by Marc Secchia
“Fiend!” roared a new voice, newcomer to the fray. It was the Lurk, and he came charging up from the river, behind and to the left of where the Dark Apprentice stood. He had chosen his moment well. As the hapless Fauns on the Bridge of Storms had learned to their detriment, Lurks are incredibly fast over short distances, and Snatcher roared his challenge only at the last second. Four tons of armoured Lurk slammed into the wizard like a crazed rhinoceros in full flight.
He had time only to half-raise his staff, before there was an explosion that rivalled the Druid’s mighty bolt of lightning, launching the Dark Apprentice backward. The Lurk groaned and hauled himself upright, clearly intent on pursuing the Apprentice, but his left arm hung at an ill angle
“A brave strike, noble Lurk!” cried Alliathiune.
But the wizard, having rolled with the collision to absorb it, and further protected by the brief shield he had been able to raise in the instant before impact, had survived the brunt of the blow–though he stood weakly now, and clutched his ribs in sharp pain, he was able to raise his flaming staff.
Gone was the mighty voice; gone too, the posturing and arrogance. “You will pay for that!” he shrieked, summoning a stream of hissing fire to immolate the Lurk where he stood. “Burn, you spawn of blackest Shäyol! How dare you challenge Ozark’s disciple?”
But there was one further Lurkish secret he did not know, one to which Kevin and Zephyr were party following their discussion of anatomy with Snatcher. Lurks, for all their size and bulk, have a musculature comparable to that of a flea–pound for pound, an order of magnitude stronger and more resilient than that of Humans. From a standing start, Snatcher launched himself at his quarry out of that inferno, with flames sheeting and trailing off him like a comet.
Again the Dark Apprentice was taken by surprise. The staff guttered as he gaped in shock at this fiery apparition–but his reactions were credibly swift. He slammed up a shield and ducked aside, spinning and falling to his knees as the Lurk’s hip and thigh struck him a blow that sent him tumbling. Almost instantaneously, Zephyr and Alliathiune seized the opportunity to strike too, and the Dark Wizard wilted beneath their combined efforts. But again, he was somehow able to absorb and misdirect their attack, and with a jerk of his staff froze Snatcher in place.
“Right,” he panted, fighting to restore the mantle of his former dignity. “I’ve had enough of your impudence!” Sweeping his black cloak about him, he rose to his feet. “I have given fair warning, late rulers of Driadorn. Your time is at an end! Soon the Blight will sicken your precious Forest and with it, your magic will die–just like this young Unicorn here.”
The Dark Apprentice clumped his smoking black boot down on Scillianstar’s neck, striking the pose of a mighty hunter. With a smile of pure evil he raised the staff and conjured into existence a tall guillotine, which he positioned over the hapless Unicorn’s neck. Mylliandawn must have been murdered in this manner.
The young Unicorn, seeing the weighty blade prepared to sever his life forever, fell into such a frenzy of struggling that the noose bit severely into his neck and caused blood to foam out of his nostrils. But the power of the Dark Wizard’s magic was too much for him. Never had the one-horns been treated thus; their magic was unique and innate, and never before mastered by a creature of another race. The Dark Apprentice did not even appear to raise a sweat over controlling Scillianstar.
“Hold, you foul abomination!” cried Zephyr. Snatcher was beginning to overpower the paralysing spell cast upon him, but he may as well have been swimming through treacle for all the good it did. He would not recover in time to rescue Scillianstar.
“I cannot abide this any longer!” So saying, Swiftwing of Dawn made to launch himself at the wizard–but was restrained by Two Hoots. The Jasper Cat too prowled the limits of the shield, with his fur all a-bristle like an angry porcupine, but he was too smart to go out there on his own.
“Where are you from, Dark Apprentice?” called Two Hoots. “Why do you seek to despoil our fair realm?”
A cackle of laughter issued from within that frowning obsidian mask. “No more questions shall I entertain, for my patience is ended, ancient one. It is enough that I am, and that the star of the dawn shall be your nemesis!”
“Let us reason together, mighty–”
“Silence!” thundered the wizard, finding his volume once more. “Shut up, you mangy crow!”
