The Wizard of the North

by Richard Stephens

  At a word from Helleden, the Sentinel vanished.

  The hounds began biting one another until their handlers intervened and pulled them apart, more than one of the trainers were savagely bitten for their efforts. In short order, the chaos was restored to a surreal sense of order.

  Karvus’ chest rose with heavy breaths. He glared death at the sorcerer and his own men alike.

  Helleden motioned with open palms toward Krakus’ pavilion. The Kraken’s son appeared on the verge of attacking him, but no matter. If he did, Helleden would deal with him, too.

  Glancing at the gore that used to be his father, Karvus snarled, “Clean up this bloody mess!” and stormed into the tent.

  Sadie

  Sadyra returned to camp with a brace of small rabbits hung over her shoulder, four days out of The Forke.

  Alhena looked up at her approach as he tended a small fire. He had the flames going nicely in the early light of the new day.

  Underneath a blackened tree, Olmar’s snores were loud enough to wake the dead.

  “Where did you manage to find those?” Alhena asked, withdrawing a small dagger from the folds in his robes.

  Sadyra plunked herself down beside him and handed him half her catch. Wiping dainty fingers on her slate grey breeches, she extracted a curved knife from her leather belt and began to skin the rabbit over the fire. “Just over the hill. You’d be surprised how many are scrounging about.”

  Olmar let out a louder snort than usual, his breath stopping for a moment before his regular cadence of sleeping grunts resumed.

  Sadyra smiled at the lump beneath the tree. “I should probably find something for you and me to eat, too.”

  Alhena chuckled. As hard as their journey was, with everything they had endured, the archer’s company had proven a godsend. Despite her gruff manner, she was polite and sincere, but what he admired most about the young woman was the fact that she spoke her mind, and never in riddles or half-truths. Everyone knew what she was thinking when she thought it. Best of all, Alhena thought, she is not bitter or resentful. She takes everything in stride.

  Sadyra’s voice jolted him out of his reverie, “Hey Gramps, you having a stroke?”

  “Huh?”

  She nodded toward the charred tree on the far side of the firepit. “I said, it looks like Midge has found his way back to us.”

  Olmar rolled over and grunted, lifting his colossal girth from the ground, and looked at them. “An jus’ what ye two be up to? Yer lookin’ conspiratorial like.”

  “We’re jousting,” Sadyra said with a straight face.

  Olmar scratched at his armpit, frowning.

  “What’s it look like we’re doing, you big oaf? We’re making breakfast. If you’re quick about it, you might be able to catch something yourself and be in time to cook it before the fire dies.”

  A despondent look settled on Olmar’s face.

  Alhena lowered his head, trying not to smile.

  “Oh, get over here.” Sadyra let him off the hook. “But you only get one. Gramps, here, needs to put some meat on his bag o’ bones.”

  Walking across blackened farmland, the unlikely trio espied the high hills southeast of their position, marking Lake Refrain, still another day and a half away.

  Passing outlying farmsteads, their optimism that Millsford might have survived the widespread devastation quickly waned. The absence of human life around all the burnt-out farmhouses and collapsed barns did little to sway their mounting despair.

  By midday, the desecrated wooden palisade that protected Millsford on its two landlocked sides came into view. From their vantage point on the far side of the Madrigail River, the burnt and shattered sections of the wall had done little to shield the citizens within.

  Millsford Road crossed the Madrigail on the back of an arching stone bridge, but the dilapidated state of the bridge gave them pause. Half of the stone structure lay scattered beneath the river’s surface, the tumbled stonework creating rapids in the river.

  “Enough t’ floor ye,” Olmar said, shaking his head. “I be thinkin’ we’d best wade across.”

  “Aye, good idea. You could use a bath,” Sadyra said. Before Olmar could reply, she vaulted up the side of the ruined bridge and skipped across the blasted remains, effortlessly hopping gaping holes. Reaching the far side, she called out, “You two coming?”

  Alhena and Olmar looked at each other helplessly. There was no way either one of them could follow her path.

