The Wizard of the North

by Richard Stephens

  He forced himself to his knees. A fresh influx of tidewater splashed against his waist, staggering him—the rising water another issue they needed to concern themselves with.

  He placed one foot beneath him. His knee jerked about uncontrollably, dropping him to his side. He sputtered and struggled to sit up again, his teeth chattering hard.

  Another shriek. The Grimward hovered near the pillar. The serpent clutched the ledge with its forepaws. Its hind legs curled against the wall and suddenly extended as the massive creature easily leaped across the distance to the column and fell upon the Grimward. Together they dropped in a tangled heap, landing heavily on top of the dead serpent’s carcass.

  The Grimward extracted itself from the dazed serpent, but the wyrm reached out, hooking a talon through its rib cage and brought it toward its yawning mouth. Its jagged teeth crunched down.

  The Grimward thrashed its head back and forth. Bones snapped and spun into the air. A ghastly sound escaped the beleaguered spirit, making Silurian’s skin crawl.

  The Grimward’s mangled frame flew out of the serpent’s mouth and rattled against the cavern wall close to where Silurian sat, and splashed to the ground. Without pause, it rose slowly into the air, fluttering uncertainly as if it was about to crash down again.

  The serpent espied the spirit’s flight and pounced. Its massive form plunged them both to the ground and sent a wall of water washing over Silurian.

  The serpent hissed and shrieked, snapping and clawing, attempting to rip whatever remained of the Grimward apart. The Grimward fought ferociously. Invisible spells impacted the serpent, shuddering its great frame and disrupting its attack, but the spirit was no match for the giant wyrm. The serpent held the Grimward with its forelegs and drove the spirit beneath the water’s surface. Holding its broken-boned victim down, it screeched and bent to grind the spectre within its giant maw.

  Silurian got to his feet and immediately fell to a knee. He rose again only to stumble over the dead serpent’s tail hidden beneath the water. Climbing onto the submerged tail he jumped onto the live serpent’s lowered shoulder and drove the tip of St. Carmichael’s Blade deep into its neck, the sword’s edge audibly scraping bone.

  The serpent reared up on its haunches, thrashing its head from side to side. Silurian flew from its neck, losing his grip on his sword, and crashed against the side of the dead serpent before sliding sideways into the rising waters.

  The beast’s pained eyes found Silurian. Opening its mouth wide, a pathetic wail escaped its throat. It attempted to snap at him, but its body shook and fell limp. Its head thudded against the cavern wall and a torrent of shale splashed to the ground.

  In the ensuing calm, Silurian took a moment to regain his senses. He stood upon shaking legs, waist deep in the brackish water, panting.

  “Whoa, whoa, easy girl!” A deep voice sounded from high up on the ledge.

  The staff’s light alerted Silurian to where his sister confronted the two Kraidic warriors. He desperately wanted to yell up at her to finish them off, but he was unable to speak past his heavy breaths.

  Melody’s voice echoed around the cavern, “Silurian? Are you okay down there?”

  Silurian croaked an inaudible reply, nodding his head vigourously and waving a hand in the air.

  “We’re coming down. Is that thing dead?”

  Silurian wasn’t exactly sure what she referred to. The second serpent or the Grimward? Instead of croaking out a reply, he waded to where he last saw the remains of the skeletal spirit. He found it pinned under the water beneath the serpent’s head. It was hard to see beneath the surface, but the water rippled around it.

  Bending down, his face in the water, Silurian groped about the submerged serpent’s snout. Cupping the elongated mouth, he lifted with all his might, barely moving the heavy head, but it gave the Grimward the room it needed to pull itself free.

  Breaking the water’s surface, Silurian was shocked at what little remained of the spectre. Its skeletal torso had been all but torn away. One of its arms was missing and by the looks of it, the other wasn’t far from falling off. A piece of cloth no longer than Silurian’s forearm hung from its neck, the only scrap of cloth left to it.

  It wavered in the air, barely clear of the rising water, its eye sockets black.

