The Wizard of the North

by Richard Stephens

  He and Tygra had forded the estuary of the River Foreboding two days ago, half a day before encountering the demon. That had been the first time Karvus’ finger had begun to tingle. The feeling so subtle he passed it off as an itch at first, but one glance at the eyestone and he knew the ring had come to life. It took all he had not to pull the cursed trinket from his hand and pitch it into the lake. No matter how he held the ring, the demon’s words rang true—the eye looked toward the lake.

  With no way to cross the frigid waters, it took them a day and a half to travel back to the abandoned camp to retrieve the damaged skiff. After re-crossing the River Foreboding, the Serpent’s Eye reverted to nothing more than a cheap trinket, but as they made their way back to the Lake of the Lost, south of the larger island, the ring began to irritate his finger again.

  Tygra Keen stopped up ahead and released the ropes. He rubbed his shoulders and stretched out his back.

  As Karvus approached, the lake came into view beyond the bluff they stood on. The last vestiges of morning fog floated above its blue waters. Directly across from them, the large island hopefully provided them with a means of crossing the channel before the cracked skiff filled up and sank. There was no way they could drag the boat all the way along the lake’s rocky south shore until they were close enough to the smaller island. It would take them days of backbreaking effort, not to mention their concern of destroying the hull of the boat altogether.

  It wasn’t normal for Karvus to feel empathy for those beneath his station—as emperor, that meant everyone alive. He noted the healing scar of the dog bite Tygra had suffered trying to rescue his father. He patted his aide on the back, and plucked the ropes from the ground. “I’ll take it from here.”

  If Karvus were to stop and consider the matter, outside of his relationship with his wives, Tygra Keen was the closest thing he had to a friend. He certainly saw him a lot more than his family. Growing up as the emperor’s son meant that every spring was spent preparing and embarking on new campaigns, usually aboard a war galley, raiding the southern kingdoms. Growing up in Krakus’ shadow and trying to live up to his father’s demands, Karvus hadn’t had time to form many meaningful relationships outside of the stuffy Imperial Palace.

  Karvus held his right hand out to observe the Serpent’s Eye. Sure enough, it looked out toward the water. He turned his hand to point east, but its pupil remained transfixed in a northerly direction.

  Although he detested the notion that he, Karvus Kraken, Emperor of the Kraidic Empire, had become the lackey of a powerful sorcerer, he welcomed Tygra’s company. Come to think about, there was no other person he would have wished to watch his back. He’d witnessed first hand the devastation Tygra’s warhammer wreaked during many skirmishes fought together. He loathed the thought of being on the wrong end of Keen’s battle rage.

  Tygra ripped one of the ropes from Karvus’ hand. “We do it together.”

  That was another thing Karvus appreciated about Tygra—the man was one of few words.

  Karvus grunted and grasped the remaining rope in both hands. “Ready?”

  The skiff lurching forward was Tygra’s response.

  Once the boat began its progress down the steep slope to the shore, the two men spent almost as much time slowing its downward slide as they did tugging on the ropes.

  Stopping the boat before it slipped into the water, Karvus examined the crack in the hull. It looked worse than it had at the camp. Dragging it across the forest floor hadn’t been the greatest idea.

  “What is it?” Tygra asked in response to Karvus’ frown.

  “Not sure. The eye looks to be pointing at the larger island.”

  “Hmm. Perhaps they had a boat.”

  Karvus stared out over the rolling lake. The sun fought through the morning fog and had almost reached its highest point. It promised to be a nice day—cool, but sunny. “Not according to the demon. The wizard crossed an ice bridge.”

  “That makes no sense. It’s not cold enough for ice to form. This lake rarely freezes over during the worst of winter.”

  Karvus raised his eyebrows. “Nevertheless, that’s what we’ve been told.”

  “Then the ice bridge must’ve connected the islands as well.”

  Karvus ran his tongue across his upper teeth with his mouth closed and rubbed his chin in thought. He grunted at last, “No doubt the work of the wizard.”

  Tygra waited for Karvus to get in the boat before he shoved it off the shoals and clambered into the bow. They each grabbed a battered oar lying in the bottom of the boat and settled down to move the leaking craft as quickly as possible into the waves.

