Cursed Cleric

by Salvador Mercer

  As quickly as he had finished the wolf dropped dead, an arrow suddenly protruding from its chest where its heart would be. More howls grew and another yelp as a wolf was injured by something. A zinging sound was heard and something behind them dropped dead before they could see it, though its last gasp of air was clear enough.

  “Dim your light,” Salina ordered.

  Khan replied, “Good idea,” and the light went completely out.

  “Now do something,” Will said, looking at Khan.

  “I do not see a wolf to attack,” Khan said, turning to and fro in search of an adversary.

  “There,” Cedric pointed towards the main building where a lean figure close to the ground was running directly at them. Having lost their night vision, it was difficult to see in the dark without the light of the twin moons.

  “Blast it, now,” Will pleaded with the magic-user.

  “Keep it down,” the outline said as it raised on two legs and ran hunched over. It was Targon. “You are too loud. Whisper if you must speak.”

  “You looked like a wolf,” Cedric said, following Targon’s orders and speaking in a barely audible whisper.

  “I was on my feet, trust me,” Targon said, whispering back. “They are looking for us two-leggers however.”

  “Glad your back,” Will said, and Salina sighed in relief.

  “I have good news and bad news,” Targon began and then continued despite the groans from his companions. “The good news is I have our rope and grappling hook.”

  “The bad?” Will asked, tilting his head as if not eager to hear it.

  “Wolves everywhere,” Targon said.

  “Why aren’t they here killing us now then?” Cedric asked.

  Targon nodded in understanding, “Our scent is all over the building and grounds. They are temporarily confused and the few that did find you are dead now.”

  “How did they find us?” Salina asked.”

  Targon looked at Khan and his staff, “The light was easily visible from this side of the building. Most of the wolves are where our scent is heaviest on the other side. These ones, however, must have come around the back following our scent trails.”

  “How long do we have?” Khan asked.

  “One or two minutes at most,” Targon said. “I suggest we do something.”

  “What?” Wil and Cedric asked in unison.

  Khan spoke, allowing a bit of light to shine while he held his staff low and at the bottom of the gate. “Here.”

  “That doesn’t look very secure,” Targon noted.

  “Can we get back to our sanctuary?” Salina asked, referring to the place where they had spent the night. They all understood that the wolves couldn’t reach them there, at least not immediately.

  “Too late,” Targon explained, keeping his voice low.

  “Then we fight?” Will asked, his voice strained in a whisper.

  “Odd,” Khan said, looking at his staff. “I feel something faint.”

  “Where?” Salina asked.

  “Right in there,” Khan pointed at the small enclosure.

  Targon nodded, “For better or worse, in we go.”

  The axe came out and with only one stroke the rusted chain and lock were sundered at the cost of a loud clanging sound. This was met with howls by the wolf pack as they understood where their prey was located. “They opened one of the gates and closed it after piling in. Will shook the gate that they had just closed and chuckled, “I doubt this thing will hold against one wolf much less two or more.”

  Khan illuminated the area understanding that secrecy was no longer practical. “What does that say?”

  Cedric bent down and dusted off the mound of dirt that had blown in and covered the base of the stature. The statue itself was weather worn and one arm had broken. It looked to be either a slender man, or a solid woman standing with one arm out and the other broken in what could have been a consolatory pose. After a moment, Cedric said, “Andrew Vandersot, Lord Emeritus of Ruatha.”

  “That’s him,” Salina said.

  “The shield must be here,” Will added.

  Cedric stood and brushed the dirt off himself, “Find it and let’s go.”

  Targon shook his head and then looked at Khan who understood and said, “There will be no leaving this place from this gate.”

  “What do you mean?” Cedric asked. “We found what we’re looking for. It’s right here, the tomb of Andrew Vandersot where Elister said we’d find the artifact. Let’s get it and go.”

  The snarling was both alarming and close. Targon said, “Stand back,” and he inserted a broken piece of iron between the two gates at an angle to secure them.

