by Jon Bender
The green mage and council member had been a constant thorn in his side, continuously making suggestions. The mage had become unbearable after Cribble received the stone ring from the king. Tamrick clearly thought that he should be the one to keep possession of it as the leader of the mages and the most experienced in matters concerning magic. Cribble had refused. The whispering stone had been entrusted to him with strict orders to let no one else use it. Cribble did not like mages in general, but since Tamrick had joined them, he found himself missing Jaxom. He did not like the type of magic the death mage cast, but at least Jaxom did not walk around with his nose raised. Jaxom, or Lord Jaxom now, had taken the time to learn the sword and learn it well. That was something Cribble could respect, even if his magic was distasteful.
“The riders say we should reach it an hour before dark, leaving enough time to set up camp and post a guard,” Cribble replied, using the coldest voice he could manage.
“Did they report seeing any of Tamn’s men?” he asked.
“No, it seems that they left over three days ago. Word of us has been spreading, and they are all pulling back into Mendon. When we get to the capital, we may require you and your fellows’ services. Until then, just stay out of my men’s way,” Cribble said.
“When you do finally need us Commander, I will remind you of this moment,” Tamrick said in a haughty voice.
“I am sure you will be there to save us.”
The mage gave him a hard stare, but said nothing then fell back to the front of the column. Cribble could not stand the man and his straight-back sophisticated attitude. Of all the mages he had known, Tamrick was probably the one he liked the least.
The next few hours were wonderfully quiet and uneventful. Most of his captains had learned quickly that they should do their best to solve problems before bringing them to the commander. When he saw the durgen rider coming closer, he knew that was about to end. The durgen landed a short distance away. On its back the young captain removed his scarf and googles. The gear had been Lady Adriana’s idea, though Cribble had never called her that. In his opinion, being the woman of the adopted brother to the King did not warrant the title of lady.
Brenin wore the light leathers of a rider, and his thick blue cloak was wrapped tightly around his shoulders to ward off the cold. The brazen captain smiled warmly, which Cribble was sure he only did to annoy him. No one else, not even the King, ever greeted Cribble so cordially.
“Wonderful afternoon isn’t it, Commander?” Brenin asked cheerfully.
“What’s so wonderful? We are in a foreign land, in the middle of winter, about to camp outside a town whose idea of ale is probably watered down horse piss,” Cribble replied.
“We are here helping the people of Denra in service to our King. I only wish Jaxom and Da’san were here with us, then it would be like old times,” he said, the smile never wavering.
“What I remember of old times is wandering through a dark forest and being captured by a man who once served the greatest enemy we have ever known,” he replied.
Brenin shrugged. “The town we are approaching is called Senney. They are eager to meet us and thankful we are coming to their aid. There is no one there who claims to run things with the militia gone, but the inn and tavern owners say they will be happy to receive us.”
“Of course they will. I doubt the militia have been paying for their drinks,” Cribble said. The availability of spirits was another problem he would have to deal with once they arrived. As the commander, he was responsible for maintaining order amongst the men. That meant assigning a number of the Guard to patrol the streets, dragging back anyone enjoying himself too much.
“I think I will go check in on Jerup. He should have that wagon fixed by now,” Brenin said.
Cribble waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. Brenin saluted and rode his durgen a few feet away before it unfurled its black feathered wings and launched into the air.
Cribble had promoted Jerup to Captain. The man took his duty seriously, making sure that his men were fit and cared for. When one of the wagons broke an axle, he had insisted on staying behind to make sure it and his men caught up safely. Cribble had instructed Brenin to have his riders keep an eye on Jerup until he had rejoined them. Calling up the rest of his captains, Cribble gave out instructions for when they arrived at Senney. Cribble knew he was a hard man to work for, but he would not deny a guardsman or soldier a mug of ale or two. When things were settled for the night, he intended to do just the same. He may be a bastard but he was a fair bastard. Many of these men would never make it home from this campaign, and he would not begrudge them a chance to drink and enjoy themselves.
An hour later, Cribble could make out a large pillar of smoke on the horizon. In the sky, two dark spots grew as they approached, and he knew the riders would not bear good news. The durgen landed a short distance away and closed the distance on foot.
“Commander, the town is burning. The enemy purposely set fire to it,” one said when they arrived.
Cribble spit onto the ground. He had feared that the militia would eventually use this tactic to deny them comfort and shelter. “What happened?”
“The militia came back. I think they were waiting to see if we would approach the town before returning. Hundreds of them marched in and began killing anyone they could find. They set the houses on fire,” the rider said.
Cribble stared at the smoke, his anger growing. Tamn would receive no mercy. The man deserved to be dragged by a horse until he was dead. “Are they still there?”
“No, Commander.”
“Take any available riders and return to the town. Give whatever aid you can until we arrive, but keep an eye out for the militia,” Cribble said.
The two men saluted and left to carry out his orders. Gripping the reigns tightly, Cribble forced himself to calm. He would not be blinded by anger… not yet. Continuing forward, he did not notice that the column was forced to increase their speed to keep pace with him.
