Armies of the Silver Mage

by Christian Freed

  Delin eased mighty Phaelor from the scabbard, feeling a pleasant tingling move through his body. The sword talked to him. It sang of peace and joy, filling the tiny glade with new hope and inspirations. Even Scarn believed in the magic at that moment. A soft humming reached out to soothe them all.

  “Now what, Hallis?”

  Celegon slid forward. “Look for a wound. He has to be injured.”

  The Elf prince knelt and started at Fennic’s feet. He rolled up the left pant leg and suddenly rocked back in shock. There was a foot long gash on his calf, dripping puss and a black fluid that smelled poisoned and rotten. Delin threw up.

  “Quickly, touch the sword to the wound,” Celegon excitedly said.

  There was a blinding flash as sword met flesh. A foul hiss tainted the crystalline air. Fennic cried out from unconsciousness and fell back. Pale green fog seeped up from the wound, evaporating as it touched the air of the forest. Phaelor lost its glow.

  “Did it work?” Norgen asked. It was the first time he’d spoken since joining the Elves.

  Celegon looked down at the Dwarf. His eyes were hard and unforgiving, as if Norgen committed some personal crime at some point in their lives. Old hatreds were hard to let go. “I cannot say. This is a different brand of magic. None but the Silver Mage knows its depth. Ah, look! Already the wound heals.”

  Flesh knitted back together in an ugly scar. Fennic didn’t stir. His memory of the pain keeping him asleep for the time. The Elves went about making camp for the night. There was no way the boy was going to move anytime soon and the others needed the rest. A pair of hunters returned carrying a field dressed boar and a sack filled with wild vegetables and roots. Norgen’s stomach growled despite his worries. Dried meats and old cheese only went so far. He watched the Elves skin and clean the boar, already selecting which shank he planned on eating.

  Delin felt a small measure of strength creep back to him. Maybe it was the heat from the roaring fire, or the thought of fresh food. Either way, he was slowly forgetting the horrors of the last battle. He knew, deep down inside, that there was no going back to his old life. He’d seen and done too much for that. He idly fingered the purple stone in his pocket and sat down to eat. With his stomach full and his mind at peace, Delin yawned and curled up on a bed of pine needles and went to sleep.

  “Those boys have been through a lot,” Hallis said.

  “We all have,” Norgen added. “They’re good lads.”

  Celegon spoke to one of his warriors who simply nodded and disappeared into the night with three others.

  “You have nothing to fear so long as you remain in our lands. Evil has no purchase in the Old Forest,” he assured them. “It was not always so. There was a time when Goblins and Ogres used to cross our borders regularly. The mages helped end that. Master Thellios established a ward around the forest preventing the Dweilfolk from entering. That magic remains as strong today as it did all those hundreds of years ago. You may all rest in peace here.”

  “That may be well and fine, but we can’t stay hidden here forever,” Norgen said a little harsher than he intended.

  “You quest is known to us, Master Dwarf. The full armies of my father will not commit to war, for he has long held the belief that we need not worry in mortal affairs. I and a few of my closest supporters can see different. My people are at your disposal.”

  Scarn struggled to keep the feeling of disgust building in him from showing.

  Hallis swallowed a mouthful of red wine and asked, “how many are in your army?”

  Celegon was hesitant to respond, for his people were one of secrecy. If too much became known of them it would embolden their enemies. Even among those he’d just saved, he was ill advised to tell. But trust had to begin somewhere. The dilemma was more entertaining than he thought possible. His loyalty to his people was fierce, but he knew they had no hope of standing alone against the powers of the Silver Mage.

  “We number in the thousands. They are loyal to the king and will not fight. I have three hundred with me,” he finally said.

  Norgen snorted his disgust. “Three hundred against all of Gren? Stay in your trees, Elf. The end will come rushing to you.”

  Surprisingly, Scarn entered the conversation. “I don’t remember seeing an army of Dwarves coming to the rescue.”

  Norgen’s hand crept to his axe.

