Vegenrage: The Magic User (13 page)

He readies himself and puts the Cloak of Reflection on last because this negates his invisibility spell. He puts on the cloak and begins to chant spells. He sends four lightning bolts into the entrance with large destructive explosions and follows them with sixteen magic missiles, collapsing the ground around the entrance, then sends six incinerating fireballs into the entrance, setting all and any vegetation in the area on fire and melting the earth, blocking the entrance and exit. To be watching Cloakenstrike from the surrounding trees is spectacular. As soon as he became visible with his black shirt shining diamond white and his golden helmet sparkling a golden hue, he started to glow magically in purples and reds and white dots as he pointed his hands at the entrance, and four incredibly blue lightning bolts weaseled their way from his hands, exploding and igniting the entrance. And then one after another, red-hot, glowing magic missiles just jettisoned from his fingertips, causing further damage, sending earth and wood hurling in the air. The remarkable fireballs just grow and shoot from his hands, lighting up all the forest a brilliant red as they incinerate the earth at the bottom of the Great Erken tree, setting it on fire.

There are at least a dozen elves watching from the trees, and this amazing spectacle completely consumes their hearts as the power unleashed by one man is clearly devastating the home of their king. Fear initially causes them to hesitate, but that only lasts a few seconds, and they launch a barrage of arrows at Cloakenstrike, which deflect away from him and either strike the large Erken tree or veer off into the forest. Cloakenstrike can now guess where the elves are hiding and lets loose an incredible incendiary flame ball over twenty feet in width, which only expands as it moves into the trees. There are at least six elves that cannot escape the flame and are incinerated.

Now the Great Erken tree and a lot of the forest around it are ablaze, and the whole area is lit up a horribly yet beautiful yellow and red as the forest burns. Cloakenstrike reaches into his Bag of Holding and pulls out a Vullumptom Ax. This ax is light as a feather, but when it strikes wood, it cuts through it like a box cutter cutting through cellophane. Cloakenstrike strikes and hacks his way into the tree with arrows whisking by him, and he pays them no attention. The elves realize he is making his way into the tree and form a more intimate attack on Cloakenstrike. They jump to the tree, two descend from above and two ascend from below; but Cloakenstrike gets his staff, points, and says “Fire” four times in less than ten seconds, and all four elves are hit with little golf-ball flames that in seconds incinerate them, and Cloakenstrike resumes his assault on the tree.

Shandorn enters the throne room where King Estine has gathered his top general and six heavily armed fighters. Sitting on his throne, King Estine addresses Shandorn, “Have you any news of what is happening?”

“Yes, this is very bad. A rogue human magic user is, as I feared, on a quest to steal the Octagemerwell.”

“A human—the humans are attacking Erkensharie?”

“No, not humans, a single human, a most unique and powerful magic user. This is the ancient spell user Cloakenstrike, the bringer of death, the mover of stealth, and the stealer of power.

“A single human dare attack Erkensharie with the motivation to steal the Octagemerwell. Have our bowelves of the trees strike down this magic user.”

“Estine, he has obliterated our bowelves already and sealed the entrance with powerful magic. Nothing will stop this man except death, and he has prepared well. He has passed the homeland of Erkensharie undetected. He has decimated the Treestriders along the way, and now he enters our home right through its wall. The Great Erken is on fire, as is the surrounding forest.”

The Vullumptom Ax slices through the wall to the throne room, right behind the general and his men. A large explosion of splintered wood engulfs the throne room, leaving all pelted and bleeding from multiple penetrations of different-size wood chips. Cloakenstrike floats into the room, and before he can introduce himself, the great Tenzon draws his sword and attacks the intruder.

Tenzon is large for an Erkensharie elf, standing nearly five feet tall with long blond hair, very unusual among the Erkensharie elves that have dominantly short dark hair. He carries the Wristslicer Sword, a magnificent blade forged of the finest metals on Fargloin, dedicated to the elves by the great Glaborster dwarves. Tenzon unsheathes his sword from its leather scabbard studded with fine metal and swings it skillfully as he approaches Cloakenstrike. The Wristslicer tints red as it slices the air and looks very hard to handle. It is flat and nearly an inch thick on the back side of the sword, thinning all the way to the razor-sharp tip. The width of the sword is about a foot at the hilt and grows narrower all the way to its tip, not even an inch in width. This is a very odd-looking sword, wide at the hilt and the shape of a pyramid growing thinner all the way up. It looks hard to handle and uneven in weight, but Tenzon maneuvers and swings it masterfully and comes across Cloakenstrike’s chest with the blade.

