Myrkron (Volume Two of The Chronicles of the Myrkron)

by Woods, Timothy

  “Oh, that’s quite alright. No harm done and I can honestly say I am fully awake now. Nothing like a good scare to keep one alert,” Tess replied with a beaming smile.

  Merric chuckled and bowed to Tess. As he straightened up, he spoke the words of transport that would take Michael, himself, and the two Avari up to his study. Merric sat down heavily in his chair behind the desk.

  Michael looked at the worn expression on Merric’s face and turned his head slightly to the two Avari without taking his eyes off Merric. “Reek, Branik, would you two wait out in the hall for a few minutes please?”

  Both men looked from Michael to Merric.

  “Of course, Michael,” Branik replied without argument.

  When the door was closed behind them, Michael seated himself in one of the chairs in front of Merric’s desk. “Merric, what is it?”

  Merric’s unfocused gaze shifted to Michael, and he shook his head slowly. “Foolish, wishful thinking, Michael, that is all.”

  “I find it hard to believe that anything you would ponder could be considered foolish.”

  Merric smiled slightly at the comment. “When I saw you heal Tess, it made me think of all those I might have been able to save had I your gift. So you see? It was foolish.”

  “I see it as noble, not foolish. The fact that you thought of the welfare of others should never be considered foolish, Merric,” Michael said earnestly, settling back in the chair.

  “The ideal is a noble one. The wishful thought of having something that the Great One chose not to bestow upon me is foolish. It wastes time better spent on more important matters.”

  “What else can you tell me about the Garoliths?” Michael asked, changing the subject.

  “As I said, the material I have found on them has been sparse and vague. I did find one source indicating that twelve of them were created and that they were all imprisoned deep in a sealed cavern. Those facts, and that it takes a ninth key wizard to face them, are all I have been able to dredge up.”

  “But nothing that tells how a ninth key may combat them?” Michael asked.

  “No.”

  “Merric, what can I do to help? I feel useless.”

  “You are far from useless, Michael. You may very well be our only hope in this war. As for what you can do to help, well right now, just don’t go teleporting off into the middle of any more battles,” Merric replied with a weary sigh.

  “I promise,” Michael said, noticing again how tired Merric looked. “You need sleep, Merric.”

  “There is little time for sleep now. Mortow and his army near the Slot and soon we must go to aid the men of Branna. What time is left I need for more important things than sleep.”

  “Then I know what I can do to help,” Michael said stretching his right hand out toward Merric. “Tribuo.” As the word left his lips, Michael felt the familiar breeze slip through his mind.

  Merric cocked his head slightly and sat up straight in his chair. His mind went back to the day he taught Michael about wizard shields. This is what Michael had done after Merric expended a great deal of energy trying to assault Michael’s shield. The exercise had left Merric very drained. Michael had used the energy Merric poured into the attack to bolster his own shield. After seeing how tired Merric was, Michael had transferred that energy back to Merric. It was one of those things Michael could do that defied one of the basic principles of magic, to which Merric had always adhered. Now he felt the same tingling flow of energy and it sent a refreshing wave throughout his mind as well. As the flow of energy stopped, Merric found himself smiling broadly.

  “I don’t know how you do that, but thank you, Michael.”

  Seeing the smile on Merric’s face, Michael smiled back. “If there is nothing I can do to help in the preparations, then the least I can do is see to it that you have the strength you need to complete them.”

  “Why don’t you go down to the classroom and sit in with the students. Maybe you could help Martin a bit. That would help out considerably. I know Martin and Miles would be happy to see you,” Merric suggested.

  “I’ll do that. I have had little time to talk to any of them these past few days. I don’t know how much help I can actually be, but it will give me something to do without getting in your way.”

  “Thank you, Michael,” Merric said, as he rose to his feet. Merric gave a single nod of his head as he spoke the words of transport and vanished from the study.

  Michael, who had stood as Merric did, also spoke the words of transport, remembering to include the two Avari outside the door, in his spell. He appeared outside the door to the classroom with Reek and Branik in tow.