Chapter 12
Alimar stood in the empty field outside the city. His durgen waited nearby. He had finished categorizing all the pieces from the vault. Over the past ten-day, Alimar had spent much of his time testing those items, with some unexpected results. Lifting the silver pendant necklace, he dangled it before his eyes. He had discovered that some of the most innocent looking objects, like Laiden’s ring, could be the most destructive. The small silver plated dagger he had brought last time had almost caused him considerable injury, opening a deep fissure in the earth beneath his feet into which he had almost fallen.
Gathering energy into himself, he let a small trickle of power flow down his arm into the necklace. The reflective metal began to glow softly as energy infused it. Seeing that the enchantment was not destructive in nature, Alimar increased the trickle to a strong flow. Light burst forth from the pendant, so bright it blinded him. He released the flow of magic, and the light vanished, leaving bright spots floating in his vision. After waiting a few moments for his vision to restore itself, he looked at the simple necklace again. It was a useful enchantment if a mage ever found himself in the dark without a source of light. Slipping the silver pendant into his pocket, Alimar moved back to the durgen. Its glowing white eyes stared at nothing. Climbing up into the saddle, he commanded it to return to the palace stables.
A handful of minutes later, he landed behind the walls of the palace. Making his way down to the vault, he came to the heavy wooden door that now separated the hall and the vault itself. He knocked, and the metal slat slid aside, revealing a pair of eyes looking back at him. The slat closed again and he heard the iron bolt clang as it was unlocked and the door swung inward. Inside, the soldier who had opened the door nodded to him before closing and securing the bolt. Three other soldiers sat at a small wooden table with a cup and dice in front of them.
At the end of the hall, another door stood closed. He reached out to one of the risen on the other side, commanding it to open the solid door. Inside,
four glass rods mounted to the walls lit the room. He had found the rods in a crate tucked under one of the tables. Like the stones animating the risen, the rods did not require a flow of power once activated but drew their power from the surrounding area continuously. Closing the door again, the risen in its black plate armor waited for further commands.
Moving to one of the shelves, Alimar pulled the necklace from his pocket and placed it next to the other objects. In the book he used to record his discoveries, he wrote down the properties of the silver pendant under the description already there. He now knew there were over two-thousand pieces in the vault, and he had only been able discover the enchantments of fewer than twenty. It was a slow, frustrating process, but he would not risk testing more than one at a time from fear that they may interact.
A risen guard moved to the door and opened it without Alimar having told it to do so. Laiden walked in carrying a small leather pouch. “Magus, I did not expect you to be back already,” the young man said surprised. He still wore the wolf’s head ring on his finger. Alimar let him keep it as an extra measure of protection after the shades had tried to kill Lexa.
“The pendant holds a simple enchantment of light. Testing it did not take long,” he explained.
“Like the rods?” Laiden asked, placing the pouch on the table next to the book.
“Not quite. The pendant requires constant channeling of power to work, and it is far more powerful. The more magic used, the more brightly it shines,” Alimar answered.
“Here are the animation stones I made,” he said indicating the pouch. “I was only able to create two correctly.”
“Do not be discouraged,” Alimar said. “Enchanting is not an easy skill to master, and you are doing well.”
“Not well enough to go to Kelran with the others,” he said.
“We cannot all go traipsing through the land. You are continuing to learn and help build our risen forces. That will be far more important in the long-term,” Alimar said.
“If that’s the case, why was Lexa allowed to go? I know she is farther along than I am, but not by much,” he said.
“Jaxom wanted Warin to go, and it was his choice to bring Lexa along as his apprentice,” Alimar said closing the book. Standing, he commanded the risen soldier to open the door for them.
“If you had gone, would you have taken me with you?” Laiden asked. His tone suggesting he was unsure he wanted to hear the answer.
“Yes. With Warin taking over Lexa’s training. I now have more time for you and Kasric, and he is better suited to experimenting with the capabilities of the risen than using his magic as a weapon,” Alimar said.
When they reached the upper palace, Alimar noticed that something was wrong. Soldiers and servants were running in every direction, panicked. “What is going on?” He demanded of a soldier.
“There is a priest outside the palace walls demanding that we kneel and worship his god,” the soldier said through labored breath.
“Which god does he serve?” Alimar asked.
“I don’t know, Magus. Lady Celia has gone out to speak with him. She ordered us to the wall,” the man said.
Alimar let go of the soldiers and looked at Laiden. “Go find Kasric and join the soldiers on the wall, but do not let yourselves be known to this priest. I will meet you there.” The young man took off at a run to get the older apprentice as Alimar hurried to the main gate of the palace.
Outside the palace, a line of black cloaked soldiers stood on top of the wall looking out into the inner city. Every other man carried a bow in hand with an arrow knocked but not drawn. The open gate was lined with more soldiers. Outside, Celia stood in front of a white-bearded man wearing red robes. Drawing power from around him, Alimar reached out to the warehouse at the edge of the city where the army of risen stood waiting for a purpose. The risen were at the outer most distance of his magic, but he was still able to connect with the risen ice and fire mages. He directed the two mages to head for the palace. Looking through the eyes of the fire mage, he could see the surprised looks on the people they passed. The glowing eyes of the risen always startled people.
