The New Age Saga Box Set

by Timothy A. Ray

  They had a war to win.

  II

  Sitting in the chair in his study, John perused the morning reports and heard a sharp knock on the door to his rear. “Come!” he hollered, reading on about what the scouts had discovered beyond the northern forest.

  Goblin corpses littered the northern plains, having been punished for their hasty retreat days before by their handlers. They’d been whipped, beaten, and finally trampled upon, no doubt a warning to the survivors of what would happen should they flee again. It staggered him that the Phoenix was so callous with her forces. It made him weary of how many she truly had to command if she was able to throw such a large force away at a whim.

  Serix coughed and after a moment, he jerked his head to glance at the new arrival. “Please,” he motioned to the chair, happy that the mage seemed rested enough after the previous week’s ordeals. He had ordered Windel to ask the man to come see him if he was up to it and glancing over his shoulder, he saw his aide standing silently behind his chair.

  “For God’s sakes man, grab a chair and join us,” he told the elf. “The three of us stood together against an evil abomination from hell! I owe both of you thanks not only for my life, but for those of my people. So, when the three of us are alone, drop the pretenses. That’s an order.”

  “Yes, Sire,” Windel answered softly as he moved to get a chair.

  “I said drop that shit,” he growled and heard Serix chuckle in response.

  The elf was undeterred. “Yes Sire, sorry Sire.”

  “Are you trying to piss me off?” he asked, turning to the aide and making the elf wince. Then he broke into a smile and felt a genuine laugh rise to the surface. “Get your ass over here, and if you say yes Sire one more time, I’ll have you cleaning latrines the rest of the day.”

  He could tell the elf struggled against his impulses as he gulped, simply nodded, and moved a chair between him and the mage before the slow burning fire.

  He stretched his broad-shoulders, his long brown hair feeling dirty from a long day of work. He was in simple blue shirt and jeans, feeling that this may be the last time he would get a chance to really relax in the long months ahead. It was going to be a long hard road, and he knew laughter would be a thing remembered fondly and wished for again.

  Windel was dressed in a dark green tunic, black pants, and wore a purple sash as a sign of his station. His short elven ears were perked up, attentive to every sound in case immediate action needed to be taken. His eyebrows were slanted upward, his brown eyes mirroring a shade closer to John’s own, and his fingers thrummed the armrest of the chair in anticipation of what came next.

  The necromancer sitting on his right had recently had a haircut, his short black and gray hair barely nubs on his dome, a moustache and goatee starting to form on the man’s face. He retained his black robes, even though the fall was still warm and the evenings sweltering. His light blue eyes found his and a slight shiver slithered down his spine.

  Glad he’s on our side.

  “The clerics have asked me to inquire about what happened the other day in the throne room,” he informed the mage, who had turned his gaze upon the fire burning softly before them. “Surely your studies didn’t include ancient exorcism rites?”

  The mage smirked. “Actually, the witch that I apprenticed under was quite insistent I read that particular book. I think she found it hilarious at the time and didn’t think I’d pursue it with as much vigor as I did the rest of my training. I admit, I didn’t see a point to it, but I wanted to see her face when I could recite it word for word when asked. I wasn’t disappointed.”

  “Well, I’m glad you did. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t stepped in and put a stop her attack. Is she truly a demon? Was that exorcism confirmation of a higher power?” he asked. He had seen the work of the clerics as they went about their healing practices, calling upon God as they did so, but he’d also seen how magic works and found it hard to miss the similarities in its usage. Yet, what he had seen the other day—

  Serix paused briefly to reflect before answering. “We live on the Mortal Plane. Time is linear, meaning that it’s always moving in one direction, and our mortal lives are limited by these constraints. But there are many more planes, all stacked upon one another, unseen to the average observer, yet existing simultaneously none-the-less. The Spiritual Plane is the closest to ours, and sometimes reflections of both intrude upon one another. That accounts for ghost stories, hauntings, and poltergeist. The wall is thinner and sometimes one can influence the other.”

