Everyone at the castle was spooked. Those howls unnerved all who heard them, and they came more often at night, interrupting sleep. Despite his moniker, Zod the Fearless was worried. The Wild Lands lay between him and Gothemus, between him and civilization. He didn’t want to contemplate what it might mean if his brother was no longer their master.
Someone cleared his throat behind him. Zod turned. It was Alistair, his principle advisor. A magician of some note, he gave Zod the sort of advice he needed in Gothemus’s absence. He also offered Zod insight into how to deal with his brother.
“Yes?” Zod said.
“My lord, I have grave news,” Alistair said.
He was slight. He’d spent his life dedicated to magic and academic study, not physical pursuits. Zod suspected he’d never been any good at them as a boy, so he turned his mind to activities better suited to him. It left him without much frame as an adult. Even under a flowing robe, Zod could see he was mostly skin and bones. His sandy-red hair blended into his pale skin, giving him a washed-out appearance. His green eyes seemed to be disembodied against the grey sky.
Still, despite his small frame and the mention of bad news, he didn’t shrink under Zod’s gaze. He was confident and comfortable in his master’s presence. Zod had always respected that about him. It was one of the reasons Alistair was his principle advisor. Despite Zod’s well deserved reputation for a bad temper, Alistair never acted as though he was afraid.
“What is it,” Zod asked.
“We have unconfirmed reports from multiple sources your brother is deceased.”
Zod let that wash over him. He wished he were surprised. He wanted desperately to be shocked. But he just wasn’t. Gothemus had acted like a fool going alone, and all communication had stopped. Zod knew something was wrong.
“What do you mean ‘unconfirmed reports,’” he asked.
“None of our agents in Eldenberg has actually seen a body, so we can’t say for certain that he is dead,” Alistair replied. “However, there are a number of rumors leaking from the Council of Elders that Gothemus Draco has been murdered.
“Moreover, your brother’s apprentice Liliana left the tower a week ago and traveled to Dalasport. Yesterday, she left Dalasport with your nephew and his lover. They were traveling towards Eldenberg, and our agents in the duke’s court report they intend to claim Gothemus’s body.”
“Calibot?” Zod said. “Why would she go to him?”
“I am uncertain, my lord. I will need to do some research.”
Zod frowned. Calibot and Gothemus hadn’t spoken for at least five years. Or was it longer? He couldn’t remember. Regardless, as far as Zod knew, they remained estranged. What possible purpose could Gothemus’s apprentice have in going to him? And why would Calibot agree to retrieve the body? He hated his father.
“Are you telling me no one is guarding the tower?” Zod said, the thought suddenly occurring to him.
“It would seem not,” Alistair answered. “I am unaware of any other servants your brother employed beyond his apprentice. Naturally, he probably has some defensive spells cast on his domicile to prevent unwanted visitors—”
“But those would not survive his death.” Zod finished. “Which means, if he was murdered away from home, someone might have done it to break in.”
“So they could steal the Eye of the Dragon?”
“That would be the most likely motive,” Zod said. “But Gothemus was the most powerful magician anyone’s ever known. Any sorcerer or would-be world conqueror would risk death to get their hands on practically anything he’s got stored in there. And Gothemus and I made a lot of enemies in the old days.
“Not that it really matters. Gothemus was the lynchpin of the balance of power. Nobody made a move for fear of risking his wrath. Killing him allows someone to make a power play, and they are probably after the Eye of the Dragon.
“We need to get there, Alistair. We need to make sure no one else gets their hands on the Eye, and I want Wyrmblade. Gothemus never did deliver the damned thing like he promised. Hell, I may need it to fight off whoever’s behind this. We’ve got to get there as quickly as possible before someone gets the idea to go in there first.”
Alistair nodded. He stroked his chin and thought for a moment.
“The problem will be getting there,” he said at last.
Zod sighed. He knew he was right.
“If your brother is indeed dead, then no one is controlling the Eye,” Alistair went on. “That will make the Wild Lands more . . . treacherous.”
