Spirit Blade: Book III of the Dragon Mage Trilogy (8 page)

“But - what should I tell them, Sir?” asked the servant fearfully.

“I’ll be right there,” snapped the warlock, and waved him away.

“Yes, Sir,” answered the servant, who quickly disappeared back into the tent.

The warlock waited a few more minutes and then followed.

The tent was large and was sectioned off in several places. The front portion was fairly wide and had a table adorned with a map of the region. Seated around the table were various commanders of the forces in the valley below. There were four lizardmen commanders, three orc commanders, two goblin commanders, and one human mercenary commander. They all looked up as the warlock entered. To them he appeared large and intimidating. He was a good six and a half feet tall, with wide shoulders and muscular limbs. His facial features were rugged, with a long, pinched nose, an ugly scar on his right cheek, and eyes that were deep and black. His mouth was drawn in a scowl that left creases on his face which enhanced his dour expression. He had a black mustache and goatee, which he often stroked when deep in thought. His commanders knew better than to interrupt him when he did this.

The warlock looked around the torch-lit room and waited as each commander saluted him. Then he sat at the table’s head and folded his hands on the table.

“So, gentlemen,” he began, “what is the latest report?”

“The squabbles among my forces have subsided,” said one orc. He wiped his hand across his mouth as some spittle escaped his deformed face. He had the wide mouth of an orc, and his two bottom fangs pointed up at an angle, but his face hung at one side, evidence of an old battle scar. “The magical rings we recovered have been distributed by lot. Those who have one in their possession will keep them as long as they live, and are banned from acquiring more.”

“Good,” said the warlock. He looked at the others. “Has this worked for the rest of you?”

“Yes,” responded the commanders in unison.

“Good,” repeated the warlock. “We will use this method after each battle.”

“I still think the higher-ranking commanders should be entitled to one outright,” objected a goblin commander. He was particularly dark green for a goblin, and his pointed ears protruded from a shiny brass helmet undoubtedly acquired from the latest skirmish. The warlock found it odd that the creature could find a helmet that actually fit its tiny head.

“The lot determines who will own one,” stated the warlock sternly. “You have to lead by example.”

The goblin looked down but said nothing further.

“Has anyone discovered an easier way to identify magical ring wearers?” asked the warlock.

“We are still working on that,” said a lizardman commander. “We hope to have found a spell capable of doing that soon.”

The warlock frowned. “Well, keep trying. It’s important that we find a solution.”

“Yes, Sir,” said the lizardman.

“Our attempts to lure the dragons into the battle continue,” interjected another lizardman.

“And?” asked the warlock.

“We have established a dialogue with one of the dragons, but there is no interest yet.”

“We must convince them it’s for their own good at all costs,” insisted the warlock. “Use whatever means necessary to get them to see things our way.”

The lizardman commander nodded. “We’re trying.”

“Well, try harder!” snapped the warlock.

“Yes, Sir.”

“There is news of an approaching horde of cyclops,” said the mercenary commander. “They come from the northwest. We don’t know their intentions yet. The scouts were fearful of approaching them.”

The warlock smiled wickedly. He had almost forgotten about the one-eyed creatures. Their ability to paralyze their prey by convincing them to look into their eye was legendary. “I suspect they want to join the party. When they arrive, tell their leader I would like to see him personally.” He paused, and then added, “Tell your men that whoever takes on this task will be rewarded with a magical ring.”

“I thought you said the lot determined who got to have a magical ring?” growled the goblin commander from earlier.

The warlock looked at the goblin with a gleam in his eye. “Then now you have your chance to get one without waiting for your name to be drawn.”

The goblin looked away.

“Shall I cast a spell on you to remain impervious to the cyclops’ gaze?” offered a lizardman commander.

“That’s not necessary,” said the warlock. “That kind of magic is at my disposal.” He knew this irritated the lizardmen. He liked to keep them guessing as to his magical ability and prowess. He also wouldn’t dare to let one of those creatures cast a spell on him if he could help it.