  “The God that you are referring to lies on a distant plane, and while we may be influenced by it, we have no effect on it whatsoever. There isn’t just one God, there are many, and though they hear our prayers, they rarely take interest in anything we do. Sure, they interfere from time to time, either working against one of their adversaries, or just to see how we’d react. But mostly, they keep to themselves and events in their own plane of existence,” Serix told him, grabbing a pitcher of water and pouring himself a glass.

  “Some go by many names, others have only ever been known by one. But none of that has anything to do with what you saw the other day. The words were magic, strengthened by belief, and done in a ritualistic fashion to enhance the effect caused by the spell’s climax. It was no different than any other spell I’ve cast in the past; just the wording is different, more formal. There were others that might have done the job, but with the strength that witch possesses, I didn’t want to take the chance in a lesser spell failing to finish her off,” the mage smirked.

  He turned to Windel. “I think we can do better than a pitcher of water, don’t you?”

  The elf’s eyes widened. “Sire, it’s only—”

  He slugged the elf with a closed fist. “I warned you,” he said firmly as his companion rubbed his shoulder. He got to his feet and went around the chair to a cabinet on the far wall. Opening one of the doors, he reached in and retrieved a bottle of his father’s favorite wine. He had been saving it for sentimental reasons, but with what was on the horizon, he knew he might not get this chance again.

  “What are your plans now that the battle is over? Will you return to Merlin or continue on with us?” he asked the mage as he poured the man a drink. He purposely poured a larger one for the former Guardian and glared at the elf until the aide drank it all. Then he refilled it again.

  “I had no instructions other than to assist you, so as that may be interpreted in many ways. I had planned on going with you to Forlorn. I have a feeling my friends will be meeting up with us there and then we’ll see where this all goes,” the mage told him. The words chosen were deliberate and the double meaning behind them wasn’t lost on him.

  He nodded in understanding. “Lancaster has never had a magister and I was hoping that I could make you its first. I always distrusted magic. In a lot of ways, I still do, but I can’t afford that way of thinking anymore. I need to accept that it’s part of our lives and instead of sticking my head in the sand, learn to adapt and overcome. I’m hoping you’ll advise me on how best to do that in the days ahead. And if Merlin decides you are needed elsewhere, you’ll be free to go with; but your post will be waiting for you upon your return.”

  Serix appeared to think it over for a minute, then inclined his head with consent. He felt his bated breath escape; relief flowing forth and relaxing the tension in his heart. Both the battle with War and the confrontation with the Phoenix had left him feeling vulnerable; an alien sensation he wanted to instantly purge. The mage’s acceptance eased that somewhat and he took a large gulp to help soothe his fluttering heart.

  “Is there any doubt that the Phoenix will attack Forlorn? Am I making a foolish move marching our army north and leaving Lancaster largely unprotected? What if it’s a ruse to draw us out?” he ventured; the slim doubt giving him pause in what he knew in his heart had to be right.

  Serix shook his head. “She’s clever, but she’s also overconfident and full of herself.
She wants us to go to Forlorn and she will strike there when we do. She’s sure that her forces will overwhelm us and hopes that with one battle, she’ll wipe us all out and achieve victory.”

  “Can she do it?” Windel asked, his second glass half-empty. The elf seemed more relaxed and he was tempted to refill the aide’s glass just to see what would happen. Jenna claimed that elves had a higher tolerance for wine, that their metabolism burned it faster than it took to really take hold, but he rarely got a chance to experiment with anyone but her. He smirked at the thought of a drunken elf and had to bite off the chuckle forming within his throat.

  “Oh, there’s no doubt about that. It’ll take nothing short of a miracle to survive her attack. But personally, I’ve learned to believe in such things. I’ve seen too much not to,” the mage answered with a smile. “Merlin will succeed, the sword will be given to the King of the Elves. With him at our side, we will defeat her armies and send them back to the Deadlands where they belong.”

