Land of Madness

by B T Litell

  Michael removed a small brush from his left saddlebag and brushed his horse while Joshua finished getting ready. The horse whinnied and stamped its hoofs as it got brushed and leaned into the gentle caress of the fine-haired brush. After the brushing, Michael replaced the brush and removed an apple from the right saddlebag, which the horse devoured promptly on only a few bites. With everything else ready, Michael mounted his horse, adjusted his scabbard to his back, where it was most comfortable while riding. Týr also mounted his horse, but his knives stayed where they had been, scattered across his person on leather straps. The knife he had recovered from Svenka still remained in the small of his back, the blade to his right, pointed up in its scabbard.

  Joshua remained on the ground, as he read the page from the spell book once more. He moved his finger across the words and his lips moved silently as he read, something he may have been unaware of. He flipped a few pages, read the new page, flipped back to the previous page, and stopped and looked up at the sky, a confounded look on his face.

  “What’s wrong, Joshua?” Michael asked.

  “I don’t know which spell to use. There are two viewing orb spells that I can use, and both mask our location. There seems to be very little difference between the two spells. But there surely has to be something different between them,” Joshua replied.

  Joshua pondered on this a few minutes longer and gazed at both pages independently, and together. Finally, he decided which spell to case and after a quick chant, a small white orb appeared, similar to the one used in the inn’s basement. Unlike the orb they had used in the basement, no sound came from this orb, and the view was clearer. This seemed odd given Joshua’s earlier promise of a view that might have been less clear.

  Through the orb, a great city, surrounded by a channel of murky water, spread out north of twin lakes, separated by a small strip of land. One of the lakes was higher than the other, roughly five meters of land difference between the two lakes. The land that separated the lakes appeared to be a human-made dam, though that would be hard to verify without a visit. The lower lake, fed by water from the higher lake, which then fed the moat through a channel that also appeared artificial in its appearance.

  A large wall ran along the outer edge of the city, and unlike Prikea, the city did not expand beyond the wall, instead being self-contained within the wall. The stone structure, roughly ten meters high, with towers every hundred meters. The towers, each topped with a parapet, had crossbowmen and their crossbows leaned against the stone walls. Guards patrolled the top of the wall, from tower to tower and back. A pair of guards walked between each tower, as they patrolled in opposite directions. They carried lances with the points polished and a red pennant attached to the tops. On the red pennant was a golden griffon, rampant with its mouth opened, fangs showing. The wings of the griffon were spread behind it, folded in slightly. Above the griffon showed three, six-pointed stars, forming a wide triangle; the stars were also gold in color, with white around the edges.

  Inside the wall, the city was divided into sections. One section had a large open marketplace, much like the one Michael had seen in his dreams. The market bustled with thousands of people buying and selling goods. Wagons littered the markets, likely from vendors that lived outside the city and came into the city to sell their wares. One large road let to and from the market, laid out from northwest to southeast. A gate in the wall, set between two of the towers, led to a drawbridge that allowed people and wagons to cross the moat into the city. For a city that was supposed to be a shell of its former glory, Shemont appeared quite lively. Perhaps the city had recovered from the wars. Enough time had passed to allow for recovery.

  In the north section of the city stood the castle which rose high above the city and the separate wall that surrounded it. Pennants flew from towers throughout the castle, the same symbol as seen on the guards’ pikes earlier. The white stone of the castle shone brilliantly in the sunlight, reflecting the magnificent rays of golden light. The entire structure appeared like a beacon, guiding the lost to this city. Michael wondered how easily this city welcomed visitors.

  South of the castle and west of the market stood an arena; inside the area, a fight raged. Crowds had gathered in most of the seats, where they roiled as one of the fighters or the other did something. In one of the seats was the King and beside him sat the Queen, and both looked regal in their stately attire. The king wore an elegant robe, the golden griffon embroidered on the front, with high stockings and black suede slippers, a gold buckle adorning the tops of his feet. Atop his head, the king wore a golden crown made of a simple band decorated with crossed eagle’s wings on the front. The wings rose with their tips just touching above his auburn hair, the faintest hint of grey showed in the sunlight. The temples of his hair boasted more grey hairs than any of the rest of his hair. The wings of grey seemed to support the crown atop the King’s head.