  “There will be no violence here,” Celegon sternly commanded. He turned back to Hallis. “My does not believe we should involve ourselves in the affairs of Men. I think he fails to see what is truly happening. If the mage wins he will ruin the world in darkness. All races will wither and perish. Phaelor coming back to our borders confirms my worst fears. The Elves must play a part in winning this war.”

  “Can the sword kill him?” Hallis asked.

  “Very likely. The smiths who wrought it were a secretive bunch, the last of our druids. My own mother was one. They disappeared not long after the sword was finished and presented as a gift to the King of Averon. None can say what it was designed for, only that it is a dangerous tool of magic.”

  Scarn listened to the conversation with a guarded interest. He didn’t really know what was going on, and didn’t really care. None of them had even hinted at the stone yet and that made him suspicious. He guessed one of the boys had it, but they were never left unattended. The Hooded Man was waiting and Scarn was running out of options. Very soon he knew he was going to have to kill them in their sleep and flee. If only the Elves would stop watching for a few moments. Their eyes never left him, nor did the silent knowing twinkle in them. Scarn felt afraid.

  The Elf prince suddenly turned his head towards Scarn and whispered, “wi tolo fel sa doma?”

  Scarn stared blankly back as if in a daze. Satisfied, Celegon continued. “A small number of us have gone against my father’s wishes as best we could without openly rebelling. Goblins and the like may not be able to enter our lands now, but there’s no lack of them scouring the perimeter. We hunt and kill them where we find them, but their numbers are strong. Long has it been since we saw so many outside of Gren.”

  “They have come down from the mountains in force,” Hallis told him. “War is openly ravaging Averon now.”

  “So the mountain fortress fell?” Celegon asked. “I bore witness to some of that battle. Your people fought valiantly.”

  Hallis struggled to contain his emotions. So many of his friends had died there.

  “We heard rumors of a dragon, but one of the great wyrms has not been since in ages,” Celegon went on, hoping to find some trace of denial in their faces. His heart sagged when they remained silent. “My father must be warned of these developments. The world is in more danger than I thought.”

  “Makes you thirsty for a mug of frothing ale, doesn’t it?” Norgen asked with a smug look. He was content that the Elves were feeling the same pain as the rest.

  Celegon eyed the Dwarf appraisingly. “Actually, I think it does.”

  Thus began a hesitant friendship.

  Hallis went on to explain how they’d arrived at the Old Forest and the importance of their quest. Some of the Elves visibly balked at the tale. Only Tolis Scarn sat impassive through it all. He was finally getting the missing pieces he needed. In the middle of hearing about mages and magic, a thought stuck. Could the Hooded Man and this Sidian be one and the same? It would explain much. New avenues of approach came to him and he started thinking about the future.

  “The way to Gren will not be easy,” Celegon said once Hallis was done. “Snows already claim the mountain passes. This year threatens to be worse than recent memory. Most, if not all, of the ways into Gren will be guarded or blocked. It is nigh impossible to enter the foul land in winter.”

  “Impossible or not, we have little choice. Too many lives depend on our success,” Hallis replied.

  “And they don’t even know it,” Derlith remarked.

  Rubbing his frustrations from his brow, the lean Elf prince exhaled deeply. “That ale is soundin
g better by the moment, Master Norgen.”

  Norgen laughed deep and resounding. Truth be told, he found himself starting to like the Elf, despite their differences. Dwarves were known to be jolly, in their own fashion, and enjoyed a good laugh almost as much as a good fight.

  Celegon stood. “My three hundred can take you as far as the borders of Gren. After that it falls on you to reach Aingaard. I wish there were more, but you’d need an army to assault the capital. Three of us, me included with accompany you if you’ll have us. The others return to Averon to fight the Goblins. Either way, death will be our boon companion.”

  “Then it already knows where it stands,” Norgen growled with a chuckle. He exhaled a long plume of bluish smoke.

  Celegon nodded approvingly. “Rest now. We make for my city in the morning.”