“We should keep their army slightly separate from ours,” cautioned the mercenary. “Otherwise they could paralyze our people by accident.”

“Agreed,” nodded the warlock. The others nodded in agreement.

At this point the warlock pointed to the map on the table before them. “Here is the location of the human army. As you can see, they are well fortified. What we have to do is force them away from that location to come after us.” He pointed to another spot on the map. “We can lure them into this valley north of Boot Plateau. It is bordered by a cliff face one side and a forest on the other. There they will be in a prime position to be ambushed. We should move the lizardmen into the cliffs to attack long range with magic. Mulder,” continued the warlock, referring to the mercenary commander, “you will position your men in the forest to prevent the humans from retreating into the forest for cover. You can use the cyclops contingent to catch them off guard and paralyze them so your men will have an easy kill.”

“Provided the cyclops chief agrees to this,” interrupted Mulder.

“I’ll be persuasive,” said the warlock with a cruel grin. “Just leave that to me.”

Mulder nodded.

“I’ll also give you one contingent of lizardmen to hold back their mages and make them wary of entering the forest,” continued the warlock.

“I suppose we get to be the ones who have to lure the humans into the valley,” said an orc commander sullenly. “Why do we always have to take the brunt of the attack?”

The warlock smiled beguilingly. “Because your forces are the only ones who can handle such a task. Your race is slightly bigger and stronger than the humans. Can you imagine how long the lizardmen or mercenaries would last if I made them do it? We would be defeated in a matter of hours!”

The lizardmen hissed in anger and Mulder frowned. The orc commanders grinned at this compliment and the warlock smiled inwardly. His comment had the desired effect. A goblin commander giggled.

“Besides,” added the warlock, “you’ll have the help of the goblins. How could you lose?”

The goblin winced and the orc commanders snorted. “How indeed,” muttered one.

“When do we get started?” asked one of the lizardmen commanders.

The warlock smiled. “Your enthusiasm is delightful, Saliss. We will start moving first thing in the morning. Have your scouts sent out immediately to find the best areas from which to attack.”

Everyone nodded.

“If you have any questions, ask now or wait until we move out,” said the warlock.

No one said anything so the warlock dismissed them. When they had left, he called for his servant. “Gorc! Gorc!”

The goblin-orc appeared at a shambling run. “Yes, Sir?”

“See to it I am not disturbed until the arrival of the cyclops leader.”

“Yes, Sir,” said Gorc. “Shall I post sentries?”

“Of course!” snapped the warlock.

“Yes, Sir!” said Gorc, saluting. He hurriedly left the room.

The warlock entered an inner chamber and picked up one of several scrolls from a small table with a candle perched in an ornate holder. In the flickering light he opened it and scanned its contents. His eyes narrowed as he read. “If only I could have more time to study these scrolls,” he mumbled. “Once I master this magic, I would be invincible! An army of undead would be unstoppable!” He blinked distractedly. “What if I could revive a dragon?”

A cruel grin spread across his face.

Chapter 8

T
he air was rather cool due to the mountains behind them cutting off the setting sun and casting longer and longer shadows over the forest. The companions bundled up with whatever extra clothing they had with them and increased their pace. It was just beginning to get dark when they caught a whiff of the smoke from the dragon attack.

Kazin halted the group and looked around at them uncertainly. “I almost forgot we’re in elven territory. They don’t generally like strangers in their lands.”

Sherman looked around warily. “I’m surprised the elven patrols haven’t found us by now.”

“They probably have,” muttered Harran, fingering his axe nervously. “They just haven’t shown themselves yet.”

“I don’t think so,” said Amelia quietly. She had pulled out her orb and was looking at it intently. “There is no one nearby, anyhow.”

“The orb can tell you that?” asked Olag.

Amelia nodded.