  Alhena sized up the rapids created by the fallen bridge rock. He hated getting his robes wet—they took forever to dry. Sadyra’s shining face, watching them from across the expanse, ruled out the thought of disrobing.

  Beside him, Olmar sat on the riverbank, removing his huge boots. The sailor then shrugged from beneath his vest, unlaced his sweat-stained shirt and pulled it over his head. Rolls of fat bounced and hung over his tightly cinched belt. When he unclasped the buckle, Alhena feared the earth would move beneath their feet.

  A piercing whistle sounded from across the river. Sadyra stood with her hip stuck out, two fingers in her mouth and a mischievous look on her face—clearly enjoying the spectacle.

  There was no way in hell Alhena was about to disrobe now.

  Naked, Olmar spread out his vest and wrapped his belongings in it, except for his cap and warhammer. Turning to Alhena, no humility evident in his beaming jowls, he said, “Here Pops, take this.”

  Alhena wasn’t given time to respond. Olmar thrust the burden into his arms.

  “Now, get on.” The great mass of human flesh bent his head and shoulders to the ground.

  Flabbergasted, Alhena backed away a step. “What the…? You want me to climb on your head?”

  “Me ‘ead? No, Pops. Git yerself on me shoulders and be quick about it. Don’t want lassie over there ‘avin’ a conniption.”

  Sadyra sat on the far bank, pointing at them and laughing like she was being tortured with a goose feather.

  “But, but…it’s okay, I will swim. Don’t worry about me. I have crossed bigger water than this, let me assure you,” Alhena said, thinking back to his plunge into Lake Madrigail with Rook Bowman.

  “Bah!” Olmar grunted, straining to hold his pose. “Ain’t you I’s worryin’ about. I’m hopin’ yer t’ keep me stuff dry, is all.”

  Swallowing the little pride left to him, Alhena hiked up his robes, exposing his bone white legs. Sadyra’s wolf whistle gave him pause. Straddling a naked man’s neck was the last thing he thought he’d find himself doing, but as Olmar waded into the current, he appreciated the fact that, other than the lower hems of his robes breaking the water’s surface as the river’s depth reached Olmar’s triple chin, the majority of his clothes remained dry. Had it not been for Sadyra rolling upon the far bank in tears, he might have enjoyed swaying above the water’s surface on the shoulders of a naked giant.

  Olmar only stumbled twice. On the second occasion, Alhena thought he would be thrown into the cold river, but the sailor steadied himself and laughed heartedly, caught up in Sadyra’s hysterics as she watched their progress.

  Once upon the far bank, Alhena retreated, red-faced, to a safe distance down the road to allow Olmar some dignity.

  Sadyra, however, gave the unabashed sailor a thorough once over, before she dragged herself to her feet and said through another round of laughter, “I’m glad I took the bridge. Judging from what I see, that water must be cold!”

  Olmar took his time drying himself and getting back into his clothing, his white skin riddled with goosebumps. “Och, lassie, ye be a real peach. ‘Tis a good thing yer mam ain’t here seein’ ya behave this way.”

  As they approached the blasted gatehouse, Sadyra’s unbridled merriment was replaced by the somber realization that Millsford, like The Forke and Madrigail Bay before it, had been annihilated. Only a handful of the stone structures stood beyond the toppled city walls. Farther along what had once been the main road, a pile of rocks surrounded the largest stone structure in the
city—the baron’s manor. The edifice, originally three stories high, had fallen in upon itself. Not a soul stirred within the ruined city.

  “Where is everybody?” Sadyra wondered aloud, turning in circles.

  Alhena swallowed, his heart breaking. The devastation went on forever. He shuddered to think about the state of the capital of Carillon and Castle Svelte. He could only pray that King Malcolm had somehow survived the maelstrom. If Zephyr’s monarch hadn’t…

  Tears rolled down Sadyra’s face.

  Alhena’s heart broke even further seeing how deeply the destruction affected her. He was about to go to her but Olmar scooped her off her feet like she was his little girl. He held her against his massive shoulder and patted her back. “There now, Sadie dear, it’s alright. Let it out. Olmar’s got ye.”

