“What’s that you say?” Bodrin asked. “Go to the wraith? Why are you so animated?”
-
Tonelia took off her pack and searched it for a pot, pulling out item after item as though looking through her purse at a shop sale.
“Since we didn’t cook last night, the pot should still be clean,” she said.
“What about pots? How can you be searching for pots at a time like this?” Bodrin asked. “What are you doing?”
She grinned but said nothing, continuing to search for pots. When she found two with large flat bottoms, she looked up and smiled, wiping the bottoms well.
Bodrin looked at her. “You’ve lost your mind.”
She glanced at him, and he turned away in apparent disgust. She watched her love for an instant, hoping he would understand then turned back to her plan. Tonelia checked the bottoms of each pot to be sure her theory would work. Then she moved closer to the tunnel entrance and looked for a rock that would suit her purpose.
Saxthor and Tournak watched Tonelia in silence.
“Any idea what she’s up to?” Saxthor asked.
“She won’t tell you a thing,” Bodrin said.
Tonelia tossed one pot across the path leading into the tunnel. The vapor watched but made no move. The pot landed on a rock, upside down at an angle. Tonelia turned to Bodrin, “Can you throw this rock at the pot and knock it slightly ajar facing a bit more this way? Not too hard.”
Bodrin looked at her, his jaw hanging, shook his head, and took the rock.
“I suppose you have a purpose. I can see that from your face, but this had better be good. I don’t know why you want me to throw rocks at a pot at a time like this, but I’ll oblige you.”
“Tournak, would you slip over beside the entrance and shoot wizard-fire at the wraith to drive it deeper into the tunnel?” Tonelia asked.
“Really, Tonelia, is all this necessary?” Saxthor asked. “We have a crisis on our hands here.”
Tonelia glared at Saxthor, “Have you a plan?” No response and she continued with her work.
Tournak did as Tonelia requested and shot three bolts of wizard-fire at the wraith before the specter retreated further into the tunnel. Tonelia took the second pot further away. She used a third pot to reflect sunlight on the pot then checked the pine branches above the pot to see where the light went. When she settled on the angle, she covered the pot in hand with a towel and went to a spot off the cave opening. The wraith vapor moved forward again.
Bodrin stamped his foot. “Don’t get so close to the opening.”
“Tournak, burn the wraith,” Tonelia said. “You can do it. Burn the foul vapor.” She saw the wraith beginning to materialize.
Tournak fired another bolt at the cave entrance. The wraith dodged. The bolt splashed in a shower of sparks on the interior wall. The wraith moved forward toward Tonelia.
“I see,” Bodrin said. He threw water at the ceiling. The wet spray made the wraith sparkle, where the droplets clung to its materializing form. That seemed to anger the apparition, who moved closer still.
Delia bolted, dashing toward the tunnel opening to Tonelia on the other side.
“Delia!” Saxthor said. “No, Delia!”
Delia lurched ahead, turning across in front of the opening, heading for Tonelia.
The irritated wraith was nearly a solid form. Its arm drew back to cast wizard-fire at Delia as she passed in front of it. From nowhere, Twit flew into the wraith’s face, throwing off his aim. The bolt went skyward.
“The rock Bodrin,” Tonelia said, “Throw the rock and knock the pot this way.”
Bodrin responded, and the struck pot clanged, sliding to Tonelia’s desired angle. She jerked away the towel and adjusted her pot angle. Sunshine shot from the pan in her hand to the pan on the rock by the entrance and up toward the tunnel ceiling. The brilliant light shot through the wraith exploding through the water droplets covering it. The wraith sizzled, turned to steam, and vaporized. Only a thin ripple in the sunlight above the tunnel entrance betrayed its last seconds.
The disheartened hikers rushed into the tunnel to help Hendrel, but he was gone. The wizard-fire had turned him to dust on the tunnel floor. Nothing remained but a boot.
* * *
Far to the north, a burning pulse coursed through the sorcerer-king. The instantaneous searing burn collapsed his energy level. He slumped to the floor as his super-wraith vaporized. He knew the wraith was gone. Smegdor rushed to him, but snarling; he thrust out his arm pushing his aide away.
“Someone has outwitted and destroyed my best wraith. Someone is going to suffer for that.”
