The Gift of Magic (The Shadowmage Saga)

by Paul Sobol

  Looking towards the higher platform Arthos relaxed. The gathered magicians continued to spread death and destruction amidst the enemy forces, unleashing energies in every colour of the rainbow.

  As the silent battle raged about the Keep a single voice could be heard, softly at first but gaining volume. A deep sonorous voice, carrying with it undertones of long-forgotten power, echoed around the Keep as though the speaker were a huge giant. The ancient language of power invoked a sense of dread and foreboding in everyone who heard it, as though final judgement was being called down upon those on the battlefield.

  Reaching a crescendo, the voice resounded as though attempting to reach the heavens themselves. The clouds suddenly parted as though pushed aside by an invisible hand, and a brilliant burst of pure white light illuminated the frozen lake.

  Everything ceased moving.

  The 'undead' stopped attacking and the drakes let out a silent cry as the light blinded and transfixed them. Even the soldiers of the Keep ceased fighting and stared up at the sky, all thought of violence and hatred washed away by the beautiful light.

  Immobilized, the skeleton army stood poised on the ice, torn between the unexplainable sense of peace and the harsh whisper of their Master’s voice in their collective mind. Slowly their bones began to fall apart. Like smoke on the wind the remains disintegrated and blew away.

  The flock of drakes began to disperse, as though the magic that had controlled them was broken, and now freed took to the skies and flew in every direction except towards the tall mountain and its ominous fortress.

  Those on the walls were silent for quite some time, not quite believing what they had just witnessed, then a lone cry went up and soon hundreds of survivors were cheering and celebrating. Tears of joy and wonder spilled easily from many hardened veterans, as almost every soldier had expected to meet their end this day.

  Surrounded by cheering soldiers the Protector motioned for silence. Within moments the Keep was once again silent as those assembled awaited to hear what he had to say.

  “Today we are victorious,” he let the cheering continue for a moment then went on, “but it came at a price. While we celebrate today let us not forget those who are no longer with us. Remember the sacrifice and honour their memory.”

  Another round of heartfelt cheering ensued as the Protector shook hands and embraced the men around him. From the viewing platform the group of magicians descended to the courtyard. The soldiers, having new-found respect for the strangers parted to let them through. Reaching the Commander and Arthos the group was escorted into the Keep and taken to a large feasting hall. It was empty for the moment but the Commander quickly gave orders to prepare a celebration feast.

  The noise outside had died down, only to be replaced by the bustle of hundreds of staff rushing to help wounded soldiers, attend to the fallen, and just as importantly prepare for the night of revelry. The Captain’s voice was heard shouting orders as the group was led past the Great Hall and into a smaller room designed for personal meetings.

  Taking a seat at the head of a long wooden table the Commander motioned for the rest to sit. Arthos, as High Protector and chief advisor, sat to his right.

  Father Benedict was shown to a large chair by the fireplace and a pageboy standing by offered mulled wine. The others took their place around the table that was soon filled with platters of cheese and fruits and cured meats. Goblets were filled with wine or ale and soon everyone was relaxing.

  “Let me begin,” the Commander said, “by extending our heart-felt gratitude for everything you have done for us. You helped save the lives of many men and women, and while some may not look so favourably upon the circumstances of your arrival, I hold no animosity. It was only a matter of time before a full-scale war began against us, thankfully your presence made all the difference.”

  “We appreciate your kind words, Commander,” answered Silver, “but all thanks must be accorded to Father Benedict; it was his formidable magic that prevailed.”

  Arthos and the Commander both raised goblets in salute to the old Healer. “Truly your power is divine to have defeated such mindless evil. To Father Benedict.” The toast was repeated by everyone sitting at the table.

  “Those creatures were under the control of another, and although the Z’gal were destroyed the source still remains. In time a new army will be raised, and most likely we will not be here to give aid. Thankfully the frost drakes are no longer being controlled, they we’re the real threat given enough time and coordination.” The old Healer said wearily.

  “Which brings up another matter,” replied Arthos, “how did your group come to these lands and how do you intend on returning to your own?”

  The younger magicians looked towards Athenais as their unofficial spokesman, who cleared his throat and took another sip of wine. The slight pause gave him time to formulate his response, because he suspected the Protector, his long-ago companion, was looking for a specific answer.

  “We came through the lake below the Temple of Air, just like the first time. How we will return should be obvious.”

  “Don’t play games with me Athenais. You know it is almost impossible to leave this place; otherwise I wouldn’t still be here. I want to know how you escaped this prison!”

  “What do you mean prison?” Silver quickly interjected.

  “I am talking about this place, this world. It is a prison. There is no way to escape using conventional magic.”

  “What world? We are beneath the Temple of Air, far underground.”

  “You truly do not know?” The Protector said in astonishment. “I believe you may not have been told the entire story of our first expedition, and with good reason. It began long ago, in the Temple of Air and the labyrinth tunnels. As you know it took a long time to find the lake, but by that time I had already been separated from the group.”

  “I believed you had been taken by a wraith,” said Athenais mournfully.

