The Third Sign

by Scott D. Muller

  “What was that?” Tax asked, as his vision returned to normal.

  Azuela didn’t answer, ignoring him.

  She hung the leaf on the wall, returned to the pillows and sat down. They sat for a while without talking. Tax wondered what was going on, but didn’t feel it was his place to ask, especially after she had not answered his last question.

  Azuela’s head shot up. She stood and said, “We need to leave. It’s time for us to go.”

  “Go,” Tax asked. “Where?”

  “On a journey. You’ll see when we get there.”

  She stood up, walked over to the tunnel, grabbed a staff and pouch sitting by the exit, and turned around regarding Tax who was still sitting. “Are you coming?” she asked.

  Tax stood. “Guess so. I don’t seem be to having much choice in the matter,” he grumbled.

  “Oh, Tax. There is always choice,” she laughed. “But in this case, It is my choice!”

  His spirits were crushed. His time with her had come to its end. “I’m supposing I must be going back to the Keep then...”

  “Keep? You will not be returning there. Your service there is done, you owe them nothing more. Now, your place is by my side.”

  His ears perked up and shot forward as his eyes widened. “But who will keep track of the wizards?”

  “Oh, Tax. It doesn’t matter any longer. The prophecy is taking place. Nothing you could do there would be consequential. Your place in the pattern is by my side.”

  Tax smiled to himself. Who would clean up after the wizards now? he thought. Up to their arses in filth they’ll be. That thought made Tax grin like an idiot.

  The Seer smiled too. She could read his thoughts as clear as glass. He was a funny little halfling. She was always amazed at who and how the pattern chose people. The choices always surprised her. She waited for him to join her. She grabbed his hand and he felt a tingling over his entire body.

  “There, that’s better,” she said. “How do you feel?”

  Tax thought about it for a moment, he felt great. He looked down and saw that his hand was smooth. He bent over. His back didn’t hurt, his legs didn’t tremble. A tear formed in his eye.

  Azuela smiled. “It’s a gift ... for your years of dedicated service to the world and for the sacrifices of your family.”

  He ran a hand over his face and didn’t recognize its shape. It was smooth, free of wrinkles. He felt ... brand-new.

  “Thank you,” he said, throwing himself to the floor, prostrating himself. “Thank you so much!” And he meant it with every fiber of his being.

  She extended a hand, pulling him to his feet. “There’ll be none of that.”

  Tax flushed and smiled warmly. He felt all the bitterness he had been holding close to his heart leave his body. He was happy, happy and content, no matter what the future held. Happy Tax, happy, happy Tax.

  “Are you ready to go?” she asked.

  “I couldn’t be more anxious for the future,” he said confidently.

  Azuela smiled a clandestine smile, knowing that if he knew what she did, he’d be running in the opposite direction until his legs gave out..

  She stopped at the edge of the room and lifted her hand. Chanting a short song that shook the room, an earth elemental formed and sealed off the room from the tunnel. Satisfied, she took Tax by his hand and they walked down the tunnel together. The tunnel narrowed and Tax got down on all fours to crawl. Azuela laughed out loud, causing Tax to look at her in bewilderment. Was she going mad? She clapped her hands to her knees and giggled uncontrollably. She waved a hand motioning him to rise.

  “Walk this way ...” was all she said. She shook her hips and bent over like a zombie.

  “But?”

  She raised her eyebrows, steeled her eyes, and gave him a look.

  Tax shrugged and followed her lead, but he felt stupid.

  As they walked, the tunnel grew and then shrunk after they passed. Tax grinned, looking over his shoulder, remembering how he had to duck and almost crawl to get inside. Azuela was really something. For the first time in his life, he was looking forward to the future. It was going to be an adventure, that was for sure.

  Azuela ginned to herself. Tax was mimicking her silly walk. Well, if it helped him to believe, then it was worth it.

