The Sword and the Sorcerer

by John Phythyon

  Calibot turned and stared him. He was unable to keep tears from his eyes. Devon brushed them gently away and kissed him.

  “It will be all right,” he said. “I promise. You’ll see.”

  Calibot wasn’t sure if he believed him or not, but it was what he wanted, what he needed to hear. He snuggled into his love’s arms and felt Devon’s warmth and strength shelter him.

  “I love you,” Devon said.

  “I love you too.”

  He was asleep shortly thereafter. Despite the chill in the air, he slept comfortably.

  But his dreams were haunted by a single image all night. He saw himself standing at the top of a hill. People were dead all around him. There had been some sort of great battle. And he raised Wyrmblade high above his head satisfied with the knowledge it had been he who triumphed, he who killed them all.

  Chapter 8: Audience before Elders

  Four days later, Calibot was standing before the Council of Elders in Dalasport. Their chamber was imposing – much more so than Duke Boordin’s great room. Nine lords were on the Council, and each sat in a seat behind a high wall. It rose some five or six feet from the floor, was semicircular, and was carved from a blue-grey stone Calibot didn’t recognize. He, Devon, and Liliana stood in the center of this half-circle, surrounded on three sides by lords, who gazed down on them imperiously. He had to look up to see any of them, and they were backlit to obscure their faces and make them appear more forbidding.

  The room was otherwise bare. There was no place for visitors to sit, no place for courtiers to gather and gossip. Calibot knew from Devon that the Council governed Eldenberg by committee and had no need or desire for sycophantic nobles to advise or praise them.

  Behind Calibot and his friends, two guards stood at the door through which they’d been admitted. The sentries were armed with spears and swords and wore green tabards emblazoned with the Eldenberg seal of an owl with a wand clutched in its talons.

  At the center seat was an old wizard, who’d been introduced as Lord Vestran, President of the Council. Despite the lighting, it was easy to see he was ancient. He was hunched, and every movement appeared to be painful. When he spoke, his voice shook with age.

  “Did I hear you correctly,” Lord Vestran said. “You claim you are the son of Gothemus Draco?”

  “I am,” Calibot responded.

  “And who are these others?” Vestran demanded.

  “Liliana Gray,” Liliana said. “Apprentice to Gothemus Draco.”

  “Devon Middleton,” Devon said. “Advisor to Duke Boordin of Dalasport.”

  A quiet murmur went through the lords at the mention of Devon’s post. Calibot didn’t think that boded well.

  “And why have you come here, Son of Gothemus Draco,” Lord Vestran asked, sounding irritated. “Why do you bring Gothemus’s apprentice and an emissary from Duke Boordin? What makes you think you have business with the Council of Elders?”

  Calibot was shocked at the president’s tone. He hadn’t known what to expect from this journey. He supposed he should have been expecting the Council to be hostile to him. Liliana had told him his father was murdered. But to be stonewalled like this was surprising and confusing.

  “My lords,” Liliana said, “I received notice my master died in Eldenberg. I was instructed to find Calibot and bring him here to claim the body. We are here to execute that business.”

  Stony silence followed. None of the lords spoke. Calibot tried to study them to see if anyone’s face revealed anything, but the lighting and angle made it impossible to read their expressions.

  “Why come to the Council?” one of the other Elders said.

  Calibot turned to his left. A woman had spoken. It looked like she had black or brown hair, and she wore a purple robe.

  “What do you mean?” Liliana said.

  “Why come to the Council?” the woman repeated. “Even if Gothemus Draco had perished in Eldenberg – which I do not confirm – why would the Council have any authority over the matter?”

  Calibot felt little alarms go off in his head. He didn’t know where they came from, but he knew they meant this lord was somehow more dangerous than the others. Had she been the one who murdered his father?

  “My lords,” Devon said. “We mean no offense, nor do we make any implication by coming before you. The truth is we do not fully know the facts surrounding Gothemus Draco’s death. However, he was the most powerful man in the Known World. Not only was he the very lynchpin of the balance of power, he was the most accomplished magician anyone has ever seen.”

