Nicholas Raven and the Wizards' Web - Volume 1 (8 page)

George rubbed his eyes and sniffed. “That’s an awful nice gesture, mister.”

“Indeed it is, George. Indeed it is.”

Mune hustled George along the remainder of the way, encountering no other soul during their travels. Freshly fallen leaves cluttered sections of the dirt road, rustling like harsh whispers as the men swished through them. Their awkward steps over the vast countryside were illuminated only by the glow from the single torch. Occasionally light from a distant farmhouse was visible over blackened fields or peeked through a grove of trees, seeming to blink as they passed silently by.

At last the caves appeared in view, looming off to the left like yawning stone faces chiseled into the cliffs. A handful of tall pines stood scattered about, their boughs bobbing in cool currents like the arms of slender giants. Thick grass and weeds, now dry, brittle and lifeless, littered the base of the rocky formation. On the opposite side of the road, directly across from the caves, stood the dilapidated remains of a two-room wooden guardhouse. An army of weeds and saplings had slowly consumed it over the years. Mune hastily studied the caves from the road while trying to keep George Bane on his feet.

“Time to see exactly what you’re made of, George. Your tales of derring-do have come home to roost. Do you have what it takes to live up to them?” He shook George by the shoulders to boost his confidence. “Or are you merely a drunken fraud like your friend?”

“Gill’s not here?” George asked, craning his neck for a look.

“We left that mess back at the tavern. All the money goes to you–after you fulfill the terms of my dare.”

George gazed at Mune, his face wrinkled as if he had just awakened from a deep sleep. “Dare? What dare? Why are we here?”

“Apparently you put away too much gin into that fat head of yours, my dear friend.” Mune held up the pouch of coins in the torchlight so that George could see it. “Remember our bet? Don’t go to sleep on me now.” He hastily poured a few coins into George’s hands. “Take these with you into the cave to boost your confidence.”

“I can have these?”

“Sure! Sure! And to earn the rest, all you have to do is walk far into those caves for an hour or two and you’ll be golden.” Mune planted the torch into George’s hand. “Take this to find your way around. Oh, and I have another little incentive for you. My good-luck piece!” He reached into a pocket and removed a small glass sphere slightly larger than an acorn. It glowed with a bluish-white color in the fire light, capturing George’s fascinated attention.

“That’s such a beautiful, uh–
what is it
?”

“An old bauble I like to carry around,” Mune said, massaging his whiskers. “Here. Take it.” He handed the sphere to George, watching his eyes pop open.

“I couldn’t!”

“Please do. It’ll bring you good luck when you’re inside the caves. Guaranteed to drive away any fears you bring along.”

“That’d be a good thing,” George mumbled, still unsteady on his feet.

Mune sported a toothy grin. “Yes, it truly would. So are you ready?”

George snapped to attention, a dimwitted smile pasted on his face. “I believe I am. Just point me in the right direction!”

“My pleasure,” Mune whispered.

He gingerly led George across the road to the small patch of land in front of the caves. The scent of pine needles soaked the air. After stomping a path though the weeds, they approached one of the openings in the cliffs. Inside it appeared darker than the night.

“I’ll wait for you out here,” Mune said, backing off.

George stood like a child before the mouth of the cave, eerily lit in the glow of the torch. He glanced at Mune. “You want me to go in here?”

“Yes! Yes! That’s the dare.” Mune hastily removed the pouch of coins and held it up, shaking the bag so the silver and copper half-pieces jingled. “This is the reward that awaits you. Now in you go!”

George scratched his swimming head, a part of him wondering if this wasn’t some weary and complicated dream. “Well, all right then. If that’s what I’m supposed to do.” He took a deep breath and placed a foot inside the cave, ducking slightly as he stepped through the entrance before disappearing within. Mune darted across the road at that point, hiding behind the corner of the abandoned guardhouse. High above, a black crow descended in a graceful spiral, quietly landing on top of the cliffs.

George Bane held the torch aloft, its flame softly dancing and projecting wild shadows against the stone walls. The cave was cold and dry with hardly enough room to stand. George inched along through the narrow passage with unsteady steps, catching himself on the wall now and then to keep from falling. The gin that had turned his legs into rubber now played tricks with his mind, making the walls transform into nothingness before suddenly reappearing as solid rock. He clutched tightly onto the glass sphere that Mune had given him, telling himself everything would be all right. The bluish-white color of the sphere seemed to intensify.

