The Sorcerer of Wands: Azabar's Icicle Part 2

by Jem I Kelley

  Thoughts on dangers ahead kept Aden silent. Glancing at his friend, noting her furrowed brow, and pressed lips, Aden guessed Bliss felt the same.

  Tonight, thought Aden. We’ll discover who is behind the murders. He was sure it would be Sardohan. Nevertheless, images of others came unbidden into his mind: Alicia, Hacknor, Grimus Spalding, Saib; even Thalding - the librarian.

  The chilling dusk air stood still and long lines of smoke rose from the chimneys of the terraced mansions on either side.

  Darkness swallowed the two as they forged into the gloom of the woods where the lane began. Aden walked to a length of rope hung from a branch high above; a plank tied to the rope’s end provided a simple swing. In the centre of this clearing the friends waited for their eyes to adjust to the dark.

  “Ten minutes or so should do it,” whispered Aden, “we’ll be able to see like owls by then.”

  The passage of time was hard to judge sitting in the dark listening to the rustles around them and occasional hoots from above. Aden heard Bliss drum her fingers on the plank.

  “I should have borrowed Grandad Todds’ fob watch,” she said.

  “Give it a bit longer, and then we start moving.”

  Aden counted to a hundred, just to make sure. His eyes had adjusted and he could make out shapes, albeit muffled and unclear. Trees loomed like giants, and bushes were dark mounds. They started up the trail. Isolated brambles snagged and twigs crackled underfoot.

  “Nervous?” whispered Aden.

  “Of course.”

  “Hand on disc?”

  “Yes.”

  Something traipsed down Aden’s cheek; a vision of a armless hand with delicate fingers entered his mind; panic ripped through him and he scraped at his face.

  Bliss must have heard.

  “What’s the matter?”

  Aden felt silly: the sensation passed; it had probably been a leaf touching him. It wouldn’t do to jump at every little twig and cobweb which touched him in the dark. Bliss and he had explored an unknown world by themselves, this was just a Haverland night.

  “Nothing. Look, I can see the clearing with the statues now. Let’s skirt it till we get close to the oak by the Jester.”

  The clearing with the statues held more light than the woods. The sun languished below the tree line; but, enough visibility remained for Aden to make out detail some tens of yards away.

  They dropped to all fours as they continued to their goal. Silence surrounded the friends. Even the birds and the small mammals of the undergrowth were still. A sense of tension fell upon them, a feeling that evilness approached.

  Grass tickled Aden’s nose as he glanced at the jester. He crawled towards the gnarled oak which grew near the statue. Half the oak was branch and leaf, the other a series of pitch-covered scars: the remains of pruning designed to stop growth into the clearing. Such disfigurement gave the tree a broken haunted look.

  Behind it, brambles ran amok, in dark clumps. The friends found a spot where the thorns ran thin, and squatted. Tonight, thought Aden, the guiding force behind the threat to Haverland would come, of that he was sure. An image of a giant spider stalking with fangs bared caused him to glance over his shoulder; he saw nothing but the gloom of the forest.

  Then... shadows strode from the trees on the other side of the clearing.

  Aden felt a surge of excitement. He kept his voice low and nudged Bliss.

  “Over there.”

  Bliss turned to the direction of the figures, and gave an intake of breath.

  The shadows grew.

  First recognizable was the half-ogre Gnashlok. He lumbered at the head of the group and carried a pickaxe. Figures behind him reached shoulder height.

  “Sardohan!” whispered Bliss, recognising another figure.

  Aden stared as the man looked slyly from side to side. Was he behind everything after all, the gossip on the Wall, the murders, the Threat?

  Sardohan, Gnashlok and eight others strode forward. Sardohan swept his arm about the clearing.

  “Set up a perimeter. If you have to kill anyone, make sure you’re quiet.”

  Aden and Bliss locked frightened gazes and lowered themselves into the brambles, trusting to dusk to make their cover complete.

  Seven of the men split from the group and disappeared into the haze of the evening.

  Sardohan, Gnashlok and a stranger kept to their original destination.