  Someone snorted derisively. Calibot thought it was Lord Vestran, but he couldn’t be sure.

  “Given the Council’s reputation for insight, wisdom, and magical prowess,” Devon continued, “it seems improbable the Council of Elders would not be aware of the death of Gothemus Draco. Thus, it seemed not only logical but prudent to bring our quest to your attention. At the very least, we owe you the courtesy of consulting your advice on the matter. More likely, the Council would be able to provide us the information about Gothemus Draco’s demise and how to find the body.”

  Devon finished with a slight nod of deference. The Council once again offered no immediate response. However, they looked from person to person, as if trying to send some sort of silent signal about what they should do next.

  Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, Calibot knew that meant they were guilty. He didn’t know how he knew this. But their expressions told him everything. They were responsible for his father’s death, and they hadn’t expected Gothemus’s son to come for the body. An unfamiliar sense of anger festered in his heart.

  “We’ll see what we can do,” Lord Vestran said.

  “What does that mean?” Calibot heard himself say.

  Devon looked at him in surprise. Calibot shared the sentiment. He hadn’t known he was going to speak, let alone say something that could be interpreted as disrespectful.

  “It means we’ll see what we can do,” Lord Vestran said, his tone harsh.

  “That is unacceptable,” Calibot said, once again surprising himself with the words.

  Lord Vestran may have been backlit so that it was hard to make out his features, but it was pretty easy to see him raise his eyebrows at the impertinence of Calibot’s remark. A second murmur ran through the Council, but this one was clearly shock.

  “Watch your tone, boy,” the woman said. “You are addressing Vestran, President of the Council of Elders and therefore one of the foremost sorcerers in the world. He governs both Eldenberg and the forces of the universe. You will speak to him with respect.”

  “And you are addressing the son of Gothemus Draco, most powerful wizard in the Known World,” Calibot shot back. “He is here with an emissary of the Duke of Dalasport and Gothemus Draco’s apprentice. He has a legal right to claim the body of his father, and he demands it be released to him immediately!”

  “Demands?” the woman shouted. “No one makes demands of this council. Ever! You’re in Eldenberg, not Dalasport, boy. You will treat us with the respect we deserve, or you will contemplate your folly from within our dungeons.”

  Calibot opened his mouth to say he didn’t know what. But before he could make things worse, Devon put up a hand and stepped in front of him and spoke.

  “Forgive us, Lord—?”

  “Vicia,” the woman said.

  “Forgive us, Lord Vicia,” Devon said. “Please understand the loss of his father has been very trying for Calibot, as it would be for anyone. We mean no offense to Eldenberg or its wise Council of Elders.

  “That said, we do have it on good authority that Gothemus Draco met his demise while visiting your fair city. Our faith in the Council suggests you must have knowledge of this unfortunate event. Thus, because we have both a legal right to the body and a desire to put this matter to rest as quickly as possible, we humbly request that, if the Council has possession of the body, it be released to us. If it does not, we ask your lords’ assistance in helping us ac
quire it.”

  There was a third round of no immediate response from the Elders. Calibot wanted to leap the stone wall they hid behind and gore them with Wyrmblade. His hand went to the hilt, and he found comfort in gripping it.

  “We will arrange quarters for you,” Lord Vestran said. “You may stay as long as is necessary. We will debate this matter and decide how best to help you.”

  Calibot grinned savagely. They had all but admitted their guilt with that statement. He was about to press the issue when Devon bowed.

  “Thank you, my lords,” Devon said. “We are most grateful. We will await your decision.”

  Calibot wanted to protest, but Devon flashed him a quick look that told him to leave it where it was. Calibot ground his teeth. Fine. Devon was the experienced politician. Calibot would follow his lead for the time being.

  But he wasn’t going to wait forever. Someone was going to release his father’s body and answer some questions, or there would be hell to pay.