  Descent into Death

  Melody’s breathing became quicker as they progressed down the mountain. The air was warmer and easier to breathe—the terrain near Dragon’s Tooth’s base easier to traverse, but it wasn’t her lack of physical conditioning that increased her respiratory rate. It was the yawning abyss at the base of the mountain. If they wished to make it to the mainland, their path would first take them deep into the bowels of the earth. The only egress from the home of the Wizard of the North led into a deep, uninviting fissure. The Gap.

  The Gap encompassed the entire southern face of Dragon Tooth, stretching far to the east to its terminus somewhere within the Wilds.

  She shuddered. Even though she had lived in this region for two decades, several times taking this route, she had always done so in the accompaniment of Phazarus, and even then, the trek had given her nothing but angst. Unknown perils lurked within the gloomy shadows shrouding the Gap’s floor. The trail they needed to follow wandered every which way through precarious rock formations. Many trails crisscrossed the murky depths of the Gap, but only one path led out of its deadly environment. The rest were pathways used by the many predators inhabiting the abyss.

  She believed the route itself was second nature to her now, but even with that knowledge, remaining alive long enough to see the trailhead might not prove that simple. Dangers lurked everywhere within the chasm, from precarious terrain to carnivorous hunters, the Gap was a place better left alone.

  It had taken them the better part of three days to descend the steep slopes of Dragon’s Tooth. Not fully recovered from his ordeal at Soul Forge, Silurian was forced to rest often.

  Melody didn’t mind, especially once they passed below the snowline. She was in no hurry to descend into the chasm. It was too bad that none of the previous Wizards of the North had figured out how to conjure a spell of flight or teleportation.

  Silurian sat on a rock, nibbling a chunk of something hard that she told him was bread. He winced with every bite, choking the meagre fare down with a healthy drink from a waterskin she provided.

  “Come on, it’s not that bad, is it?”

  “Um, well, since you asked,” Silurian said, sticking a finger in his mouth to check he hadn’t chipped a tooth.

  She shot him a look he hadn’t seen in a long time—her, ‘oh my God, really?’ look, but she couldn’t help but laugh. It was so nice being reacquainted with her only sibling. Shaking her head, she repacked the small, leather bag she carried.

  Her misgivings about their route pushed her happiness aside. As much as she had learned over the years, she fretted she wasn’t strong enough to protect them from the dangers that awaited them.

  She pulled back her cowl and ran her fingers through her long blonde hair, the action eliciting long-ago memories. “Come on, oh brother of mine, and don’t even think for a minute that I’m going to cut my hair.”

  Silurian spat out the last of her so-called bread and laughed. “That is so funny. I was just thinking the same thing, watching you play with your hair.” He stood up and adjusted his gear. “Let me tuck it in. For old time’s sake.”

  She gave him an open-mouthed smile and wagged a finger at him. “Don’t you dare.”

  Reaching the base of Dragon’s Tooth early the next morning, the trail disappeared through an unnatural rock formation.

  Melody grabbed Silurian’s tunic by the elbow. “Wait. I have to disarm the wards.”

  Silurian remembered the trials the Group of Five had gone through when they had reached this point in their journey to see Phazarus. He smiled at the vision of Helvius’ long brown hair standing on end after he was knocked backward by the wards set in place.

  Melody placed her hands on what appeared to be random rocks. At each spot, she paused and incanted words unfamiliar to him. Her ministrations didn’t appear to do anything, but shortly she turned and gestured with an outstretched palm, “After you.”

  He offered her a mock bow and stepped past her. It wasn’t until he hit the ground a few paces back that he registered he had walked into an invisible force field, electrifying his body and throwing him through the air.

  Melody screeched, “Are you okay?”

  It took a moment for his vision to stop seeing double. As Melody came into focus, he shook the cobwebs from his head. “What the hell was that?”

  Sheepishly, she said, “It appears I forgot one.”

  “It appears you forgot one?”

  “Um, sorry,” she giggled. “I’ll see to it while you fix your hair.”