  Branik raised an eyebrow at Michael.

  “Merric thought it would be a good idea if I joined the class for a while. He had other matters to attend, so I agreed,” Michael explained.

  Both Avari took up position; Branik across the hall facing into the classroom and Reek flanking the door.

  As Michael walked into the room, he saw Melora, a young, blonde magician, the red sash at her slim waist displaying two black stripes. She was working at an illusion of a wall of fire, seemingly confident and at ease. Michael moved quietly and sat in the back of the room so as not to interrupt.

  “Very good, Melora. Now bend the wall around you into a complete circle,” Martin instructed.

  Michael watched as the wall shifted smoothly and encircled the girl.

  “Excellent! You can dispel the illusion now,” Martin exclaimed.

  The flaming circle vanished and, as Melora turned to take her seat, Michael saw the pleased smile on her face. Martin was a good teacher. He always seemed to be as proud of a student’s accomplishments as they were themselves.

  Martin caught Michael’s eyes as he looked out over the students. “Have you come to help me with the day's lessons, Michael?” Martin asked casually.

  At mention of his name, Miles’ head quickly spun around. His young face lit up with a huge smile as he saw Michael.

  “I just came to watch. You are a much better teacher than I could ever be. Just pretend I'm not here,” Michael said softly.

  “Nonsense. As the highest ranking apprentice, it is your place to teach the lesser ranks, and I know from personal experience that you are an excellent teacher,” Martin replied holding up the end of his yellow sash to display the two black stripes.

  Michael gave a half smile as he remembered the trouble the fifth key had given Martin.

  “That was not teaching. I merely shared my insight on a common problem.”

  “And that insight led me to the fifth key. Teaching takes on many forms, Michael. Sometimes it is the smallest bit of inconsequential knowledge that gives us our greatest epiphanies,” Martin explained.

  As Martin was talking, all the students turned to look at Michael. He felt decidedly uncomfortable to be the center of attention. He knew his robe and sash had been the focus of many discussions since his return. He should probably tell them something.

  Michael sighed softly and bracing his hands on the desk before him, rose to his feet. “Well, since I know you are all dying to ask, let’s start with the obvious.”

  Miles' little hand shot into the air so fast Michael was afraid he would dislocate his shoulder. Michael couldn’t help but smile. “Miles, what is your question?” Michael asked as he walked to the front of the classroom.

  “Where did you get the new robe and sash? How come the sash doesn’t have any stripes on it? And why is it gold?”

  Michael laughed at the barrage of questions, but he could see that all the students were waiting for the answers. “For starters, the robe and sash are not new. In fact, they are very, very old,” Michael began.

  “How old are they?” Miles asked as Michael took a breath.

  Michael ran his hand along the sash as he thought. “They are older than Headmaster Merric.”

  Miles’ eyes grew round as saucers, and Michael couldn’t help but laugh again. The other students smiled and chuckled as well. />
  “Both were given to me by a magi named Mason. They had been passed down to him from his teacher and he passed them down to me,” Michael told him.

  “Was he your teacher?”

  “Very briefly, yes, he was. He saved my life and taught me what he could in the time he had left.”

  “You mean he died?”

  “I’m afraid so.” Michael, seeing the hurt look on Miles’ face, quickly continued. “He did not suffer and his passing was gentle. He told me he was quite content to move on. You see, Miles, he was very, very old and all of his family had already passed. He was looking forward to joining them.”

  “That’s sad.”

  “It is only sad to us. To him, it was like finally being able to go home. As to why the sash is gold, he did not tell me, nor did he explain why there are no stripes.”

  Martin cleared his throat to get Michael’s attention. “What do they signify? All of the colors we are accustomed to correspond to a level within our magic. You no longer wear the gray robes of an apprentice, nor the blue sash of a wizard,” Martin asked, perplexed.