  Water flowed into the boat faster than Karvus had anticipated. Common sense dictated they abandon the crossing, but he was determined. Once an enemy came within striking distance, there was little anyone could do to avert his purpose.

  “I’ll paddle,” Karvus said. “You bail.”

  Without a word, Tygra undid the laces tying his leather rucksack closed and rummaged about until he produced a chipped, wooden bowl.

  The roll of the waves accompanied by a strong west wind made keeping the boat’s bow aimed at the island a challenge. Tygra scooped water relentlessly, but for every bowl he threw overboard, two flowed back in.

  Karvus originally aimed them at the western tip of the larger island, the shortest route, but as they crossed into deeper water, the Serpent’s Eye looked unerringly at the southeastern tip. To land on the western tip would mean many hours of lost time tracking around the curve of the island so he decided to risk making it to the island’s far end in the leaking boat. Judging by the losing battle Tygra fought, luck would have to be on their side if they were to actually make it that far.

  The heavier the boat became, the harder it was to propel it through the waves. Karvus’ broad shoulders pained him considerably. It was obvious Tygra’s back bothered the man—tirelessly bent over, throwing bowlful after bowlful of frigid water over the gunwales.

  A bloodcurdling screech sounded in the distance. The mournful echo sent shivers up their spine. As warriors of the Kraidic Empire, they both knew the relevance. With any luck, the lake creature’s cry had nothing to do with them. It came again a short while later. Karvus reckoned the serpent hunted somewhere far out in the lake to the west. The screech sounded a third time, noticeably closer.

  Tygra shot him a worried look. Karvus’ strokes picked up their cadence.

  Paddling hard, Karvus kept a wary eye on the western tip of the island. He knew exactly what chased them. He had spent many days along the northwestern shores of the Lake of the Lost as a boy, trying to catch a glimpse of the notorious serpents. Though he had never seen one, he’d witnessed the wreckage and gory results of those who had. Floating upon the lake in a tiny, sinking craft was the last place he wished to be.

  “Here,” Karvus said, grabbing the second oar and shoving it at Tygra. “Leave that and get paddling!”

  Tygra dropped the bowl and vigourously set into propelling the floundering craft. He kept looking over his shoulder, his strokes not as deep as Karvus liked.

  “Don’t worry about the serpent!” Karvus barked, looking over his own shoulder despite his advice. “Damn you, paddle!”

  Was that a ripple in the water? Karvus looked forward. They were almost to the island, but it felt like they barely moved. The water in the skiff had climbed three-quarters of the way up the gunwales. Tygra’s warhammer lay submerged beside the man. It wouldn’t be long before the weight of the water-logged boat dragged it under, but still, they paddled for all they were worth.

  Another ripple creased the surface of the rolling waves, much closer this time. The beast moved incredibly fast.

  The skiff’s bow thumped off a submerged rock. Both men yelled, thinking the serpent had rammed them.

  An ear-piercing screech rose the hairs on their bodies. Beady, black eyes, separated by a dark, bony ridge, lifted high above the water atop a massive, reptilian head. A forked tongue, larger than Kar
vus’ battle-axe, flicked out between the serpent’s upper and lower fangs, the curved teeth resembled ivory daggers longer than a polearm. Its head hovered upon its thick neck for only a moment before splashing beneath the waves and disappearing. A long section of its scaly hide broke the surface, following the serpent’s dive.

  “Come on!” Karvus yelled.

  The bow careened off another rock and the boat came to a crunching stop. They had hit the bottom of the gravelly lake bed. The shoreline appeared a lifetime away.

  Without thought, both men were over the side and into the frigid surf. With Karvus’ help, Tygra located his warhammer and dragged it from the bottom of the sunken boat, the weapon tangled in a coil of rope. Karvus severed the rope with a dagger allowing Tygra to pull his hammer free. Weighted down by boots and fur cloaks, they slogged their way toward land.

  The sound of splintering wood gave them pause. The serpent closed its mighty jaws on the disabled vessel; worn planks snapped like kindling within its crushing bite.

