The N Arc of Empire- Complete Series

by C. Craig Coleman

  “Hello, are you all right?”

  The fingers adjusted grips, but no word responded.

  “Do you need help?”

  Whatever or whoever it is, he must’ve been out for a nighttime swim, he thought. Probably some boy afraid his dad will tan his hide for swimming in the river at night.

  Hendrel relaxed but vacillated, and still, nothing happened. Then he noticed the hands; they weren’t boy’s hands. He went closer and peered through the cracks between the planks. Two large brown eyes on a wet, furry face stared at him. Hendrel jumped back. His heart raced, and his face flushed.

  This isn’t a local citizen, Hendrel thought. It’s too large to be any animal with fingers that I know. Whatever it is, it’s not attacking.

  “You lost there?” Came a voice from up the wharf.

  Hendrel jumped; startled, his heart skipped a beat.

  “No, I’m just enjoying the night air, thank you.”

  Hendrel spun around to face the man coming back from the gathering.

  “I was on my way home and thought you looked lost. You lose something there?” The man came closer down the dock. “They couldn’t find that Astorax. If you ask me, it’s a hoax. I’m headed home to bed.”

  “I’m fine, just dropped my pipe.” Hendrel moved away from the fingers and back over to the torchlight. He looked down, pretending to pick up something and stick it in his pocket. “Here it is.” He then walked up the planks to intercept the man and lead him away from the dock.

  “Thanks for your offer of help,” Hendrel said.

  Hendrel shook the man’s hand, turning him back toward the town and away from the fingers on the wharf. After walking the man down the dock towards home, Hendrel went back to the fingers, but they were gone.

  I guess whatever it was went on down the river, he thought. He started back up the mooring to the inn.

  “Thank you,” a voice behind him said.

  Hendrel spun around and looked into the darkness beyond the dock’s end. That was the voice’s source, but there was no one there.

  “Who are you?”

  “You wouldn’t want to know.”

  “Well, if I didn’t, I wouldn’t have asked.”

  There was silence. Do I want to know, Hendrel wondered.

  “I’m the ferocious Astorax come to eat your children.”

  Neither moved for a moment. A million questions began forming about this much-maligned creature now emerging amid fear.

  “Astorax or not, you better get out of there. I can hear your teeth chattering. You’ll get sick if you stay in the cold water.”

  Another long silence ensued. Then the hand, seen earlier by torchlight, stirred. A second hand came from the water and grabbed the dock’s planking. Hendrel checked that no one else was nearby. He turned back to what was emerging. “It’s okay to come out. There’s no one else in sight, but stay in the shadows.”

  Deer horns sprang from the water, followed by a human head. Hendrel froze. The face was elongated. With imagination, Hendrel could imagine someone calling it a snout.

  Watching Hendrel’s facial expressions, the creature asked, “Why don’t you run away? Don’t you find me, revolting?”

  “I see a person different from myself.”

  “You’re not afraid?”

  “Well, if you were going to jump up and kill me, you’d have done that earlier when I stooped to look through the planking.”

  The Astorax is different, Hendrel thought, but he doesn’t look mean. Of course, he is in the dark, so how can I tell?

  The Astorax pulled himself up on the bank.

  “Careful, you don’t want the water to drip on the planking, revealing where you are. Someone might still come looking for you.”

  Astorax brushed the water off his arms and chest, then shook his lower half like a dog. The light caught his fur, and Hendrel saw the deer legs. Standing before him was the Astorax, as described in the alehouse, except for the face of a wolf with fangs. It took Hendrel a minute to accept what he saw. The Astorax stood there, watching his reaction.

  “Have you been in the water long? It must be awfully cold.”

  “Too long, my hands are cold and stiff from holding onto the dock.” The Astorax looked down. “Hooves don’t swim well, and they sink in the mud.”

  That lightened the moment, and Hendrel laughed. Then he felt the creature might think he was laughing at him, but the Astorax laughed, too. Both stopped and looked around to be sure no one had heard them.