  FORTY-THREE

  Long ago, in the ages before Man first set foot on these shores, there came a race of beings as close to the gods as possible. They were tall and elegant; wise beyond reckoning. They spoke in flowing sentences in a golden language soothing to both mind and spirit. They were fair, in deed and appearance. They lacked the dark hearts commonly found in lesser races. By the hundreds they came and settled in quiet places they knew weren’t likely to be discovered very easily. Centuries came and went and their communities thrived.

  Then the darkness came. Goblins and Trolls and a host of other foul creatures came up from the depths of the world and ravaged Malweir. They had grown tired of living in the dirt and rock and wanted the world for their own. But the light hurt their eyes and forced them back underground until the sun went down. In the night, they were murderous. They killed everything they could find in their unholy thirst for vengeance. The First Ones assembled an army and met them in their mountain homes. The battles were fast and deliberate. Thousands were slain and there was no end in sight. Slowly, the Dweilfolk spread, pushing the First Ones back.

  Men discovered the land not long after, and not knowing the dangers they stumbled in to. They found the First Ones and named them Elves, for the language was too much for their tongues. An alliance was formed and together they took the war back to the Goblins. But the caverns of the world were deep and there seemed an endless line of enemy warriors. In the end, the alliance won. The Goblins retreated back underground to plot and fight with each other.

  For a time Men and Elves lived peacefully. But the Elves were never many and soon they found the cities of Men encroaching on their lands. The Elves retreated into the forests and forgotten places of the world. Man quickly forgot the past. Elves left Malweir by the hundreds. Those who stay were cursed to live through the time of the Mages. Nothing was ever the same.

  Delin stared at the Elf prince with wonder. He’d never heard such a tragic and grand tale and the world of the Elves suddenly intrigued him. There was nothing comparable in Fel Darrins. For the hundredth time he wondered if anyone back home would believe him when he returned and told his own tale. He doubted it, after all, he wouldn’t believe it himself.

  Celegon led them down a gentle slope and at last the great city of the Elves came in to view. Even Norgen gasped. The Old Forest grew thick in the river rich valley. Shades of brilliant green softened them eyes. Birds and butterflies were everywhere. In the center of the vale looked to be one enormous tree, stretching for a league in any direction. The canopy reached high into the sky and sunlight fell in dazzling sheets. There were flowers of every color and the very air smelled of nectar and honey.

  “Behold, Elvanara, my city,” Celegon announced with pride. “It is a series of thousands of trees connected at root and branch. Most of the buildings are in the air. So high one cannot see them from afar. You are welcome here for as long as you are my guests. My father will wish to see you soon. Let us take Fennic to our healers. I pray it is not too late.”

  “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful,” Delin breathed. His skin was warm and felt rejuvenated from the touch of the sun.

  Celegon smiled. “Nor will you ever. Our time is ended. Once my people owned the world, only to find out it wasn’t what we wanted. Someday Men will come to understand this as well and it will fall upon future generations to right the wrongs of our fathers. But take heart my friends. This is the safest place in all Malweir.”

  Word had already spread through the Elven city of their arrival. People stopped what they were doing to watch the odd procession go by. Strangers hadn’t been seen or welcome here since the mage wars. A heavily armed patrol of city watchmen marched out to meet them. They wore hard looks and leather plated armor. Each was armed with sword and bow. The leader stepped forward and held up his hand.

  “They cannot be here,” he told them.

  Celegon refrained from sneering at him. “I must see my father, Nalit. These are my guests.”

  The Elf guard was not impressed. He’d never took a liking to the prince and this was the perfect opportunity to exercise his authority over him.

  “You know the laws, prince,” he said. “They must be taken to the cells for judgment.”

  Celegon slid from the saddle and walked up to the guard. Contempt blazed in his crystalline blue eyes. Nalit balked slightly, his sword arm raising.

  Celegon snarled. “Raise you sword and I’ll take your head.”

  Nalit hesitated, seeing something in the prince’s eyes that made him wary. Your father’s laws are clear in this matter.”

  “I am taking them to my father. If you think you can stop me, then try.”

