Spirit Blade: Book III of the Dragon Mage Trilogy

by Carey Scheppner

  They wandered around and kicked things aside in the hopes of exposing something useful.

  As Amelia approached the back of the cavern, her orb brightened. “There’s something here,” she called. The spell caster began to go through the contents on the floor at her feet and Kazin joined her.

  “Aha!” she exclaimed jubilantly as she shook the contents of a ratty old robe to the floor. Among the items lying there was an old, weathered spell book with most of the pages torn out. She carefully picked up the book and opened some of the pages. The characters were severely faded but appeared to be elven letters and symbols.

  Kazin had lived among the elves for a time so he leaned in close to examine the words. “Hmm,” he mused. “I know some of the characters, but many of them look unfamiliar.”

  “This book is very old,” said Amelia very quietly. “I recognize some of the symbols from an old elven dialect long since forgotten.”

  Kazin looked at the young, red haired spell caster curiously. There was a certain attraction he suddenly felt for her but he shook it off. Perhaps the gas in the air was getting to him. He was far too old to experience such feelings. “How far back in time have you gone?” he asked.

  Amelia smiled up at the arch mage sweetly. “Oh, a fair ways,” she said vaguely. She had a soft expression and Kazin was hypnotized for a moment.

  “There’s some jewelry over here,” interrupted Harran.

  They went over to examine the items the dwarf had pointed out. There was a pouch containing bracelets, necklaces, and rings.

  “It probably isn’t of much use to us,” said Kazin. “We don’t need items to sell for gold with our magical pouch of coins handy.”

  “Why don’t you check them for magic?” suggested Amelia.

  Kazin shrugged. “Why not?” He cast his spell and nothing showed. “I guess that answers that question.”

  “Wait,” said Harran. He withdrew a dark green ring from the pouch. “I thought I saw this ring sparkle when you did your magic.”

  Kazin sighed and repeated his spell. Sure enough, the ring emitted a number of very tiny sparkles. “Hmm,” said the arch mage, scratching his beard thoughtfully.

  “What is it?” asked Amelia.

  “Usually magical items emit a continuous light when I cast this spell on them. I’ve never encountered a response like this before.”

  “Maybe it’s cursed,” said Sherman.

  Kazin shook his head. “No. It’s not cursed. But it is magical.”

  “Someone should try it on,” suggested Amelia.

  Harran held the ring out to Amelia. “Ladies first.”

  Amelia looked at Kazin.

  “Go ahead,” said the arch mage. “I can remove any negative effects with magic, should it be required.”

  Amelia slowly took the ring and put it on her finger. She immediately looked younger and more radiant than before. Any wrinkles she had were gone.

  Sherman whistled. “You look beautiful.”

  “Indeed,” murmured Kazin. The gases were definitely having an effect on him.

  “I don’t feel any different,” said Amelia. She removed the ring and immediately looked like her former self again. The mage held the ring out to the others. “Someone else try it on.”

  Harran put the ring on and instantly looked many years younger. His beard became darker and his face became less weathered. After everyone commented on his appearance, he removed the ring and passed it to Sherman, who also looked more youthful under the ring’s spell.

  Then the ring ended up on Kazin’s finger. He appeared just as he did when he made himself appear younger in the town of Malley.

  “I think you should keep the ring,” said Amelia with conviction. “It makes the biggest difference on you.”

  “She’s right,” agreed Sherman. “It feels a lot more like old times when you look like that.”

  Harran shrugged. “It makes sense to me. I did notice it made me feel a bit younger too, but maybe that was just my imagination.”

  Kazin noted that the ring did make him feel younger. He sighed. “Ok. I’ll keep it. But let’s conclude our business here. Our quest is far more important than rings of youth. We’ve lost some valuable time with this entire diversion.”

  Amelia held up her orb, which had dimmed after the discovery of the spell book. “At least the orb is no longer red. We did the right thing by eliminating the harpy. History could have been altered had we left it to terrorize others who ventured too close.”