“Who could do such a thing?”
“I’d know if it was Memlatec, the only wizard capable of challenging me. No, this was someone else. That prince is involved somehow. Still, there’s no word on his location or intent.” Drained and in pain, the king clutched his gut shuffling over to a chair. He flopped down, gasping for breath, waiting for the pain to pass.
“Who has sufficient power to destroy a super-wraith?” Smegdor offered a beaker of water only to have it backhanded to the wall.
The king twisted his brain without forthcoming answers. “How could such a person exist, and I not know of him? Why has no one reported this powerful new force loose on the peninsula? Perhaps I haven’t been listening well. Earwig has ranted and raved for years about the Neuyokkasinian prince. What’s he up to, traveling around the peninsula? The only thing of worth to me would be the Crown of Yensupov. The crown disappeared with the end of the Third Wizard War. No one would believe it ever really existed now except Memlatec, who created it. Yet, only that crown could provide the South with any resistance to my armies, simmering below. Only the crown could be a threat now.”
“You say it disappeared, that’s not destroyed,” Smegdor said.
“The CROWN!” the Evil One screamed. He jumped up and fell back from the surge of pain. “Memlatec’s sent him for the crown. That’s what the prince is doing on his peninsula tour; he’s searching for the crown. That’s why Memlatec took up residence in Neuyokkasin.”
The king rose, hobbling across the room. He slung and kicked molten iron and glowing coals about the catacombs. “How could I have failed to put it together? How could I have been so careless? Smegdor, go to the archives and get me the files on Memlatec, Earwig, and that Neuyokkasinian prince, what’s his name... Saxthor.” Smegdor took advantage of the pause and disappeared. The Dark Lord heard his aide’s fading footsteps.
“I should’ve known something serious was afoot, when Memlatec appeared at Hoya, destroyed the wraith, and frightened away all my implanted minions.” Anger welled up in the Dark Lord. He kicked another brazier across the floor as he rushed down the corridor to find Smegdor. “What a fool I’ve been, and now that boy must have something, or he wouldn’t be returning south again to Memlatec.”
The Dark Lord flashed fire from his pores and shot electric bolts that lit up the northern night sky with strange flashes and waves of light seen far to the south. His rage didn’t dissipate until morning.
I must regain self-control, he thought. I must concentrate; devise a plan to prevent the prince from getting back to join forces with Memlatec. It’s late, and the prince is well to the south, but I still have a chance to stop him and recover the crown the fool must be carrying.
That morning the Dark Lord cut himself and collected his blood in a crucible. He added various sinister ingredients and chanted the most powerful of incantations as the thick brew bubbled in the pot over the fire.
“Smegdor, bring in the bottles with the damned souls from the Well of Souls.”
Pale and shaking, Smegdor limped into the Dark Lord’s workroom with a large basket containing three obsidian jars. The glossy black jars seemed to vibrate slightly on their own in the basket, which Smegdor had to hold with both hands. His face winced, and his back stiffened, but he lifted the basket onto the master’s worktable with a thump. Still out of breath, Smegdor stepped back, bow
ed, then limped back by the door to await further orders.
The Dark Lord watched his assistant before returning his attention to the basket. His eyes rolled in his head as he put his hand on each black jar. He scanned the contents’ nature through the black glass. Finally, the dark wizard seemed satisfied and nodded to Smegdor. “Begone!”
Smegdor turned and fled.
The sorcerer-king took the basket to the cauldron. He selected a jar and carefully twisted the top back and forth to open it without its precious contents escaping. A wisp of vapor, whose only trace was the smell of ammonia, trickled from the jar. The wizard popped off the jar top and thrust the opening into the bubbling sludge in the cauldron.
The jar shuddered violently, but the Dark Lord, trembling in the struggle, held its opening under the pot’s viscous liquid. His deep voice sounded an incantation, and the brew sucked the jar’s contents into it. A mournful wail rose from the cauldron, but paying no attention; the wizard stirred the pot with a spoon of rusty iron. He selected the second obsidian jar, repeating this process, and did the same with the third. At last, he forced into the crucible three damned souls to struggle transforming in the pot. With one last incantation, and a unique elixir thrown in, three wraiths crawled from the pot one by one, gasping and falling onto the stone floor weak and pliable. The king was exhausted having drained his strength to infuse power into the supreme wraiths.