  The three marched to the Jester statue and Aden saw the stranger’s long hair swept back against pale skin. A high forehead set-off a handsome face. Leather armour studded with rivets lay beneath a swirling cloak.

  The ambassador rested one hand on the Jester’s plinth, in his other hand hung a hooded lamp.

  “I feel my presence here to be as necessary as a third leg.”

  “Caduishka!” replied the strange warrior with scorn. “The dawn of a new era falls on us. I would know the mettle of my allies tonight.”

  His accent sounded odd to Aden’s ears; like Marti’s, yet not.

  Sardohan’s expression darkened.

  “And I would know the meaning of vague answers and shaded looks, perhaps now you trust to tell me what lies in the crypt beneath this statue?”

  “You will see soon.”

  “In Dazarian, I gather you forged a wand that spat lightning, after many less successful attempts. What relation pray, might the contents of the crypt have?”

  “Be patient, you will learn soon, for sure.”

  Sardohan scowled.

  “Such risk taking tonight is ill thought indeed, if our quarry is something you can now make in safety.”

  “Ach, I have lost much skill over the years. A wand which fires single bolt of lightning? It pales in comparison to what lay beneath statue.”

  Sardohan stared at the warrior.

  “For your sake it’d better be, if the police are alerted to our presence, we’d be in dire trouble.”

  The warrior chuckled, a sound like cold mist.

  “Dire trouble, you say? If police officers search your cellar and find me there, that too is great risk, no?”

  Sardohan’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

  “How did you learn they might do that?”

  “The Wall, it say the policio men, they are close to having the proof to the identity of Haverland murderer. Gnashlok, he tell me this is what Wall say.”

  Sardohan tore his hand from the jester statue. He pulled a handkerchief from a pocket and dabbed at his forehead.

  “Yes, the police are suspicious. Your night-time gluttonies have caused panic in the city. We will take the risk to gain these items of yours because you’ve insisted; but, when we are done here I shall take you to a waiting vessel and you voyage straight to Novogorad.”

  Sardohan ordered Gnashlok to shovel earth away from the Jester statue plinth, at the spot where Aden had discovered the damaged stone.

  Aden heard Gnashlok grunt as he cast soil aside.

  The strange warrior pressed a spot on the Jester’s ankle. He signalled to Sardohan and the two retreated from Gnashlok’s ears. They moved to the base of the Oak. The warrior spoke with a velvet voice.

  “I thought I would try the button one last time. The opening mechanism, it must have decayed long ago, for sure. If it were not for this half-ogre to provide the muscle, much longer would this have taken? Lucky for us I sought his presence in Haverland.”

  Sardohan’s tone was caustic.

  “Indeed. How did you know the creature?”

  “For secrecy sake, I was hidden in a giant bird aviary within the Dazarian central prison. It was small, but, well furnished. After centuries of captivity, a few years there was nothing to bear. Gnashlok used to bring me my… food.”

  Gnashlok struck the uncovered base of the statue with the pickaxe; a dull crack split the air; Aden felt the ground tremor.

  The strange warrior jerked his eyes at brambles where the friends hid and Aden felt his heart freeze. The warrior continued to turn his head, to search fo
r trouble and Aden held his breath.

  “The noise, can you not put more cloth there?” said the warrior.

  “More cloth would absorb too much of the strike. We must continue.”

  “If someone hears….”

  “My men will deal with it.”

  The warrior peered at the darkening fringes of the woods.

  “I will trust you.”

  “Your success is our success; I will not let the project fail.”

  The strange warrior eased back to rest against the oak, he appraised Sardohan carefully.

  “I find it strange Lord Kesskranski help me. He ask for nothing except I swear an oath of non-aggression against Dazarian. In return, I will have everything.”

  Sardohan waved his hand in dismissal.

  “Dazarian has many enemies. A friendly banner in the North would be useful.”

  “The bugbears, they are eager for my leadership?”

  “Impatient. They have besieged Ice Holm in tribute to your return.”

  The man raised a clenched fist and sighed.

  “Again I will be the Ice Lord of the North. Rulers will bow at my feet, or perish. I feel good; even the thought of my head being removed so it can fit into that fake-stomach of yours again, is now tolerable.”