  “Don’t you think it’s odd that our interference corrected history instead of altering it?” asked Harran.

  “And it’s not the first time,” added Sherman, looking pointedly at the red-haired mage. Amelia reddened.

  “It could be that we are already in the process of correcting history,” put in Kazin. “The orb might be telling us to react instead of the other way around. We’ll have to take it one step at a time.” He turned and headed back to the tunnel leading out of the cavern. “Right now we should find a safe place to regroup and concentrate on healing any wounds we’ve incurred.”

  But Harran’s question bothered him too. He was all too aware of the danger that he and his companions could alter history with one wrong move or action. Could they actually be the cause of the whole problem in the first place? That was a distinct possibility. Only time would tell. Kazin shook his head at the irony. Time would tell all right, in his own future.

  Chapter 13

  Galado rose stiffly after a fitful night where he battled for control of his body. The original spirit seemed to come out of the depths every time he wanted to get some sleep. It knew that was when his control was weakest. He still did not understand why the original spirit was not left behind at the time travel bridge where it was supposed to be. What could possibly be causing such an unbreakable bond? He ground his teeth in frustration. He needed to get his true body soon. That was his priority.

  It was still well before dawn when Galado got dressed and went down the stairs to the main level. The house was lit with expensive oil lamps and Galado’s crew was busy finishing preparations for departure. They were in the estate of the wealthy merchant, which belonged to the old man who had been slain in the coach.

  Some documents in the coach had indicated the address in the next town where he resided with his three daughters. After seizing control of the coach and guard’s bodies, they had made their way straight to that destination.

  Upon arrival, some men had opened the gates leading to the estate. Two of Galado’s men had quickly dispatched the gate keepers while Galado and his crew had ridden boldly up to the house. They had dismounted and barged into the house led by Galado, where he and his entourage had then made quick work of the staff. Catching everyone off guard, the operation had been swift and mostly noiseless.

  There was only one thing that had not gone according to plan. The doorman who had been preparing to open the door for his master had been stunned by Galado’s intrusion. He had been about to object, when Galado’s sword pierced his chest. He had sagged to his knees as Galado pulled the sword free. Then he had fallen over and his eyes faded, while blood appeared at his mouth. In the meantime, Galado’s men and women had swarmed into the house in order to dispatch the rest of the unwary staff. Galado had waited for the inevitable surge of energy from his sword to enter the dead doorman’s body, but none had come. A faint laugh had echoed in his brain and whispered in hoarse glee. “Hah! You can’t use that trick anymore! You’re out of souls! Hee, hee, hee!” Galado had tried to shake the voice from his head. He had grimly set about looking for other people to slay, only to discover the voice was right. There would be no more spirits joining his army.

  After the gruesome work had been done, he had issued some orders to his crew. Then he had used the luxurious dwelling to bathe and shave, and then found a comfortable bed in order to get some rest.
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br />   Now, as he emerged in the dining room, he saw eight of the ten of his army present in various bodies, waiting patiently for his arrival.

  One man, dressed in sentry garb, rose and beckoned to the table where a warm meal sat waiting. “Help yourself to some food, Boss. Everything’s under control. Three and Five have the gate house under control. No one will interrupt us.”

  “I take it you’re One?” asked Galado, acknowledging the guard.

  “Yes,” said One.

  Galado nodded and sat down to have breakfast while the others watched. It was an odd feeling, but he knew they no longer needed food to sustain themselves.

  While Galado ate, he formulated a plan to reach the front lines of the human army and then make his escape to the other side. It was just as well his crew was not too large. Stealth would play an important role in the days ahead. He looked up at One. “Do we have enough horses and weapons available?”

  One nodded. “Yes.”

  “Supplies?”

  “Yes. We packed as per your orders last night.”

  “Bodies?”