“What am I doing here?” he whispered. “George Bane, you’re a fool!”

After several minutes, the narrow passage opened into a larger section where the air felt cooler. He stood to his full height. The light of the torch illuminated bleak surroundings, a depressing blandness that made him uneasy. He yearned to turn around and race home, but the lure of the money sang to him during brief moments of lucid thought, pushing him onward.

This section of the cave branched out in several directions. George picked the easiest passage to maneuver through and moved on. Twenty minutes later he began to wonder how far he should go. Had Mune given him any specific instructions? Though moving was preferable to standing in one spot, he thought it best to retrace his steps and find the entrance. He could wait near the opening until Mune signaled his time was up, then exit this horrible place, collect his prize and leave.

When he turned around, the sides of the cave appeared wavy. The smoke from the torch smelled acrid. George felt sick to his stomach but kept shuffling forward. At one point he forgot where he was and why he was here, but it came back to him after turning into another passage. Though difficult to tell one section of the cave from the next, he thought this area looked especially unfamiliar. Had he taken a wrong turn? He stepped cautiously forward, hoping to spot a recognizable landmark. The air felt damp now. Steady plops of dripping water echoed along the walls. The gurgle of an underground stream was audible. He tried to think where he had made a wrong turn but couldn’t concentrate as a sense of dizziness overwhelmed him. His heart pounded. He thought he could hear the blood pumping through his veins.

George nearly tripped over a scattering of large rocks littering the floor and maneuvered around them. The air felt particularly colder in this section. An icy shiver shot up his spine. He realized he was lost, so he stopped and turned full circle to get a fix on his surroundings. The torch illuminated a vast cavern strewn with rocks half his size, many covered with dried lichen that resembled pale, peeling skin. Pointed stone formations extended down from the ceiling like sharp teeth. George thought he heard a whisper, but reasoned it away as the wind calling through fissures in the rock. Then he heard it again.

“Is that you, Mr. Mune? Trying to sneak in here and scare me back outside?” He looked this way and that, waving the torch in front of him like a sword. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead. “A bet is a bet. I’m not leaving a minute before I can collect my winnings! You hear?”

He heard the noises again. Definitely whispers–sharp, hushed tones that filled the air like the buzz of insects. He backed into a wall and almost dropped the torch. “Show yourself!” He slashed the air with the torch, trying to beat away an invisible enemy. “Get out of here!”

He then felt a burning sensation in the palm of his other hand. George quickly unclenched his fingers around the glass sphere that was now warm to the touch and glowed nearly as bright as the torch. Soon it was so hot to hold that he threw it across the chamber where it struck the opposite wall and shattered.

“Some good-luck piece that is! Trying to hurt me with it?” he cried. “Where are you, Mune? I know it’s you in here. I know it. Show your shifty self!”

Slowly and ghost-like, a faint blue mist rose from the shards of scattered glass, spreading over the cave floor like low fog on a marsh. The blue swirls wrapped around George’s ankles and encircled the rocks, lapping against them like waves on a lakeshore. He watched in terrified fascination, unable to move.

Then the whispers started again. Louder, sharper, faster. George heard strange words or fragments of sentences, none of which made any sense.
Awake! Conquer!
Someone was speaking, someone within the mist, a disembodied voice giving orders and explaining events from the past. But who were the words for?
Arise! Go forth!
Who were the words from?
Glory! Revenge! Vellan!

George’s chest tightened when he saw faces appear within the rocks on the ground. Vague outlines of grim, terrible features emerged on one end of each rock as the blue mist washed over them. Deep, dark eyes set in weary countenances stared out helplessly into the blackness. Years of dirt and lichen slowly disintegrated off the rocks, revealing bulky, roughly hewn shapes beneath. George stood paralyzed, unaware of how long he had been watching, as if staring at both life and death at its origin. Then the whispers stopped and he noticed movement along the floor. The blue mist swirled and eddied, enveloping the rocks even higher. He trembled, slowly realizing that these objects were never rocks to begin with.

A shadow darted across the wall. George found his wits again and spun around, looking every which way, quivering. “Who’s there? I know someone’s there,” he said in a thin voice. “Just stay where you are!”