With a kick, he shook the guillotine. Scillianstar screamed in terror, seeking again and again to trigger the secret magic of Unicorns that allows them as a final resort to take refuge within their horns, but the noose somehow prevented him–and in that screaming was an unbearable, elegiac foretaste of his demise. Kevin had never heard a sound like it, and wished he would never again. It flayed him raw and bloody inside.
Zephyr, beside him, screamed also. Great, healing tears of Unicorn anguish dripped from his eyes and splattered on the ground around his fore-hooves like a rain of tiny crystals.
One drop splashed across Kevin’s mouth.
“Please!” moaned Alliathiune, falling to her knees in supplication. “Anything … I’ll do anything …”
This plea seemed to please and divert their tormentor from his cruel sport with the young Unicorn. He paused to lustfully appreciate her begging, and a low, gross chuckle of anticipation flecked his pale lips with spittle. “You make a pathetic spectacle, wench!” he replied. “Would you truly do anything? Anything at all to save poor Scillianstar here?”
The Dryad flinched in the face of his naked lust, but nodded, pale-faced and trembling.
“She would not!” Zephyr replied, stepping between them. “She would die first rather than serve your depraved reign!”
But Alliathiune was made of sterner stuff. Intent on some desperate course of action, she stiff-armed the Unicorn and walked out towards Ozark’s disciple, trying at once to be innocent and seductive, by her charms to beguile him and bring him within her reach.
“You’ll make a pretty bauble!” he sneered. “Come here, little Dryad. Come taste of my mastery!”
The Dark Apprentice muttered an incantation.
“What would you have of me, o mighty wizard?” asked the Dryad.
“Your service, for a start,” said he, and loosed his spell. “I prefer my women seen and not heard.”
Kevin gasped. In a blink of an eye, the Dryad’s whole head had been encased in an eyeless round helmet of polished metal, which snapped closed around her slender neck and entombed her in a world of darkness. The shock of it made her scream, although the sound was severely muffled beneath that steely chamber, and she pulled angrily at the helmet, but to no avail.
The wizard’s laughter shrilled out like a donkey’s full-throated bray. “Wonderful! Now we shall behold you tremble, little Dryad, before the revealed majesty of Driadorn’s new master!”
Abruptly, startling them all, he whirled to the guillotine and loosed the blade.
* * * *
A spark like the floating fireflies of a roaring bonfire wandered across Kevin’s vision. His alcohol-befuddled consciousness watched the delicate combustion of that mote and marked it for a deep blue rather than the fiery orange that was expected, yet the impression of burning remained. A sense of urgency osmosed into his leaden limbs. His heart chugged along steadily until the mote touched it. Then a fire like molten lava seared through his veins–a potent, refining fire–that dipped him in a vat of excruciating pain. But the pain was cleansing. It cleared and focussed his mind for a vital second, which was the very moment the dark wizard trapped Alliathiune in that steel helmet and mocked her.
Kevin leaped to his feet, screaming inarticulately. His right hand shot forward as though jerked by a rope. Blue lightning exploded from his fingertips in a whisper-quiet hurricane, instantly nullifying the Dark Apprentice’s every artifice. The guillotine vanished and Scillianstar and Alliathiune were freed. The wizard’s staff he snuffed out as though plunged into a pool of water, and the shield protecting Amadorn, Zeph
yr and the other creatures vanished. The ripples passed out and beyond them in expanding concentric circles to the very edges of the Sacred Grove, and lapped up to the shores of Elliadora’s Well. Where his power passed, there was nothing left–not a breath, not an iota of magic. It had been negated. Cancelled.
The Dark Apprentice was first to recover. He stared at the staff in disbelief, then at Kevin with even greater shock. “You …”
It was the merest whisper of recognition. However, before anyone could act or react, their tormentor spun beneath his cloak and vanished in a puff of smoke, like an old conjurer’s trick but more effective. He was gone from the Sacred Grove.
Alliathiune rubbed her eyes. “What, by the Well–?”
The magic came surging back like a tsunami.