  The guard’s face flushed. He very much wanted to duel this wayward prince and show him who his better was. Just then Norgen coughed. The Elf guard looked up and saw his bearded face leering down on him, axe haft in hand. Nalit knew this was a fight he could not win. Embarrassed and angry, he stepped aside to let them by.

  They wound their way through the great Elf city without further problems. Celegon returned to his joyful self, offering hints and bits of history of his beloved land. They found a reception from the king’s chamberlain and a contingent of private guard awaiting them at the base of the palace steps. Word already reached Alsenal and he was expecting them. They were escorted into the king’s personal chambers and waited until the lord of the Elves entered.

  Father and son embraced, though it was stiff and awkward. Alsenal turned and looked upon the others with mild interest. He was taller than the other Elves they’d seen. His eyes were stern and unyielding, befitting a king. An extraordinary life lent him an air of authority and wisdom beyond reckoning. His features were sharp and angled with just a hint of menace. He was exactly the way Delin thought a king should look.

  “I have been told of your trials,” he said to them in a calculating, drawn out voice. “It is unfortunate that ones so young must endure so much, but necessary I think. Be that as it may, you are not welcome here. Man rejected our bond of fellowship long ago and I am not willing to sacrifice all that we’ve built to harbor fugitives.”

  “Father!” Celegon protested.

  Hallis bowed slightly. “Fugitive we are not. The boy carries Phaelor, the sword your people created. I think you are more involved in matters than you care to believe. We go to Gren to end the work of the Silver Mage. Something your kind failed to do so long ago. This is a task for all races, king.”

  Alsenal raged inside. His fury grew, but the words of the Man were true. Elves created Phaelor for intended purposes and then they turned their back on the rest of the world. This left the druids alone before the task was complete. A war soon followed and nearly succeeded in tearing the world apart.

  “Those days are gone from us. My people have watched as you continue to destroy the world. Men are creatures of war, and I’ll have none of it,” he said. “Healers will see to your young friend. May he find peace. The rest of you will be placed in quarters befitting my…. guests. I will decide what to do with you later. Celegon, you will remain with them. Do not let them leave this city.”

  King Alsenal turned and left, his cape of forest greens shimmer
ing in the reflected light off the leaves. A pair of female healers entered not long after and carried Fennic away to the healing houses. Food and drink was provided in abundance for the others and for a brief time the war was forgotten. They made small conversation and tried their best to relax, but there was still something uneasy about the situation. Only Scarn remained reclusive. He watched them without betraying his inner hatreds. Unfortunate circumstances made them allies and he tried to be hospitable at least. He knew that while he was in the Elven city he needed to mind himself. There was little doubt the Elves would take care of him quickly if he made the wrong move. He saw it in their eyes. They knew he was a bad man.

  Most of them were dozing lightly when a house servant came for Celegon. The king was demanding his presence. The young prince held his head high as he walked into the polished halls and to his father. Alsenal sat at the head of a long mahogany table. A half empty wine glass sat before him. The servant closed the door behind Celegon.

  Celegon felt his father’s wizened eyes rising up to met his own. “What did I do wrong?” Alsenal asked.

  “Nothing, father. This is the way it must be.”

  The king snorted a laugh. “Your foolishness has put our entire way of life in jeopardy. Even if the Silver Mage wasn’t turning his eye on us we are surely a target now. He will be tracking Phaelor and will know it is here.”

  Celegon clenched his fists behind his back. “I’ve seen the world, father. It is cold and dangerous and no one race can stand alone against it. The Mage has loosed his wrath upon Malweir. Averon is just the beginning. Do you think he has forgotten what the Elves did to him all those years ago?”

  “Your mother was just like you. Proud, tireless and stuck on her convictions,” Alsenal said. His tone lost some of its edge. “do you remember when she disappeared? I tried talking her out of leaving but she wouldn’t listen. Foolishness! The whole lot of them. Why the druids ever listened to that madman is beyond me. And now no one has seen or heard from them in what?”