“We’ll take the river,” Zod said. “That’ll be the safest way.”
“If any passage through the Wild Lands can truly be considered ‘safe.’”
Zod rubbed his temples. He was getting old. His hair was graying, his muscles ached from past wounds, and his bones ground in his joints. It had been a hard life adventuring with Gothemus, and the prospect of a dangerous journey through the Wild Lands without his brother’s protection made him feel his age more.
It didn’t matter, though. He had no choice. If he was going to preserve his position and possibly discover what happened to his brother, he was simply going to have to do it.
“Assemble the troops,” he said. “I want to move out by dawn tomorrow.”
“The troops, my lord?”
“Yes, Alistair, we’re bringing an army.”
“But, my lord, trying to move a force of that size through the Wild Lands without protection is going to be extremely difficult,” Alistair protested.
“Just do it, Alistair,” Zod snapped. “We’re going to need as much help getting through there as possible, and I don’t want to end up on the other side and find an army waiting for us. Whoever killed Gothemus is in for a nasty surprise. Now get going.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Alistair turned and went back inside. Zod resumed gazing at the Wild Lands. As if to give voice to the danger, a loud, bone-chilling roar came out of the trees. Zod had no idea what made it, but it sounded like a challenge.
Darkness was coming. He prayed it wasn’t coming for him.
Chapter 7: Drake and Drudger Rolled into One
Calibot didn’t like being out on the open road. He was completely out of his element. As the son of a reclusive sorcerer, he spent much of his childhood in his father’s tower. He went outside from time to time to get away from Gothemus, from magic, from the gloom of the stone walls that confined him like a prison, but there wasn’t much to do, and he never stayed long.
He left home at eighteen and traveled to Dalasport. There, he apprenticed himself to Esmond Alahn, a tailor to the wealthy, which kept him indoors much of the day. What little free time he had, he spent working on his poetry. Esmond occasionally made clothing for low-ranking courtiers in Duke Boordin’s palace, and, whenever he got the opportunity, Calibot would recite some of his verse for a client with connections.
That was how he met Devon, an accomplished swordsman new to the duke’s court. He was a few years older than Calibot, but he took an immediate liking to this tailor’s apprentice who wrote witty poetry. When Devon offered to become his patron, Calibot jumped at the chance, leaving behind the working world for one of verse and politics.
It didn’t take long for them to become lovers. A year later, Devon was successful enough to have the duke’s ear. He presented Calibot to the court. Duke Boordin was pleased with Calibot’s poems and immediately commissioned more. When they exceeded his expectations, he made Calibot his poet laureate, and Devon rose to great heights in court.
There hadn’t been much reason to go outdoors since leaving his father. Between learning to stitch and then crafting his poems, Calibot spent most of his days inside. He’d grown to prefer it. In a quiet, warm room with an inkpot, a quill, and parchment, he was finally free to pursue the dreams he’d been harboring since early adolescence. And at night, he was wrapped in soft sheets and Devon’s arms. It was paradise.
This was not. The autumn breeze was strong and chilly.
The road between Dalasport and Eldenberg was good, but it was still muddy, and the rolling plains it stretched across allowed the sea breeze from the port to pick up speed and blast them from behind. It was still early in the season, and he couldn’t say he was especially cold, but he wasn’t cozy like he was accustomed to, and the constant flapping of his cloak into his face when a strong gust came along irritated him.
He was further disquieted by the mysterious sword his father had bequeathed him. No longer in its case, it was sheathed by his saddle so he could draw it while mounted if necessary. He hadn’t seen much reason for this, but Devon insisted, reminding Calibot that caution was appropriate. In the end, Calibot relented, but he wasn’t happy about it.
Now Wyrmblade seemed to stare at him. It bobbed back and forth with his mount’s gait, and the golden tail gave the appearance of wagging. He could have sworn it was judging him and finding him unworthy just as his father had. He scowled at it and looked away, trying to find somewhere else to cast his attention. The land offered nothing but rolling hills covered in tall grass.
