Sinners of Magic

by Lynette Creswell

  Without waiting for Amadeus to respond, Matt jumped from his chair and flew out of the door, heading down the stairs.

  ‘I didn’t mean to offend him,’ said Amadeus, looking flummoxed.

  Amella shook her head and sighed.

  ‘He’s not from our world and he’s suffering a great strain just being amongst us. Please treat him with respect; he may be young, but so far he has shown great courage way beyond his years.’

  Amadeus merely shrugged his shoulders, but remained silent.

  Mordorma cleared his throat.

  ‘Once we have eaten you must both try to get some sleep,’ he said, looking directly at Amella and Crystal. ‘Amella, you, Matt and Nienna must leave in the early hours; Forusian must not find you within these walls or there could be much bloodshed.’

  ‘But I don’t understand,’ Amella gasped, ‘why should he care about my whereabouts after all these years? I am no threat to him.’

  Mordorma placed his words carefully upon his lips.

  ‘Because Bridgemear is here and Forusian knows of your past.’

  His words sliced through Amella like a vicious sword and a dark shadow crept across her face, making her pain plain for all to see. The mere mention of Bridgemear’s name brought its own anguish and the loss of losing the one she had once loved bubbled to the surface until she found herself falling on her knees.

  ‘Be strong!’ urged Mordorma, rushing to her side and holding her tight. ‘Perhaps it is best if you leave tonight and return to your realm.’

  ‘I cannot go back,’ she wailed, allowing a river of tears to roll down her face, ‘and you know the reasons why.’

  ‘Times have changed,’ said Mordorma, his tone softening, ‘I’m sure you would be allowed into your kingdom, especially with all that is happening now.’

  A sudden crash startled them all as the door was knocked completely off its hinges and hit the floor, only narrowly missing Amella. Both shocked and surprised by the attack, no one had time to respond to the sheer mass of soldiers who swarmed upon them like locusts. Amadeus managed to draw his sword, but had no time to use it.

  ‘We have them, sire!’ cried a Nonhawk soldier, dragging Amella to her feet.

  ‘Excellent work, men,’ boomed a voice that caused Crystal’s blood to run cold. ‘Let me see who we have uncovered hiding in there,’ said Forusian, entering the room and wearing a smile that split his face from ear to ear. ‘Well, well, well, what have we here?’

  He made his way to Amella, but failed to recognise her with her curtain of long dark hair still hiding most of her face.

  ‘Whoever she is, take her away,’ he ordered with a casual flick of his hand. ‘She may be of some use to me later.’

  The guards dragged Amella outside, placing her roughly into an awaiting cart. Back in the room, Arhdel lay motionless on the wooden cot tucked in a corner by the window, his breathing was still almost undetectable and Forusian eyed him with distaste before glaring at the magician.

  ‘I had no argument with you, Mordorma, or you, Amadeus, yet you shelter criminals within my walls. These acts of treason make you as guilty as the rest and I therefore have no choice but to arrest you. Guards, seize them!’

  Mordorma tried to protest, but his words fell upon deaf ears.

  ‘Save your breath,’ said Forusian, forcing a bitter smile. ‘You cannot escape your fate.’

  Suddenly a Nonhawk warrior ran to his king.

  ‘Have you found Bridgemear?’ asked Forusian, pushing his dark hair from his eyes.

  The soldier grunted.

  ‘No, sire, his room is empty.’

  ‘No matter,’ said Forusian, showing signs of contempt, ‘he will come to me in time.’ He caught sight of a wave of red hair and unconsciously sucked in his breath.

  ‘Crystal, is that you?’ he babbled, allowing his hard mask to slip away like silk. Crystal pressed her lips tight, refusing to answer, and he took a step closer, pulling at the hood to reveal her face.

  ‘Oh my word, my joy has no bounds at finding you again,’ he said, sounding slightly docile. He looked to have a fever and his palms were moist with sweat.

  Mordorma and Amafar were shocked into silence; they had had no idea they had been travelling with Crystal and wondered simultaneously if Amella had actually been aware of Crystal’s true identity.

  ‘Take them to the dungeons,’ Forusian commanded whilst his eyes were feasting on the princess. ‘Come,’ he said, sliding his body closer to hers and causing her to shudder. ‘You’re riding with me.’

