The Aberrator bent low, the rattle lifting the opening. He pulled out and jumped around, the man’s sudden actions not doing Alhena’s nerves any favours.
The Aberrator stepped in close, his mask against Alhena’s face. “Is it dangerous?”
Alhena shrugged. “That is yet to be seen.”
The Aberrator growled, his voice low. “I sense treachery in you, old man.”
“Hah. Who is the old man here?”
The Aberrator pressed his mask into Alhena’s face as if he was trying to induce a reaction but Alhena was no longer afraid of the necromancer.
“Bahahaha!” The Aberrator gyrated circles around Alhena and the sack.
Faster than Alhena could follow, a curved knife slit the bag open and the Aberrator jumped back.
“Ahhhhhhh. What have we here?” He inched closer, bending low, craning his long neck. “Is that…?”
Alhena nodded. “Helleden Misenthorpe. What is left of him, anyway.”
The Aberrator nodded slowly. “Yes. Yes! You have done good. This pleases me, wizard. I can rebuild him.”
Poking at the foul-smelling remains, the Aberrator growled, “Where are his baubles?”
Alhena had feared the crafty dark magician would ask that. “They are in a safe place. They won’t harm anyone ever again.”
The Aberrator lifted his mask. Sagging pale skin hung off the skull of what appeared to be a living corpse as the necromancer spoke with a deep voice. “We shall have to see about that, hmm?”
Alhena shuddered.
The Aberrator slammed his mask back down, emitting a shrill whistle.
Two partially decomposed people staggered into the clearing and dragged the sack away. Alhena wasn’t sure of their gender.
The Aberrator leaped and jumped around the clearing, shaking his rattle tube. “Come, Phazarus. We must go, yes? A great phantasmic ritual awaits your unhallowed sacrifice. A powerful Grimward you shall become.”
Alhena hesitated at the side of the swamp as the catfish submerged itself until only the top of its scaly hide remained visible. He gagged at the smell.
Wrapping a bony arm around Alhena’s shoulders and guiding him onto the fish’s back, the crazed necromancer reached down to retrieve four of the catfish’s whiskers, handing two to Alhena.
“Hang on. Bahahaha!” The Aberrator emitted a series of clicks.
The fish pulled away from the bank, drifting rapidly into the heart of the swamp—the enveloping mist smothering the light of Alhena’s staff.
Silurian gazed out over the calm water of Madrigail Bay from a trail ledge high upon Pantheon Rock. Far below, hundreds of boats bobbed peacefully on the soft swells drifting down the channel.
Gerrymander sat at anchor in the middle of the harbour, her great sails furled. He was sure he saw Ithnan and Ithaman bustling about the rigging. Longsight’s berth in the mainmast crow’s-nest sat empty.
He couldn’t hold back the wry smile cleaving his face. Although the time aboard the solid brig had been perilous to say the least, he also had fond memories of his time at sea. Bittersweet, he corrected himself, remembering those who had never made it back.
The memory of the brawny sailor, Tara, curtailed his smile. What a lioness. He swallowed the lump in his throat. He had briefly entertained a future with that one.
How different life might be if only…? He sighed. It was never a good idea to go down that road—he’d done so for almost two and a half decades.
He breathed deeply of the brine on the air and exhaled loudly. It was time for him to go.
“You ready?”
Melody stretched and stood up from where she sat on a rock, gathering her wizard’s robes and collecting her staff. She picked up the old leather diary sitting beside her. One they had found within Helleden’s robes. Within its pages she had discovered a wealth of historical information regarding dragons. “Ya. I guess. It’ll be hard leaving everyone.”
Silurian nodded, not trusting his voice. He wasn’t looking forward to parting with the dear companions who had risked their lives many times over the last few months because they had believed in him.
“Oh, Alhena.” He stopped and wiped his eyes. Melody put an arm around him and squeezed, her own eyes misting up.
For as long as he lived, he didn’t think he’d ever understand what had possessed the crazy old wizard to return to the Gulch. Everyone had begged him not to, assuring him they would face this bone magician together. In the end, they had respected his wishes.
