about it many times. In fact, they manipulated my best friend into taking the throne of the Water Realm. I regret to say my friends name you will not like. He is Kilen Everheart, and he is the son of Dylan Everheart.”
The crowd erupted with yelling and cursing. It took several shouts for Scott to regain control of the room and even then, there were still many talking despite the requests for composure.
“Neither his son nor I, or his own wife, has seen Dylan in just over ten years. I suppose the last time he was seen was when your emissaries lost their lives. I knew him as a farmer, and he raised his son to be a scholar. Unfortunately, the same man that would have ordered Dylan to attack you now attacks my friend’s city. Kilen is under attack by the Earth Realm’s king, King Atmos. He is a vicious king and son to the king Dylan was subject too. If you wish to get justice for your emissaries’ death, I would start with King Atmos. Atmos is the one that ordered the deaths of wizards,” Bowie said, thinking he had done pretty well.
Scott stepped up, “Are you trying to manipulate us into fighting a war for our former killer’s son?”
Bowie’s negotiation wasn’t going how he hoped. His thoughts immediately went to Auburn. She had a way of finding an alternative way to solving problems. Instead of arguing with him, Bowie decided to change his approach.
“Have you ever heard of the Dark Army?” Bowie asked.
The crowd once again fell silent, and Scott raised an eyebrow. “This is one name we have heard before. The Soul Wizard sent many men into our swamp. We watched as the soulless soldiers were eaten and ripped to shreds by the creatures of the night. Although they faced the swamp, they kept coming until there was fighting in our streets. The Dark Army sent men where the kings and Elders do not.”
Bowie did not let the now-captive audience lose the image of the dark army, now implanted in their heads, “They have returned.”
The crowd gasped and started a commotion again. Bowie smiled and poured himself another drink. By the time he finished, Scott had calmed everyone enough so he could continue talking.
“The Dark Army has returned, and the Elders have made their way to battle it. I do not tell you this to scare you. I tell you this to give you the advantage. In all your years living here, they are the only one to send soldiers against you. Think of the damage inflicted upon the Elders who roam a land without a protective border,” Bowie said, playing to the crowd.
He turned towards Scott, “If there has ever been a time when the Elder Wizards have been weak, it is now.”
“Are you suggesting that we attack the Elder Wizards?” Scott asked.
Bowie shook his head, “I am suggesting that while they are destroying the Dark Army, you move your people out of this swamp and into a land where they will be appreciated. Go to Leviathan and support my friend Kilen by destroying King Atmos and his army. You will gain Kilen’s favor and a land that has been stripped of its wizards for a decade. The Elders will not h
ave the strength to fight both armies. They will simply have to let you stay.”
Besides a few whispers around the large room, most of the people were silent waiting for Scott to speak. He paced some and whispered to Dorian and the others on the raised floor. Finally, he walked back to where Bowie stood, stroking the small patch of hair on his chin.
“What’s in it for you?” Scott asked.
His question was simple, but to Bowie, the answer was even more simple. It was the one reason he had departed Kilen and the rest. “I don’t have to watch my friends die,” Bowie said.
Scott tapped his chin, “When the battles are over, and we have secured the Water Realm, the Dark Army defeated, and the Elder Wizards weak, what will keep us from taking all the land?”
Bowie swallowed, he could see the fire in the wizard’s eyes. The hate that had consumed him for many years stuck in the swamp. Bowie could see the lust for revenge behind the black pupils that weighed him.
“Nothing, but the guilt that you would feel for doing to all the innocents what had been done to you,” Bowie said before giving a bow and slowly walking out of the room. He was done arguing with the wizards, whether they liked it or not.
Chapter 14 - Into Darkness
Alexander was still shivering despite the long-sleeved jacket and robe he wore underneath. The men that carried him had hands made of ice. Cold, dead hands gripped him by the arms and drug him limp for a league. His shoulders ached, but he dared not complain. He sat motionless, hoping and dreading that anytime he would meet the soul wizard.
His body was very close to being broken. He was covered with cuts and bruises from head to toe. The rest of the Elders said they needed to make it look as if he really had been taken while resisting. He knew as soon as he returned to Warick with his mission complete he would be healed, energized, and given a new mission. His work was never finished.
Slowly, he bent his wrist checking to make sure his imbuements were still in place. He was wearing a sack full of strung imbuements amongst his small clothes. The chainger ran inside a leather binding all the way to his wrist. When the moment was right, he would pull the leather cover off the chainger’s end to fill himself with forty imbuements. The Elders were unsure what type of magic he would need to escape so they thought he should take ten of each. He was sure that the moment he touched his chainger, they would leap on him.
The night sky had fallen, and it was hard to see the movement around him. The longer he traveled with the dead men, the more people joined him. Some walked on their own accord being dragged by chains. Some were laid in the back of a wagon or laid over a horse's back. The captors said nothing, they only led the people to their demise. Alexander listened to the pleadings of people as they walked, they cried out, and some tried to fight. Fighting never lasted long. Without a word spoken, the dead men would put down any resistance and leave the body on the road as a warning to the next one. Life meant nothing to these soldiers.
The wordless shuffle continued well into the night. He couldn’t tell by looking at the ground how many leagues of land they must have covered in their endless walk. Alexander turned his head slowly to the left and saw another group of the soulless walking in the opposite direction. He knew these were most likely the recently turned, seeking out more victims to join their ranks and to suffer the same fate as him.