“They may have gone to help the villagers when the dragon struck,” suggested Zylor. “They likely have their hands full.”

“I suspect you’re right, Zylor,” said Kazin. “But we can’t take any chances. I’ll have to change your appearance for a while.”

Zylor nodded and held up his amulet which hung around his neck. “I figured you would say that.”

Kazin got ready to cast a spell on Zylor to change him into a human when an idea struck him. “You know, it would probably be a good idea to change you into an elf instead. None of us are elves, and the villagers might be really suspicious about a group of strangers barging into their midst without an elf escort.”

“Good idea,” said Harran.

“Too bad we all couldn’t look like elves,” commented Sherman. “Even one of us not being an elf would attract too much attention in my opinion.”

Kazin thought about that for a moment. Then he brightened. “It’s doable.”

“How so?” asked Amelia.

“It’s easy,” said Kazin. “I’ll transform Zylor first. His amulet will maintain the spell for as long as he wears it or until he uses his weapon in combat.”

“Don’t forget my shadow,” interrupted Zylor.

“That’s right,” nodded Kazin. “Zylor’s shadow will still be his real shadow, so it’s best that he stays away from the light.”

“That takes care of one of us,” said Amelia.

“Sherman has the invisibility ring,” continued Kazin. “We won’t have to worry about him.”

“Good idea,” said Sherman. “That way I can keep an eye on everyone without being seen.”

“What about the rest of us?” asked Amelia.

“I can cast magic on us to make us look like elves,” said Kazin. “Just stay relatively close to me so it’s not so hard to maintain the spells.”

“But -,” stammered Amelia, “that spell can only be cast on one individual at a time. There are four of us left - you, me, Harran and Olag. You can’t cast all four spells at once and maintain them too!” She paused and added, “Can you?”

Kazin smiled and bowed. “I can and I will.”

Amelia’s mouth dropped. She was too speechless to respond. A mage capable of casting four spells simultaneously was unheard of. She was impressed when the mage had transformed into a dragon and flown the group to the base of the mountain. Now he was about to perform another seemingly impossible feat - four spells simultaneously. Casting two spells at once was common, and three was not uncommon. But four? Amelia had newfound respect for this old mage. She wondered what he had looked like when he was younger. She would make a point of inquiring about that in her orb.

When everyone was ready, Kazin began. First, he changed Zylor into an elf. Then he let go of the spell and the amulet retained the minotaur’s newly created image. Then the mage transformed Harran, Olag, and Amelia. The orb atop his staff flared brightly. Then he transformed himself, and his staff and orb were replaced by a bow.

“We can’t have my staff blinding everyone when we enter the village,” explained the mage.

“That wouldn’t do,” agreed Harran. He was a small stocky elf and could easily pass for an adolescent. He scratched his bare chin self-consciously. “It even feels like my beard is gone.”

Sherman chuckled. “Good thing, too. I can’t even imagine an elf with a beard.”

Amelia giggled. “That would be funny.”

“Alright,” interrupted Kazin. “Let’s get going. I suggest someone else does most of the talking. I’ve got my hands full.”

Sherman could tell from his friend’s voice that he was under some strain from the spells. He popped on his invisibility ring and disappeared from view. “Follow me.”

“Uh,” blurted Olag. “How do you propose we do that?”

Sherman reappeared a few feet away. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “I guess someone else has to lead the way from here on in.”

Amelia giggled again and the others chuckled.

Zylor shook his head. “I’ll do it.” He trudged off into the bush with Harran and Olag behind him. Kazin followed. As he passed Sherman, he patted him on the shoulder. “I’m glad you’re watching our backs. Be on the lookout for anyone who might be paying extra close attention to us.”

Sherman nodded. He waited until Amelia had passed and put his ring back on. Then he waited a few moments to see if anyone was following them without their knowledge. Amelia’s orb had told her the area was clear, but he wanted to confirm it for himself. Once he had confirmed the orb was correct, he stealthily stepped into the forest after his friends.