  “Almost. I managed to escape and, for a long time, kept its attention drawn upon myself. I knew eventually I would catch up to you and Stephanovic, but I had to ensure the wraith would not be able to follow. By the time I found the lake you two had already passed through, and unfortunately I was once again beset by the foul creature that followed. I fought it for a long time but I knew the 'undead' abomination would eventually win.

  “Badly wounded, I made a desperate attempt to escape and threw myself into the water. Thankfully the wraith would not follow. I was suddenly dragged down into the depths and found myself falling. Using what little power I had left I managed to land safely. I spent quite some time recovering in a small cave.

  “When I had regained some strength I tried contacting you or Stephanovic but without success. I was still too weak. I was also using a lot of power to defend myself against the cold and other physical threats such as roaming packs of Z’gal.

  “I assumed you were still searching for the Ice Keep so that is what I did too. For ages I wandered the wastelands until, half dead, I was found in the snow by a patrol of soldiers. I was brought here and eventually regained my health. The people here were fairly primitive, but without their aid I would have surely perished out there alone. That was about two thousand years or so ago.”

  “Two thousand years!” Athenais exclaimed. “Then you must have found the Water of Life?”

  “I believe so,” said Arthos, “but I don’t know exactly where or when I drank from it. It is possible the Water of Life is back in the Temple, or the Tunnels, maybe even the lake itself. Perhaps the Water existed here a long time ago and the people who nursed me to health administered it unknowingly.”

  “So we came all this way for nothing then?” said Archer.

  “It appears so,” answered Arthos solemnly.

  “Athenais,” began Silver after a short interval of silence, “is there a way of returning through the lake portal?”

  “I don’t think so. Portals are not my forte. We have the means of returning but there would b
e not enough time to get to the lake and back to Avalon. Which brings up the question as to why you couldn’t leave,” said Athenais, turning towards his old friend.

  “Initially we were wrong in thinking this was the magical repository beneath the Temple, and nor is the lake the only means of getting here. For a long time I wondered why so many different people were appearing throughout the land. The scouting parties sent from the Keep often returned with someone not from our home world. Once capable of effectively communicating with those who found me I discovered they were a community made up of different people; mostly humans, but I did come across a small group of elves.

  “Over time I shared with them knowledge of technology and our small community flourished. Many had found themselves here by accident, but occasionally we found those who possessed magical means of travelling here. However, I had discovered long ago it wasn’t as easy to leave. Initially I tried all sorts of teleportation spells, but with no connection between this world and our own it was impossible, and unfortunately I did not have Stephanovic’s skill with fashioning portals. I suspected that, had you not perished, his portal magic was your return trip home.”

  “Stephanovic died. He was caught in a sudden blizzard and disappeared. I tried to magically find him but without success.”

  “Then how did you leave?”

  Athenais hesitated for a moment. “By sheer coincidence, Stephanovic had left behind his Travelling Sceptre.”

  Arthos, in a sudden display of joy, slapped the table and let out a boisterous laugh. “Excellent! I mean, terrible our friend died,” he said a little less enthusiastically, “but can I assume that is how you planned on leaving, and you have the Sceptre with you?”

  “I do, but we cannot leave until we find a way to get the Water of Life.”

  “I told you,” said Arthos, starting to get impatient, “it is not here. You need the Water for some purpose, I understand, but I have been stuck here for so long I only wish to return home with my people.”

  “That is impossible. The Travelling Sceptre will only take a few people at once, we cannot take them all.”

  “Perhaps. About a hundred years ago we rescued a promising young magician skilled in the use of artefacts. With my assistance we built a device which could create a large enough portal for all of us to leave. Unfortunately before it was completed he was captured during a sneak-attack. I presumed him dead at the hands of the unknown Master of the Fortress.”

  “You think he was singled out, for what purpose?”

  “Maybe as a means of escaping this world or, as I now believe, harness more power to fuel his 'undead' generators. The Z’gal numbers have increased steadily over the centuries, despite how many we destroy. There always seems more. There must be some magical process of creating these abominations, and I suspect it to be the work of a very powerful Necromancer.”

  “With his army destroyed,” began Silver, “this Necromancer would be vulnerable. Rather than wait for him to rebuild his forces perhaps we should go on the offensive and attack him.”

  “Already a step ahead, we march in a few hours. We will reach the Fortress during the night and lay siege to it, but with no standing army he will most likely flee. This may be our only chance to end his tyranny, but more than that, we may find a means of escaping this world.

  “The young artificer, Nolan, kept all designs and notes of his constructions in a journal. When he was taken we also lost the book and any chance for our freedom. However, the book may still be in the Fortress, if we get it there’s a chance we can finish the portal machine, we can all go home.”

  Archer looked over at Silver who seemed lost in thought. She was about to ask him a question when, as if reading her mind, he spoke up. “Unfortunately we are quickly running out of time, at best just over a day. Is that enough time to reach the Fortress and find this book?”

  “There should not be any obstacle between us and the Fortress. We could make it in a few hours,” said Arthos, “Athenais, although we counted each other best of friends all those years ago, how do I know you will not use the Sceptre and leave the rest of us behind?”