  “Stashed under the hay in the stables.”

  “Good,” said Galado. He finished his breakfast in silence and rose to his feet. “Does everyone have a body that is presentable and will last a while?” As he spoke, he noted the three women among them. He approved of their battle attire and weapons. The old man must have had an impressive armoury to draw from. The women looked just as ready for battle as the men.

  “We do,” said One. “In fact, some of us are finding we can make the bodies last a little longer than at first. It’s a matter of getting used to the new body each time.”

  “Good,” said Galado. “We have several days’ ride ahead of us. I do not want to waste time.”

  “What should we do about the estate?” asked one of the women.

  “We lock it up so no one can enter,” said Galado. “The longer it takes to discover what happened here, the better. We should be long gone by that time.”

  The woman nodded.

  “Let’s be ready to leave in twenty minutes,” said Galado.

  “Right, Boss,” said One. He turned to the others. “You heard him. Let’s get cracking!”

  Less than twenty minutes later the gang emerged from the estate grounds on horseback. They exited the gates quietly and locked them securely behind them. The estate was close to the edge of town, so they had no difficulty emerging onto the road heading in a westerly direction. As they widened the gap between the town and themselves, they increased their pace. One led an extra pack horse with basic supplies, gold and food for the ‘Boss’. No one looked behind them or felt the slightest remorse for the deaths they had caused. All that mattered now were Galado’s objectives.

  * * * * *

  The warlock closed his spell book and took a deep breath. The spells were starting to blur before his eyes. Perhaps a short break would clear his mind. He needed a temporary diversion and got one just then when he heard a timid knock on the curtain support post.

  “What is it, Gorc?” asked the warlock.

  Gorc jumped in surprise - not that the warlock knew it was he, but that he wasn’t being berated for his interruption. “Um, Sir, there’s a messenger here to see you,” stammered the goblin-orc.

  “Who is it?” asked the warlock.

  “Um, it’s um,” stammered Gorc. The warlock still hadn’t yelled at him.

  “Out with it, you useless creature!” snapped the warlock. “Maybe you’ll talk better without your tongue getting in the way! Should I tear it out for you?”

  That was more like it. “An ogre is here to speak with you,” managed Gorc.

  The warlock straightened in his chair. “Did you say ‘ogre’?”

  “Y-yes, Sir,” stammered Gorc.

  “Why didn’t you say so?!” growled the warlock. “Show him into the main command room. Tell him I’ll be there shortly.”

  “Yes, Sir,” said Gorc. He bowed and left hastily.

  The warlock’s pulse quickened in anticipation of this encounter. This was the meeting he had been waiting for. If his plans concerning the ogres panned out, he would have the upper hand in the war. It was time to sweet talk the ogres into supporting his cause. All he had to do was find out what they wanted and offer it to them. They weren’t a complicated race; they were just as greedy as the others who now served him. It was just a matter of exploiting that greed for his own purposes.

  He quickly put on one of his better robes - a shimmering metallic blue cape of elven silk that could not be torn, sewn over a stainless lightweight chainmail. The chainmail was not visible or noticeable to anyone, and was barely noticeable to the warlock himself, thanks to the magic he had applied to it making it virtually weightless. He smoothed his hair and mustache, and stroked his goatee. Then he made his way into the conference room where the ogre commander stood uncertainly.

  The warlock stewed at Gorc’s ineptitude. “Please! Have a seat!” he beckoned to his visitor. “You’ve come a long way and should have a rest!” He looked over his shoulder and bellowed, “Gorc! Have some food and drink brought in for my guest!”

  “Yes, Sir,” squeaked a weak voice from the next room.

  The warlock turned his attention back to the ogre, who was already sitting down. The ogre removed his cap and the warlock was astounded to see that the ogre was in fact a female, with light brown hair which fell down to her shoulders in a straggly mess. Her hard features and helmet had made her appear like one of the many males of her species. But then male and female ogres were difficult to tell apart under normal circumstances anyway.