  “I wish I had your confidence,” he responded after a long moment of silence; finishing off his glass and setting it down on the table between them. “My bannermen have been called, but we don’t have time to wait. They will have to catch up. Orders have been given, we march for Forlorn tomorrow morning.”

  III

  Tristan emerged from the cave and had to squint against the afternoon light. He had the book in one hand, helm in the other, and his eyes were fixed on the group camped on the edge of the clearing before him. Stretching his back, he had a momentary flash of dizziness as the ground appeared further away than he was used to; he was much taller now.

  He didn’t see Kylee amongst the others, she must have gone hunting with Tuskar. Willow was sitting next to a fire with Merlin and Melissa. Her long blond hair was covering most of her face as she kept her forehead down, eyes on the fire. She was wearing her brown leather armor, a dark green sash was tied around her waist, and he paused to marvel at her beauty; feeling the love for her grow the longer he stared.

  Merlin was wearing his dark brown robes, his cowl pulled back to reveal an angular strong face, the goatee and moustache starting to gray. His pale green eyes were fixed on the more robust woman across from him. Melissa’s long black hair was straight, rarely curled, chin slightly round, her own darker green eyes returning the mage’s intense stare. She was wearing a black tunic and pants, her well-endowed chest stretching the fabric to its breaking point.

  Reyna sat to the far left, apart from the others, armor in hand. She had short dark-red hair, a pale face, and her jaw was as pronounced as her cheek bones. Her auburn eyes followed the movements of her fingers as she slowly polished her black armor, getting the grime of the day off the best she could. She was well-built, thick and broad-shouldered, not a piece of fat on her muscular body.

  Movement caught his eye as a large figure hovered to the right of the fire. Kore was the tallest member of their group and the dark-green skinned orc was acting like he was tending to the horses, but Tristan knew his friend was only trying to avoid the argument taking place behind him. His large greataxe was propped against a tree, his grimy platemail badly in need of a good cleaning and Reyna’s dirty stares only reinforced that issue.

  Blue eyes flashed his way and he greeted his fiancé’s wide-eyed look with a smile. He was quite sure it was only the armor that gave her any sign as to who was watching them. After all, he had drastically changed since they last parted, and he doubted that even he would recognize the man standing before them. She slowly rose to her feet and the conversation suddenly stopped.

  Merlin’s head turned and Reyna’s arm ceased moving as her jaw dropped open. Was it really that drastic of a change? He had to see himself in a mirror as soon as possible. Why he hadn’t thought to do so while by the lake—he had no idea. But judging by their reactions—

  Willow was up and sprinting in his direction. He gently put the book and helm on the ground by his right foot as she approached almost faster than his eyes could track. He thrust his arms out and embraced her tightly as she plowed into him. Despite how hard she hit, he didn’t even budge; which surprised her as much as it did him. He put his chin on the top of her forehead and held her with strength he had never known before. It was really messing him up. They didn’t fit together like they always had, and he had sudden worry over what the changes meant for their relationship.

  She pushed herself back and looked upon his alien features, eyes taking in every nuance. Her eyes narrowed as she studied him; her brow coming together as she tried to work it out. Then, her hand rose and slowly slid down his cheek along his newly bearded chin. Her thumb slid across his mustache and slowly played with his thicker lips. Her other hand came up and stroked his more pronounced brow, both hands rising, until she forcibly tilted his face down and made him look her in the eyes. “There you are,” she finally whispered, pulling him towards her. Her lips found his and he opened his mouth slightly in response. Subtle at first, tentative, then the passion began to surge, and their tongues found each other once more.

  He had to break off before losing himself in their sudden exploration of his new body. He glanced at her soft lips, her curious eyes, and felt comforted that at least the sensation of their touch had not changed; that had been exactly as he remembered.

  “I’m sorry,” he managed, eyes diverting away as guilt suddenly surfaced within his heart. She smiled up at him and he shrugged his shoulders, not sure of what else to say.