  “Well, you can’t stay out here, and I don’t think it would be a good idea to take you back to the inn where I’m staying. We do need to get your wet self out of the cold autumn air, though.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Astorax said, shaking again to dry his fur. “I shouldn’t have come to a town, but Dreaddrac’s creatures are moving into the mountains more and more. It’s getting hard to avoid them.”

  “The people here won’t accept you; you know that. They are afraid of you. Frightened people tend to turn on everything they aren’t familiar with, as you’ve seen. They’re not bad people, just scared,” Hendrel said, feeling he needed to excuse his fellow-creatures. He didn’t feel any better.

  It’s still wrong to mistreat something that’s different just because it’s unusual, he thought.

  The Astorax lowered his head and sighed. “Yes, I know.” He paused and added, “I’m not sure where to go now. The mountains are not a safe refuge, but the plains around them aren’t either.”

  “Well, I was thinking of leaving here myself. Perhaps you’d care to come along with me? I must warn you that I am heading into danger, and it might be risky to travel with me.” I’ll never sleep worrying about this poor outcast’s fate, he thought. “I’ve already packed my belongings. I can get them, and we can leave town tonight and camp on the trail to the Wizards’ Hall.”

  “Aren’t you afraid I’ll eat you in your sleep?”

  “I’m old and tough. Not a very good meal.” Hendrel smiled.

  “No time to parboil you, I suppose.” They both chuckled.

  “You stay out of sight here. I’ll go back to the inn and get my satchel. I won’t be but a few minutes.”

  The Astorax slipped up the bank and into a clump of trees. Hendrel left and went up the road to the inn for his belongings.

  I wonder what I’ve gotten myself into, he thought, but I’m glad I’m not abandoning the creature in trouble. I hope someone would help me if I needed it someday.

  “Innkeeper, I’ll need my bill,” Hendrel said, coming down from his room with his bag. “After all the commotion, I’ve decided I might as well get on the road tonight anyway.”

  “Sorry that the ruckus woke you, Sir,” the innkeeper said, then looked back into the alehouse with a frown. “These townsfolk and their fancies are driving away my guests.” He looked back at Hendrel. “I’ll hope to see you again when you next pass this way.”

  “I’ll be sure to stay at this very inn when I return.”

  Hendrel wondered what the innkeeper would say if the Astorax were his companion when he asked for a room. He smiled, paying his bill.

  “Where are you?” Hendrel whispered at the spot where he’d left the creature.

  “I’m here.” The Astorax, stepping from the bushes, shocked Hendrel anew. The fellow certainly was made of many parts. “We need to be quiet and careful getting out of the town.”

  “Really? What makes you think that?”

  Hendrel didn’t have to look up to see the grin on his companion’s face. The Astorax didn’t have to look down to see his grin either. They checked the wharf and then the road for signs of anyone moving about. It was early morning by then, and everyone was home in bed. The two strangers walked along side by side in silence, skirting the edge of town. By morning's light, they were well away from Girdane on the road to the Wizards’ Hall.

  “We better get off the road and move along woodland trails. The locals might not understand us if they encounter us on the road,” Hendr
el said.

  The Astorax nodded, and they moved into the woods. When they were a safe distance from town, they decided to make camp and get some sleep. When Astorax woke in the afternoon, Hendrel was cooking.

  “Hey, what do I call you?”

  “Just Astorax, that’s what everyone else calls me.”

  “Astorax it is, then. My name is Hendrel, and I’m on my way to the Wizards’ Hall to try to catch up with some friends. What do you eat?”

  “I mostly eat what you eat. I have many deer parts, but I don’t have a ruminant stomach and digestive tract, so I eat what other people eat. I’m particularly fond of greens, though. I got run out of a garden once in the mountains for helping myself to the farmer’s turnips.”

  Hendrel fixed the food and gave half of it to the Astorax, who seemed to relish it even more than Hendrel did.

  “When was the last time you ate?” Hendrel asked, noting that the polite Astorax didn’t ask for food, but was most appreciative of it.

  “Yesterday morning, before I crossed the river to Girdane. I ate a little something then.”