  “That will not hold,” Khan said. “Let me at least burn a few of them.

  Cedric nodded, “Burn them all then we go.”

  “We can’t,” Targon explained.

  “Why not?” Cedric asked.

  Targon sighed, though the number of eyes that were now peering at them explained everything. “There’s more than a hundred of them out there.”

  “Impossible,” Cedric said.

  The cacophony of howls sounded more like a thousand.

  “Damn,” Will said to Targon. “You sure know how to throw a party.”

  Chapter 10

  Mad Mages

  The body was burned to a crisp and the smell wafted over most of the palatial grounds that encompassed the Onyx Tower. Edward was overseeing the disposal of yet another visitor to the High Mage. Those that entered used to come out alive, most of the time. Lately, Edward had been most busy in his current duties.

  “Same place as usual?” The caretaker asked while two assistants folded the remains in a burlap tarp.

  “Of course,” Edward said, sighing visibly and mopping his brow with a handkerchief despite the cold weather. Cold was always preferable. The bodies didn’t decompose too quickly.

  “Edward, you cantankerous old fool, get back up here,” The voice of the High Mage wafted down to him from above.

  “Coming, my Lord,” the man said, and he noticed the caretaker quickly look away. No doubt the man and his underlings didn’t envy being the Steward of the Onyx Tower.

  Taking the stairs slowly, the man climbed the single flight of steps to reach the High Mage’s official greeting chamber. It was austere despite the grandeur of the place. Am-Tor was seated where he usually was after having zapped the hapless emissary of a nearby realm for refusing to aid in their current conflicts. “Took your damn time,” Am-Tor said.

  “My apologies, my Lord. I was still occupied in securing the services of our caretaker and his underlings. I was not expecting to use them during diplomatic proceedings.”

  The High Mage narrowed his eyes, “An expert you think you are in foreign affairs now? I suppose soon you will want to be sitting here in my place?”

  The usual taunts were most unwelcome and despite being somewhat immune to them, the man was wise enough to recognize that it only took one mistake to end his life. He wisely deferred as usual. “Never, my Lord. Only a man of your power and stature can sit and command from the Onyx Tower. I am but a lowly servant of Kesh and at your command.”

  Flattery worked on most every wizard. “Do not forget your place nor your loyalty to Kesh. We have work today and I do not have time to babysit these imbeciles from far flung realms that seek only to hinder us.”

  “Of course, my Lord.” Edward said, bowing before the man. Good thing I have a stiff back, he thought to himself knowing his days of bowing had only recently begun.

  “So is the news true?” Am-Tor asked.

  “News, sire?”

  “About Balaria. They will double cross us?”

  Edward shook his head, “We discussed this as recently as yesterday, my Lord. We do not know what Balaria’s plans are in this regard, but they do have an army pledged to fight for us and do so even now. I don’t think they would do this if they intended to break their oath.”

  “Yesterday, eh?” Am-Tor asked, leaning
forward slightly enough for his hanging orb to become visible in the dim light.

  “Yes, my Lord,” Edward bowed again and enjoyed doing so as it gave him a plausible excuse to look at the ground and not at the ghastly visage of his leader.

  The High Mage leaned back in his chair and said, “It is all the fault of that interloper, Amshee. The man should never have been admitted to our order.”

  Edward noticed two things. First, the use of Am-Shee’s name with the title not being properly pronounced with a pause, making it all one word as if Shee’s name was Amshee in stead of his proper title of Am-Shee. Second, it was forbidden to mention the former arch mage’s name as was the traitor apprentice Khan, yet the High Mage himself broke that rule often, and with both men. “Most assuredly, sire.” Edward bowed a third time.

  “Not to mention that blasted traitor, Khan, curse him and his name,” Am-Tor said.

  There you go again, Edward thought, then speaking out loud he said, “Most disgraceful for a former apprentice.”

  “He would be dead by now if it was not for the coddling of the dead Arnen, curse him and the forest he thives un.”