More shadows, thin and fleeting. Movements through the cave, silent and swift. The blue mist churned like the edge of a maddening storm cloud as George bolted. He stumbled across the invisible floor, tripping over his own missteps. Where were the rocks? Most of them were now gone. Still the mist billowed, now nearly up to his waist. George knew he had to pick a path and get out. He shifted directions, unsure of which way to go as the roiling blue mist prevented him from seeing an arm’s length in front. He slashed the torch through the air, gritting his teeth, afraid of what he couldn’t see. But something definitely lived in the mist. Shadows. Movement. More shadows.

Suddenly, something jumped up in front of him from underneath the fog, barely chest high. All he saw over his frantic screams were wild eyes glaring at him, teeth and scars and a flaring nose under a tangle of dark hair, and tattered, dirty brown coverings. George stumbled backward and dropped his torch which extinguished at once. He screamed again while scrambling along on his knees and searching for an exit. The creature flew by, knocking him in the shoulder. George heard the patter of footfalls throughout the caves, heard the grunts and whispers of the fleeing shapes as he scrambled to his feet. He felt for an opening in the darkness, found one and started to run, not knowing which direction he was heading in, feeling in front of him in the inky blackness, his heart pounding, his head swimming, a wall suddenly finding his body and slamming against it. George Bane saw white fire in his mind as his hands clutched his head, unaware of the warm blood trickling off his forehead, unaware of the voices and the movement receding in the mist, unaware of anything more as he collapsed and succumbed to the darkness.

CHAPTER 4

A Wizard and His Apprentice

They slipped quietly out of the caves, one by one, like shadows in the night. Mune watched from a safe distance across the road, peeking around the corner of the old guardhouse. After a twenty-year slumber, the creatures had finally been awakened, and he had no desire to be the first person in their path. They possessed the fury of a lightning strike and the cunning of crows, and now they were loose again in this region of Laparia. Mune wondered what it would lead to, recalling the stories he had heard regarding their sentence to an eternal sleep. But the few details he knew were sketchy at best. Much had happened twenty years ago, and even greater events had transpired before then. Now a thread from the past was unraveling at this moment outside the tiny village of Kanesbury, one strand of many in an intricately woven history of which he could only guess.

The Mang River lay far west of the Northern Mountains and the Tunara Plains, snaking north and south like a silvery strip of thin ribbon. Several days’ journey west beyond the Mang stood the Gable Mountain range, a labyrinth of sharp peaks scraping the clouds and casting ebony shadows, at whose base lay winding valleys and bulging woodlands known to few outside the region. Exactly when in time the first wizards had arrived there, or from where they had originated, was known only to them, but their society flourished for countless years. The wizards perfected the magic arts and raised families undisturbed in their forest, valley and mountain homes.

As part of their training, the wizards traveled periodically into other regions of the world for a year or two after their twentieth birthday to observe the ways of others. Yet as generations passed, the outside world flourished and spread across Laparia while the wizards in the Gable Mountains grew fewer because of their self-imposed isolation. Though their lifespan surpassed that of common men, the wizards were not immortal, knowing deep in their hearts that their race would one day fade away like mist at sunrise.

Nearly sixty years ago, a day after his twentieth birthday, the wizard Vellan set out on his first journey to the outside world. He studied the history, arts and sciences of other realms, enthralled by their rich and varied cultures. What fascinated him most was that one individual, a king, whether wisely or corruptly, could rule an entire population or launch a great army. It was a concept foreign to him among the order and harmony that existed naturally in the Gable Mountains. Yet a part of him, however much he tried to deny it, also viewed segments of his society as tedious and stunted.

Vellan returned home after nearly two and a half years abroad, welcomed back with a ceremony atop the sacred hilltop of Ulán, the place where he had received his wizard’s staff at the age of thirteen. After regaling his fellow wizards with tales of the outside world, he dutifully returned to honing his craft. But memories of the freedom and excitement he experienced during his travels–the equivalent of which he never found at home–would envelope him upon observing a starry night sky though snow-covered pines or inhaling the sweet scent of wood smoke on a crisp autumn breeze. He yearned for something more beyond the study of magic.

Vellan married a year later, quelling his longings for the outside world through devotion to his wife, Audriana, and to his studies. He again felt at home and at peace in the Gable Mountains. But after another year had passed, a fellow wizard returned from his first journey abroad, recounting stories of wonder and excitement. Once again, Vellan yearned for a life other than his own.