Elliadora’s Well and its Sacred Grove were the wellspring of Driadorn’s great magic, sustaining and nurturing a unique Forest of many leagues in length and breadth, the living cloak on the backs of the Seventy-Seven Hills. To attempt to nullify its magic was to snatch a cupful from an ocean. Kevin was toying with the force of nature herself, which was subject to natural laws and balances. What energies he had wrested from it slammed back into his body, for it had to have somewhere to go–this was the law of magical reactions, and it was one that Kevin would never again be able to forget. The price had to be paid in full.
Kevin removed his left hand from his pocket. Raised it. Gaped at his blue fingers in awe and revulsion.
He wailed, “Oh, God! What have I done?”
Chapter 15: To The Southern Marches
Two Hoots, a grey-banded Owl who stood as tall as Alliathiune, turned his neck three hundred and sixty degrees to include Kevin in his survey of their diminished and much-chastened Council of War, before spinning it back in a ruffle and kafuffle of feathers. His huge yellow eyes blinked several times. “We are decided?” he hooted.
“Elephant legend,” the Tusk, chief of the Forest Elephants, reminded them, “tells how Elliadora created the Forest, our great Dam, through this precious stone, the Magisoul. It is reputed to have powerful restorative properties, perhaps even against this Blight. It is for this reason, the stone aside, that we must consult the great Dragon of Blackrock Keep. His wisdom–begging your pardon, venerable Two Hoots–is the greatest of all when we speak of magical lore.”
There were glum nods all around the circle. Amberthurn had a reputation for fickleness and a nasty habit of eating envoys he did not like. This did not encourage diplomacy, on the whole. They would have to bear rich gifts in order to win his favour.
“Our Mother Forest depends on us.” Alliathiune added soberly, “I’ve Seen the Blight, noble creatures. I’ve Seen the fate that awaits. The Dark Apprentice must indeed be confronted and defeated, but our Mother’s needs come first.”
“Semantics,” sneered the Jasper Cat, a thickset feline standing easily five feet tall at the shoulder, his fur a deep tan colour with a dappling of black, leaf-like spots. “Defeating the foul Apprentice and defeating the Blight are one and the same thing. The question is: who will undertake this quest?”
“Noble Zephyr, of course,” said Stardancer, the senior Unicorn following Mylliandawn’s unfortunate execution.
The Head Witch bared her teeth in a thin-lipped smile. She was middle-aged, but stood as straight as a hardwood tree, and her iron-grey hair fell to her waist. She had grey eyes as striking and powerful as a thunderstorm. She said, “Getting our interests in first as always, good Unicorn?”
“Why, you asinine little–”
“Peace!” hissed Ss’rrr’than’grrr-ar. “Your bickering sours the memory of those whose blood was spilled here this lighttime!”
“Are you accusing me …?”
The Witch’s protests trailed off beneath the Jasper Cat’s pitying smile. “Our number,” said he, “should be representative of Driadorn’s many creatures. I personally can think of none better than Zephyr to lead this expedition–but I would add you, good Witch, to this number.”
The Witch looked surprised and gratified.
“And Amadorn of the Druids,” continued the Cat, “to bolster the company with his peerless Druidic knowledge, and the sweetness of his harping to lift their spirits when the road is tough and treacherous–as indeed his sorrowful benediction this lighttime returned our noble friends to the root and sod of the Forest, to once more nurture that from which they were born.”
His words subdued them. Even after the Dark Apprentice’s attack and the untimely demise of Mylliandawn, four other Unicorns, two Bears, and the Grey Kestrel from the region north of Mistral Bog, the discussions over what should be done had been urgent but less rancorous. Rescue by a Lurk sat uneasily with many of them, and to a creature they were rattled and upset by the events of that afternoon. Scillianstar had been despatched back to Thaharria-brin-Tomal to bear the bad news and bring help, particularly medical help, for the injured. It was better that he be actively engaged than be given the time to mull over what had transpired.
“I shall send my son to you,” said Swiftwing. “He is common-named Glimmering of Dawn, an Eagle strong of pinion and fierce of beak and claw. I know of no finer lord of the airy spaces, nor a truer and more courageous heart.”