  “For the love of the serpent,” Karvus muttered. He bumped into Tygra’s back and shoved him, nearly pushing him over.

  The serpent lifted the boat effortlessly out of the water and shook its head. The front half of the boat spiraled into the lake while shattered pieces flew sideways through the air. The creature emitted a mighty shriek and what remained of the boat’s stern dropped from its mouth into the waves.

  Karvus and Tygra looked back to see the colossal serpent rise twenty feet above the lake’s surface. Its head recoiled and shot forward as it launched itself at them.

  The lakebed rose rapidly underneath their feet. They stumbled and fell to their knees but were up and running as soon as they hit bottom.

  A loud splash made them jump and stumble sideways as the serpent crashed into the shallows—its mouth close enough to feel its hot breath. A deafening roar escaped its gaping maw.

  Karvus and Tygra ran across the gravel beach. A tangled mess of rope was draped around the head of Tygra’s warhammer and snagged on the ground, but he refused to let the weapon go. Their desperate flight took them up a steep embankment overlooking the shore. As one, they fell to the ground beneath a tree, fighting to catch their breath. Below them, an irate serpent screeched its displeasure and slipped beneath the waves.

  The sun shone directly above, its warmth filtering through the barren branches of an ancient elm. The serpent had withdrawn into the lake and disappeared around the island’s eastern point. The same direction Karvus’ ring indicated they needed to travel.

  Great, he thought, the wizard is on the smaller island after all. Now what?

  Beside him, Tygra followed his example and shrugged off his fur cloak, shivering in his sodden leather breeks and damp tunic, He upturned his boots to empty the worst of the water.

  Karvus was certain the ring had burned the skin on his finger, but when he took it off, there was no visible evidence of it having done so. He shook his head. How he’d love to pitch the cursed thing away and be done with it. Be done with chasing a wizard. Be done with bowing down to that finger-wagger. He sounded so like his father, he wanted to scream. The way he felt at the moment, he wouldn’t care if he relinquished the empiric duties his people expected of him. He’d like nothing better than to grab his three wives and all of his children and disappear into the Wilds, but there was no way the family would permit that. Certainly not the family and nobles at court, and certainly not Helleden.

  As fearsome as the Kraidic lifestyle and customs were to outsiders, they paled in comparison to the oppression the sallow-faced sorcerer had so easily instilled within him.

  Karvus clenched his teeth. He should have buried his axe in the man’s skull when he had the chance. He grunted at the thought. As if Helleden would’ve been caught off guard so easily. Deep down, Karvus knew that not making a move on the sorcerer had been a wise decision.

  “What’s the matter?” Tygra asked as he strained to pull on his second boot.

  “Huh?” Karvus frowned. Realizing he had grunted at the absurdity of his thoughts, he said, “Nothing. Get your stuff on. This cursed thing is itching to lead us.” He held the ring at arm’s length, switching hands frequently to prevent the tingling sensation from making him drop it.

  Tygra leaned away from the talisman and rose to his feet. He hefted his unencumbered warhammer, and with practiced efficiency, slid the haft over his shoulders and into the loops along the leather sash draped over his tunic. Squatting, he grabbed the length of rope and began coiling it. “Have you given any thought to dealing with the wizard?”

  Karvus put the ring down on a flat rock and pulled a curved dagger from his waist belt. He selected a length of leather thong dangling from the bottom of his fur cloak and severed it to fashion a crude necklace. Perhaps the sorcerer had been right to suggest he suspend the ring from a cord. Being careful not to let it touch his head, he draped the ring around his neck, letting it come to rest upon his tunic below his beard. His companion’s words never registered until he was satisfied he could transport the ring safely this way. “I have no idea. Surprise him, I guess. I aim to walk straight up to him in a friendly manner and lop his head off before he suspects anything amiss. I’ll need you to deal with his companion. For the love of hell, I hate wizards.”

  Tygra looked out over the waves. “This isn’t any ordinary wizard.”