As the companions stepped into the village, they were surprised to see most of the villagers calmly clearing debris in the torchlight, while others went around offering food and water to those who worked. In fact, most of the debris had already been care of. No one seemed overly excited or stressed. It was as if they dealt with dragon attacks on a regular basis. It occurred to them that with dragons being common in this era, dragon attacks were commonplace as well.

Most villagers who saw them didn’t give them a second glance, but one who appeared to be in charge came up to them.

He lowered his hood, revealing a youthful face and pointed ears. He gave them a faint smile. “Welcome travelers. My name is Brand. I’m the mayor of this village. We’ve just about finished cleaning up from a dragon attack earlier today. As it happens, you’re in luck. The inn is unscathed and there are some rooms available should you require any.” His accent was a little difficult to understand, so Amelia elected to speak for them. “Thank you. We have traveled far today. We could use a rest.”

Brand nodded. “Right this way, then.” He led them to a building that was built tightly between a group of trees. As they passed through the front doors, the smell of cooking and the light of the fireplace made them immediately feel at ease. The room was cozy compared to the cool evening outside.

“Please make yourselves comfortable,” said Brand. “Forgive me,” he added, “but I have to oversee the cleanup. Perhaps we can talk later.” With a nod and a smile, he left them.

Tables were situated every few feet and were various lengths. The group chose one capable of holding six people and sat down. Zylor and Harran sat at one end facing each other. Olag sat in the middle and Kazin sat next to him. Amelia sat beside the dwarf.

“Someone mind pulling a chair out for me?” murmured a deep voice quietly.

Amelia jumped. She had forgotten Sherman was invisible. She pulled a chair back and it creaked as the big warrior sat down on it.

“Anyone interested in having an ancient meal before bed?” jested Kazin.

Harran groaned. “I was, until you reminded me about the ‘ancient’ part.”

“It’s perfectly safe to eat,” assured Amelia. “Some of the older dishes are rather tasty.”

“I take it you’ve eaten in the past before?” guessed Zylor.

“That’s right,” said the young spell caster. “I’ve found that eating locally prepared food doesn’t seem to affect the future. It’s the amount of gold you pay for it that is more likely to be a problem.”

“Speaking of which,” added Olag, “who’s buying? I have no currency.”

“I had anticipated that,” said Kazin. His voice was less tense as he got used to maintaining his spells, but the strain was still evident. He pulled a pouch from his cloak and tossed it on the table. “That should cover our costs, and then some.”

“Maybe we should just find some rooms and get some rest,” suggested Amelia. She didn’t like the idea of Kazin straining himself while they ate.

He shook his head. “No. We need to eat. I can hold these spells all night if I have to.”

Olag hefted the sack of coins. “What if our gold runs out before our quest is finished?”

Zylor snatched the bag from his hands and tossed it to Harran. “It won’t if we find someone responsible to handle it,” he growled.

Olag looked hurt by the insult.

“But what if he’s right?” asked Sherman as quietly as he could. Although the inn appeared to be empty save the elf at the counter, he wasn’t going to take any chances.

Kazin shook his head. “We won’t run out. The sack is magical.”

Harran looked at the sack in his hands incredulously, his eyes wide. “You mean - the sack is one of those ones that never runs out of coins?”

“Precisely,” said Kazin. “And don’t ask me where I got it.”

“Shhh!” shushed Amelia as she held a finger to her lips. “Not so loud! The waitress is coming!”

“Don’t forget to order for me,” whispered Sherman in Amelia’s ear. She jumped but said nothing.

The waitress was an attractive young elf with chestnut brown hair. “Good evening. Are you all interested in dinner?”

“Yes,” said Amelia. “What do you recommend?”