  “Well, at least we’ll have some decent food on the way to the Wizards’ Hall,” Hendrel said and then settled back to finish his own meal.

  The new companions ate in peace in the warm afternoon sun.

  “I suppose you’re curious about me and who I am,” the Astorax said at length. “Anyone else would have asked before the word hello.”

  Hendrel put down his dish and offered Astorax more water.

  “Well, you’re quite an assortment of parts. I must admit I am curious, but explanations aren’t necessary. When we met, you were someone in need of a friend, and that’s enough.”

  Hendrel collected the dishes and wiped them out. He put them in the sun to dry and leaned back against the oak under which they’d eaten. The Astorax stood on his hooves and fidgeted, snapping a branch in his hands. He looked down and pawed at leaves on the ground, finally knocking a tuft of moss out into the grassy meadow beyond the tree’s shade.

  “Long time ago, I lived in the Heggolstockin Mountains with my family. While I was out hunting one day, a band of outlaws came through the valley where we lived. They killed my family. Later, they attacked me higher in the hills as I had just shot a deer. I got slashed a lot in the fight, was bleeding to death, and fell unconscious.”

  Hendrel sat up. “That must’ve been horrible. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to my family.”

  “A group of Hecklemecs came along, and with their magic projecting their size and numbers much larger than they were, they chased away the outlaws.”

  “What are Hecklemecs?” interrupted Hendrel. “I’ve never heard of them.”

  “The Hecklemecs are a tribe of magical gnomes that live in the Heggolstockin Mountains. Most went with the elves, their cousins; the one band remained here in the mountains.” He drew in a deep breath. “As I was saying, the Hecklemecs chased off the outlaws, but not before I was fatally wounded. Those little gnomes decided the only way they could save my life was by replacing my body below the waist with the deer’s hind legs. They added the antlers to make me look balanced. The facial changes I still don’t understand.”

  “But, you can’t mix deer and human parts.”

  “The Hecklemecs are experts at medicine and magic. They fused the parts and used magic and herbs to make the parts accept each other. I don’t understand it, either, but as you see, it worked.”

  The Astorax looked down over his body then looked back at Hendrel.

  “Well, yes, it worked, and a fine job they did, too – considering what they had to work with and all. Both the deer and I lived, in a manner of speaking, and if the Hecklemecs hadn’t done the operation, we both would’ve died. You see, they saw it as saving both lives. To Hecklemecs, I looked fine. They didn’t think I looked frightening like people do. They thought they were doing the deer and me a favor.”

  “I had no idea such a thing was possible, but then in my studies with Wizard Memlatec, I learned most things are possible.”

  “So it seems.”

  Astorax was looking at the ground and kicking leaves.

  He must be revisiting the whole experience again in his mind, Hendrel thought.

  “And you’ve been doomed to walk the mountain forests all alone ever since?”

  “Yes, my family was gone. Everyone else except the Hecklemecs ran from me. The rumors grew, and people’s fears with the rumors.”

  “Well, you have a friend now. Tomorrow, we’ll take to the trail again, and hurry to the Wizards Hall to find my friend, Saxthor Calimon. He needs a lot of looking after, too.”

  Astorax smiled, and Hendrel saw the pain fading from his face.

  In the morning light, the two woke to find another clear day for traveling the forests of Graushdem. They set out for the Wizards’ Hall and a few days later arrived at the hills overlooking the ruins and a flurry of activity. They came across the camp where Saxthor and his band had stayed. Searching the campsite, Hendrel found a few hairs on a branch he could use in a new trick Memlatec had recently taught him. Hendrel rolled the hairs between his hands until they were warm and formed a rough cord. After speaking an incantation over the warmed hairs, Hendrel had a vision of their owner; he saw Tonelia.

  “Saxthor has been here already and seems to has gone on further north to Hador. We’ll camp here tonight and observe what now holds the Wizards’ Hall ruins. In the morning, we’ll travel on and try to catch up with Saxthor on the trail, if you want to go with me.”

  “I’ve nowhere else to go,” Astorax said. “Hador it is, then.”