  “Using the Sceptre now would only doom our friend. It is not calibrated to return us to the underground lake and we just do not have the time to re-navigate the tunnels to reach it by foot. While time is against us I believe the Oracle has provided us both with a way to reach our goals. Have faith that we can still succeed in this quest of life and death.”

  “This friend of yours, he means that much to you?”

  “There is something special about him,” answered Archer, “I doubt the world has seen his like since the Ancients walked amongst us.”

  “Extraordinary. I would very much like to meet him.”

  “His condition is dire, and only the Water of Life can save him.”

  “We will leave as soon as possible. Stay here and refresh yourselves, the Captain will come and get you when we are ready.”

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Ice crackled alarmingly as the over-burdened sleds glided over the frozen surface. The weather had turned severe as the last rays of light left the valley, and as the surviving forces of the Ice Keep crossed the lake an unexpected blizzard swept down from the mountains.

  Winter was doing her best to clear the snow before it built up too high blocking the only road to the Fortress, but it was a never-ending task and eventually began taking a toll on the Elemental magician, mentally and physically. The other magicians lent some of their own power to her but, wary of giving too much, kept most of it in reserve. They just did not know what awaited them at their destination, and a magician without power was useless.

  Taking down a necromancer was always tricky. Magicians who used the energy of death cling to their mortality rather tenaciously, desperately, because using negative mana shortened one’s life span considerably. Magic fuelled with negative mana, or dark energy, was often considered more potent, with the trade-off being fewer years. However, Dark magicians had access to spells that could extend life and cheat death, but everything comes with a price in the end. This became known as the Necromancer’s Curse; using death magic created a dependence on death magic in order to postpone death. It also made Necromancers difficult to kill, especially if they have a handy means of resurrection.

  The mountain trek to the Fortress took longer than expected, despite the use of powerful magic performed by an Elementalist. Thankfully the low lying clouds were just that. An attack on the snow-choked road by drakes would have been devastating, but it seemed Father Benedict’s claim the control over the creatures was severed rang true.

  Gathered outside the walls in the dark, the combined forces of soldiers and magicians could just make out the tall towers of the twin Fortress against the snow-covered mountainside. Impressively high walls surrounded the central Keep which looked to have been cut straight from the mountain itself. Whoever, or whatever, had built the two Keeps was either very skilled in engineering or very powerful with Earth magic.

  As expected the drawbridge was raised, making the crossing over the chasm impossible and looking down over the sheer edge was only darkness. The small group of magicians stood under a glowing ball of light discussing their options for storming the Fortress. Ideas shot back and forth, but every time there was either something ultimately flawed with the plan or too many unknown variables. Instead it was agreed upon to do the simplest thing; bring down the drawbridge.

  Walking to the edge of the cliff, Athenais and Arthos closed their eyes and quickly gathered their powers. With arms raised and palms towards the drawbridge, they shouted out in unison. Mana coalesced around the two figures as the words of magic echoed across the chasm, and with a thunderous groan the titanic drawbridge slowly began to lower as the chains were loosened.

  With only several feet left to go the two magicians stopped the spell, causing the heavy drawbridge to fall the remaining distance. The resulting crash sent tremors throughout the maintain, threatening the balance of every perso
n perched precariously to its edge. Sheepishly looking back Athenais quickly apologised. Without further ado, the two elder mages walked purposefully across the bridge.

  The Captain gave the order for the advance units to follow, and soon several dozen soldiers cautiously made their way to the barbican. The portcullis was down, but as the two leading magicians approached they made an upward motion with their hands and the heavy latticework of metal slid effortlessly upwards. Impeded once again, this time by a heavy iron banded door, the magicians made a pushing motion and the resisting wood parted inwards.

  Stepping past twisted and mangled metal braces the advance unit secured the central courtyard, and once within the Fortress’ walls the rest of the army was ordered to follow.

  Locked doors were blasted open and each room on every floor was methodically searched. The six magicians split into groups of two to investigate the dark towers. Arthos, accompanied by his long ago companion, took the central stairway towards what they believed to be the Master’s personal study and library. The rooms were deserted; however they did contain several bookshelves as well as an area for performing dark magics. Upon the walls were drawn unholy sigils in what looked to be blood, and strewn around the floor appeared to be remains of something that once lived and breathed.

  Archer and silver made their way up the second tower, cautiously checking rooms as they ascended the circular stairwell. Soldiers followed discreetly behind several paces, knowing full well in case the magicians needed room to work their spells they would not get in the way. Of course, the same tactic applied if they were to be the unfortunate target of an enemy spell, there was no shame in using the magicians as a potentially useful shield.

  Around the corner came a soft glow as if from a candle, and as Archer and Silver approached they noticed the light was coming from an open doorway. The two mages engaged defensive and offensive wards and quietly moved forward, hoping to catch the necromancer by surprise. The lit room was filled with obscure metallic and wooden objects, some small but others standing several feet tall. Each was covered in a layer of dust as if having been stored here undisturbed for a long time, except for one. A metallic device composed of a complex series of circular disks within more disks shone brightly in the glow of a single lit candle beside it.