  Karvus glared at Tygra, but he didn’t detect any subtle innuendos that his aide was gainsaying his ability to deal with the situation. His face softened. “Ya, I know. The Wizard of the North.” He flicked a stone and watched it tumble down the steep embankment. He heard, rather than saw, that it had made it all the way to the beach. He looked Tygra straight in the eyes. “You know, that’s what really rots me. Why would Helleden send you and me after this Wizard of the North? Alone. If this wizard has come off Dragon’s Tooth, wouldn’t you think he’s the real one?”

  “Aye, makes no sense to me either,” Tygra said. “Unless he just wants you out of the way.”

  “I’ve thought about that. If that were the case I would already be dead. Helleden’s proven he’s capable of killing anyone in his way. Hell, he destroyed most of Zephyr without stepping foot off that mountain. And yet, I believe he fears the Wizard of the North.” Karvus drifted off into deeper thought.

  “Why wouldn’t he just create another firestorm? I’ve never seen anything like it. It was like the sky had fallen.”

  Karvus shook his head. “I’ve wondered that, too. Something’s preventing him.”

  A smile upturned Karvus’ lips. That was it. Something prevented Helleden from achieving his goal. As such, the sorcerer required the Kraidic army. I must discover what that something is, he thought, the first real glint of hope he had since encountering the Stygian Lord.

  Stretching his neck to loosen its tightness, he nodded to himself. It wasn’t over yet. There might be a chance to rid the world of Helleden Misenthorpe and conquer Zephyr.

  “Come on, Tygra. The eye beckons.”

  Tygra cast him a curious look.

  Karvus laughed, a sound that seldom escaped his lips. “I’m thinking our encounter with the wizard may not go as we expect.”

  Tygra frowned.

  “I believe there is more to this wizard than we think. If Helleden fears him, then…” He shrugged and left the rest unspoken. He checked the Serpent’s Eye to ensure it hadn’t changed direction and set out toward the eastern shore around the next point.

  Through the trees, a mass of bare rock shot up from the ground. The scent of burning wood caught his attention. Karvus made to go around the rock formation, but the Serpent’s Eye widened as they passed the arched rock. He touched the ring and pulled his finger away like he had jabbed it with something sharp. The eye clearly pointed down.

  Kneeling on the edge of a flat boulder, Karvus leaned out. The rock formation formed an arc above a hole that disappeared into the hill beneath them.

  He had mixed feelings about the revelation. He didn’t kno
w if he should be relieved they didn’t have to find a way over to the next island. According to what the ring told him, the Wizard of the North, if indeed that was the person the eye pointed to, was to be found beneath the earth.

  “What do you see?” Tygra asked.

  “Looks like a cave. The eye points to it.” Karvus tried to locate a safe way down the treacherous slope. He pulled a pair of black leather gloves from his belt and put them on. He touched the ring, satisfied. The gloves protected him. Backing away from the brink, he walked behind the back of the outcropping. Off to the left, farther up the hill, grey smoke wisped through the treetops.

  “There.” Karvus pointed.

  The remains of a campfire sputtered within a ring of stones. A crude stand of branches had been driven into the ground beside the firepit.

  Tygra pulled his warhammer from over his shoulders as they searched for whoever was responsible for building the fire.

  The Serpent’s Eye looked to the ground at their feet.

  “The wizard must’ve stopped here last night. Come on, we can’t be far behind.” Karvus started away.

  A steep descent marked the eastern edge of the arch, but it appeared manageable. Tygra was forced to put his warhammer on his back again to free up his hands.

  At the bottom of the arch, they found themselves on the edge of what appeared to be a lagoon during high tide—a sizable puddle, stagnant and rank within its centre.

  Tygra’s warhammer was back in his hands. He watched the rolling lake and peered into the gloom beneath the arch. “You mean to go in there?”

  Karvus let the ring dangle on the cord—the eye’s flame-like pupil maintained a steady stare into the depression. “Seems so.”

  Karvus sent Tygra to fetch a handful of thick, arm’s length branches. They removed their damp shifts and tore them into strips, coating them with animal fat they carried in small leather bags. The fat was no substitute for soaking the cloths in oil—the torches flickered, sputtered and went out more often than they remained lit.