Half a year later, shortly after his twenty-fifth birthday, he abruptly left Audriana to explore the world again, causing much consternation in the community. While common for a wizard to travel several times to the outside, usually ten to twelve years would pass between trips. But neither Vellan’s wife nor the other wizards could change his mind, and so he departed on a cold and misty morning.

Vellan was particularly fond of the Northern Mountains of Laparia and spent much time there practicing his craft. With each passing day, he grew more enamored with a life of freedom and vitality he thought sadly lacking in the Gable Mountains. And though the wizard knew he must eventually go home, this time he eagerly looked forward to it.

He made his return three years later, though his welcome was subdued. He was again allowed to discuss his travels upon the hilltop of Ulán, though many were less than enthusiastic to listen. But this time Vellan offered more than bland accounts of his journey. He instead presented a plan for reorganizing their society.

“Why be contained within the boundaries of the Gable Mountains? We must awaken ourselves from this living death and expand our influence, or we shall wither away,” he warned them. “And since the world of men craves our influence and wisdom, what better way to help ourselves than by helping them? The outside world needs our order imposed upon them!”

For weeks Vellan tried to convert other wizards to his side, but only succeeded in chipping away the tranquil foundation of their home. When his methods bordered on deceit and violence, a council of the oldest wizards assembled. On the hilltop of Ulán, he was expelled from the wizards’ order and forever banished. Vellan, disgraced, vowed revenge as he turned his back on the other wizards and his wife. He left the Gable Mountains in his twenty-eighth year, crossing the Mang River that marked the eastern border of the wizards’ realm. As he stepped into the water, the globe on his oak staff turned black, punctuating his expulsion, the color mirroring the darkness in his soul. He smashed the staff against a boulder in his rage, shattering the globe before he collapsed in sorrow.

He later settled down in a sparsely populated section of the Northern Mountains along the Drusala River which he named Kargoth. Isolated for the next ten years, Vellan feverishly devoted himself to perfecting his magic. His powers grew immensely and he cast a spell upon the water. The scattered populations in the river valley either moved away in fear or exhibited a strange devotion to the man in the mountains. Many eagerly volunteered into his service after drinking from the river.

His most monumental achievement was set loose upon the world five years later after spending weeks at a time holed away in secret caves perfecting the spells of his twisted craft. The Enâri emerged from the caves under a blood red sky at twilight, taking their first breaths of the mountain air. Vellan’s creations were short burly creatures with fierce eyes and firm jaws. Made from the rock and soil, and infused with the magic of the black arts, he fashioned a horde of these beings to do the bidding that his human followers were either too timid or too weak to perform.

The young wizard first instructed his new race to build a stronghold in and around Mount Minakaris along the upper half of the Drusala River. The Enâri worked day and night for three years building the fortress just north of the city of Del Norác. Vellan continued to create more of his creatures, forming a vast army with unwavering devotion.

As the years passed, the wizard’s influence encroached upon the other three mountain nations. With an unlimited supply of labor, Vellan mined vast amounts of iron, coal and silver and established trade relations with his fearful neighbors, cementing agreements on his terms after demonstrations of swift but violent incursions into selected villages, with promises of wholesale slaughter should those in charge reject his overtures. But the terror generated from a few burning crop fields, or a scattering of families whose murdered corpses were riddled with arrows, was usually more than enough to crush a population’s spirit and earn its grudging loyalty. Vellan’s powerful army eventually gave him total sway over those neighboring governments and their economies, allowing him to mold them into dependent satellites of Kargoth.

As his power and influence grew, Vellan constantly brooded over the humiliation he had suffered at the hands of his fellow wizards twenty-three years earlier. Now he was ready to strike back at their home in the Gable Mountains. He first planned a full-scale conquest of Laparia, intending to achieve as an individual what he had once desired for the entire wizard community–control. After befriending or conquering these realms, he imagined marching his expanded forces of Enâri and loyal men to the Gable Mountains to show the wizards what they could have attained if they had only listened to him. Then in the next moment, he planned to crush the wizards’ realm out of existence in one brilliant stroke.

Vellan knew he would need help in this endeavor and took on an apprentice. Caldurian lived in the Red Mountains in central Laparia and had become acquainted with Vellan during his earlier travels, often assisting the wizard. Vellan trained Caldurian for five years as he himself had been taught. The young man possessed an amazing aptitude in magic and quickly grew in strength and power.