It didn’t matter how much he tried to fight the feeling, the slow sway back and forth finally conquered him and sent him to sleep. He had a horrible nightmare of being sucked dry by leeches that grew in size as they fed on him. He woke when he was thrown to the ground.
He landed hard and let out a grunt. His guise of being unconscious was now discovered. He slowly turned his head and came to his knees cautiously. His arms ached and felt as though he had thousands of needles poking into his skin. He tried to shake the feeling by opening and closing his hands. A boot to his back told him that he was moving too much.
When he sat up the second time, he held his hands in his lap and took a slow look around. He was in a long line in a heavily wooded area. Goats baying and owls calling out in the night were the only sounds that answered the screaming in the woods. Heavily armored men with spiked blades stood swaying slowly amongst the trees. There was no reason to their stance or ranks. They stood haphazardly like motionless puppets in a puppeteer’s cart. He held his back a bit straighter to see there was no end to their number. Alexander had found the Dark Army’s hold. Now all he had to do was figure out where he was and how to escape with his life.
With a slow motion, Alexander began to stand, keeping his head down. His escorts came beside him with swords in hand, looking him over with glassy eyes. Alexander stood still and offered them no reason to gut him and leave him to be another warning. A woman’s scream echoed ahead, but he dared not look. It was ended just as quickly as it came, and again the eerie silence of the dead around him took over.
The line moved forward, and so did Alexander. His escorts followed but didn’t continue to face him as if they needed to kill him at any moment. Slowly, he lifted his eyes. In front of him was what looked like a large horse barn. The open area before it was lined with torches. It was the only light Alexander had seen since the sun had fallen below the horizon what seemed like hours ago.
Inside the building, he could make out minor details. Mostly the braziers burning just inside the doorway. Behind the flames, he could see the horse stalls filled with people watching whatever ritual was taking place on the inside.
Closing his eyes, he tried to steel himself for what he would witness this night. He knew inside would be terrible things which no man should ever have to witness. He knew he would have to endure something that he would never shake, for the good of the realms.
He was shoved forward and nearly collided into the man in front of him. They both stood straight and offered no apologies. Instead, they remained silent waiting for their turn to die. Alexander clutched his chainger just inside the leather pouch in his sleeve, as if it contained his very life force.
The line moved forward at a quickened pace until Alexander was standing next to the entrance. He took in all he could about the throne room that was once a barn. Where horses use to sleep women were now being kept as livestock in white small clothes. They looked to be terrified as if they might be next to die.
The people that were next in line before Alexander were lined up in front of the throne and put on their knees. Before them stood some of the captive women in white. Some of the women’s clothes were drenched with blood, while others were as white as the highest clouds he so longed to float beside. Each of the women held and object. The objects, Alexander noticed, were each a different way of killing a person. The women that held them were very much living but looked to be dead inside with dried tears on their faces.
He knew right away they didn’t want to do what was being forced upon them. What happened next stunned Alexander. There was no ceremony, no great words spoken, no threats, no warning. A voice said, “Kill,” and they did. Some took a little longer to die, but eventually, even the man that was being strangled by a thin wire went limp.
Alexander swallowed hard and found himself wanting to back up, but his escorts held him in place. He almost panicked but then all the men who had been killed stood of their own strength and hugged the woman in front of them. They turned and walked out a side door of the barn. The women waited for Alexander to step forward for his turn, but a voice spoke again.
The voice was attached to a woman in all black. A hood was pulled up around her face and was lined with the finest raven feathers he had ever seen. The woman’s skin was pale, smooth, and tight at nearly every indecent inch exposed. It did not matter how snowy white the skin was, the light seemed to darken at her presence.
His countenance failed him, as he looked at her he felt as if he deserved to die. He felt like he wanted to die because of the despair he was already in. He slowly stepped forward of his own accord, but the woman held up her hand.
&nbs
p; “You, my lovely servants, have done your duty. I release you and find your commitments fulfilled. Do not remove the garments I have given you until you are well beyond the Wind Realm. It will mark you as free to my soldiers. Do not speak to another soul about what you have witnessed here or I will come for you in the night. I will come for you, and you will live with me amongst my servants doing these deeds until you are too weak and frail to hold a knife. Do you understand me?” The soul wizard said.
“Yes, mistress,” The women in white responded.
They laid their instruments of death on a small table in front of them and filed out of the barn with their lives. A soulless came in from behind Alexander carrying a stack of fresh white robes. Another soldier opened one of the stalls with women and gave them each a garment. They hurried to choose their weapon and waited to begin what Alexander thought to be their turn at killing.
Alexander was forced forward and quickly saw that something was wrong. No one followed him, only his escorts held him before the soul wizard.
“Stand aside ladies,” The woman’s voice commanded.
The women in white scattered to stand beside the walls. Alexander looked stricken; he had been found out. Surely the wizard would not allow him to escape now that he knew how her army was being created. He had gotten more knowledge about soul wizards than any living Elder.
“Alexander,” She cood. “It has been some time since I have been able to speak with you. How is my son?”
“Your son?” Alexander responded with a surprisingly shaky voice.
The woman slowly pulled back the velvety hood lined with feathers to reveal a young face framed by pristine black hair. Her eyes were so dark they looked as though the light would disappear inside of them. It sent a shiver down his spine to look into them, so he looked away and at the soldiers that now lined the room.
“My son, the king of the Water Realm. Surely you recognize the wife of Dylan Everheart,” Sahera said.