  The Queen appeared to be with child, her belly swollen under her loose, bright yellow gown. Her hair, brown in color, was braided twice on the sides of her head before it formed one singular braid that she had pulled forward over her left shoulder. Her crown, a simple silver band, showed three gems on the front. Two emeralds and a sapphire set in the silver. The band of her crown rose to a point over her forehead, the gems set in the crest with the sapphire in the middle and the emeralds to the sides and down.

  A decorated officer stood behind the King and Queen, his eyes never resting on the same spot twice. His tabard was the same as the other guards, though his helmet bore a golden crest that stood several hands over the top of his helmet. The officer was armed with a sword, which hung at his left hip; a knife was placed in his belt on his right hip, and a kite shield hung on his back. His face was rough from an unknown number of years of war and fighting. This officer had the look of a very seasoned military man. His back was straight as an iron rod, and his feet were spread slightly wider than shoulder-width apart. His hands were clasped in front of him, just below his belt buckle, which was gold in color.

  “Whoever that is, he looks as dangerous as Bruce,” Michael said, observing closely.

  “I agree. It makes sense to have the man closest to royalty to be so deadly. Likely there have been threats against the king and Queen with the conflicts that have plagued Drendil,” Týr responded.

  “Have we seen enough?” Joshua asked, sweat beading on his forehead.

  “I think we have seen everything we need,” Týr replied.

  The orb closed immediately, and Joshua started panting heavily, catching his breath. Casting the spell clearly was more work than the previous orb spell and he needed a few moments to collect himself before they moved on. Joshua climbed into his saddle, ready to leave. The travelers then goaded the horses and continued their journey toward Shemont…

  Chapter Twelve

  Vor’Kath tested his shoulder by moving his arm in circles of various size and speed to ensure the wound had healed enough. His shoulder would never be the same again, but he could at least get it close to where it had been. A dull pain stabbed as he rolled his arm back and forth. That was a lucky stab, he thought to himself, thinking back to when the knife had plunged into his arm. He had been able to go a great many years without a mortal wounding him, and this time he was wounded by a woman of all the combatants he had faced. To avoid being wounded by mortals, he chose to spend very little time in the mortals’ realm. And the time he did spend in their world made him feel sick. He resisted the urge to retch all over the floor. It would be a shame to make a mess on such a nice floor in a Mage’s tower that he had found.

  The tower was magnificent and quite secluded. The previous resident had been a Dark Mage from the Sorcerer’s College who had met his demise in the dungeon of that wretched school for children. Any mortal Mage was a child who yearned for knowledge that was far beyond what they should have even known about. The Assembly of Mages, as they had called themselves, had sought out knowledge and power of which they had little understanding. Despit
e that reality, they had made the effort to gain more knowledge in the world of Magic. They had even, somehow, learned of the existence of the Vor and had found a way to contact not one but two of his clansmen. Perhaps there were some mortals that held the potential to be a real Mage, he wondered. That Mage who had cast an Observing Orb had much potential, even withstanding an attack from a Vor’s sword. That was impressive in several ways.

  The tower stood nearly thirty meters high, the tallest structure in the area that surrounded it. Mountains a few kilometers to the east were taller, but they were also far away. The tower had a room at the top with various plants growing throughout the room. Despite the owner having been killed over three hundred years before, the tower had maintained a cleanliness that would be expected of most Mages. This was likely thanks to the undead servants the Mage had throughout the tower.