  Forusian turned and looked down at Arhdel.

  ‘Leave him to die,’ he ordered the soldiers, giving a sour smile. ‘He won’t be in this world for much longer and I don’t want his carcass rotting in my jail.’

  Moments later he left and the noise of horses’ hooves striking the uneven cobblestones were heard when the magnificent beasts were burdened with a heavy load of prisoners. As they were pulling away, a pair of watchful eyes, well hidden from sight, espied them in the darkness of his hiding place, and with growing trepidation watched the group being taken away.

  The inn was buzzing with the travellers who had come to see what all the commotion was about and to discuss what they had heard but not seen. Snitterby, now dazed and confused, sat in the corner cursing aloud and Bridgemear entered the place where moments ago both Amella and Crystal had stood.

  ‘Where are my comrades?’ Bridgemear demanded, watching the keeper rub the back of his head with the palm of his hand.

  ‘Why are you asking me?’ snapped Snitterby, pulling a surly face. ‘It’s not like I’m their mother!’

  Bridgemear scanned the four walls and saw what looked to be the lifeless body of Arhdel lying abandoned on the cot.

  ‘Make arrangements for his body to be taken to the Kingdom of Nine Winters and I will ensure you are well paid,’ he told the keeper, allowing a touch of despair to sweep into his voice.

  ‘As you wish,’ said Snitterby, getting to his feet. ‘It will be easy enough to arrange.’

  Just when Bridgemear was about to turn and leave something caught his eye and made him pause, mid-step. With swift reflexes he knelt before the warrior and watched his eyelids flutter. Startled, he moved a little closer, staring at Arhdel and willing him to live until the warrior opened his dark, green eyes and looked up at him.

  ‘Welcome back,’ said Bridgemear, patting the warrior’s shoulder with relief. He pressed his hand onto Arhdel’s chest and felt his heart beating as strong as ten men. Arhdel tried to move.

  ‘Hey, steady on,’ said Bridgemear, pushing him back down. ‘I don’t think you’ll be quite so keen to get up from your resting place once you realise just how injured you are.’

  Arhdel chose to ignore the mage and Bridgemear found himself helping the warrior to his feet before demanding that the keeper go and get water to press against his dry lips.

  ‘You must rest and recover before you even think of going anywhere,’ said Bridgemear, a short while later. ‘Even I cannot be sure of the extent of your injuries.’

  Arhdel remained silent but once his lips were moist and his throat not quite so dry, he spoke for the first time.

  ‘It has been many years since our paths have crossed,’ he said, letting his mind drift back to a time when life had been so very different. A dark shadow crept behind his eyes and he made his way on wobbly legs to a small table, before pouring himself a large goblet of wine which Snitterby had just brought in. Remembering his manners, Arhdel offered it to Bridgemear, who merely declined, and Arhdel saw only his look of concern.

  ‘You know what we have to do,’ stated Arhdel, almost to himself. ‘Forusian must be stopped at any cost.’

  With one swift gulp the wine was gone and making its way down inside his belly. Arhdel’s strength was returning, and his body was becoming powered with energy and dexterity through Amella’s earlier potion.

  He turned to Bridgemear.

  ‘We must leave immediately and end this once an
d for all, for he is a dangerous man who will be content only when he has destroyed our lives and become ruler of the extraordinary world.’ Arhdel’s eyes filled with horror as he remembered what he’d seen being made deep within the castle walls.

  ‘We are in serious trouble,’ he said, making his way back to Bridgemear’s side and landing heavily on the threadbare cushion placed beside him. ‘I have seen his evil creations and the horror which is in store for us all.’

  Bridgemear sighed, shaking his head.

  ‘I have seen it,’ Arhdel insisted. ‘He has created a mass of dead limbs, body parts that look like goblins and what’s more,’ he said, his voice trembling, ‘I believe he’s trying to make them come alive.’ Their eyes locked and Arhdel refused to look away.

  ‘I also have a notion as to why he wishes to claim Crystal of all the daughters of magic. You see, Crystal will one day have complete supremacy and with the help of the amulet she can make his dream a reality and therefore we must find her before it’s too late.’