  Fix my hair? Silurian ran his fingers through his slowly descending locks. He was glad Helvius wasn’t here.

  Melody examined the archway with a finger to her lips. “Ah, there it is.” She bent low to touch a stone near the ground and chanted a series of words in a sweet singing voice. “There, that should do it.”

  Silurian picked himself up off the ground, adjusted his sword belt and tilted his forehead toward her. “You first.”

  Melody grinned and passed beneath the arch and out of sight.

  Silurian took a deep breath and followed her onto a ledge that descended precariously down the face of a deep fissure—its bottom lost in gloom. A path leading into the heart of the Gap.

  The descent was much quicker than coming off the slopes of Dragon’s Tooth, but it still took most of the day. The rock-strewn ledge dropped away at a dizzying angle. Their leg muscles burned painfully, forcing them to stop many times. Slipping and sliding down the treacherous decline, they scared themselves more than once, coming dangerously close to falling over the trail’s edge.

  By the time they reached the end of the descent, the sun had dropped out of sight and cast the peculiar rock formations rising from the canyon floor as grotesquely twisted effigies. The ledge terminated a dozen feet above the ground, forcing them to lower themselves over the edge and into the cool shadows.

  As soon as Silurian’s feet hit the ground, St. Carmichael’s blade was in hand. He slowly turned in a circle, trying to see beyond the myriad of rock clusters littering the trench.

  Melody dropped beside him in a flurry of wizard’s robes, alighting upon the ground much more gracefully than he had.

  “I forgot how bad it smells down here,” Silurian complained. “It’s worse than the Marrow Wash.”

  “Marrow Wash?”

  “Ya, remember? I told you about it. The milky river in the Under Realm.”

  “Ah, right. And yes, it always smells like this. It’s like descending into death itself.”

  Silurian swallowed. “So, now what? It’s going to be dark soon.”

  “I’d suggest we keep moving, but I’m not certain I can find the way in the dark.”

  “You conjured wizard’s light before. Can’t you do that here?”

  “Of course, but it won’t be enough to guide us in this place. There are certain landmarks I need to identify. My light won’t be enough to illuminate the entire trench,” Melody explained. She looked up to the bottom of the ledge. “If anything, my light will be a beacon to any creature not yet aware of us.”

  Silurian followed her gaze to the underside of the ledge.

  “I think we’d be safer if we waited out the
darkness up there,” Melody said.

  “Ya, I think you’re right.” Silurian scanned the unreachable edge of the trail. “Too bad we didn’t think of that before.”

  “Bah, take this,” Melody said, handing him her staff. Hiking up her robes she approached the canyon wall and searched for a handhold. Finding one, it didn’t take her long to scale the cliff face like a spider. She sat on the end of the ledge and stared down at him. “See? Nothing to it.”

  Silurian looked at her incredulously as he stretched to hand up her staff. He remembered how the Group of Five had reached the ledge, and it wasn’t anywhere near as graceful, nor as simple as she had made it seem. They certainly hadn’t scaled the wall. Even after witnessing his sister climb, he was hard put to locate the handhold hidden in plain view along the stone’s surface.

  With a little coaching and some mocking words of encouragement, Melody guided his hands and feet to where they needed to go.

  She grabbed his hand and pulled him to safety. “You didn’t know the handholds were there?”

  When he didn’t respond, she laughed. “Let me get this straight. The great Group of Five wasn’t able to find a way up to the ledge?”

  Silurian frowned. “Of course we found a way up. I told you already, we visited Phazarus.”

  “Oh, so you flew?”

  Silurian scowled. “Ya, Mel. We flew.”

  She laid back against the fissure wall and laughed some more.

  The darker it became, the more their anxiety grew. It started with a distant howl to the east, mournful and lonely. A pall settled over the Gap as the shadows thickened. In their heightened awareness, Melody and Silurian imagined scrabbling noises close by, but squint as they might, they never saw anything.

  Nocturnal insects and other annoying ground crawlers took a shine to their presence and proceeded to bite them.

  Silurian slapped at a phantom predator on his neck. “I forgot how much I disliked this place,” he grumbled.