  “A most deserved cursing, if I may say so, sire.”

  Am-Tor seemed pleased with himself and nodded absentmindedly while putting a hand up to push his jaw back into place after it had popped out after his last cursing, causing him to slur his last two words, lives in. “I want those traitors dead.”

  Edward stopped bowing and stood patiently. When nothing more was forthcoming he said, “Will that be all, my Lord?”

  The High Mage took a moment before answering. “What news from Ulsthor?”

  “Why don’t you bloody look in your own crystal ball and find out for yourself, Edward thought. Instead, in a calm and courteous voice he said, “Zorcross reported that after defeating the invading undead army, they set out for Ulatha encountering a larger, deadlier force that had crossed into our land and attempted to surround and destroy them.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Edward continued, “After much battle and superior mage-craft, the enemy forces were utterly destroyed, and our triumphant army returned to Ulsthor to resupply.”

  “He made you memorize that, did he not?” Am-Tor asked.

  “Ah, my Lord, whatever do you mean?” Edward said, flustered.

  Am-Tor leaned forward, and Edward was thankful his hood covered most his face, “Only my old apprentice uses the word utterly, you never do, so it stands to reason that he gave you his report and made you memorize it.”

  Edward racked his brain trying to remember if he ever used that word. Not remembering if he did or didn’t he hastily replied, “I felt it important to relay his report as accurately as possible in order to ensure you are fully informed, my Lord. I may have used some of his exact wording.”

  “So why did he not give me his report personally?”

  Edward didn’t understand but answered as best he could, “Because he is in Ulsthor and you are here in Keshtor?”

  “Not that, you nincompoop,” Am-Tor said, the disdain in his voice obvious. “I meant why was I not informed personally through the High Critir?”

  “Ah,” Edward said, understanding now, “You were in your sleeping chambers when he conjured his message.”

  Am-Tor scoffed, “You do not expect me to believe you mastered the use of the Chamber of Seeing, do you?”

  “Of course not, my Lord.”

  “Not only that, but you do not have my permission to use the High Orb, much less be in the chamber itself, so how did he communicate with you?”

  “Yes, well then, I did receive a written correspondence by messenger bird.”

  “Let me see it.” Am-Tor held out a gnarled and mangled hand.

  Fishing in his inside robe pocket, Edward pulled out the small, hand-written scroll that was given to him last evening. He took a couple of steps closer in order to give it to his leader, “Here you are, my Lord.”

  Grabbing it and unfolding it, the High Mage began to read, “Ensure the message is read exactly thus: After defeating the invading undead army, we set out for Ulatha encountering a larger, deadlier force that had crossed into our land and attempted to surround and destroy us. After much battle, and superior mage-craft, the enemy forces were utterly destroyed, and our triumphant army returned to Ulsthor to resupply. Ensure compliance with my message, Zorcross, High Wizard of Ulsthor.”

  “Yes sire.”

  “High Wizard?”

  Edward shrugged, “He fancies you, my Lord. Mimicry is the sincerest form of flattery.”

  “Well, I do not like his flattery,” Am-Tor stated. “He may call himself the Wizard of Ulsthor, but no more.”

  “I shall inform him,” Edward said.

  “No,” Am-Tor said. “I will tell him myself.”

  “As you wish, my Lord, shall I prepare the Chamber of Seeing for use?”

  “No,” Am-Tor repeated himself. “I will tell him personally.”

  Edward opened his mouth, but no words came out. The High Mage sat waiting for his steward to respond. Finally the man asked, “You plan on leaving the Onyx Tower?”

  “Yes, yes I do,” Am-Tor said a bit too gleefully. “Do not expect me to be away for more than an hour, however.”

  “How is that possible, my Lord? Even at the fastest gallop the journey would take more than two days if not three.”

  “A new spell has come to me from the power of the draconus.”