The wraiths rested that afternoon, bathing in the sulfurous fumes, rising from furnaces deep in the Munattahensenhov’s bowels. By nightfall, they had drained their full capacity of energy from their master who slumped, virtually immobile, in his chair. The three wraiths squirmed and stretched, testing the new physical essence they now commanded, at their master’s pleasure. The wraiths were ready to undertake tasks the Dark Lord gave them artificial-life to perform.
When he recovered enough, their unsteady master rose from his chair and faced his foul creations. He inspected each wraith, feeling their violent potential through their new energy streams. They were ready to race south, destroy the prince, and retrieve the treasures he carried.
“I’ve been foiled once too often,” the king said to Smegdor, who stood trembling in the doorway. The warped wizard paced the floor of his workroom, venting his rage. “Memlatec has snuck that boy around on the peninsula unnoticed, but I know of his presence and his purpose now.”
The Dark Lord grinned at the thought of doing battle again with old wizard Memlatec. He turned to Smegdor. “It’ll be my pleasure to destroy the prince and dash the hopes of both my old nemesis and Neuyokkasin. I planned to destroy the royal houses of all the southern states when my armies move in the spring. First, I must obliterate this prince.”
He was elated, having unmasked Memlatec’s scheme. He wasn’t used to smiling. It made the wound ache where he drew blood. He looked down at the ragged lesion then up at Smegdor, “Horrific power has its price.”
“What if Wizard Memlatec discovers you’re on to him and comes after you first?”
The Dark Lord looked up from applying moss to his festering wound. “No matter, I’ll draw Memlatec out in the open, where I can destroy that last obstacle to my domination of all Powteros.”
“But you still have the southern states that will rally behind Memlatec, what of them?” Smegdor asked.
“The states will fall, one by one. I’ve fostered feelings of greed, jealousy, and fear among the kingdoms for ages. They’ll fall fighting alone rather than unite to mount an effective resistance to my armies. Human weaknesses are just too many and delicious, and I savor the taste of each delight.”
* * *
Memlatec walked along a narrow animal path through leaf litter and evergreen ferns on a hillside behind his tower. The ripe waving grass seed heads brushed his robes and a covey of quail flushed from a patch of blackberries, but Memlatec gave thought to neither. Guarding his wizard from above, Fedra swooped close to Memlatec to snatch a startled rabbit, but this, too, was lost on the old man deep in thought.
I’ve not heard from Saxthor since they first entered Prertsten, he thought. There’s been no rumor of a Neuyokkasinian prince captured or killed in Prertsten, but then they might not have discovered Saxthor’s identity.
Fedra deftly cleaned his beak and claws after eating on a tree branch before flying over to land on Memlatec’s padded shoulder.
“If Saxthor is captured or killed, the jewels are lost to the South,” Memlatec said to the eagle, that adjusted for the old man’s jarring steps. “If Prince Pindradese realizes what the jewels are, the Dark Lord might be able to tap part of their hidden powers, turning them against humanity, their power source. The unprepared southern armies can’t stand against Dreaddrac’s forces without the aid of the crown. The Dark Lord has readied his war machine before Saxthor, and the South can prepare for the confrontation.”
As the wizard’s anxiety increased, he walked faster. Jostled too much, Fedra gently leaped into the air, trying not to throw the old man off balance. A few wing flaps and the eagle again soared on wind currents above Memlatec, watching for intruders in his master’s path.
Later, Memlatec stood in the private audience chamber before the queen and prince consort. The elegant backdrop for the queen’s important receptions afforded the utmost confidentiality.
“I must again warn your majesties of the border vulnerability with Sengenwha.”
“Indeed,” the queen said. “The envoy sent to King Calamidese hasn’t returned, and the delay isn’t a good sign.”
“The king is postponing the ambassador’s audience or troubled in composing a response. That could only mean he is still resentful or in league with the Dark Lord to some degree. You must not delay your actions.”
“We agree we must strengthen the border with Sengenwha.” The queen shuffled her seat on the throne and looked straight at the wizard. “You know building up those defenses could alarm King Calamidese further, sending him into the Dark Lord’s clutches?”