  “You are correct. I no longer wear the blue sash of a wizard because I am no longer a wizard. Mason called what I am a Myrkron. He and his predecessor were Myrkron as well. The way he explained it was, every ten thousand years a magi is born under a sky full of shooting stars. It matters not how many children are born on that night because, the magic carried by all of those stars is bestowed on only one child; that child is a Myrkron. We are what is beyond a wizard. I am, however, still an apprentice. My power may surpass that of a wizard, but I still have much to learn. I wear the purple robe of the Myrkron out of respect for Mason and his teacher.”

  Morgan, a black haired teenager, wearing the red sash of a magician with three black stripes, spoke up. “If, as you say, a Myrkron is only born every ten thousand years, then this Mason was ten thousand years old when he died?” Morgan asked incredulously.

  “Actually, Mason was over twenty thousand years old. He waited for the last Myrkron to come into existence, but for some reason, he or she never did. Mason had to wait for me,” Michael informed them.

  “If Mason’s teacher waited for him and his teacher’s teacher before him, then you will live for at least ten thousand years as well. Why have we never heard of these magi if they were still around?” Morgan asked.

  “Because, after his normal span of life, Mason stayed confined to a valley as part of a pact he made. That pact allowed him to remain to pass on his knowledge to the next Myrkron. When he was finally able to complete that pact, he passed on.” Michael hung his head and closed his eyes. “I cannot even conceive of what that kind of wait was like.”

  “Extremely boring I would imagine,” Morgan replied.

  Martin, seeing the look on Michael’s face, changed the subject. “Those are weighty matters better left to the minds of wizards. Let us return to the day's lessons. Morgan, how about you show us your illusionary fire wall.”

  As Morgan rose, he cast a glance in Michael’s direction. He thought the man looked like he might be sick at any minute. Morgan shrugged and walked to the front of the classroom.

  Michael barely heard Morgan speaking. The words were distant and incoherent as he turned inward. He saw the three golden doors again, the first one standing open with a mellow golden light spilling out; the door of life. As he looked closely, he noticed a symbol on the two closed doors. The eleventh door had what looked to be a flower of some sort, bent over to the left. The twelfth had an infinity symbol within a circle surrounded by an equilateral triangle. Though he could not see the face of the tenth door, Michael somehow knew it had an Egyptian ankh on it. It was strange that he never noticed them before.

  Michael rose to his feet and headed for the door. Barely noticing his surroundings, he turned left and headed toward the library at the end of the hall. As he approached the door, he suddenly remembered the last time he came this way. Thoughts of Mieka and her betrayal set his head to pounding. He could hear the rushing of his own blood thumping through his temples and had to reach out and brace himself on the door frame. Reek and Branik were instantly at his sides, supporting him.

  Branik turned Michael and, seeing the ashen look on his face, grabbed both of Michael’s upper arms. “Michael, look at me,” Branik said tersely. When Michael finally focused on Branik’s hazel eyes, Branik continued. “Remember the centering lesson. Focus on your breathing. No! Do not close your eyes,” Branik said, shaking Michael urgently. “Look at me and breathe like we taught you. Breathe with your stomach. Put all thought from your mind and breathe.”

  Michael’s mind began to swim and then he felt two iron clamps attach to his arms. He heard Branik’s voice and looked up into the big man’s eyes. He listened to the words Branik was saying and they took him back to the rock garden. He was seated on the grass surrounded by the circle of stones, the largest one behind him.

  Reek and Branik sat cross-legged before him, and he started to close his eyes. He heard the emphatic NO and was shaken once, almost violently. He opened his eyes and focused again on Branik’s hazel ones. Michael began to breathe as they had taught him. His mind went calm, but for some reason he could still feel the grass beneath him even though he knew he was standing inside Kantwell. The grass, the rocks, the bluing sky above him, the wind flowing over him all seemed real.