Silurian was thankful the last image he had of his old friend was the look of wonder on his wrinkled face as Lurker took flight.
He returned Melody’s hug and started off again, following the meandering trail as it cut back on itself several times down to the burial cavern entrance where Captain Thorr, Larina and Olmar awaited.
“Och, me and Cap’n been thinkin’ you two need to ‘ang on a while longer. The kingdom be needin’ good fighters, an’ that’s sure.”
Silurian couldn’t help but smile. Something about the bumbling giant brought joy to his heart. He held out a hand to shake, flinching as Olmar dragged him into one of his bone-crunching hugs, lifting him off his feet.
“Olmar.” Captain Thorr came to his rescue.
Melody took Silurian’s place in Olmar’s embrace, but he treated her with gentle care, crying unabashedly onto the top of her blonde head.
“Oh, stop blubbering, you big baby,” Larina said. “You’re embarrassing me.”
Silurian laughed and gave the archer a warm embrace. “You take care of him. He’s special.”
Larina pulled away and winked. “Oh, he’s special alright.”
Olmar dropped a mitt on the siblings’ shoulders as he led them off Pantheon Rock and into town.
Silurian marvelled at how quickly the people of Zephyr had begun rebuilding their lives. He guessed they had no choice, but even after Helleden’s death, it had taken the Zephyr forces a few more months to retake their kingdom. To this day they still received reports of sporadic fighting up by North Gate.
Silurian thought they were going to say good-bye to everyone by the skeletal beginnings of the new River Gate Bridge, but Olmar steered them in the opposite direction.
“Where are you taking us?” Silurian asked.
“Ye’ll see,” was all Olmar said.
It wasn’t until Olmar turned off the main street and headed toward the water that their destination became clear.
The beaming smile of one of the biggest people Silurian had ever met stood outside a newly built saloon. The bald-headed man with an oft broke nose and a well-worked toothpick between his lips, pointed a sausage-sized finger at the sign above his head.
Reading the inscription on the shingle flushed Silurian with a warmth he hadn’t known in a long time. Avarick’s Rest.
As happy as the sign made him, he didn’t think his heart could take any more when Keepy held open the swinging doors to reveal a crowd of fully recovered, grinning men and women who fell upon him and Melody. Catching Pollard’s scarred visage at the back of the throng, resplendent in a refurbished, shiny brass cuirass, took his breath away.
Keepy followed them in and locked the door. Silurian paused, but the burly barkeep painfully slapped the back of his shoulder. “Today is your day. We weren’t too kind to you last time you were through here.”
Keepy lifted his beefy arm high and snapped his fingers. The skinny boy Keepy employed to clean up ran over.
“Fill their tables and don’t let me catch anyone with an empty mug!”
It quickly became apparent that he and Melody were not going to be leaving this day. Their plates were never left unfilled nor their mugs empty. He couldn’t get over how someone had arranged to bring everyone together from all over the kingdom.
He’d been wrong about who he’d seen scurrying through the rigging. Ithnan and Ithaman were carrying on a deep conversation with Longsight, Blindsight, Yarstaff and Wendglow.
He laughed at something someon
e said and caught Sadyra’s eye. She winked at him and raised her mug, her other arm wrapped around Pollard’s bicep. Of course! If anyone could get people moving, it was the high-spirited lady with a dragon.
He separated himself from the crowd and leaned against a bright windowsill, proudly watching everyone talk freely amongst themselves without a care in the world.
He smiled inwardly. They deserved it. As for himself, he was content to sit back and enjoy life now; something he hadn’t done in a long time. He felt glad inside—his soul forged anew.
His mind drifted to the weeks immediately following Helleden’s death. They had needed to get word to the Zephyr people in hiding on Ghost Island. The seagoing vessels Helleden’s minions had been working on weren’t completed, but Sadyra had claimed she knew how she might deliver the message faster than a crew could raise a full set of sails.
He almost spit into his mug imagining the faces of the survivors when Sadyra and Lurker appeared on the beachhead to deliver the message.