  Vor’Kath had used his own spells to take over the tower’s undead servants. The poor minions had tried to attack him the first time he had come to the tower drawn by the spells he could sense within its walls. After he slew a small handful of the servants and claimed the remaining as his own, they had ceased their resistance. The remaining servants obeyed dutifully as they were ordered to. Funny how these indentured servants worked for him without question. Now if only he could get the goblins to do the same thing. He was giving them some freedoms though. Goblins were expendable assets. Undead though? They were harder to come by in the mortal’s world. Their stupid bans on the full strength of magic would prohibit them from experiencing such utilities as these.

  The plants that grew throughout the tower’s laboratory each served a purpose. Some, bright colored and flowering, attracted insects which would become food for other insects attracted by other plants. The insects themselves, Vor’Kath believed they were bees, produced their own food, and would sting if they felt threatened. Such interesting creatures they were. These bees were much smaller than the ones he was used to in his own world. Some of the plants were poisonous and could be combined with others to make powerful, deadly potions and poisons. Some cured disease, some healed wounds, others were good sources of food. One plant, a dull green in color could be made into a salve that would reduce the aches left over after an injury. This he found odd since the plant’s leaves boasted ridges of spikes that hurt to the touch. The juice inside their leaves was what made the salve useful though. After mixing the green plant with a few others into a paste, Vor’Kath made the salve and rubbed that on his shoulder. The salve cooled and tingled as it was applied. The soothing effects continued even after the salve dried into his skin.

  Finished with the salve, Vor’Kath stepped out onto the balcony that adjoined the laboratory at the top of the tower and quickly surveyed the mortal’s realm from his vantage point. He could see a scarce cluster of hills in the distance that turned into the foothills of the Ash Mountains that stretched north and south between Erith Bay and the Goblin Coast. On the other side of the mountains, not that he could see it, stretched a vast, dense forest where the hordes of his goblin servants lived when they weren’t busy doing his bidding. Snow covered the peaks of the distant mountains and clouds rolled over the tops of the mountains. The clouds brought with them a promise of poor weather. How delightful, Vor’Kath thought to himself. Far to the west the sun was beginning its descent beyond the horizon, throwing streaks of vibrant colors into the sky. Reds mixed with purples and yellows and reflected from the clouds over the mountains. Such a disgusting view.

  Where are those humans? Vor’Kath wondered as he cast a spell which created an orb. The orb showed a view from high above the ground, where he could see a vast plain sprawled out west of Shemont, one of the two cities the goblins had been sent to scout. Whether or not the goblins had actually been doing any scouting work was hard for him to know for sure. Somehow, they had gotten distracted and attacked Erith. That was the only reason he had joined their fight. He knew the Mage there was casting spells but didn’t want to get involved with such matters. It was too early for him to have been known to that as they meddled with his plans. One of the goblins had changed course and the rest had followed. Vor’Kath was more surprised that the goblins could sense any Magic at all. What a fool I was, trusting goblins to do my work. Now he would have to find more servants to do his bidding. So many of the goblins had died during that needless battle. But again, they were expendable. He would rather lose a couple thousand goblins to have only killed one human he had needed to than to lose a single werewolf, Minotaur, hippogryph, or manticore. Those beasts were hard to come by, even in his own land. Werewolves were plentiful here in Drendil, though. They were almost as expendable as goblins. Almost.

  He went back to watching the orb, bringing the view closer to the ground. At the edge of the plains, east of Erith was a small forest, though much thinner than the Goblin Woods, and at the edge of the woods he could see a fire. Someone had set up camp. He took the view closer. There were horses. Three of them. One brown, one grey, one black. As the view came closer to the camp, he wanted to see the faces of these campers, a white dome appeared, and he suddenly lost his view of the camp. This has to be them. The Mage is quickly learning spells. What a disappointment that his knowledge was going beyond what a child would know in the Vor’s homeland.