  Suddenly, the symbol from the eleventh door was before his mind’s eye, the bent flower. He recognized it. It was another Egyptian symbol, the lotus. Michael physically felt connections in his mind being made, paths to knowledge of which he was previously unaware. The lotus, symbol of nature. Ianua Vir, the door of man; life’s connection to nature. His immediate surroundings disappeared and Michael found himself standing before the eleventh door, the symbol of the lotus right before his eyes. He reached up and brushed his right hand over the symbol and the door began to glow. The glow matched the mellow golden light coming from the tenth door. The eleventh was no longer before him. It had opened.

  Michael found he could see beyond the light. The glow was that of sunlight reflecting off a vast ocean. Upon that ocean, he saw many large ships sailing to a coast. The coast was unfamiliar, but he somehow knew it to be just west of Kantwell. He focused on the ships. The crews were busy guiding the ships; but as he looked closer, he saw the men and women for what they were, Weres, hundreds of them. He felt a malevolence beyond the hatred the Weres exuded; something ancient and evil. He heard a sibilant laughter receding as he snapped back to Kantwell and the hazel eyes of Branik.

  “Weres approach from the west. I must warn Merric,” Michael said to Branik not noticing the stunned look on the big man’s face, as he mentally sent out a call to the Headmaster.

  Chapter Nineteen

  All Mieka could think about was the hurt look on Michael’s face as he saw Mortow walk into the little room. She knew he would be hurt by her actions. She knew that his growing feelings for her had been more than mere physical attraction. What she had not counted on was how she felt now. At first, she had been all calm detachment. She was following Mortow’s plan and all she had ever wanted, was to please him. As she looked inward, examining her feelings, Mieka realized that over the course of the time she'd spent with Michael, something had changed.

  Mortow was all cool, confident, calculating power; a lethal and charismatic leader. She had always been drawn to him, even when they were children. Michael certainly had power, but he lacked the confidence that seemed to come naturally to Mortow. Comparing the two physically, there was such a great contrast. Mortow was imposing and handsome, dark hair, massive physique and arresting pale blue eyes. Michael, on the other hand, was of average height and build, though he had certainly put on some muscle while training with the two Avari. His hair was a common brown and his face was merely pleasant. Michael had blue eyes as well, but unlike Mortow’s, Michael’s were a deep, dark blue that warmed when he smiled. Why now, did those eyes haunt her?

  Mieka had done what Mortow had w
anted. She had delivered Michael to Gratton. Initially, she had been pleased that she had completed her assignment. But after seeing the look on Michael’s face as Mortow walked into the room, she no longer felt pleased. That look had mirrored a look she had seen on Uncle Merric’s face, five years ago when Mortow made his bid for power. Then, she had dismissed it as sadness over the deaths of the other magi. Now she knew it for what it was; the heartbreak of being betrayed by someone held close.

  As she closed her eyes, the sunlight of the clearing faded behind a cloud. She saw Michael’s hurt expression once again; then suddenly it was the face of Merric, but the expression did not change. Mieka knew that Uncle Merric would have that same expression when he found out what she had done. Why did this bother her now? She opened her eyes as she felt the sun pour down on her once again.

  Mieka looked around the little clearing. Not much had changed in all these years. The trees were perhaps taller, but that was all. Her rock was as she remembered it and the sound of the stream was the same. She had always come here as a child when she was sad or needed to think. The little clearing was about half a mile from her childhood village. She sat once again on the big rock. It was not as big as she remembered it. She sat facing the stream, watching it flow from the left over the smooth bed of rounded stones. Mieka had not been here in over thirty years. Why was she here now? Why had she transported herself here of all places?

  Attis and Trask ran at a swift pace. They had walked methodically through the ruins of the dwarven city, searching for survivors and found none. Now they followed a faint trail west. It initially led north to Delven Lake, and then went west from there. Trask estimated that it had been left by six dwarves, two adults and four children. By the depth and size of the adult tracks, they had to be females. The children’s tracks were almost identical except for one set. It was bigger, yet hardly any deeper; three girls and one boy. The tracks were over a day old when they picked them up, but the trail had grown fresher as the ground eating Avari pace quickly closed the distance. They were approaching a rocky outcropping of the Anvil’s Teeth. The trail led in the general direction of West Gate.