The waitress smiled. She rattled off a list of several choices and they ordered. Sherman squeezed Amelia’s arm to indicate his choice and she ordered the larger portion. The waitress was surprised that Amelia wanted so much but didn’t argue.

Then she asked with a wide smile if anyone wanted some milk beforehand to whet the appetite. Olag almost gagged at the suggestion and Harran winced. “We don’t often offer it on our menu,” added the waitress, “but a shipment has recently arrived from the human settlements to the north.” The elves had never experienced milk from cows until the human settlers had arrived. It was considered a special treat for them.

“I’ll have one,” said Amelia. She didn’t want the waitress to think they were strange.

“Me too,” said Kazin. He gave Amelia a thankful look.

“I’m in the mood for a dwarven ale,” said Harran.

“Me too,” said Zylor.

“Same,” said Olag.

Amelia felt the squeeze on her arm. She hesitated but Kazin knew what was up. “I’ll have an ale as well,” he stated.

The waitress looked at him curiously. “Instead of milk?”

Kazin smiled. “I’ll still have the milk. Who can resist? But an ale for afterward sounds refreshing.”

The waitress grinned, satisfied, and left for the kitchen.

“I’ve heard of tales about such an artifact,” whispered Harran as he jiggled the sack. “But until now I’ve never really believed it existed.”

“It’s not something anyone would want to create,” said Kazin.

“Why not?” asked Olag. “I would think it’s something everyone would want to have.”

“When part of the spell used to create it requires the death of the spell caster him or herself?” asked the old mage in elven disguise.

Amelia gasped. “Is that true? Someone died to create the sack?”

Kazin nodded.

“Why?” she pressed. “What could it possibly benefit him to give his life to make the sack? He wouldn’t be able to spend it.”

Kazin nodded. “From what I was told when I was in training in the Tower of Sorcery, a mage took it upon himself to try to create the sack anyway, thinking he could avert death in the process by adding some spell components and some necromancy magic. In theory, his spell modifications were foolproof. So when he was ready, he performed the spell in secrecy. He succeeded - partially. The sack was created, and he lived. For three days he boasted, spending his gold flippantly wherever he went. Then he noticed something was wrong. His body began to decay. His hair fell out, and his skin wrinkled and fell away. He paid healers to heal him but they were unable to help. In shame, he went to the clerics in the white tower and offered them the sack of endless coins in exchange for making him well again. But try as they might, they couldn’t help him. Soon he became so weak and suffered from so much pain he couldn’t leave his bed. It is said that he was like that for two weeks, alive but with a corpse for a body. A true zombie. At the end, his mind left him and they buried his seriously decomposed body in a deep grave. Many clerics claimed he still lived within that corpse, only he couldn’t respond.”

Amelia shivered. “That’s a horrible story.”

“What happened to the sack?” asked Olag.

“The white tower returned it to the black tower where it was stashed away. Mages were banned from repeating the spell. The spell itself was hidden away, never to be revealed again.” Kazin shrugged. “That’s all I know.”

Amelia pointed to the sack. “Is that -is that the sack?”

Kazin smiled. “I can’t say.”

Amelia shuddered.

Their milk and ale were served and talk turned to lighter things. Before their food arrived, a few more people came in and placed orders. They appeared to be workers who had cleared debris and were done for the day. They cheered up noticeably as their milk was served.

The food finally arrived and everyone stopped talking to savour the delicious elven meal. Fortunately for Sherman, his place was near the wall so his plate was concealed from the other people in the room. He ate quickly but warily, making sure to keep his invisible head close to his plate to minimize the movement of his utensils. The plate was close to Amelia, so anyone glancing over would think it was hers. She elected not to eat and savoured her glass of milk.

Kazin, who sat across from Sherman, did his best to push his glass of ale away from him so Sherman could access it. It was a little more difficult for the warrior to ingest the ale without being seen, but he managed to do it unnoticed.

When the waitress came back for the dishes, she noticed Amelia’s empty plate and gave her a strange look.