  “Don’t be, I kind of like it,” she grinned, giving his beard a tug and his heart suddenly started beating once more. “Just going to take some getting used to.”

  “Considering that I’m planning on spending the rest of my life with you, I hope you’ll do more than like it. There’s no going back,” he told her, still avoiding her eyes.

  She reached up and pulled his chin until he faced her. “You are the love of my life, my soulmate. You may look different, but you are still the man I love, the father of my child, and my husband-to-be. That hasn’t changed.”

  He sighed with relief, allowing his resistance to melt away. Then movement caught his eye and he realized they had a guest to their reunion.

  Merlin hovered directly behind Willow and as his eyes fell upon the mage, he suddenly felt the happiness she had engendered quickly replaced with sorrow. “I think we need to sit and talk about what’s happened,” the mage stated, eyeing him suspiciously.

  He had to smirk. He felt a tug on his mind, but his new blocks kept the intruder out. It was good to know that the privacy he had long coveted was now his once more. Yes, we do, he responded as they began moving towards the others.

  “Hey, look at this sexy beast,” Melissa cooed as they approached, not rising from her spot next to the fire.

  He could hear a quick intake of breath from Willow and he smiled down at his fiancé. “You don’t need to worry. Her charms don’t have any effect on me anymore. I am yours for as long as you want me.” A curse fluttered his way and he forced a smile when he gazed upon the perplexed witch. There was another tug on his mind and he reinforced his walls with refreshed thoughts of Willow.

  “It was that damn heart test, wasn’t it?” Melissa swore, kicking dirt into the fire in a fit.

  “There will be time for that in a second,” Merlin interrupted before he could answer. “Reyna, I think you might want to sit closer to hear this, by the looks of things, he has quite the tale to tell.”

  IV

  “Are you angry about what she did to you?” Merlin asked as Tristan finished relaying what had transpired since entering the cave. Kylee had returned and had taken a seat on his right, her albino eyes constantly running over his body as if not believing what she was seeing.

  He could sympathize. “At first I was. I am as was intended, what right did she have to change that? But I understand why she did and I’m grateful,” he answered, looking to his fiancé. He had been worried, but now that her hand was within his and she didn’t look at him as if he were a complet
e stranger; he had made peace with it.

  Merlin nodded. “Then so be it. We have more than what we’ve come for and a long journey ahead of us if we’re to reach Forlorn in time.”

  Though the mage spoke with confidence, he seemed distracted, and he remembered the last words he had been told to pass on. “I’m sorry about her passing, I tried to argue against—”

  Merlin held up his hand and cut him off. Diverting his eyes, the mage grimaced, and looked like he was actually fighting back a tear. “It wasn’t truly me that loved her, but my future self. Though I have strong memories of what was, they are more of an echo of pain than anything else. She did what she thought was best and we have a real chance now because of it.”

  The older man coughed, then looked to them all in turn. “If the Phoenix doesn’t already know that the sword has returned, she will soon enough. We must move quickly if we are to see it safely into Erik’s hands. She won’t believe that I’d let it out of my sight, so tomorrow morning myself and few others will set out heading north, while you and Willow head northeast to Forlorn. Maybe if I can draw her eyes, she won’t notice you until it’s too late to do something about it.”

  “I think I can help with that,” an old gruff voice spoke up and he turned to see a familiar face emerge from the darkening forest on their right. “Sorry for my absence, that blasted red led me on quite the chase.”

  “Did you catch him?” Kylee blurted out, her eyes intense. The red dragon had been carrying the traitor Clint, the man responsible for butchering her family, and she’d given up her shot at vengeance to retrieve the sword they’d needed to finish their quest. It was a hard sacrifice; one he had vowed to see repaid.

  He looked down upon his palm and saw that the scar had remained after his transformation. Maybe Nimue had foreseen his determination and left a reminder of the oath he had made. Not that he really needed one, his sister-in-law would see to it that he would never forget, lest he come to bodily harm in the process.