  The Master

  The one known only as the Master sat in repose on the intricately carved throne watching the young concubines dance in a sparse, cavernous room remembered more for entertaining than for ruling, although it had been a very long time since either had been conducted here. The castle had been vacated just after Ror and had stood deserted and forgotten for over a thousand years, the perfect place for hiding and rebuilding.

  This had been one of the first rooms to be restored. The walnut covered walls decorated with white marble and gold-filigreed trim had been painstakingly repaired, the floors polished after cracked and damaged marble slabs had been removed, and the tattered moth eaten tapestries had been rewoven. At the far end of the hall was a set of gilded doors where a pair of well-armed guards stood at attention, chins tucked to their chests in new armor, their eyes unblinking.

  “Dance! Dance for me ...”

  The Master grinned. These young, lithe concubines were new, recently acquired from the Stonegate realm. Their taut, firm bodies were bathed in sweat as their hips swayed to the tempo beat out on timpani drums by the quad of tribal drummers captured in a raid to the far east. The concubines, shaved clean and clothed only in decorative chains, danced for their master. They danced for the honor, or so it seemed.

  The realm from which they came hadn’t been eager to either be subjugated or to provide concubines, but had been gently persuaded that it would be in their best interest to have an alliance with the soon to be ruler. The Master had great skill in that way. Very few ever really resisted.

  Along the outer wall, magi knelt, chained together, heads hung low, prostrated before their new Master. These wizards, who had never bowed a knee to any, had been humbled, tortured and forced into submission. The ancient chins of servitude known as the Ewaiyi, from the time of Ror were latched around their necks, forcing them to do the bidding of whoever held the chain.

  The Master grinned. The Eyaiyi had been a great triumph. The relic had to be painstakingly recreated from memory. The Master had cursed the wizards of the Keep for destroying all twelve the previous known copies. There was irony in her controlling the chains. These were the same chains used to destroy the Dark Wizards after Ror. The Guild had systematically hunted them down and then bound them with the chains, rendering their magic useless. They then commanded the Dark Ones to give back all the souls they had stolen. Doing so was paramount to a death sentence, and they died in disgrace, withering and aging as the years and life force were returned to the rightful owners.

  Although she had not witnessed the Cleansing, as it came to be known, the scant pages of text she had found that recorded the event were one of the few things that disturbed her and made her goose flesh rise. That and the Dark Lord of the underworld, with whom she had made her deal.

  The Lich entered the chamber at the side door, knocking twice before entering.

  “Enter,” the Master bade.

  The Lich pushed open the door and bowed deeply, his arms fully extended to the sides, his tattered robe fluttering in the eddies circulating in the chamber. He didn’t walk, but glided over the marble, his feet several inches above the cold surface.

  “Ah, Ravensport, what is it you have to report?” the Master asked, while attention was turned to the servant. The master extended a hand and motioned the Lich closer.

  The Lich frowned. He no longer went by that name. That name no longer had any meaning, and he wished that the Master would stop calling him by it. He was simply the Lich.

  The Lich made its way across the polished marble floor, staying well back from the dancers who paid him little attention. He licked his lips with his forked tongue and thought of morbid tortures and sundry assaults
on their fine bodies that made his inside quiver. He tried to shift his focus. If the master read his thoughts, then what? He stared back at the ground as he quickly approached the dais and stopped, settling to the ground just short of center and bowing to a single knee.

  The Lich answered in a cracked raspy voice, “Master. We have made great progress today. You should be pleased, the town is in disarray.”

  “Were they of any trouble?”

  “Nothing unexpected. The wizards no longer last as long as they once did, but we have enough in reserve to complete the task. I expect that by the end of the week, the town known as Five Peaks will be all ours.”

  “And the wizards that failed?” the Master asked, eyes narrowing menacingly.

  “They’re still alive ... for now,” the Lich said, keeping his eyes averted. “I have returned those that are nearly expired to the lower part of the castle so that they may be ... restored.”