  “My dear Lord Azabar, the device was necessary to gain entrance past Haverland’s customs. Leaving this foul country is easier. A fisherman’s vessel awaits you in the harbour. We will carry you onboard by means of a crate. The custom’s men concern themselves more with imports than exports. You won’t travel in the stomach device again, nor will you need to endure beheading; not that you have suffered from the experience.”

  “I suffered, Ambassador, but, I heal fast.”

  Azabar! Aden reeled. The man’s appearance had almost confirmed it in his mind; but, he’d needed the name spoken. So the sorcerer of wands had returned, a thousand years since he'd skulked away and hid from the Haverland army.

  How could he live so long and what did Sardohan mean by ‘night-time feeding exploits’?

  It was all too much to take in at once. Azabar’d had his head chopped off so it could be squeezed into a false stomach! This false stomach being the swollen one Sardohan had travelled from Dazarian with? How had Azabar survived such a thing? The questions swirled in Aden’s mind.

  He glanced at Bliss; his friend was too absorbed to notice him looking.

  “Can anything kill you?”

  It was Sardohan speaking again. Aden listened intently.

  “Some things are fatal, for sure.”

  “You are not like the vampires of legend. Perhaps your vulnerabilities differ too?”

  Azabar flashed a brilliant grin. Past thick barrier of brambles, nettles and twigs, he was no more than feet away. Aden saw his teeth were even and white.

  Azabar raised a hand upright and pulled off a glove. He inspected his hand and showed the palm to Sardohan. Aden saw there were three dark holes there.

  “You expected me to have sharp teeth and be killed by sunlight and stakes? Yes, Sardohanski? Until you first met me? But no, I am a Southern vampire.”

  “The way you take your blood, is indeed a revelation. You may differ from the vampires of my legends as does a wolf does a bear. Yet, a well sprung trap will snare either creature’s legs,” said Sardohan, with a shrewd smile. “Certainly, you shy from sunlight.”

  Azabar looked closely at the Ambassador as if to decide whether there was veiled threat in the words.

  Gnashlok gave a cry and pointed at the base of the statue, Aden felt an urge to duck as Gnashlok looked their way. Force of will kept him motionless behind the thicket of brambles.

  “Done it!” crowed Gnashlok. “Wivout me you’d ‘ave been stuffed.”

  Sardohan inspected the beginnings of a small hole Gnashlok had made.

  “Bravo Gnashlok, please continue. A man must have passage. Widen it.”

  The half-ogre spat on his palms, gripped the pickaxe tight and swung at the hole.

  Sardohan turned to Azabar and his voice was silk. “Your history is shrouded in mystery.”

  “Indeed?”

  Azabar replaced the glove.

  Aden’s thigh began to cramp. He tried to ignore the pain.

  “Kesskran told me you have not been in Haverland for a thousand years? Have you been a ruler in the South? Why not return before now?”

  Azabar scowled.

  “Ruler? The opposite.”

  Sardohan waited expectantly.

  “I am greatest sorcerer the world has ever seen: master of wands and rods, leader of armies and ruler of countries. I was Ice Lord who ruled five countries. Then I invade Haverland and everything, it go wrong. I could have won, but was betrayed. Betrayed by sorcerers who sworn neutrality.”

  Sardohan’s brow furrowed in reflection.

  “Kesskran told me little. So you were involved in a battle, here, but escaped…”

  “Yah. I realise I lose battle soon. In secret I had build this crypt under jester statue in case of such an event. My thought - to hide inside with items, until Haverlanders give up hope of finding me. I fetching supplies when Haverlanders, they counter-attack and took all of what is now Marchant Park. I could not reach this bolt-hole.”

  “Another one?”

  “No.”

  “Then?”

  “Then my forces crumble. My bodyguard help me from city. The Haverlanders hunt. I move and keep moving. It wasn’t until I reach the jungles of the Deep South, that hunt for me ease.”

  Gnashlok crashed pickaxe to stone, the noise echoing into the night. Aden prayed someone would hear. His thigh was going into a cramp. If he moved it and Azabar or Sardohan heard, it would be the end

  “But as I understand it, this was all a thousand years ago. You still haven’t explained why you didn’t return?”