  The eyes on the dragon’s skull began to glow and a palpable aura of evil emanated from it. Edward could only think of leaving the Onyx Tower, or at least the very room in which he stood. He felt an urge to run but instead was practically paralyzed. He could only mutter, “Yes.”

  The High Mage laughed. “Remember as well that the power of the draconus can read minds. Do not think that I have not read your thoughts, Edward.”

  The use of the man’s name was too familiar, and Edward struggled against the aura of fear trying to remember how reckless he had been with his thoughts. He fought against the fear in an attempt to defend himself, “I only seek to…” his words faltered. I’m a dead man now for sure, he thought.

  “Fear not,” Am-Tor said. “I know what you think of my appearance and I will not hold that against you, but do not dwell upon it or you will feel my wrath.”

  Edward suddenly realized the man’s threat was a bluff, and his thoughts had remained secure all along. Maybe I will live a little bit longer. “Understood, my Lord.”

  “Good,” Am-Tor said, an evil grin barely visible across his deformed jawline. “You will live another day.”

  Edward heard these words then his eyes rolled back into his head as he passed out, falling to the ground.

  The wounds appeared to have healed and Am-Shee walked about on the topmost floor of his magical tower. The device and magical origins were unknown to him, but the power was immense and obvious. A thousand years ago another arch mage had the artifact and used it in the Great Dragon War. Somehow, it had been passed on to each successor even though time had passed, and the device was unknown to most every wizard and mage in Kesh. Everyone except Am-Shee.

  “You look better, Master.”

  “It has been a long road to recovery, Kador,” Am-Shee responded. “There has been too much death and this imposter has ripped the very fabric of Kesh asunder. We must make what is right, right.”

  “How, Master?” Kador asked. “The High Mage, as he calls himself, has an artifact of great power and evil. He seems nigh to unstoppable.”

  “Every rabbit has its hole,” Am-Shee said. “We must find his and send him back to it.”

  “Pardon me, Master, but what does that metaphor mean?”

  Am-Shee looked at his one-time apprentice and then patiently explained, “It means every rabbit runs to its shelter when it feels threatened or insecure. We shall find the imposter’s weaknesses and exploit them in order for him to return to a more defensive posture.”

  “He appeared to be ‘holed up’ pr
etty well in Keshtor, Master. I do not see what more we can do in order to defeat him.”

  “Then I see more training is necessary,” Am-Shee said, sitting up from his chair and walking to the lone window within the black tower. He looked out over the southern part of Kesh from his high vantage point in the Rockton Mountains where he sought refuge from the rebellious and newly self-appointed, High Mage. Only the power of the arch mage kept him alive after the nearly fatal battle at the Onyx Tower only a few short months ago.

  “He nearly killed you, Master,” Kador noted. “Another assault will not go so well.”

  “You are correct,” Am-Shee answered. “We must alter our plan and see to it that this imposter fails in due time.”

  “I thought you said that time was short?”

  “It is,” Am-Shee answered. “It was kept from the wizards and apprentices by Sultain, but the approach of Dor Akun is imminent. Soon, we shall see such death and destruction the likes that Agon has not seen for two centuries. We must be prepared.”

  Kador wasn’t the brightest of Am-Shee’s apprentices, but he was one of the few to have survived. The young man asked, “There is more that you are not telling me.”

  Am-Shee was impressed. Perhaps there was hope for this one after all. “Yes. The passing is known as the Pentium Passing and this occurs only once every thousand years.”

  “What significance does the Pentium Passing have?” Kador asked.

  Am-Shee looked far out over the plains of Kesh and fancied he could just make Keshtor out as a small dot on the horizon, so high was their vantage point. He rubbed his beard and answered without looking at the man. “Sultain was after the Staff of Alore. Ancient lore has it that the first High Mage took it to Dor Akun for safe keeping. He did not trust his arch mages with their ambitions so close to such and artifact of power, so he hid it.”

  “I have heard rumors of such a tale,” Kador said, “but this is the first time anyone has spoken of it with authority.”