Lilith shifted in her seat. It had to be Baldwin who brought that up. It would have been so much easier if it had been Darius with his bluster or Dante with his usual double talk. Baldwin was always sensible and as fair as anyone here could be. “I am willing to admit my son is a bit unusual for a Dark Mage, but he has the potential to be extraordinary. He will definitely prove to be a worthy successor.”
“Do you truly believe that Lilith?” Baldwin asked, a sudden glimmer in his eyes.
“I do.”
“In that case,” he slowly. “Would you agree to a test of his abilities?”
Lilith frowned. “What sort of test?”
XXX
In one of the highest towers of Castle Corpselover a young man in black robes was down on his knees. At his side were several opened books as well as scrolls with hand drawn sketches. In his hand was a piece of chalk. On the stone floor he had drawn a summoning circle, with a myriad of arcane symbols and runes surrounding it.
“This time it will work,” he muttered to himself. “I know it will.” He had checked the formula time and again and was certain it was correct. He was going over the chalked symbols he’d written with exquisite care. He was determined that this time there would be no mistakes. Everything had to be perfect.
As he was bent over studying the runes and symbols the door to the room slowly and silently opened. A figure with tattered and filthy black robes slipped inside. From a distance it might have passed for human, up close it never would. The skin was an unnatural shade of grey. The eyes were a milky white and without pupils. Its fingertips ended in razor sharp, bony talons. The lips were bloated and an inky blue, when they pulled back in a ravenous grin they revealed sharp pointed teeth. The creature stretched out its arms and readied to tear apart its unsuspecting victim.
Still bent over and studying his handiwork the teenage boy waved a single hand. “Repulso.”
It felt magical energies take hold and slam it into the far wall. “Aaarrrrrrrgh!” The creature screamed in frustration, not actual pain.
“Hello brother,” the boy said without ever bothering to look up.
The creature struggled against the magical energies that were holding it pinned to the far wall. It knew it was hopeless but still fought to get free.
“I don’t mind you wanting to kill me, but could you please wait until I’m done?”
It stopped struggling and bore its teeth in a hateful snarl. “I want to tear out your throat! I want to gnaw on your bones! I want to feast on your still beating heart while you watch!”
“Yes, I know, but could you at least wait until after I am done? Is that too much to ask Walter?”
“How did you know I was here?” Walter Corpselover demanded. “You couldn’t have heard me; I was as silent as the grave. You didn’t have any wards set up.”
Sighing, he slowly got up and faced his brother. His face was boyish and looked young even for a sixteen year old. He had small, delicate hands and a thin undersized frame. His short cropped hair was the color of spun gold and his eyes were a bright, clear shade of yellow. “You’re a zombie Walter. No matter how well preserved your body is, it still stinks of rot; there’s no way I wouldn’t smell you from twenty yards away. Besides…” he waved a single hand.
Hidden runes on the cell floor suddenly revealed themselves.
“Even if I had done nothing, you’d have been held in place as soon as you took one more step.”
Walter’s whitish eyes widened as he saw all the trap spells that had been set for him. “How… how did I not notice?” Ordinary humans could not sense hidden wards and circles, but mages and certain monsters could.
The undead could not sense or feel magic.
Waldo Corpselover looked at his brother with sympathy. In this family death was not the ultimate tragedy; weakness was. Walter had been three years older and, for a time, the designated heir. He had been powerful, arrogant, and ruthless; in other words, a typical Dark Mage. A glorious future had stretched out before him. Everyone assumed that eventually he would replace mother and take over her position as head of the family.
Then one day grandfather ate him.
Not all of him, just his heart.
Mother had done what she could, raising him as a zombie. She had done an incredible job. He retained most of his memories and could still think and feel emotion. Walter could even still use some minor spells, with the exception of liches that was considered impossible for the undead. He was an exceptional zombie, but still only a fraction of what he’d once been.
In life Walter had always treated his younger brother with contempt. In death he openly hated him. Not simply because he was still alive, but because everything Walter had wanted and treasured had been handed over to his younger brother. Walter could no longer smell a flower or feel a warm breeze on his face, but he could still feel hatred.
“Is that pity I see in your piss colored eyes? Hah! What a joke!”
“You know I never wanted to be heir.”
“Liar,” Walter cursed. “Don’t pretend. The joke is that even like this I am still a better Dark Mage than you will ever be.”
Still pinned to the wall Walter glanced at the summoning circle Waldo had been working on. Walter could no longer perform the deeper magics, but still retained his knowledge.
“You’re trying to summon a homunculus this time? I summoned one when I was just nine. Don’t you feel pathetic that you can’t manage that when you’re sixteen?”
“Big talk from a zombie who can’t even move right now.”
