by Paul Drewitz
“You must leave this castle. You must leave the protective walls. Now is no longer the time to linger,” the faun said with a child’s voice that was full of wisdom but lacked any hint of condemnation or accusation.
“But to where?” Erelon asked with confusion.
“You will figure out what you do not already know on your way,” the faun responded and then disappeared, its essence fading into the moons' light.
Slowly, with pondering heavy footsteps, Erelon made his way through the path. As he exited the crack, the world grew dark as the moons disappeared below a cloud. With the passing of the moons, the entrance to the faun’s retreat also vanished from the world.
Erelon stalked towards the meeting hall, falling in step with Festor so that he could grumble, "Do you know all of the strongest wizards and their traits, their skills, what they have mastered and what they know?"
"Sure," Festor asked confused, "Why?"
"Compose a list and bring it to me. I will pick out a council to help you reform the system for ranking wizards. It is out of control at the moment. Been that way since the wizard's council started abusing their powers at Mortaz, giving high ranks to those who obeyed them rather than those who deserved it. I need to know who I can count on to help in the next battle. I need to know what their skills are, how good they are, and be able to recognize them from their insignia. At the moment I can not recognize a novice from a veteran," Erelon grumbled.
Erelon walked into the council hall. Hendle sat at the head of the table, Erelon took a seat down from him toward the center. Wizards slowly sauntered into the council chambers. Most were silent, yet a few had chosen to be stubborn and obnoxious.
“About time another meeting was called. Issues need to be looked after,” one fat wizard said loud enough so that those assembled could hear.
Pretending that they did not say biting sarcastic words, Erelon could only smile. He knew that the meeting would not go as the hateful wizards wished, so Erelon said nothing.
“So Hendle gets to run the meetings again. He’s worthless when it comes to anything else,” one wizard said with heat.
“He’s only in control because Erelon supports him,” replied another.
Finally all seats were filled. Slowly Hendle stood to address why the council had been called.
“Master Wizard Erelon wishes to address the wizards and the community,” here Hendle stopped to raise his right hand toward those in the balconies in a welcoming manner. “I will now turn the meeting over to him,” Hendle finished.
Slowly Erelon stood to allow the thoughts of the others to clear before he started to speak. Every bone in his body seemed to pop with resistance.
After several moments of uncomfortable silence, he began, “Do you all know how long I have been among you since my return?”
One spoke up, “A few years.”
“It is going on five to be exact,” Erelon replied, “And in all that time the power of our enemy, warlocks—and yes I did say warlocks, for they were once wizards; they are not of the ancient race of wraiths. Their power has grown as they have learned spells of the ancient world that should have been left buried in the past. They have attacked us, so now I will take it back to them. I will drive them from the walls, and afterwards. . . . well-l-l, I do not know, but it will come to me. In the time I am gone, prepare for battle. There will be more warriors, soldiers, coming in, some wizards of Pendle and giants of the North, among others. You will show them respect, and you will house and feed them.”
“Battle!” several roared, others joining and causing a massive upheaval. “If you can destroy the wraiths without sending us to battle, why cause more death?” one cried, and others chimed in with their agreement.
“Besides,” another began, “We are content right here in this mountain. We no longer need Mortaz.”
Erelon looked at them, “It is not merely a possession; it is an idea, a place where wizards can gather to study, and it was built using the blood and labor of men to unite the wizards of the world in harmony. There are many places in the world where wizards gather, but always there will only be one Mortaz. Men, wizards, elves, dwarves long came to the great masterpiece and achievement to feel it, to know what wizards learning in peace can create. Besides, those goblins still massed together as they are can cause great trouble. The goblins need to be scattered, and the bones of the skeleton knights laid to rest. Fight for pride and to find revenge for those who fell at the Keep.”
Through Erelon’s mind, he watched his friend killed by the dragbas as the old wizard had fought to keep Erelon and those who lived in the Keep alive.
As Erelon had spoken and looked around the room, it had fallen silent. All the excuses he had given were true, but one of the greatest reasons for why he needed the battle he did not share. Erelon knew that his path would not lead him to the battlefront. Yalen and Bahsal were the only two that might have guessed Erelon’s true destination. Erelon needed this battle to distract the warlocks from his true mission, the one in which Erelon would truly destroy them.
“But what about manuscripts, artifacts?” another started questioning, “Some of us wish to stay.”
“I am having copies of all manuscripts made. Split the originals and copies half and half. As far as artifacts, these establishments are for learning, not the collection of objects, though the search for them might help you as wizards to learn. Do with them as you wish, but do not argue and fight, do not let the possession of worthless artifacts divide you.”
“And who's to lead us while you are gone?” another hissed, knowing who Erelon would establish.
“Hendle has full cooperation and support of many of the wizards, as well as the military which includes ours, the dwarves, elves, and those from the South. To cross him means to cross the military, many of those on the wizard’s council, and me,” Erelon said without threat, knowing that what he had just said would keep the uprising down.
"While I am gone, Festor will also be restructuring the ranking system for the wizards. It is out of control. I pass by men who have little to no magical abilities but wear more sashes, robes and medals of significance and rank than wizards who fought at Mortaz."