  Silurian located his sword, and with difficulty, wriggled it free of the serpent’s wound. The blue glow had disappeared. At first, he feared the serpent had absorbed the enchantment, just like Helleden had done all those years before, but he felt the once familiar warmth radiating from the leather wrapped pommel—an old friend long forgotten.

  Shale splashed into the water on the far side of the creature’s head. Melody strode behind the Kraidic warriors—their weapons holstered upon their backs and their faces grim. Seeing the Grimward, Tygra and Keen grasped for their weapons.

  Melody’s staff flared brighter. “Don’t do it!”

  The two men were clearly torn, but they acceded to her warning and placed their backs against the cavern wall to distance themselves from the bizarre image of the Grimward.

  Another ripple of tidewater washed into the cavern, almost lifting Silurian from his feet. After the surge passed, he made his way to the beginning of the ledge. He slid St. Carmichael’s Blade into its baldric and reached up to hoist himself to the ledge. The rising water made the process easier than it would have been had the cavern been dry.

  Gooseflesh pimpled his skin. His clothes dripped, pooling on the shelf and running over the edge into the tidal surge. He jumped the small breach in the ledge trail and pulled his sword free as he strode to within striking distance of Tygra and Keen. With Melody’s staff at the ready, and their weapons holstered, he wasn’t too concerned. As big as they were, he was confident his skills would overcome their brute strength—they were only two.

  “You okay?” Melody’s voice carried concern.

  Silurian forced a closed mouth smile. He nodded; his chattering teeth trembled his blue lips.

  The Grimward hovered up to their level—its flight taking longer than it should have. Its raspy voice sounded weak. “You’ll have to wait out the tide.”

  Silurian nodded again. “So it seems. What about you? Are you going to be okay? You look horrible.”

  The Grimward hissed what loosely sounded like a troubled laugh. The faintest of light emanated from its eyes sockets. “I am not. My material body doesn’t matter. My spirit, however, struggles with the proximity of the earth blood.”

  “I never thought I would be thankful for your interference, but on behalf of Melody and myself, I wish to express our heartfelt gratitude for your timely intervention. I owe you my life.”

  The Grimward nodded its acknowledgement.

  The tension in the cavern was palpable given the Grimward’s adversity to the wellspring and the presence of the Kraidic warriors. The sensible thing to do would be to kill the two men right then, but he couldn’t bring himself to murder them. He had shouted at Melody to commit that very act earlier, but reflecting upon it now, he would’ve been disappointed if she had. Even appreciating the Kraidic reputation for treachery, as these two had quite plainly demonstrated, killing them now didn’t sit well with him.

  “I fear my actions have compromised this sacred place,” Silurian mumbled, the memory threatening to overwhelm him with guilt.

  The Grimward rasped. “We are all responsible for the deaths of the well’s guardians. Fear not, I will bring in another from the sea in good time.”

  Silurian shook his head. “You don’t understand. I felt Helleden’s presence. He is aware of the earth blood fount. That knowledge cannot end well.”

  A throaty growl escaped the Grimward. Its eye flames crackled at the mention of Helleden. “I must go,” it said, and turned about.

  Without further explanation, the scraggly remains of the Grimward wavered toward the exit tunnel. It dipped between the passage’s rough ceiling and the rising water and was gone.

  Silurian stared at the
last spot the Grimward had occupied. He felt the eyes of Tygra and Keen upon him. Stepping away from the ledge he looked each man in the eye and pointed up the ledge with his sword. “Move it.”

  To Madrigail Bay

  Two days out of The Forke, a small band of seven crested the first major foothill leading into the Spine. They paused to take one last look at the blackened land they were leaving behind.

  While they had battled in the Chamber of the Wise, the entire region around the Chamber’s city had been torn asunder, scorched to the earth by another of Helleden’s firestorms. Luckily for those cowering beneath the ground, they were not affected, but reports filtered in over the next several days that the land south of the Undying Wall had not escaped this time.

  By the time Alhena and Rook decided it was time to leave for Madrigail Bay to gather the coastal forces, they still hadn’t heard from Apexceal—the southern port city governed by the late Vice Chambermaster Solomon Io’s brother. They feared the worst.