  “Guards,” Lord Vestran called. “Escort our guests to convenient lodgings. See that they have everything they need.”

  One of the soldiers came forward and saluted. Then he indicated they should follow him.

  Calibot took a last glance at Lord Vicia. She was watching him closely. She was the one. Somehow, she was responsible. He didn’t know what she had done exactly or how she had accomplished it. But he resolved to make her pay.

  Chapter 9: Strange Magic

  Elmanax glared at the body of Gothemus Draco lying on the stone slab in the bowels of the Council’s stronghold in Eldenberg. The cool, dank air of this sub-chamber reminded him ever so slightly of his life in the underworld, but not enough to really comfort him.

  Gothemus mocked him even in death. After this much time, his body should be pungent with rot. Instead, it continued to look as though the murder had happened only yesterday. He lay on the slab with his arms at his sides in his grey robes and his long hair and beard flowing tranquilly down his back and chest. His eyes were closed, giving the impression he was sleeping peacefully. It was infuriating.

  If he squinted, Elmanax thought he could see magical energy softly wrapping the deceased mage’s body. But, of course, that would be impossible, even for Gothemus Draco.

  Wouldn’t it?

  How could this be? How could he not be deteriorating? He hadn’t been embalmed. He’d just been left to decompose down here. Vicia had followed his instructions to keep the body unmolested so he could study it after recovering from his injuries at the tower, but the Council hadn’t done anything to preserve the remains, so how was Gothemus doing it?

  Something was wrong. There was magic left in the arrogant wizard. Elmanax couldn’t understand how. His tower remained impregnable. His body remained pristine. How was he doing it?

  Elmanax circled the body, his gaze smoldering. There had to be some answer here.

  “How?” he said. “How is this possible? What magic is this you’re using?”

  Gothemus didn’t answer. He simply lay dead on the stone slab, mocking Elmanax’s inquiries, refusing to give up his secrets.

  “You’re not that good, you know,” Elmanax said. “You were only human, and now you’re dead. No human has powers from beyond the grave. You are no god, Gothemus Draco.

  “So how are you doing it? How is it your magic outlasts you?”

  The body still didn’t answer. It just lay peacefully.

  Suddenly, Elmanax couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t be outwitted by this human! He couldn’t be! He leaped up on the slab, jumped onto Gothemus’s stomach, and ran up his body until he was right in his face.

  “Tell me!” he shouted. “Tell me how to get into the tower, Gothemus! I want the Eye of the Dragon! I want it back! Do you hear me!”

  His tiny head was an inch from Gothemus’s mouth. His hands were knotted in two fistfuls of the wizard’s long, white beard.

  And still, Gothemus Draco’s dead body said nothing. It lay there lifelessly, refusing to stir.

  “Damn you!” the gnome screamed.

  He started beating on the body. It shook with the abuse, but nothing changed.

  “Elmanax!” came a female voice.

  He stopped and turned his head to see Lord Vicia descending the stairs. Her purple robe blew back from her ankles as she practically ran down the steps, her red cloak sweeping behind her.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded, sweeping black hair out of her face as she entered the room.

  “Nothing,” he said.

  “Really?” she replied. “Because it looked like you were defiling the body.”

  `He let go of Gothemus’s beard, stepped off him, and stood with his fists on his hips at the edge of the slab. He fixed her with his best glare.

  “Don’t question my methods, human,” he said.

  He glared at Gothemus. Vicia came closer.

  “Maybe you should try magic,” she said. Her tone made it impossible to determine if she were being sarcastic or not. “Surely that will be more effective than beating him.”

  “Something very strange is happening here,” he said, ignoring her advice. “Have you ever seen a dead person look this good more than two weeks after his passing?”

  “No, but—”

  “Gothemus Draco has some strange magic I don’t understand,” he continued. “His body’s condition is proof of it. I’ve tried the magic I know, but something is blocking me. I can perceive his sorcery, but I can’t determine what it’s doing or how it’s working. If I don’t solve this mystery I’ll never get into his tower.”