Pulling his mind back into his own body, Alimar walked past the soldiers at the main gate to join Celia who was speaking to the priest. “Good afternoon, Lady Celia. I see we have a guest,” Alimar said without emotion.
“This priest says he comes as a messenger from Estrom, who demands that we declare ourselves his servants.” Celia’s voice was cold with anger, and her hand gripped the hilt of her sword tightly. She was never one to hide her emotions.
“Does he?” Alimar said. He knew Estrom as a minor god, as much as a man could consider a god minor.
“He does. He also says that defying his god would have dire consequences.”
Behind the priest, more soldiers were moving up from the mostly empty inner city. Celia had taken no chances. As he watched the priest and decided how to proceed, Alimar felt two trickles of magic flowing into him. Pulling on the power of death, he latched on to those flows of power being sent by the apprentices. The trickle became a rushing torrent. The amount of power coursing through his body felt amazing, as if he could bring the city down with a thought.
Meeting the priest’s eyes, Alimar kept his expression neutral. “You and Estrom are welcome in Terika, but no more than any of the other gods. No one here will be forced to worship.”
“Estrom demands your obedience, mage. Do you deny him?” the priest asked.
“I deny him,” Alimar said, keeping his voice steady.
“You have been given the chance to accept your god willingly and receive his blessing. Now, your service will not be as pleasant as it would have been,” the priest said.
“He thinks much of himself, doesn’t he?” Celia said. The priest lowered his head and began to pray. “Fire!” Celia shouted to the soldiers on the wall as she drew her sword.
The first flight of arrows flew over Alimar’s head to strike an unseen barrier in front of the white haired priest. The bowmen released another volley with no more affect than the first. Celia waved her sword over her head, and the soldiers behind the priest charged forward with weapons bared. When they had closed to twenty feet of the man, a wave of energy threw the men back. Alimar raised his hand and cast a more powerful form of the coil then he had ever created before, more than capable of shattering every bone in the priest’s body. The column of white smoke whipped back then forward, aimed at the praying priest and slamming into the barrier that had stopped the arrows. Alimar could not believe the man had the strength to stop his attack. The robed figure hardly seemed to notice the impact on his shield.
Alimar prepared to strike again when he saw a red glow erupt around the priest. The older man raised his head to look at Alimar with red eyes. Stretching his arms out to the sides, the priest began to lift off the ground as the glow continued to grow outward. In seconds, the glow took the shape of a man nearly twenty feet tall. The priest floated in a well of deep red at his core. The flow of energy from both Kasric and Laiden gave Alimar more power than he could ever draw on his own, but it was nowhere near the strength of a god. The two risen mages had only just reached the wall dividing the outer city from the inner. Alimar needed to stall.
Estrom had formed himself completely into an impressive figure with a thick muscular neck and shoulders. He had a youthful face and not a trace of hair on his red, glowing head.
“I am your god, Estrom. Kneel before me,” the giant boomed.
“Forgive me…Lord,” Alimar said haltingly. How did one address a god? “But Terika is a place where all peoples and gods are welcome.”
“No longer, oath-breaker. From this day forward, this city will worship only me.”
“As you say, My Lord,” Alimar said. “May I ask how you are here in form? The pact between mages and the gods does not allow you to come bodily into the world. You may act only through your priests to execute your will.”
“Silence! One of your own has broken the pact
. As agreed, when a mage calls for the aid of a god, so shall my brothers and sisters return to what is rightfully ours,” the god said.
A mage had broken the pact? Suddenly, it all snapped into place. He knew that Sarinsha had destroyed the forces of Or’Keer when the Guard had been on the verge of defeat. The priest and Jaxom were friends and had become close, but Jaxom had not been there when it happened. “That is not possible,” Alimar said. “The one you speak of was not even there to make such a request.”
Estrom leaned his head back in a laugh that shook the stone beneath their feet before meeting Alimar’s eyes again. “Fool, do you know nothing of what your ancestors agreed? The servant must know in his heart, bound by the power to his god, that the oath-breaker would make such a request. The pact allows for nothing less.”
“My Lord…”
“Enough of your insolent questions!” Estrom interrupted in a shout. “Kneel before me now and swear your life in my service or suffer for your impudence.”
Reaching out to the risen mages, Alimar felt them waiting amongst the soldiers. Giving the command for them to join their power to his, he felt the power he already contained double. This was what Jaxom had felt when he fought against Serin. How could the man have given this up once he held it within his grasp? There was no time to ponder the question. Estrom held out a hand and a transparent red sword appeared. The curved blade was the length of a horse and sharpened on one side. Alimar cast the coil as thick as a man’s waist, slamming the white column into Estrom’s chest with a thunderous crack. The god recoiled from the attack with a look of surprise on his face, but otherwise seemed unhurt. The surprise turned quickly to rage. Estrom brought his sword up and aimed it at Alimar. Releasing the coil, Alimar raised a hand into the air, forming a shimmering barrier above his head. The sword crashed down on his shield, sending red sparks flying from the contact. Not to be stopped by a mere mortal, Estrom battered at the barrier repeatedly with heavy blows.