  With the deaths of Chambermaster Uzziah and the Enervator, Jibrael Fox, the surviving members of the Chamber of the Wise had come out from whatever spell they had been under.

  Alhena suspected Barong had been at the root of their uncharacteristic behaviour. Thinking back, he recalled a similar misgiving that first day he and Silurian had set foot onto Redfire Path together, deep within the Nordic Wood, many weeks ago. He remembered feeling something untoward in the air, but had attributed it to Silurian’s rumoured ability to channel magic without the aid of his sword. As Wizard of the North for the last century and a half, Alhena had been privy to knowledge no other living being possessed—at least no one calling Zephyr home.

  The latest scouting reports had Helleden’s demonic army and the Kraidic host pulling up stakes in Carillon and preparing to march. It hadn’t taken much convincing to get the people of Gritian to agree that they needed to flee southward. They were led by Vice Chambermistress Arzachel Gruss, who, with the deaths of Abraham and Solomon, had assumed the role of chambermaster. She was contrite about the role she had unwittingly played in the debacle.

  Alhena had asked everyone to call him by his adopted name. He claimed Phazarus was a name from a different lifetime and preferred it stay there. He leaned on his staff now, subtly shaking his head at the tragedy that had befallen the once great kingdom. That had befallen such a peaceful people. That had taken such a beautiful person as King Malcolm Alexander Svelte from them.

  The group of seven had made a quick stop in Songsbirth to inform the elders about the current state of affairs. Not even Songsbirth had been spared the wrath of the recent firestorm, but with most of the people living beneath the mountain, their lives had been spared.

  Alhena beseeched Master Pul to evacuate his people, but the stubborn curmudgeon respectfully refused. Pul did, however, agree to send a contingent of troops south as soon as their council came to an agreement on how many they were willing to part with.

  Leaving Songsbirth and the Muse behind, the group followed the Millsford Road west. At the blasted bridge crossing the Madrigail, Sadyra had elicited the first real smiles from the beleaguered group as she related the account of a naked Olmar carrying an embarrassed Alhena across the river on his shoulders. She hyped up and exaggerated the retelling so much that Alhena wanted to give her a blast from his staff.

  With heavy hearts, they turned their backs on the land and started along the mountain track, the final leg to Madrigail Bay. Olmar followed Rook who had retrieved Avarick’s black crossbow from the lifeless hands of Solomon Io. Alhena and Larina also walked up ahead. Olmar looked sadly down at the orange furred Yarstaff, held in his loving embrace.

  Larina stopped to wait for him. “Are you planning to breastfeed him?”

  Olmar ignored her and tromped down the hill after the others.

  To the best of their knowledge, Yarstaff had been placed under the same spell Alhena had suffered, but it had affected him much more deeply than the wizard. A Gritian healer, obviously not versed on Voil, had done her best to clear him of any physical damage Barong’s spell may have caused, but she couldn’t offer much guidance to any psychological trauma Yarstaff may have suffered. The healer assured them he would live, but further than that, she could only shrug.

  Sadyra remained upon the hilltop as the others walked away, not quite ready to say good-bye to the heartland she had grown up in. A single tear tried to force its way from her sad eyes. She rolled her trembling bottom lip between her teeth. She had to be tougher than this.

  The sun shone at her back, on the verge of losing its grip on the land as it settled behind the Spine.

  A hand clamped lovingly upon her shoulder. Looking up, she was grateful for the stoic face of her good friend Pollard. The giant smiled and followed her gaze toward where The Forke used to stand.

  A chill wind swept up the path at their backs. Sadyra shivered, but it wasn’t caused by the breeze.

  Pollard must have felt it because he pulled her in close, ignoring the jabbing of the weapons strapped across her back. A crossbow, bow, and the corresponding quivers appeared much too heavy for someone her size to carry.

  “Come on, Sadie. There’s nothing left for us here.”

  Sadyra sniffed, despite her resolution to be brave. “Do you think they’ll be okay?”

  Pollard didn’t respond at first. When he did, his voice was full of hope. “Songsbirth? Aye. Master Pul will keep them safe until we can return.”