“Very well,” Two Hoots nodded. “Unicorn, Witch, Druid, and Eagle. What of the Dryads, good Queen?”
The Dryad Queen smiled at Alliathiune. “Your fortitude and clear vision have already brought us to this holy place, to gaze in awe and wonder at our precious Sacred Grove. Will you represent the Dryads in this venture, our sister and Seer?”
She nodded, watching with hollow and sorrowful eyes the group of Dryads assisting Amadorn down by the Elliarana trees of the Grove, tending and healing that which had been damaged by Ozark’s self-proclaimed disciple. One of the trees had been burst open and toppled–but the most horrifying aspect was that the trunk had been rotten inside. They had seen; they could smell putrefaction on the breeze.
“Of course I’ll go, my Queen. I could not bear to rest a moment lest our Forest suffer another such blow.” Kevin, glancing up, saw the Dryad was fighting tears. “I shall serve the Mother until I return to her root–and I feared I would come to that dread place this lighttime, were it not for the outlander’s courage.”
Kevin felt all eyes turn to him, but he simply cradled his ruined hand and studied his feet as if he should discover wisdom thereby.
That Dark Apprentice, posturing and bullying! Blaring his monologue of madness to the world, wearing his pretty slippers–he might have been laughable, save for his immense power and eagerness to destroy both the Forest and its creatures. Kevin knew about bullying. But this … this was unimaginable.
“The noble outlander has taken it badly.”
Alliathiune said, “There is something wrong with his hand.”
“It was blue from wrist to fingertip,” Zephyr noted. “The same blue, by the Hills, as the crystal growths around the Pool of Stää. The Well’s magic has done this.”
“We don’t all consult your mystic pools–”
“Read your history, Witch!” the Unicorn snapped. “The Magisoul is said to be the same substance as the crystals of Stää.”
“Is that so?” Her grey eyes narrowed. “Why then does Amberthurn hold the legendary Magisoul in his dark fortress?”
“That’s my point–he doesn’t, but he’ll know where it is.”
“We are gambling the Forest’s fate on a slim chance–”
“What else have we spent the last four turns discussing? Has anyone determined a better course of action? Let him speak now!”
“Peace, good Zephyr,” said Two Hoots. “The Witch has a valid point. Whilst you travel, others should seek further knowledge of the Blight, here at the Well, and raise up the races in defence of Driadorn. We’ll send out spies to discern the nature of this threat amongst the Men. Right now we know little, save these vague threats and the very real affliction of the Blight striking our very heart. Let us remember the Dark Apprentice and h
is evil designs.” He hooted softly. “Let us remember the lives spilled here this lighttime!”
Two Hoots stretched out a wing to touch Zephyr’s flank. “The outlander will travel with you, of course. What of this fearsome Lurk, and the Faun?”
“We could not have succeeded without the Lurk’s might and prowess in battle,” Zephyr admitted. “Indeed, he did rescue us from the trackless depths of Mistral Bog and succour us to dry land. Snatcher has been a constant companion and a tower of strength.”
“Hum,” sniffed the Tusk, flapping his great ears. “If even the Unicorns are willing to forgo their ancient prejudices in this matter, then so shall we Elephants.”
“Even the Unicorns, nonsense,” said Stardancer, acidly. “We are not all as comfortable as noble Zephyr, here, with creatures of such ill repute–but we are willing to forgive.”
“How sweet and cosy.”
Stardancer glared at the Jasper Cat. “Do you disagree?”
“Oh, fie, no!” The Cat yawned widely, showing off his canines. “Let’s all be friends, by all means! I’m just intrigued to know who’s going to stump up the gold for this little venture to Amberthurn’s lair–who, might I remind you, has on all sides the protection of the Black-Rock Mountains and its legions of the Lesser Tribes Trolls, who are not known to welcome outsiders with open arms.”
“And yet it must be done, with all haste,” said Zephyr, with a quiet authority. “Our Forest sickens. This is no time to quibble over that which will never purchase our futures–and those of all Driadorn’s creatures. Of what use is gold in Shäyol? What will it redeem?”
“A good point, once you’ve evaded its doctrinal elements.”