  “Ah, very good! See that they’re given plenty of food and rest.”

  The Lich frowned, but couldn’t keep his comments to himself with regard to that topic.

  “But Master, the lower levels are quickly filling. I’m not sure we have room for all.”

  The Master threw a wine-filled cup at the Lich, which was easily deflected, and stood quickly, “Then make room! You have the magic of the ages at your fingertips. Make another lower level. Do I make myself clear?”

  The Lich nodded and lowered his head. He considered if he was going to tell the Master about the presence he had felt a few days ago. He had sensed a very strong mage, using the old magic, the strongest he had ever felt. He licked his rotting lips with his split tongue, each fork wiping different part. Instead, he chose to keep it to himself. Let the Master find out the hard way. He was tired of doing all the work, while the Master played with the concubines.

  The Master glowered, tired of hearing what could and could not be done. For a second the room filled with magic, and the Lich was sure that his existence was at an end. Just as quickly, the Master let the magic loose and sat down, beckoning a servant for a new glass of wine.

  Three female servants had quickly swept into the room and were down on all fours seductively licking up the mess that the wine had made when it splattered across the fine marble floor. The Master looked on with approval. Why couldn’t all his subjects be as well behaved?

  A servant, garishly robed, entered the room carrying an oversized platter of roasted duck, smoked fish and fresh fruit. He set it down quickly on the table next to the Master and bowed deeply as he hastily retreated. The Master plucked a grape from the stem and popped it into a mouth that showed more displeasure than satisfaction. The Lich looked on in disgust, as the smell alone was more than revolting. He turned aside, shielding his eyes.

  The master noticed and thinly grinned, mouth edges barely turning up. Reaching for the platter, the Master pulled off a liberal slice of meat and tossed it to one of the dancers, who caught it in one hand before devouring it in a flash, all the while not missing a beat.

  The Master laughed, “Did you see that? They’re so skilled that they nary miss a beat even whilst eating.”

  The Lich watched although he could care less and couldn’t understand his Master’s amusement.

  The Master licked the savory duck juice off of slender fingers, “I wish for you to return to the town and lessen the attack. I wish to wear them down.”

  The Lich looked up startled before he remembered his place and bowed, “As you wish, but I don’t understand why?”

  The Master looked irritated about having to explain the command and strongly stated, “I want them to be full of fear, but I also want most of them alive. Dead subjects do me no good. Have the magi cast only what is necessary to instill fear. The spells should not kill. Am I understood?”

  The Lich bowed again, “Yes. I hear and obey.”

  And with that, he retreated through the double doors and floated down the staircase toward the lower levels. Slave and servants alike jumped out of his way and averted their eyes. They feared him as much as they did the Master. The Lich raised a bony hand and filled it with sickening-green magic and laughed heartily at seeing the looks of dread fill the faces of those in the hall as they fell to their knees and prostrated themselves. He let the magic fade. Tired of taking the long path, he dissolved, sinking through the rock and floors before reappearing in the lowest level of the castle, where he hurried to the portal. He would return to Five Peaks and carry out the Master’s orders.

  He knew he shouldn’t have questioned the Master, but what the Master asked of him made no sense. They were on the verge of conquering the realm, why stop now? At times, the Lich thought that the Master had grown soft, forgotten the ways of battle. Nevertheless, the Master was the master, and for now, the Lich would obey ... for now!

  He swirled his arms and chanted the ancient guttural words while he waited for the gate to open. The gate slowly filled with a thick mist and the space between the towers shimmered as the portal was opened. He stepped between the stone towers, felt the tingle of the magic across his skeletal frame and immediately felt himself slide. The journey would be quick. This gate only allowed travel between the two locations. Soon, he would walk out across a high terrace near Five Peaks. He would complete the journey by foot.