His companions were no better. Devon rode along quietly, smiling like some sort of fool. He seemed to be enjoying this, as though the wind were a friend and the discomfort of riding a horse were fun. Occasionally, he would glance over at Calibot and give him a loving look. Calibot did his best to return it with a weak smile, but it only made him angrier.
But the worst part of the whole trip was Liliana. In Dalasport, she’d been quiet. After delivering her message and the sword, she’d just waited for Calibot and Devon to make their arrangements. She appeared to have no opinions on anything and nothing to do once she’d performed her function.
Out on the open road, she’d become a different person. She would not stop talking. It was as though the wind filled her with thoughts that she could not contain and had to release unfiltered into the world. She seemed to be some sort of wind chime, making its random music as the breeze blew through its pipes.
And worst of all, she only seemed to be interested in talking about one thing: the greatness of Gothemus Draco. She told one story after another of her apprenticeship to him and how wise he was and lucky she was to have known him, let alone studied under him.
“Now silver dust and Mayberry ash look very similar sitting in a jar in a dark storeroom,” she was saying. “So I can hardly be blamed for grabbing the wrong one. The labels weren’t turned to the front, and I didn’t think to check. After all, I was sure I knew where the Mayberry ash was.
“But, of course, I had it backwards. So when I put two pinches into the cauldron, well, the results were very different.
“I knew something was wrong when the water turned green. I thought to myself, ‘I don’t recall Gothemus saying that would happen.’ And since he’s such a gifted teacher, I figured he would have to have mentioned that.
“So I consulted the potions book to see what I’d done wrong. But, of course, since I’d put the wrong thing in, the recipe didn’t mention at all what was happening now.
“Well, I’d just started to turn pages to see if I could find a recipe that might describe what I saw, when I heard this awful sound. It was sort of like a burp, but it had that wet sound – Like when you’ve got phlegm on the back of your throat? – and it sounded hungry. When I looked up, this green blob was oozing out of the cauldron and coming towards me.
“I screamed and called for Gothemus. I know I should have stayed calm, but nothing like that had ever happened before. I mean, I’d never actually animated anything. Now I had messed up a potion or two in the past. Like the time I was supposed to be making a simple love phylactery but instead I made this horrible acid. Now that time . . .”
Calibot scowled and looked away. He tried not to listen, but the irritating woman was difficult to resist. She had a lilting tone to her voice that got inside his ear and refused to be ignored.
Devon looked at Calibot and smiled. He was clearly amused. His patience incensed Calibot further. How could he be enjoying this?
“. . . so then he waved his wand, and this blue streak came out of it and struck the blob in the center of its body – if you could call it a body. The thing froze as if it was suddenly winter. Then he cast another spell, and it just melted away.
“Oh, Calibot, you are so lucky to have had such a talented father. He truly was amazing. I am so saddened by his passing.”
There it was again. More praise for his father. Why was everyone so impressed with him? He may have been the Known World’s foremost magician. That didn’t make him a good person. Or a good father. Liliana Gray didn’t know Gothemus Draco; she only thought she did.
They stopped for the day when Devon estimated it was about an hour before dusk. They moved off the road a ways and then tethered their horses to a tree that happened to be growing more or less in the middle of nowhere. A small pond was nearby, feeding it water.
“There doesn’t seem to be much in the way of dead wood,” he said. “That’ll make it difficult to build a fire.”
Calibot sighed bitterly. He was already uncomfortable. He didn’t want to spend the night cold.
“Don’t worry, Calibot,” Devon said with a smile. “It won’t get too chilly tonight, and we have blankets and each other to keep us warm.”
“A fire is no problem,” Liliana said. “I’ve some magic that will start the wood burning, even if it’s green.”
“Very well,” Devon said before Calibot could object, “I’ll gather some wood while you and Calibot dig a fire pit.”