  Bridgemear’s eyes hardened.

  ‘He will destroy her if she fails to give him what he wants.’

  Arhdel dropped his gaze.

  And if she does, we are all doomed.’

  Their conversation was interrupted when someone came running through the broken doorway.

  ‘You’re alive!’ Matt cried, with obvious joy at seeing the warrior. He stood quite still, unable to believe his eyes. Arhdel’s own eyes lit up like fiery beacons.

  ‘Yes, my young friend,’ he said, when a smile made its way to his lips, ‘it does appear that way, doesn’t it?’

  Chapter 25

  In his private chamber, Forusian poured himself wine and tried to control the loathing he was suppressing deep inside. On reflection, he felt it had been a serious mistake not to have successfully captured Bridgemear for hadn’t this been the sole reason why he had attacked the lodging house in the first place? But then his failure was not completely without its reward; after all, didn’t he have Crystal back in his grasp?

  He refilled his goblet and stood by the hearth with his feet planted slightly apart and his long coat swaying against his wispy legs. The flames were soft and colourful but the warm glow did nothing to penetrate his mood. He turned, accidentally spilling wine down the sleeve of his coat. The red liquid soaked into the expensive material, ruining the luxurious garment, but Forusian had more pressing matters on his mind. His thoughts were of his future, wishing only to taste sweet victory, and so he made a conscious decision that this night would be the night when his dreams became a reality.

  He moved towards the window and focused on the sky. It was All Hallows’ Eve, an evening acknowledged by both worlds, and he remembered how mortals were forever fearful of the magic and mayhem it so often conjured. He hated them all, men, mages, elves alike and with an animalistic roar he ran from his chamber and headed towards the tower. With his confidence suddenly ignited, he felt his excitement grow. His breath was short when he arrived at the anatomy unit, stopping only to regain his composure.

  He entered to an array of sharp smells and bright flashing lights and waited until his eyes grew accustomed to the glare before strolling between the caskets and checking to see if the fleshy parts they harboured were showing any signs of deterioration. On finishing his inspection, he made his way to the back of the room. It was an area completely void of caskets and held a distance of around fifty square feet.

  He stood there with his arms outstretched and his eyes closed, concentrating only on clearing his mind, and then he whispered a forbidden spell. As soon as the words left his lips a deep growl came from within the stone. The noise was so loud it made his ears hurt and then a large part of the floor broke away, creating a massive hole where the ground had been seconds earlier. The hole was vast, at least thirty feet wide, and in retaliation the ceiling shuddered and cracked, and particles of dust and small pieces of debris rained down inside it, causing Forusian to shield his eyes and turn his head away. Within minutes the vaulting disintegrated and when he was brave enough to peek, Forusian watched the solid structure of the ceiling rip apart to reveal to him the dark, night sky. When he looked up at the stars they were dim and grey, shrouded by a choking mist, but he was pleased to see that the moon was full.

  He scurried like a rat towards a narrow stone pathway held together by broken rocks and sods of earth that led to the centre of the pit. He reached the pinnacle and peered down to see the chasm filling with the magic liquid he had stored inside the huge vat below the anatomy unit. He rubbed his hands together with glee when a golden river poured into the gaping hole and gallons of seemingly bubbling lava frothed around him until it almost touched the tip of his toes.

  The heat soared and the temperature rocketed and Forusian felt beads of sweat form on his forehead, then quickly dry up and burn his skin. He shifted to the very centre of the chasm and a sudden stab of contentment filled his darkened heart. Flinging his arms out before him, he called to the malignant spirit who was waiting to be summoned and, with a rush, the caskets started turning on their axles, making their way towards the pit, and once they reached the edge, their precious cargo was tipped inside. Arms, legs, torsos and twisted heads dropped into the gaping hole and Forusian looked on in fascination whilst his sanity slipped away. He watched all the disgusting, blue limbs bounce and dance in the enchanted river, a river which washed them with black magic. He laughed aloud, for now all he needed was a sacrifice…

  *

  Crystal was taken by surprise when Forusian made a sudden entrance into her cell. He appeared agitated and rather aggressive and his behaviour was totally out of character for him, causing a wave of suspicion to wash over her.