  The Master smiled. Everything was going according to plan. The only troublesome issue was that there were reports of some wizards outside of the Keep. That could be dealt with should it be necessary, but the hope was that the issue would work itself out of its own accord. The raven had reported a mage in the castle of Toulereau. Well, the wolven had the palace surrounded and one mage was of little consequence. The spawn had reported that the wizards of the Keep were still hamstrung into using that poor excuse they called magic. The Master chuckled; this might be easier than imagined.

  The all-powerful Master stared out the window at the snow-covered ground and the tall snow-covered peaks in the distance. Spring was almost here. It was almost time to set the plan in motion. Until now, most of the work had been merely orchestrating the pieces into motion after years of waiting, like a chess game, or the game of bones. Decades had been spent learning new magic, driving bargains, and treaties. Soon, the sweet taste of revenge would be within grasp.

  The Master raised a hand and fluidly cast a spell filled with vile darkness and smiled as it sprang to life and filled the room with gloom and despair. The Master watched as the conjured demon spat and tried to escape, tugging at the intricate threads of magic that held it in this plane. It howled and cursed. Yes, the new magic would serve them well.

  After releasing the spell, with a wave of the same hand the next spell sent fine threads of ecstasy and energy into the dancers, who shuddered in delight as their bodies trembled with pleasure. The concubines fell to the floor and moaned, unable to stand. Several ran their hands luridly over their bodies as they twisted in imaginary acts with their eyes closed tight.

  Those that give, get! And the concubines’ eyes told the entire story. They wished to please their Master in any fashion they could. The Master, known to relish pleasures of the flesh, laughed out loud. Why not let them?

  Pariah

  Bal’kor sat in his room and wept. He was lonely. There were no other kids in the Keep. He was the only one. On top of that, he just couldn’t make the magic come. He sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor staring at the wilted green leaf nestled in the palm of his hand. It just sat there. It didn’t move. It didn’t quiver. It just sat there.

  He raised his left hand, wove his spell with his fingers, and spoke the arcane words. He wove his spell repeatedly, and still the leaf did not move. He squinted, using his wizard sight. The spell looked correct to him, a single column of blue air. It looked quite perfect, but the magic was stuck. It didn’t push up against the leaf, it just gently cradled it. He poked at it with his finger and watched it pulse and move out of the way. He could feel the link to the Zylliac, but the girl refused to grant his request. All
she did was shake her head no and push him away.

  He had given up trying to explain to his uncle that the Zylliac was a young girl. Both he and Zedd’aki just shook their heads and scoffed every time he brought it up. Zedd’aki had even pulled him aside and told him to stop being silly. Well, he wasn’t silly.

  Bal’kor walked over to the window in his room and tried to peer over the ledge at the forest below. He could just make out the valley if he stood on his toes. He wished he could open the shutters instead of having to peer between the slats, but he just couldn’t reach them.

  He pushed the large chest at the foot of his bed over to the window and climbed on top. He could just reach the latch. He grabbed it firmly and wiggled it. It just wouldn’t come loose, so he pushed and tried again. His eyes showed his horror as he waved his arms, trying to gain his balance as the shutters flew open. He screamed, but nobody heard. He dangled half out of the window hanging on dearly to the old iron clasp.

  A gust of wind caught the shutter and tossed him back into the room where he fell backwards over the chest before hitting his head on the floor.

  Bal’kor rubbed his head, checking for blood. He sat on the floor and cried to himself. Everything was just wrong.

  Bal’kor groaned. He couldn’t understand why neither his uncle nor Zedd’aki could talk to the girl. She seemed to fill his thoughts and dreams. He was sure it was her. He even thought he had caught her name once, when she had gotten mad at him. Lana was her name, he was sure of it. The other calling girl he didn’t know at all.

  Bal’kor opened his white-knuckled fist, dropped the crunched up leaf to the floor, and stood up. It was near lunchtime. He opened his door and walked down the long dark hall toward the dining room. By the time he arrived, most of the other wizards were already seated. He forced a smile and entered the room.