  “You say Kesskran, has told you little?”

  “Only that the thief Gaulz found you upon a beach, pressed inside an urn, five years ago. That he opened the urn and discovered you. That you and Kesskran wished knowledge of your existence kept secret from spies, and so moved you to the prison.”

  There was a disturbance in the rhythmic hitting of the plinth. Gnashlok dropped the pickaxe to the turf and wiped a forearm against across his eyes.

  “Frikkin horse could get through dere, now.”

  Azabar and Sardohan went to inspect the hole. Aden moved his leg, sending relief through the cramped muscle. Sardohan whirled as Aden’s foot pushed into a twig, snapping it. Aden felt panic rip through him. Sardohan stared into the brambles, then grunted and turned back towards the hole. Aden could relax again.

  “It will satisfy,” said Azabar.

  “I’ll volunteer one of the men to crawl through…”

  Azabar cut Sardohan off: “Caduishka! No! I will go.”

  “Very well, you’ll need this.”

  Sardohan lifted the lamp from the ground and passed it to the sorcerer. Azabar eased the lamp inside the hole, and then followed. His body, then legs inched from sight. A light appeared from the hole: Azabar must have lifted the hood from the lamp.

  “What the hell made you move!” whispered Bliss, her eyes were accusing.

  “I couldn’t help it, I got cramp. Like what you got on the Grey Hind.”

  Bliss rolled her eyes.

  “I bet he’s going for the Icicle wand.”

  “That's what I think too. If he gets out of the country with it, Novogorad and Iceholm have had it.”

  A leaf kept getting in the way of Aden’s mouth. In frustration he gently separated it from its twig.

  “We wait until they move off. If we’re fast we’ll be able to go and tell the police and they’ll be able to arrest him before he gets onboard the boat.”

  “But he’ll use the wand to make the ice-golem and then attack the city.”

  Aden frowned. Then a better idea hit him.

  “What if he’s allowed to get onboard the boat, and then the Haverland navy sink it with their cata
pults? If he conjures the ice-golem in the middle of the ocean, the thing’ll just float away.”

  Bliss’s eyes lit up.

  “Yes, that’ll do it.”

  A noise came from the woods opposite and a man rushed forth. Birds lifted into the air from the trees. Gnashlok recovered the pickaxe. He held it ready to repel any attacker.

  Sardohan raised a hand.

  “Wait. It’s Aleed.”

  Gnashlok lowered the pickaxe. The man reached the ambassador. He was dressed in leather and held a scimitar in his hand.

  “The wood golem, your excellence,” he panted, “the one they call Hamble. He’s making his way up the path towards the clearing.”

  “What!”

  “I didn’t give my position away, he hasn’t seen me.”

  Chapter 62: Azabar’s Icicle

  Sardohan looked at the trees, across the clearing, dark in the twilight. More birds took to the air from their roosts.

  “This could ruin our plans,” he said.

  “What shall I do, Ambassador?” Asked the man called Aleen.

  “Fetch the others.”

  “Yes!” whispered Bliss. “Hamble could smash the lot of them.”

  Hamble became visible against the backdrop of the woods. His head lurched towards those near the jester statue and he propelled himself on his arms towards them.

  From the quarters of the park shadowy shapes emerged. They tracked the golem’s movements.

  Twenty paces from the Jester, Hamble was brought to a stop by Sardohan’s raised hand.

  “My dear street cleaner, good evening to you, may I help you?”

  Hamble’s face creaked into an expression of concern.

  “Mr Sardohan. I was cleaning nearby. I heard a noise. I don’t often hear noises from here. I came to look into it. I’ll get back to my cleaning, but I wanted to look into it first...”

  Sardohan listened to Hamble’s sluggish words with impatience as he watched the poorly crafted mouth utter them.

  “Yes, yes, good. Well-done, golem. More citizens should be like you, dear friend.”

  “Two-faced git,” whispered Bliss.

  “My servants and I are repairing one of the statues, the Jester, vandals must have damaged it. That’s all, nothing bad happening.”