The whole situation was so precarious; Memlatec wasn’t sure what to do at that point. Wizards were power wielders; diplomacy wasn’t their specialty.
Weeks later, Memlatec again requested an audience with Queen Eleatsubetsvyertsin and arrived precisely on time. He questioned the guard before entering, “Is the chatra with the queen?”
“He is.” The guards admitted Memlatec. The queen was on her throne. Memlatec and the chatra stood, facing her from the room’s opposite sides.
“Good morning to our treasured wizard,” Eleatsubetsvyertsin said, dusting warmth on the court etiquette.
“Good morning, Majesty,” Memlatec said bowing. He turned to the chatra, “Good morning my Lord Chatra. I requested this audience with Your Majesty and the chatra to discuss the unstable situation in Sengenwha. I didn’t want the court, or more importantly, the ambassadors overhearing what I’m about to say.”
“What’s this concern?” the chatra asked. “With due respect, the royal court wizard doesn’t usually involve the chatra in his consultations with the queen. Does your request for my presence in this meeting involve using state resources?”
“I’ve just heard from Prince Saxthor,” Memlatec said. “You understand that Prince Saxthor doesn’t dare communicate with Your Majesty directly for fear of risking both your lives?”
Eleatsubetsvyertsin frowned.
“Prince Saxthor believes the orcs are marching in small groups through Sengenwha to the southern border. That border is Neuyokkasin’s longest northern border and the least defensible. There are no garrisons or castilyernovs on the perimeter or anywhere in the province north of the River Nhy. The Nhy’s entire course between Olnak on the coast and the Favriana Fortress at Lake Pundar has no fortifications or garrisons to defend Neuyokkasin’s principal artery. Remember, Neuyokkasin won the rich territory north of the Nhy in the war with King Calamidese V. Each Sengenwhan king since has wanted to reclaim it.”
“Yes, we’ve discussed this lack of defenses with you previously and with our
generals,” Eleatsubetsvyertsin said. “Both Hyemka and Heedra are small inland commercial towns with no real defenses. We’ve relied on the sheer force of might to deter Sengenwhan aggression all these years. We hadn’t considered the possibility of foreign troops, especially orcs, massing on the border for invasion.”
Eleatsubetsvyertsin looked to the chatra, who stood staring at the wizard with his mouth open. “We see you’ve not considered an imminent attack, Lord Chatra.” The queen turned again to Memlatec. “If Saxthor is correct, Dreaddrac’s minions are massing on the southern Sengenwhan border. That will be disastrous in the event of war. If Sengenwha is indeed hostile instead of neutral or an ally, Neuyokkasin, and Konnotan are exposed to invasion.”
“Precisely my point, Your Majesty,” Memlatec said.
“Relations with Sengenwha have never been favorable; they’ve been hostile at times. No Sengenwhan army has dared attack Neuyokkasin after King Calamidese V’s debacle. Since Neuyokkasin absorbed Talok-Lemnos, no one ever thought it possible that Sengenwha would attack us. Now with Dreaddrac in the equation, the scales favor that alliance.”
“We’re not talking about a Sengenwhan attack, but one from Dreaddrac through Sengenwha, Your Majesty.”
“The prospects of an alliance between Dreaddrac and Sengenwha have never occurred to any of us,” the chatra said. Memlatec saw he was stunned and demoralized by the prospect such an alliance could’ve formed without his knowledge. “That would explain not hearing from the envoy sent some weeks ago to entreat with King Calamidese.”
“If orcs are traveling through Sengenwha unopposed, there must be such an alliance,” Memlatec said.
“What shall we do?” the queen asked. “Is there anything we can do? It’s too late to start building a chain of castilyernovs on the border.”
“We must send another ambassador to King Calamidese. We must warn him if he admits Dreaddrac’s forces within his borders voluntarily; they’re not likely to leave with him long on the throne. Your Majesty must again offer him an alliance against the Dark Lord,” Memlatec said.
The Neuyokkasinian Arc of Empire Series: Books 1-3 Box Set High, Epic Fantasy on a Grand Dragon Scale! Kindle Edition Page 78