  Pollard gently turned her around. The others were disappearing around a bend far below, the path following the mighty Madrigail River as it cut its way westward.

  Sadyra didn’t trust her voice wouldn’t crack if she spoke. She pursed her lips and looked up, grateful for her dear friend as they tromped down the far side of the hill. If she wasn’t mistaken, a tear rolled off the big man’s cheek as well. She hugged him closer as they walked, leaning her head into his ribs.

  The Grimward drifted back across the channel. He had carried the four mortals from the shore on Serpent’s Nest across the water so that they might continue their trek southwestward in search of Helleden Misenthorpe.

  He didn’t trust the motivations of the Kraidic warriors, but when the daughter of Mase Mintaka insisted that they not be harmed, what was a simple spirit to do?

  Returning to Serpent’s Nest Island, Thunor spun the remains of his broken frame around and watched until they disappeared over a far hill. He shook his skull. Mortals!

  He had almost laughed in their face when Melody explained that she had thought they were safe to enter Serpent’s Nest because of the tides. Pfft! Wyrms weren’t fish. Sure, they preferred being underwater, but they were fully capable of surviving out of it. The tides hadn’t stopped them from entering and exiting their nest—hadn’t the mortals seen them climb? The tides simply allowed them to herd their meals into the tunnel leading to the earth blood fount.

  The fire in his eyes sputtered, threatening to extinguish itself for good. The second wyrm had effectively killed him as far as his existence in this world was concerned. Being creatures of the earth blood, his fight with the wyrm had instigated the beginning of his end. It was just a matter of time now.

  The yawning hole below the stone archway beckoned to him. If Helleden Misenthorpe were to harness the earth blood, nothing would stand in his way. As the original Wizard of the North, it was incumbent upon Thunor not to allow that to happen.

  His tattered shell of broken bones slipped into the tunnel, the passage slowly filling with the evening tide.

  The Grimward didn’t hesitate as he entered the cavern—to do so would be to die without accomplishing his ultimate goal. Five centuries of existence, both physical and spiritual, had left him jaded against the machinations of mankind.

  As he rose above the wyrms’ carcasses he felt a sense of remorse. The poor creatures hadn’t asked for this.

  The well spring came into view, the viscous liquid bubbling and sputtering violently, attuned to his presence. Fast as an arrow flig
ht, Thunor Carmichael directed what remained of himself into the fount.

  The island shook in protest. Large waves raced away from Serpent’s Nest Island to crash into the far shore, as the eastern end of the island fell in upon itself and disappeared beneath the waves.

  Silurian made sure the two Kraidic warriors walked several paces ahead of them. They weren’t really prisoners, but he didn’t trust them. If he and Melody didn’t devise a plan, and soon, the Kraidics’ presence would become a problem when it came time to bed down for the night. There was nothing to be done about it, as far as his sister was concerned. Yes, they had attacked her in the serpent’s nest, but in the end, they had brought her around and equipped her with her staff.

  There was something odd about the red-bearded man. Something more to him than just a simple warrior, but Silurian couldn’t put a name to his concern. Not yet.

  They had been walking for a while, following the sun westward toward northern Zephyr, leaving the Lake of the Lost far behind.

  The Grimward had met them outside the serpent’s tunnel in the middle of the night, after the tide had withdrawn. The spectre had kept watch for them as they retired for the remainder of the night around Silurian and Melody’s previous campfire atop the hill.

  Thunor Carmichael had even caught rabbits for them to eat in the morning. Silurian smiled. For a ghoul, the Grimward wasn’t such a bad sort.

  “What’s so funny?” Melody’s voice startled him.

  “Huh? Oh, nothing.” He realized he’d been smiling.

  “Just happy, are you? Traipsing across southern Kraidic, or the northern Forbidden Swamp, or the western Wilds, or wherever the heck we are.”

  “Ya, pretty much.”

  His sister frowned at him, her staff clumping along rhythmically with every second step.

  “What?” He laughed.

  Tygra and Keen looked over their shoulder to see what was so funny, but Silurian replaced his smile with a hard glare. They looked away.