  ‘I’ve come to ask you one last time if you will marry me,’ he said, looking disgruntled.

  ‘Never in a million years!’ she exclaimed, sensing danger but unable to stop her mouth in time. ‘You know as well as I do that I would rather die than marry you.’

  The air cracked with tension and Forusian looked at her through murderous eyes. Without warning he lunged at her, taking her completely by surprise, and he grabbed her around the throat, pressing his thumbs down onto her windpipe, choking her until she became pliable. She fell to her knees and he suddenly let go.

  Gasping for air, Crystal had no time to react before he was twisting his fingers deep into her scalp and dragging her along the floor by her hair. Terror exploded inside her brain and sharp pain shot down her throat, neck and spine. With fumbling hands she tried to grab at her hair in an attempt to loosen his grip, but she found she could not free herself and he smacked at her hands like a naughty child.

  ‘Enough!’ Forusian roared, stooping so close to her face she could see the madness dancing in his eyes. ‘You had your chance to be with me and you blew it.’

  Tears poured down her frightened face when he dragged her through the corridors and past a few guards without showing an ounce of mercy. He took her to where her amulet lay amongst his vast fortune of gold and jewels and once satisfied she could not escape, he released her. He threw her onto the ground; the charming Forusian was no more and in his place stood a vile and terrifying sorcerer.

  ‘Get up and put the necklace on,’ he demanded, causing spittle to fly through the air. His breathing was laboured but it was clear to her that he was very much in control of himself. The amulet was dangling from his fingertips like an expensive titbit and although she was numb with shock, she stretched out her hand and took it from him. She found her fingers were trembling so much she couldn’t fasten it around her neck. The clasp was tricky and she watched the amulet slip from her grasp and land at her feet on the floor. Anger sprang across Forusian’s face and she felt panic rise in her chest when she saw the flash of his ring and his hand flying towards her. He slapped her so hard across the face he made her teeth rattle and she gasped in open disbelief. His lips curled back in mockery and she was terrified to see his eyeballs were turning black. Her cheek burned with pain, but she
held back the cry that filled her throat and she grabbed the amulet and somehow managed to put it on.

  As soon as the necklace was around her neck Forusian snatched her hair again and she screamed out in desperation. He ignored her pleas to let her go and extended his arm to retrieve a golden spear instead. The arrowhead was carved with strange-looking symbols and decorated with tendrils of platinum; he brushed his thumb over the very tip then pressed down hard, drawing blood.

  ‘My future waits,’ he hissed, smearing a drop of his blood across her forehead. ‘My time has come to be ruler of all and you will be the one to help me fulfil my destiny.’

  *

  Bridgemear wasted no time breaking into Forusian’s living quarters but was alarmed to find his aura weakening the minute his feet made contact with the floor. Leaning back against the cold, stone wall, he pulled his sword swiftly from his belt. His mind swirled inside his head like morning fog and he soon became dizzy, causing the acid in his stomach to bring a wave of bile to his throat, and he panicked, thinking himself sick. He looked down and saw his hands tremble and he clenched his fists when the power drained from his fingertips. His ice-blue eyes flickered when he realised his powers were diminishing and he felt almost naked, such was the feeling of exposure, and his thoughts flew to Forusian and the knowledge that he had created a weakening spell.

  His sword was heavy in his large hands and his strong, muscular legs seemed to find difficulty in putting one foot in front of the other. He reached out and held onto the back of a chair for support and he cursed Forusian’s foresight. It was clear the Nonhawk king was no fool, but Bridgemear was also aware of those who were depending upon him and something inside his soul ignited. He was determined he would destroy Forusian and somewhere deep within he set alight his inner strength.

  Cautiously, he made his way to the door and opened it a tiny crack. He caught sight of two soldiers guarding the main staircase and he crept out of the room, clutching his sword tight, afraid it would fall from his grasp. He brought the hilt crashing down on the head of the first sentry and the second soldier turned when a faint cry left his comrade’s lips. Surprise filled his eyes when a sword sliced through his belly and he fell to the ground like a puppet severed of its strings, blood covering his hands, and a second later he was dead.