“If you really are the next head of the family I weep for Corpselover.”
“Can zombies weep?” Waldo’s right hand sliced the air in front of him. “Nunc.”
The spell ended and Walter was once more free.
“If you’ll excuse me, I still have work to do.” Waldo went back to his summoning circle.
“You’re turning your back on me?” Walter growled.
“Why not? We both know you can’t touch me.”
Waldo did not have to turn around to know that would make his brother furious.
“I really am going to kill you.”
“Yes, I know, but wait until after I am done here. Close the door on the way out.”
Still not bothering to look Waldo heard the footsteps and the door slamming shut.
XXX
In this castle there were undead servants and living slaves; the only people who were ‘free’ were the members of the family. He’d read plenty of books about the people who lived in other countries. Folk who in their whole lives never saw the dead walking, and would be terrified just by a single unarmed skeleton shuffling towards them. For Waldo dark magics and the undead were the stuff of ordinary life.
He had been born into this world and, to his eyes, it was all normal. Waldo loved Alteroth, with its volcanoes and slow flowing rivers of magma. He loved the way they glowed at night, and how they rumbled and sent ash up into the perpetually grey sky. Waldo had witnessed several eruptions and thought them beautiful beyond words. He loved the city of Alter, with its clean and logical design. The squat, identical houses packed in their neat rows, the avenues that all ran in perfect lines, the city was a monument to order and control. He didn’t get to actually visit it often, but he could stare at its lovely symmetry for hours from his window. It was a beautiful.
In this world power was everything.
From the time he was a child he’d been taught not to fear death; only weakness. Being weak was the only unforgivable sin. Waldo wanted to be strong. Not really for himself, but for his family and for his mother. He did not want to fail or bring them shame. For the sake of his family, he wanted to be a great Dark Mage.
His mother had, had a total of seven children, of which he was the youngest and only one still currently alive. Four were dead and two (including Walter) were mostly dead. They had all died violent deaths, none of them living to reach nineteen. All had been born with the gift of summoning mana and an ability to use magic.
<
br /> Their individual talents had differed. Roland (who Waldo did not remember) had specialized in fire magic. Gwen had taken after mom and been a natural at necromancy. Walter had always had a gift at summoning and controlling monsters. All of them had been talented with great potential. All of them had been a credit to their House.
Waldo thought about his own abilities and let out a frustrated grunt.
Healing and protection magic, that was what he was best at. He had absolutely no talent at necromancy, he couldn’t even reanimate a mouse. Whenever he attempted any sort of destructive spell it always went horribly wrong… and not even in the good sort of horribly wrong. When he tried to summon monsters…
He let out another frustrated sigh.
The ability to use magic was, in itself, a rare trait in humans. When it manifested, it differed from person to person, both in depth and in direction. Some would never have the strength to do much more than levitate a book or light a candle. Others could summon giants or tear open the earth. The amount of mana a person could draw was an inborn ability. You could learn spells and train to draw the energy more easily; but the limit was in your blood.
There were written spells and incantations, rules of magic, runes, and wards; things that a magic user could learn and study. Spellbooks, wands, rods, magical rings, scrolls, and other items made casting certain spells easier. Yet magic was much more of an art than a science. In theory every magic user should have been capable of casting any spell, so long as it did not require too much mana. In practice it was nothing like that. The sorts of spells a wizard could work were a reflection of his soul.
Waldo stood. The summoning circle was perfect. He would bring forth a homunculus and bind it to his will. Being sixteen, it was long past time to have his own familiar. He began performing the required hand gestures and spoke the incantation. “Ithkaros venti setarros abro homoculi tenos arrilo venti sem apparos!”
The circle and the symbols he had so carefully chalked suddenly blazed with light. He felt the mana flow out of him and into the circle.
It’s going to work this time! I know it! Waldo thought.
The interior of the circle vanished, as space and time were momentarily shattered.
“Bring me my servant!” Waldo shouted into the void.
Bending to his will the spell brought forth a living creature.
“Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.”
There within the summoning circle was a confused blue bird.
“Oh not again!”
XXX
Six skeletons in rusted chainmail walked along the hall. With each step the scabbards attached to their bony hips clicked. These were just a handful of the guards who protected Castle Corpselover. They would patrol these corridors again and again and again without fail until their bodies broke down. The guards of this castle never tired, never complained, and would never betray their mistress. If a stranger appeared before them they would draw their swords and fight to the end. How could anyone ask for more than that?
Waldo passed them without a second thought. They were as much a part of his home as the paintings on the wall or the furniture. They shuffled past unheeding.