From there, the survivors had originally landed in Madrigail Bay to deal with the important matters of state. Samuel Io, the baron of Apexceal had assumed the interim leadership but as soon as they landed, he had convened a council of all surviving elders and people of importance to determine how to move Zephyr forward.
The first order of business had been to appoint regents to govern the kingdom until the next Svelte in line of procession to the Ivory Throne came of age.
King Malcolm’s granddaughter, the four-year-old he had affectionately referred to as Boo, was the only survivor of the Royal Family that they were aware of.
The council unanimously named Silurian to that role, but he had turned them down. He knew in his heart he wasn’t suited to the role.
Instead, he put forward Pollard and Sadyra’s names. Who better to watch over the heir apparent than a giant and a woman protected by a dragon?
Pollard, generally quiet when it came to heady decisions, had stood up and humbly accepted the role with one condition—that until the queen ascended the throne and was in a position to select her own guardians, that Olmar and Larina be so named joint Queen’s Champion.
As their first proclamation as queen regents, Sadyra and Pollard bade Melody take over the role of Royal Wizard. Melody gracefully deferred her decision to a later date, stating that as the incumbent Wizard of the North she had other matters she needed to attend to before she could turn her energy in that direction.
Samuel Io put forward Wendglow’s name to assume the vacant role of Chambermaster of the Chamber of the Wise. Arzachel Gruss had resigned her position due to personal reasons, but Silurian had it on good authority that the former vice chambermistress couldn’t come to terms with the fact that she’d partaken in the treachery of the council, as unwitting as her role might have been.
Wendglow, in turn, appointed Yarstaff as Enervator.
Silurian’s smile broadened. The people of Zephyr were about to undergo a great adjustment, especially in learning to accept the Voil into their culture, but he was confident Wendglow and Yarstaff were more than worthy emissaries to assume the auspicious roles.
Leaning against the wall, taking in the unbridled happiness in the room, his thoughts lingered briefly on Karvus Kraken and his people. It had taken a bit of convincing but once the leaders of the Kraidic army accepted the truth of the bizarre events leading to their newly appointed leader’s death, they agreed to assist with the expulsion of Helleden’s remaining army before marching home.
He sighed. If only Karvus had lived. The relationship between the opposing kingdoms might have had a chance to flourish. As it stood, only time would tell.
Two enormous hands wrapped around Silurian’s waist, causing him to spill his ale. “Och, laddie! What’s ya doin’ by yourself? Your mates are beggin’ your company.”
The bull-legged Olmar called out, “Keepy! Two more for me friend,” and lifted him off his feet, depositing him amongst the cheering crowd; everyone clanking his mug and talking at once.
They stopped to take one last look at Madrigail Bay. The port city lay at the bottom of the trail curving into the mountains. Silurian tried to pick out Avarick’s Rest from the jumble of new construction but couldn’t.
Heights normally didn’t bother him but after yesterday’s festivities, his fuzzy mind left him reeling. Gerrymander appeared no bigger than a child’s toy in the middle of the harbour. As much as he appreciated the old hulk’s sturdy beams, he wouldn’t be sad if he never set foot on its decks again.
Melody’s voice interrupted his reverie. “That was Lurker.”
He frowned at her, having no idea where that statement had come from. He searched the sky expecting to see the dragon. “What do you mean? The dragon?”
“Who else do you know is called Lurker?”
“What about the Lurker?”
“Not the Lurker, just Lurker,” she corrected. “I was thinking about our time in Castle Svelte, growing up. Do you remember the picture of the dragon in the Grand Hall?”
He thought hard. “Ya, I think so. Wasn’t he green?”
“Yes, a long time ago. Dragons lose their colour as they age. Males generally turn black and females, white, but not always.” She smiled her pretty smile. “Oh, yeah, I guess you wouldn’t know that, would you?”
“And, how do you?”
She threw back her shoulders and gave him her best sarcastic glare. “Really? I am the Wizard of the North.”
He smiled at that and followed her gaze.