  Regaining his composure, the warlock sat opposite his guest and displayed a beguiling smile. “So, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

  The ogre did not smile back. “I am Commander Becka, and I come to make a trade.”

  “A trade?”

  The ogre nodded. “We have a common enemy in the humans. For some time now we have been trying to thwart the humans by interfering with the flow of weapons from the dwarves. When successful, we succeed in accumulating finely crafted weapons and armour which, as you know, are unequaled in strength and durability.”

  “I applaud your efforts,” said the warlock. He was surprised to note the sophisticated level of speech from this ogre. Most ogres spoke in short, blunt phrases. This one had a higher level of intellect than he had imagined possible from these creatures. He would have to watch his step. “Please, continue.”

  The ogre nodded. “We have gotten to the point of storing large numbers of these weapons and armour, including helmets and shields; more than we require ourselves; yet our campaign rages on.”

  “Continue,” said the warlock. He was interested in finding out where this was leading.

  “Recently, the dwarves have been increasing their security around the convoys of goods, forcing us to gather in larger numbers,” continued the ogre. “This is making ambush nearly impossible. As a result of our numbers, we are spotted well in advance. Then the dwarven guards send a signal to the convoy and they make haste in another direction. Since they are on horseback, we are unable to catch up to them. Our speed is no match for them and they use that to their advantage.” Becka shrugged. “Occasionally we get lucky and corner them in an area where the going is difficult, but their scouts ensure this doesn’t happen often. And when we do engage them, the fighting is fierce. Our warriors grumble because there does not seem to be a point to their efforts. The humans continue to battle on. Even skirmishes along their northern border are going nowhere. They have numbers on their side, as well as magic.”

  “I see your dilemma,” said the warlock.

  At this point Gorc came in with a tray and placed a hot meal in front of the warlock and his guest. Then he poured two glasses of elven wine before swiftly departing.

  “So, commander,” began the warlock as
his guest dug unceremoniously into her food, “how can I be of help?”

  Becka gave the first inclination of a smile. “I noticed your forces are a little under equipped for this war.” She took another bite of her food. “You could use some better weapons and armour.”

  “Indeed,” said the warlock slowly. The ogre was not exaggerating. His army’s weapons were sub-par. He took a bite of his own food so as not to appear concerned. “And what can I offer in exchange?”

  Becka swallowed her food, obviously enjoying the flavour. “We need something to give us an edge in our struggle. It would be useful to have access to magic. That would not only even the odds against the human guard posts, but would make it possible for us to stem the flow of weapons from the dwarves. Even though the dwarves are naturally more resistant to magic, we could use the magic in other, more creative ways.”

  The warlock grinned inwardly. So that was it! The ogres did not wield magic, and wanted some to increase their chances of success! He ate some more food, using the pause to think of what to say. “Ok,” he said as he stroked his goatee. “Perhaps we can come to an arrangement. What did you have in mind?”

  Becka nodded. “We will give you our surplus weapons in exchange for a contingent of lizardmages. The magic will go a long way in slowing down the shipments of weapons to the humans you now face.”

  The warlock frowned. “I can continue my campaign regardless of what weapons we wield. It doesn’t matter to me what the enemy uses. We will kill them for their weapons if need be. We’ll get them one way or another. My problem is the numbers of humans we have to deal with, not their weapons.”

  “Then we have no deal?” asked Becka. Her expression was dour.

  The warlock held up his hand and grinned. “Don’t be so hasty! I didn’t say that!”

  “Then what do you propose?”

  The warlock smiled gently and calmly took another bite of food. “I value your efforts more than you know, commander. I propose that you supply us with your weapons while I provide you with a contingent of lizardmen you requested, with the added assurance that you combine your forces for an attack on the human guard posts and villages situated along their northern front. There will be minimal magical resistance since they will all be concentrating on my forces here.”