  He frowned. Then he sat down on the edge of the slab.

  She came forward and examined the dead magician herself. Her brow crinkled as she looked him over.

  “It is odd,” she said. “I would have thought this room would smell putrid by now, but it’s like he’s not decomposing at all. It’s as if he’s in some sort of suspended animation – like a dream from which he can’t wake up.”

  Elmanax turned and looked at him. Everything she said made sense except for one thing. The Spark of Life wasn’t in him. There was no glow to him. Gothemus Draco was gone. There was no denying it.

  “He’s dead,” Elmanax pronounced. “But something is preserving him. And it’s preserving his wards too.” He regarded the body a little longer. “We’ve got to crack the code somehow.”

  “Perhaps it’s time we hired a necromancer,” Vicia suggested. “A death magician should be able to summon his spirit back from the netherworld. In theory, we could bind his spirit and force it to tell us how to enter the tower and get the Eye.”

  “If we do that, you’ll have to inform the Council,” Elmanax said. “That may further weaken their confidence in you. We can’t afford that just now. We need to keep the Council in the dark as long as possible.”

  “There may be a problem with that,” she said.

  “What sort of problem?” he said, turning on her.

  Her green eyes betrayed fear. Was she worried about what he would do to her, or something else?

  “Gothemus’s son has come to claim the body,” she pronounced.

  “What?”

  Gothemus’s son? But they were estranged. They hadn’t spoken since the boy left home five years ago. How would he know of his father’s death, and why was he involved?

  “You’re sure it’s his son?”

  “He claims to be,” she answered.

  Elmanax’s mind raced. It just didn’t make sense. Then a possibility occurred to him.

  “Is Zod with him,” he asked.

  “No, but Gothemus’s apprentice is, along with some man from Duke Boordin’s court.”

  Liliana was here? That explained it. She must have found out about the murder somehow. Elmanax hadn’t thought she was a good enough magician for that – she seemed completely inept.

  If Liliana was here with Calibot, she must have discovered her master’s death and then persuaded Calibot to come get the body. That wasn’t a very smart move
, since a poet was no one’s useful ally in a game of political assassination, but maybe she figured she needed him to acquire Gothemus’s corpse. That would make sense. The Council could legally refuse to release it to anyone but family. Liliana’s claim as his heir was dubious. The Council could deny her on technical terms. Calibot, though, would be a different matter.

  “What has the Council done,” he asked.

  “Nothing yet,” she said. “We appreciate the delicacy of the situation. No one is eager to turn the body over to him.”

  “See that it stays that way.”

  “But neither is anyone sure we can deny the claim,” she continued. “He’s Gothemus’s direct heir and has a legal right to the body. And even if he weren’t, it would look pretty suspicious for us to deny him. It suggests we have something to cover up.”

  “You do have something to cover up,” Elmanax reminded her.

  “Yes, but no one knows that,” Vicia protested. “We haven’t let on that he was murdered. Hell, we’ve kept it as quiet as possible that he’s even dead. You know damned well what sort of upheaval that will cause, not to mention Zod will be coming with an army if he finds out.”

  Elmanax thought for a minute. Everything Vicia said was true. He’d had to work hard to convince her to do what he wanted for the exact reasons she mentioned. But maybe that could work in their favor.

  “Perhaps it’s time we told the world,” he said.

  “What? Are you crazy?”

  “No,” he said. “You need a reason to keep the body. Gothemus died under mysterious circumstances. The Council of Elders – the foremost organization of wizards in the world, second only to Gothemus Draco himself – is attempting to find out what happened. It can’t release the body until its investigation is complete.”

  Vicia stepped back and put her hand to her chin, thinking. She was quite lovely for a human. Elmanax suspected she wouldn’t stay that way long. She was drunk with a thirst for power. That would wear her out before she expected it to.