Liliana nodded and set to work immediately. Calibot gaped at Devon. Was he crazy? Had he not been listening to the woman’s stories all afternoon about how she had made a mess of practically every spell his father taught her? She was like Drake and Drudger rolled into one person and then magnified.
He sighed again and set to helping her dig. This had better turn out right.
***
Thirty minutes later they had a suitable, shallow hole, and Devon had broken some branches off the tree and snapped them into pieces. He stacked them expertly. It occurred to Calibot that, as much as he knew his love was an accomplished swordsman, who’d served in the duke’s army, there was a lot he didn’t know. Calibot had no idea Devon was so handy out of doors. It gave him the smallest bit of comfort and took the edge off his irritable mood.
“All right, stand back,” Liliana said.
Calibot didn’t need to be told twice. He didn’t trust her. Devon was more curious. He stood a little closer to her.
She rummaged through her pack and found a small sack. She opened it and reached in.
“Fieré!” she shouted and tossed a handful of dust onto the wood.
Nothing happened. Devon stood smiling and waited. Liliana looked confused. Calibot rolled his eyes.
“Hmm,” Liliana said. “Let me try again.”
“Certainly,” Devon replied, the same accommodating smile on his face.
“Fieré!” she shouted again and tossed another handful of dust into the pit.
Still nothing happened. Liliana looked even more confused.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “It should be working.”
“Is there some step you might have missed,” Devon offered.
“No,” she replied, not sounding at all offended.
“Perhaps you should consult the spellbook,” Calibot said, unable to keep the acid from his tone.
“Good idea,” she said and started rummaging through her pack.
Calibot rolled his eyes again. He had little respect for his father, but he was having a hard time understanding why Gothemus Draco would have taken this woman as an apprentice. She didn’t seem nearly bright enough.
She pulled a book from her pack and started flipping pages. After a moment, she found what she was looking for and started reading.
“Aha!” she said and snapped the book shut. “I was mispronouncing the power word. I should have known.”
Calibot resisted the urge to say, “Yes, one wou
ld think.” Liliana put the book away and then returned to the fire pit. She grabbed a third handful of dust and cast it onto the wood.
“Fiero!” she called.
There was a sudden explosion as the fire pit was temporarily engulfed in a gargantuan fireball. Calibot and Devon both put up their arms to shield themselves from the blast. When they lowered them seconds later, the wood was crackling with a roaring fire. Liliana’s face was black, and her robe was singed.
“Heh,” she said with a small chuckle. “I guess that was a little too much of the powder.”
“Are you all right?” Devon said.
“Oh, yes,” she replied. “I’m only burned a little.”
Devon inspected her and concluded her injuries were superficial. Calibot thought all three of them were lucky to be alive and resolved he wasn’t letting her perform any more magic near him or Devon. The entire incident was eerily like Drake and Drudger accidentally burning down The Enchanted Forest. He felt like his farce was coming to life before his eyes, and he didn’t want to become one of the victims.
They ate in silence. Whatever urge gave voice to Liliana’s incessant chattering during the day seemed to have ceased. Maybe it was embarrassment over nearly immolating herself. Maybe she was just tired. Either way, Calibot was grateful.
After dinner, they retired quickly. Liliana was exhausted and dropped immediately into a deep sleep, leaving Calibot and Devon to talk for a bit.
“She’ll kill us all before we get halfway to Eldenberg if we let her,” Calibot said.
Devon laughed. Calibot couldn’t see the humor.
“Relax, Calibot,” he said.
“How? She talks and talks and talks about what a failure she is, and then she proves it by almost burning herself to death.”
“Well, we do need to limit how much magic she uses,” Devon mused. “But you’ve been grumpy all day. You need to let some of this tension go.”
Calibot sighed. How could he explain to Devon what he was feeling? Where did he begin?
“Calibot,” Devon said, “ever since Liliana arrived, you’ve been sullen and brooding. I cannot imagine what sort of grief you must be feeling, but I am here for you. You can give your pain to me.”
The Sword and the Sorcerer Page 5