  Vor’Kath stared into the orb a few moments longer, hoping the Mage would drop his protective dome spell as he fell asleep. Since it hadn’t, it clearly showed he had learned to anchor his spells, that way he didn’t have to hold them in place. Perhaps this isn’t a child Mage I will be dealing with, Vor’Kath pondered while he continued to watch the camp until the sun finished setting and the sky grew dark…

  Chapter Thirteen

  Early morning hints of sunlight gently sifted through the copse of trees as it began its ascent over the horizon far to the east. A gentle breeze rustled the tops of the trees and a few leaves floated away from their branches. Birds sang their songs as the light of morning spread through the trees. Some of the songs were cheerful, as they lilted through the air. Others were gloomy, cawing songs that echoed through the trees. One bird, its feathers the colors of a fire, perched itself in the tree above a camp, a dead fire in the middle of a clearing surrounded by three men and their horses. The bird, it’s magnificent coloring that appeared to rival the colors of the sunrise, watched the men as they slept, its head tilting from one side to the other.

  To the north of the camp stood the human’s city of Shemont. The tree branches covered much of the view of the city. Despite this, the white and light-grey stone could still be seen through the trees, though the city’s exact shape was blurred through the branches. A nearby road ran north to Shemont and south toward a range of mountains. This road showed signs of heavy traveled, despite the lack of anyone walking or riding down the road this early in the morning. A thick, dark forest stretched for leagues beyond the mountains to the south; it was an old forest with many secrets. It was a forest that men feared.

  As one of the men in the camp stirred, the fiery colored bird perked up and flew away, its wings beating rapidly as it turned south toward the mountains. The man who stirred rubbed the sleep from his eyes then watched the bird grow smaller as it flew away. Týr was the first of the travelers to rise this morning, and he stretched as he stood up. A series of popping sounds came from his back as he leaned backwards to stretch. The popping was a welcome, desired sensation. Sleeping on the ground, even with some type of bedroll, had always been unbelievably rough on his back. One thing he missed about the thief’s camp he had lived in most of his life was the cot in his tent. It wasn’t much of a bed, but it was more comfortable than the ground. Soon they would be in a city again and that meant, he hoped, a comfortable bed. The less he slept on the ground as he grew older, the better. The inn he and Svenka had stayed in their only night in Erith had had comfortable beds, though Týr knew there had to be nicer beds elsewhere.

  Týr checked to ensure his knives were clear in their scabbards and walked into the trees. They would need some
food for breakfast, and something was bound to live among the trees. Something other than songbirds, he hoped. He checked for signs of life and found relatively fresh tracks left by a rabbit. They were about an hour old, but at least there was something they could eat. He followed the tracks briefly before he removed one of his throwing knives from his belt. It was a sharp, lightweight knife with a perfectly balanced weight. The blacksmith the thieves had stolen from, as unfortunate as that was, had been an exceptionally skilled smith. Perhaps one of these days he would have to venture out to the villages near Erith and pay the man what he was owed. It would be a hefty amount that would physically hurt to pay, but reparations had to be made to such an artisan. The blade of the throwing knife was sharpened on both sides, and the handle had no wood or leather wrappings. There was no need for a wrapped handle when you were throwing a knife.

  The rabbit had circled around a tree and had crossed its tracks a few times, making the task of tracking the sporadic, furry creature that much harder. It wasn’t an impossible task, but it was certainly difficult, and the rabbit was making him work for his food this morning. Týr examined the plethora of tracks left behind and followed the freshest set, perhaps ten minutes old. The rabbit had to be close. It would make a good breakfast, if he could get it.

  Týr crouched and followed the tracks, while his eyes managed the task of watching both the tracks and the surrounding area. He twirled the knife in his hands and readied it for flight. The tracks rounded a large oak tree, one of the largest he could see around him. The rabbit has to be on the other side of the tree, he thought to himself. Carefully. He crept around the tree and watched the ground to ensure he didn’t step on any sticks or loose stones that might make sounds and alert his prey. He hadn’t even put on his shoes before setting off. The ground was cool under his bare feet. Dirt slipped between his toes as he moved his feet. He planted a heel, rolled the outside of his foot down onto the ground carefully. Then the ball of his foot. Movement was slow and precise.