  * * *

  Memlatec returned to Konnotan just in time. No sooner had he entered his tower than Aleman, in his wine-stained apron, rushed up to take the wizard’s cloak. Still wheezing, he couldn’t wait to share the news.

  “What’s got you in such a huff you can’t wait to tell me?” Memlatec asked upon seeing his housekeeper’s agitation.

  “The queen’s gravely ill, and the prince consort’s at a loss as to what to do for her.”

  “She was getting better when I left for Hoya. This better not be one of your overblown tales again. I’ll cut your ale rations.” Memlatec snatched back his cloak and dashed to Konnotan and an audience with the queen.

  “Her Majesty is suffering from a weakening spell cast by Earwig, to be sure,” Memlatec told Prince Consort Augusteros outside her bedroom. “How Earwig got the necessary hair and nail clippings, I can’t imagine, but there’s a spell on her, and it took those personal items for it to take effect.”

  “Can you reverse it or neutralize it?” Augusteros asked.

  “Well, ole Memlatec knows a bit more magic than that vile witch.”

  He returned to his tower and found some of the witch’s hair he’d collected here and there, as it fell out. He’d kept it in his wall cabinet of ingredients for years for just such an emergency.

  “I’ll need nail clippings,” Memlatec said to the owl, who’d settled in the workroom for the day. He tugged on his beard in deep concentration, then searched his endless cubbyholes for her nail clippings without success. “She always clips her nails and throws the clippings into the fire to be sure no one casts a spell on her.”

  Memlatec turned to the dozing owl. “There’s an ancient spell that deflects a hex, casting it back on the sender. Because it’s so dangerous to the spell caster, it’s seldom put in the books of spells and charms.” The wizard danced around. “I happen to remember where to find it.”

  The sorcerer went back behind the ingredients cabinets, a storage chamber. There he searched through dusty shelves, muttering to himself as he perused titles not looked at for years.

  “When I was younger and studied the History of Wizardry at the Wizards’ Hall, there was a lesson on a Wizard Hornvole who published a book on sorcery. Hornvole succumbed to his vanity and wanted to gain fame and glory among wizards for his rare and special spells. In his book, he included the ingredients and
incantations necessary to reflect a spell.

  “I can still remember when scribes were copying out the books; the High Wizard found out. He ordered the copies destroyed and no more made. The Council of Wizards expelled Wizard Hornvole from the conclave and forced him to leave for parts unknown. Instead of fame and glory, the poor wretch only achieved infamy. In the end, his name was forgotten with his act of foolishness.”

  Memlatec coughed amid the dust stirred up in his search. He pulled out a few more titles, thrusting them back in frustration, and finally tossed one on the floor with a bang. The old man stepped back and reflected.

  “I’m quite sure I remember the book and that, before destroying my copy, I wrote the spells and ingredients list for that reflection spell on the back page of one of my wizards’ textbooks.” Memlatec again searched through seemingly endless old volumes. “Somewhere in the back of this collection, that book’s still here, unless ...”

  Memlatec rushed out of the storage chamber, dust billowing out into the workroom. The wizard’s scrambling about was too much for the owl, who flew out and over the balcony, seeking solitude in the forest. Memlatec had no time to call his confidant back but pulled open the workroom’s heavy oak door and stepped out on the landing.

  “Aleman! Aleman, you old fool! Have you been up to here in my absence?” The question rang down the stairs and through the main body of Memlatec’s tower complex. Both understood: Memlatec reigned in the tower, and Aleman ran the rest of the house.

  Boots shuffling on the stone floors, the old housekeeper came to the stairs and looked high up at the landing. He wiped his hands on his apron and slapped them on his hips.

  “I’ve not been up to that dustbin since you last summoned me there when you lost one of your marbles!” Aleman’s stare was defiant, if not challenging.

  “That was a precious, gem-quality crystal and not a marble, you old ninny! If you weren’t blind and feeble, you’d have known the difference. You sure you haven’t been stumbling around up here with that obliterating feather duster you pretend is a wand?”