"And how do you know who controls magic," a fat wizard blurted towards Erelon.
"When you control as much power as I do," Erelon hissed, "You can feel those around you who also control magic. And if I only controlled the pissant amount of power that you do, I would be careful how boastfully I spoke at a council of wizards." Erelon had finished by angrily poking his finger at the man who sank into his chair.
"Festor is going to form a list of the most powerful wizards, master wizards, and I will help him choose a council to decide on categories that magical studies will be broken into, and then subcategories. This same council will decide on colors and emblems," Erelon looked around as he finished.
“This meeting is dismissed,” Erelon commanded.
Slowly with disappointment, the council got up and left. They left, some in pairs, some alone, only a few groups over three, whispering their agitation at not having been allowed to bring up grievances. But that was not the task of Erelon, to act as moderator and judge of petty accusations and crimes among the wizards. Again only Hendle and Erelon were left.
“Now what?” Hendle asked.
“Follow me,” Erelon commanded.
Only two men were there in the room, Hendle and Erelon. Hendle arguing his inability to control and handle the role of leadership, Erelon reassuring Hendle that he would be fine.
“That is why I brought you up here,” Erelon said as he finished packing a pair of saddle bags, “To give you something to help you.”
Erelon handed Hendle the Ice Staff and said, “You must talk and act with confidence, only admit you are wrong when it is proven. Just because someone does not agree with you, does not mean that what you did was wrong. Do not apologize when someone disagrees with you, for if you do, they will have you second guessing all that you do, all your deci
sions. You will give them power and confidence, and they will harass you until you resign.”
Erelon stepped from his door, packs over a shoulder, leaving before the other wizard had a chance to argue.
The master wizard’s horse awaited him. Erelon wore a new cape with the insignia of the Staff of Saris on it. Erelon’s friends were all there to bid him farewell.
Bahsal shook the wizard’s hand silently, only to embrace him strongly.
Festor looked at Erelon with a sigh and said, “Take care of yourself,” while shaking his hand.
“Auri,” Erelon said as he turned to his newest friend to shake his hand. Auri had been his traveling companion since finding him below the eaves of the Rusted Mountains. Now Erelon was leaving him behind as he had done so many others before. The wizard’s only friends on this trip were his horse and shadow.
Grism put a strong hand on Erelon’s shoulder and shook Erelon’s hand with his other, saying, “You did some might good growing up these last five to ten year. I’m sure proud of ya.”
Finally Erelon turned to Yalen. As Yalen shook the wizard’s hand, he felt no warmth, an icy cold touch with no heart beat. The elf’s eyes grew sad. It was a bad omen. He did not completely know what it meant, but it had never been good in the past, yet he kept this knowledge to himself. He did not want to disturb the others more than they already were.
Without any more words, Erelon climbed on Draos and headed him in the direction of the gate.
The wizard sat before the gates as they began to open, allowing him outside. The walls had not seen an attack for several weeks now. Only a few goblin guards watched from within the trees, yet it was well known that there was still a large army encamped within the forest. Erelon held loosely onto the reins with his right hand and allowed his left to fall straight down at his side.
A goblin peered around the side of the wall cautiously, then with growing courage stepped out and approached.
With a laugh like a gurgle, he stared at the wizard and asked, “So you all have finally decided to surrender?”
“No,” Erelon began.
Below his hand a red glow began to appear. Slowly a stone descended, hovering just below the wizard’s palm, its color growing in strength with each second.
“You know what this is?” Erelon asked even though he did not care if the goblin did or did not. “You know it because your bosses fear it. I do not want to destroy the forest, but clear out or I will take the ancient trees along with you and your army.”
The goblin’s eyes grew bright as he recognized the Alsmah Stone that contained the Sphere of Hell. In an instant he vanished. A few moments and the shadow that sat on the forest, since the wraiths had begun their siege, also disappeared. Slowly Erelon walked his horse through the gates, the magical stone still hovering below his hand. The doors quickly shut behind.
Erelon was in no hurry. The wizard knew where he was going, to Mortaz. He was going to face his enemy, to see how strong they had become. Here, he could get a glimpse of their military strength, the weird monster creations that they had brought together. There he hoped to catch them unaware, unguarded, to learn exactly what he faced. He turned his horse down one way and then another. None of the wraiths' army was to be seen. Erelon rode through quickly abandoned camps. Tents and boxes were strewn around.
Campfires with still glowing embers watched as the wizard passed. Blue sky pierced the trees where they thinned. He crossed a stream with a small, smooth gravel floor. The horse splashed, enjoying the cool refreshing liquid spraying on its flesh. The wizard navigated around several deadfalls and boulders, ideal for places of ambush. He passed through several more creeks, casting waves of light on everything around them, causing an aura of peace, an oasis of brotherhood. The wizard allowed Draos to enjoy the world of plenty, for he knew the farther north they traveled, the more the world would become desolate. The old horse pranced around, acting like he was young again, full of the energy he had when Chaucer had first given him to Erelon.