She stared at the bay area, thinking out loud. “Actually, I don’t know where I learned that. Not from books, obviously, otherwise I would’ve been able to read the word, dragon, back in the Wizard’s Spike.”
She held a finger up. “Actually, that kind of information is only passed down by word of mouth. I think the wizarding community wanted to keep it sacred.”
“What if all the wizards died?”
“You sound just like Phazarus. I’m sure it’s referenced in other places. Besides, wizards don’t own the subject…but you’re right. That will be one of my many tasks when I get settled in and begin the torturous job of rewriting the tomes I blew up.”
Silurian raised his eyebrows. He couldn’t imagine the amount of effort that was going to take.
They stared at the city, the rising sun warm on their backs.
Melody drank from her waterskin. “So, what now, oh brother of mine?”
Silurian shrugged. “I’m thinking north.”
“North?”
“Ya. Maybe return to Cliff Face.”
Melody looked at him like he’d gone mad again. “Cliff Face? What in the world would make you want to go back to that rat-infested hole?”
Silurian shrugged. “I don’t know. Just seems like running from trolls and evading the local ruffians was much more relaxing than everything we’ve gone through since.”
“What about Castle Svelte? Our time there was amazing.”
Silurian smiled ruefully. It had been indeed. He thought about the castle in its present state. “Castle Svelte is flattened. Do you know how many years it’ll take to rebuild?”
Melody didn’t respond.
“Besides,” Silurian continued, “if I’m not mistaken, the almighty Wizard of the North is in need of a new cave. I seem to recall she disposed of her last one.”
Melody stopped. She placed her hands on her hips. “Seriously? Near Cliff Face? What about little Boo? Pollard and Sadyra were adamant the princess would greatly benefit from spending time with us.”
Silurian continued a few more steps and then turned, the mischievous look on his face making him look thirty years younger—taking Melody’s mind back to a long-ago time, high atop the Wizard’s Spike with the then prince, Malcolm.
“Sure, why not? We can invite her up there. It’ll be a great education.”
He took a deep breath, enjoying a view he wasn’t certain he’d ever see again. He turned and started around the bend. “Besides, there are lot
s of uninhabited caves up there.”
Melody fell in step beside him.
“There is one thing, though, if we want to avoid interference from the dark things that hunt in the night.”
Melody frowned.
He stopped and gave her his sarcastic smirk. He knew she hated it when he did that.
Her eyes widened with comprehension. She held a finger up to his face. “No. Don’t even go there.”
“Oh yes,” he laughed and skipped away. “We’ll need to do something about your snoring.”
The End
A little about me.
Born in Simcoe, Ontario, in 1965, I began writing circa 1974; a bored child looking for something to while away the long, summertime days. My penchant for reading The Hardy Boys led to an inspiration one sweltering summer afternoon when my best friend and I thought, ‘We could write one of those.’ And so, I did.
As my reading horizons broadened, so did my writing. Star Wars inspired me to write a 600-page novel about outer space that caught the attention of a special teacher who encouraged me to keep writing.
A trip to a local bookstore saw the proprietor introduce me to Stephen R. Donaldson and Terry Brooks. My writing life was forever changed.
At 17, I left high school to join the working world to support my first son. For the next twenty-two years I worked as a shipper at a local bakery. At the age of 36, I went back to high school to complete my education. After graduating with honours at the age of thirty-nine, I became a member of our local Police Service, and worked for 12 years in the provincial court system.
In early 2017, I retired from the Police Service to pursue my love of writing full-time. With the help and support of my lovely wife Caroline and our five children, I have now realized my boyhood dream.
Books by Richard H. Stephens
The Royal Tournament
The Royal Tournament has at long last come to the village of Millsford. For Javen Milford, a local farm boy, the news couldn’t be better. Finally, Javen can perform his chores on the homestead and partake in the biggest military games in the Kingdom, hoping beyond hope that just maybe, he might catch the eye of the king. Javen enters the kingdom’s flagship tournament only to discover that in order to win, one must be prepared to die.
Into the Madness Page 33