In time, Caldurian was sent out to forge alliances with other kingdoms. But except for the rulers of the Northern Isles on the Trillium Sea, no one wanted any relationship with Kargoth, having learned from other wandering wizards about Vellan’s betrayal in the Gable Mountains. For two years Caldurian tried to make diplomatic headway, but was shunned at nearly every turn.

Not wanting to fail Vellan, Caldurian embarked a year later on a second journey to Arrondale, accompanied by five hundred Enâri creatures, and Xavier, an eagle who served as his dutiful messenger and spy. They arrived in the capital city of Morrenwood where he pleaded his case with King Justin and his advisors. But the answer was the same as a year ago–no.

In a rash attempt to change the King’s mind, Caldurian recruited Madeline, a nursemaid to the King’s granddaughter, Princess Megan. Madeline agreed to arrange for the kidnapping of the infant so Caldurian could use the child to bargain for King Justin’s loyalty to Vellan. The plot was foiled and Caldurian fled with Xavier and the Enâri. Madeline escaped with them, leading the wizard to a temporary refuge with a relative while the Enâri hid in the nearby woods. Eventually they were forced to flee east, hiding out in the Cumberland Forest to rethink their strategy.

The village of Kanesbury lay at the top of the Cumberland Forest. On occasion, Caldurian or Madeline would discreetly venture into the village for supplies or information. By chance one day, Caldurian learned that the village mayor, Otto Nibbs, was a second cousin to King Justin. He saw in this fact one last, desperate opportunity to convince the King of an alliance with Vellan. He arranged for secret talks with Otto Nibbs, promising him riches and power if he could persuade King Justin into an alliance with Kargoth. While Otto pretended to consider Caldurian's offer, he sent word to Morrenwood informing the King of the wizard’s whereabouts.

Caldurian grew suspicious of Otto’s stalling, realizing he had been played for a fool. In a fit of rage, he unloosed the Enâri on Kanesbury. They terrorized the village, ransacking and burning buildings. Several men were wounded in the conflict, including Jack Raven, a local farmer who was leading his wife to safety. Alice Raven was days away from having their first child. Jack died of his wounds a few days after King Justin’s troops arrived. He never saw his son, Nicholas, who was born a week later.

The Enâri creatures fled the village as the soldiers pursued them, taking refuge in caves less than two miles east of Kanesbury. King Justin’s soldiers guarded the cave entrances, trapping the Enâri inside. Caldurian, Madeline and Xavier were apprehended soon after. Caldurian was distraught when captured and his powers were temporarily weakened.

Accompanying King Justin was Frist, a wizard who had made multiple journeys to Laparia from the Gable Mountains to monitor Vellan’s growing dominance. Frist had traveled to Kanesbury with the King when learning about Caldurian’s attack. With few options, Frist cast a sleeping spell over the Enâri while they hid inside the caves, admitting that it was the most he could do without risking further bloodshed. Though a powerful wizard, Frist didn’t possess the capability to turn Vellan’s creatures to his will or to destroy them, at least not at the present time. He suggested a plan to safeguard the village should the creatures ever awaken from their slumber.

Frist instructed a local blacksmith to construct a small iron box with a locking lid and key. The wizard took the box, which fit into the palms of his hands, and was driven out to the caves that afternoon with King Justin and Mayor Otto Nibbs. A large contingent of villagers went as well and observed in silence. Caldurian, Madeline and Xavier, under heavy guard, were also forced to watch.

Frist stepped inside one of the caves, set the iron box on the ground and opened it. He scooped up a handful of soil and poured it into the box while whispering strange words. For over two hours he cast his spell, uttering words in a strange tongue as his face tightened in pain. Finally, he pointed at the box and the cover fell shut with a deathly thud. Frist placed the key inside the lock and turned it before collapsing to the ground in exhaustion.

He emerged an hour later at sunset, pale and shaking. He presented the iron box and key to King Justin, explaining that he had created an embryonic spirit within that would slowly grow in strength and power, hopefully one day able to destroy the Enâri horde should it be released. That day, however, would be years away since the spirit needed time to develop and effectively rival Vellan’s power living within the Enâri. As a precaution, Frist cast a second spell over the iron box and key which allowed that key alone to unlock it. No other force, no matter how great, would be able to pry the lid open. Frist, nearly sapped of all his strength, climbed into a carriage and asked to be taken to a secluded spot in the woods where he slept for three uninterrupted days.