The trees became increasingly bare, void of leaves and needles, stunted and dry. There was very little grass, everything was brown, the sky pale. The world looked and felt sick. The trees thinned until they no longer existed. Valleys still fell and hills rose, but all was brown except patches of black where the world looked as if it had been burned by fire. The days grew uncomfortably hot, the wind died. The only noticeable living creatures were the vultures flying overhead, marking the wizard’s presence. The big carrion knew everything that entered the prairie desert did not leave alive. They patiently awaited the death of the one below.
Erelon’s food began to run short, and though he rationed it, slowly it dwindled until there was nothing left. Water was also scarce, and in every low point that looked as if a stream might have once passed, Erelon dug deep into the earth, hoping that some liquid might bubble up from the soil. The wizard began to live off bugs. Then as they even began to disappear, he shot down one of the vultures with a bolt of electricity from the sky. The bird's meat tasted foul, of the death and decay that the bird fed upon. Soon even the vultures became wary, and to shoot one down became increasingly hard. Erelon’s shoulders began to thin, and his stomach seemed to swallow itself. He did not remember this trip taking this much time when he had fled from Mortaz, following the mountain's contour to Suragenna. But then, he had spent much of that trip buried in dark morbid thoughts.
Slowly the mountain fell back, and before Erelon lay the valley, in the corner of which lay his old home, Mortaz. Not yet visible, it would not be long before it emerged from the ground, looking stately and imposing as it reclined against the wall of the mountain.
The wizard turned his horse towards it while he wondered how he would feel looking upon it again. It had been home to himself and his enemies, the place where he had lost one of the greatest battles of his life, where he had lost his pride. Here he had been humbled, and he suffered some of the greatest sorrow of his life while friends were torn apart beside him. Already his stomach churned in apprehensive waiting.
Finally its form appeared from the mountain’s face. The stones were bleached white like a skeleton upon a desert floor from the sun’s eternal, fiery personality. Erelon shook his head, this was not his home. This was not the same keep that he had escaped, he told himself several times, but as he drew closer, Erelon could see watchtowers from where he had observed visitors, and the walls on which he had fought. The snow cap, though, was gone, along with proud banners, an inflow of visitors, and the voices of many races. No animals charged across the valley, hiding within the trees at the mountain’s base.
Erelon watched the great walls draw closer until they towered over him. He marked spots on the trail where he remembered the simple things that had happened. By one rock, he had helped a wagoner whose wheel had split; in another place, he had met the queen of some southern country and had been rewarded with a kiss on the cheek.
Erelon followed the trail that had been blazed through the grass as it led him into the gate. The wizard assumed the path had been caused by those that fled from the forest, fleeing him. Erelon looked up at the wall as it towered high above. Long ago it had been since he had tried to protect it. Chunks of stone were missing. In some places it had been repaired. In others, the wall was disintegrating, and the dirt it had held back spewed forward. Those now inhabiting it gave little time or energy towards its upkeep. The gates so long ago torn down and displaced, were still gone.
Erelon directed his horse through the first gate, under the wall. It loped up the slope, never hesitating as if worried; it trusted the man who rode it. Erelon rode in like a returning conqueror, straight in the saddle with pride in his posture. He strutted into Mortaz as if a huge army rode behind him.
Across the open, flat, dead ground, Erelon traveled, the sun beating down upon him, each ray seemingly directed towards him. Ruins where several villages had at one time sat were now all that was left to remind the wizard of simpler times.
The next wall was
set far away, so small from where Erelon rode that it seemed as if he could jump his horse over it. The white wall rose before the wizard as if it were a giant picking itself up after a long nap.
Another opening presented itself in the next wall, leading once again upwards. A gentle incline led below the wall and up to another flat stretch of land once covered in grass, grazing cattle, and fields of grain. Now it was no more than an area dried hard. Long it would be before it would again produce. Intense irrigation and plowing would have to be engaged for several years before it would again be fit to produce for the needs of people.
A vision flashed before his face, Messoth, being pulled apart by the dragbas. They picked him apart, pulling his flesh from inside his armor, and then the explosion of magic, destroying the enemy that was eating the wizard alive.
Erelon could observe nothing living except a few vultures hanging high overhead, not even the wraith’s army. He proceeded through several more levels. Each time his view of the outside world gained greater depth as he looked down and out through the valley’s mouth and into the plains.
Finally he reached the last wall after over a couple hours of walking the horse. He had not remembered the path being that long, yet his body told him otherwise. He had been exposed to the sun’s blast, and now his body was dried out like leather, his head pounded, his mouth hung open gasping at the air filled with dust.
The wizard simply looked at the gate that would finally lead to the castle, or actually, the opening where the gate at one time would have stood. Once he entered, almost anything could happen. Here all foresight was gone. He had learned some patience over his life, and now he utilized it.
Regaining his breath while swallowing some of his lessening water supply, the wizard watched the opening, careful to note within his mind any movement. Yet the only animated element was the dust stirred by the low breeze. The wall rose too high for the wizard to observe anything important over its summit, and the small gate also did not allow for the hunter to observe anything of consequence. There was only one option left for him, walk inside. Yet, he still procrastinated, sitting on his horse sniffing at the air.