Waldo was thinking about his most recent failure. The summoning circle had been perfect and so had the enchantment. He understood that the more difficult the spell the easier it was to make a mistake. Something as basic as say lighting a candle could be done with nothing more than a thought. More difficult tasks might require a word or two or a hand gesture. Complex spells needed a specific incantation or the use of an item like a wand or magical ring. Summoning a creature without a contract was a high end spell and demanded an incantation, hand gestures, and a summoning circle with a proper containment for the specific creature.
I did everything right, Waldo thought. I did! Why didn’t it work?
In a sense the summoning had worked… sort of, but a blue bird was not a homunculus. The only positive he could take from his recent effort was that at least he could summon. He couldn’t even use necromancy. For a Corpselover that was worse than embarrassing, it was downright humiliating. His family was known for its ability with raising and using the dead. It was where their damn name came from! His mother was acknowledged the greatest necromancer in all Alteroth. Being unable to use it at all made Waldo feel unworthy. He wanted so much to make mother and the family proud of him. How could he ever do that when he was such a complete failure at the family specialty?
As he neared a corner in the hallway he waved his hand. “Repulso.”
Even unseen Walter was thrown from the hiding spot and sent flying down a side corridor. His brother cried out in frustration as Waldo kept going.
Healing spells, wards, spell traps, and protective magics all came to him easily. That was his gift. That sort of magic did have its place and its uses, but in Alteroth that place was quite low. No one respected healers. The ability to destroy or to control was what mattered.
Behind him Walter shouted. “Why do you always just let me go? Why don’t you destroy me?! Am I so pathetic to you?”
“It would make mother sad.”
He heard Walter curse him. Waldo knew his brother really would kill him if he ever got the chance. Mother would be upset, but she wouldn’t punish Walter if it happened. Children were protected until they knew enough to put on the robes as apprentice mages. From that point on you were expected to protect yourself. Not just from outside enemies, but from your own family as well. The world was hard and you had to be strong enough to not only face it but to take what you wanted from it. There was no place in the family for the weak.
Waldo wondered if that was what he was.
The truth was he had no wish to kill anyone, not even Walter. He had no desire to control others or acquire power. All he wanted was to make mom proud of him. Waldo wanted to be a powerful Dark Mage and a proper Corpselover because that was what would make her proud.
He had talent with magic and the ability to draw on quite a lot of mana. What he didn’t have was the same mindset as everyone else. Why did he have a problem with killing? Why didn’t the idea of having power over others excite him? Why had he never hungered to be heir?
“What the hell is wrong with me?”
XXX
Castle Corpselover had nine towers and five dungeons. The main castle itself had five floors each with dozens of rooms and a different lay out. The hallways twisted and turned with various side corridors that came to abrupt ends or could go in a circle. Some of the stairways only went up or down one floor and the walls were riddled with secret passageways and hidden rooms. It was not hard at all to go from one end of the castle to the other without ever stepping into the main hallway, if you knew what you were about.
On the fifth floor he took the second corridor on the left off the main hall. Halfway down it there was another side corridor. This one curved around like a fishhook until it ended in a small alcove. Hanging on the wall was a full length mirror, six feet high, with brass trim that was polished so that it shined like gold.
The mirror itself was made of glass and its surface was perfectly smooth and clear. Standing before it Waldo could not see himself or the corridor around him. There was no reflection; there was only a perfect grey emptiness there.
“Sister, will you come and talk to me?”
He waited. She usually came when he asked, but not always.
He waited for a long time while nothing happened. He was about to go when he saw some of the mirror’s grey melt away. Colors swirled, like mixed paint in a bucket. A figure slowly began to take form. Waldo waited.
It took a few minutes, but finally she was standing there on the other side of the mirror; his sister Gwen. She had been sixteen when she died on her First Quest. It had happened outside the borders of Alteroth so there had been no way to recover her body. Mother had instead bound her soul into this mirror.
Waldo had been only twelve when Gwen died, still just a child under mother’s protection. Gwen had always been gentle to him. Unli
ke Walter, and most of his other siblings, she had never mocked his eyes or teased him about his many failures. Gwen had never bullied him and he had loved her almost as much as he had mother. He didn’t know if that would have changed once he was older; but he hoped not. She had taken after mother both in looks and talent. Gwendolyn had been a promising necromancer and candidate to be heir. The sweetness she had shown him had not affected her ability to be a Dark Mage.
She appeared before him dressed in black robes that highlighted her attractive figure. She had long straight black hair, auburn eyes, and the same delicate features as mother. Her skin though was a bleached white and her throat was slashed from ear to ear, the cut slowly bled all the while she stood there.
“You look sad little brother,” Gwen said with a sympathetic glance. “Did Walter try and eat you again?” The words came in a rasp, her wound quivering with each syllable.
The (sort of) Dark Mage (Waldo Rabbit) Page 2