Cloakenstrike has little time to react and suffers a painful gash from above his left nipple down below his right nipple, leaving a deep bleeding wound. Tenzon goes for gold, swinging to release Cloakenstrike’s head from his body. Tenzon pivots his body a full 360 degrees, coming around with his sword now in his left hand at Cloakenstrike’s neck. Cloakenstrike can cast an expulsion spell just by saying the word
expulsion
, which sends his targets flying like they were hit with a larger-than-life fist, much like the spell Vegenrage cast on Xanorax to stop the Life Stealer from taking his life.

Tenzon is so fast that by the time Cloakenstrike says “Expulsion,” he has come around with the sword, and before he is sent flying into the wall, the Wristslicer has made contact with his throat and leaves a razor-sharp slice in Cloakenstrike’s neck a microsecond before his major artery is severed. The general and his six men are sent crashing into the wall on the other side of the room as well.

Shandorn watches as the wounds inflicted to Cloakenstrike heal up in seconds, and he chants a powerful spell in the Erkensharie language. He casts the Cannonbolt spell on Cloakenstrike—a big mistake. This is like a whaling ship shooting a very large harpoon into a very large whale. Of course, Cloakenstrike’s Cloak of Reflection sends the Cannonbolt back into Shandorn, striking him and staking him to the wall. Cloakenstrike can’t believe his good fortune—exactly what he wanted—and attacks immediately. The stunned elves, all but the king, are too slow to react as Cloakenstrike flies to Shandorn and puts his hands on his face and chants in the ancient Erkensharie language,. “Ireem Andeene Lathalone Stomdeeney Compaleye Rekonproveeney Compel Lekenrek!”

Shandorn’s eyes widen, and his mouth opens wide. The look of fear and torment engulfs his face, and blue mist exits his nose and mouth and enters Cloakenstrike’s mouth. Shandorn’s body shrinks and compresses inward, and his life’s energy is stolen by Cloakenstrike. The only elf not stunned by Cloakenstrike’s expulsion spell is the king, and he attacks the distracted Cloakenstrike. He draws his dagger and jumps at Cloakenstrike, coming down hard just to the left of Cloakenstrike’s right shoulder, sinking the dagger down to its hilt, breaking Cloakenstrike’s concentration in agonizing pain.

The king’s dagger is powerful. It is infused with elven magic that disrupts blood flow and muscle reaction of a struck individual. The king holds the dagger in place with his right hand and wraps his left arm around Cloakenstrike’s neck, knowing that the dagger’s magic will immobilize him quickly. Cloakenstrike chants an inferno spell, engulfing the entire throne room in flames, killing all but Cloakenstrike. The elves in the room are incinerated and so is the king. Cloakenstrike reaches over with his left hand and removes the dagger. He flies out the hole in the wall to avoid the heat, which he is not immune to and will burn himself if he doesn’t get out quickly.

Once outside, he begins to heal as arrows are deflected away from him by his helmet. He keeps the dagger in his hand as yet another of his many stolen treasures. Cloakenstrike chants another inferno, engulfing the surrounding area, because he needs a little more time to heal and doesn’t want any distractions from the nearby elves, and this tactic works, killing more elves. Cloakenstrike heals quickly, thanks to his Necklace of Intensity, and looks at the magical dagger he stole from the now-dead King Estine.

“Shoot,” Cloakenstrike says, looking at the dagger. “The Dagger of Motion Slowing. Damn. I incinerated its sheath. Oh well.” He puts it in his Bag of Holding. The dagger’s sheath kept it magically potent, and without it, its magic will fade. Cloakenstrike is impressed at his ability, and his confidence is unparalleled right now. By taking the life force of Shandorn, the highest, most knowledgeable elven magic user in Erkensharie, he now can gain access to the magic, the power of the Octagemerwell. Cloakenstrike is taken away from his personal admiration as all the flames in the forest go out. The inferno burning in the Great Erken tree is extinguished as well. Cloakenstrike looks to the ground to see many elven bowelves draw and launch their arrows. Nearly one hundred arrows are all deflected into the tree behind him, and he laughs.

“You have lost your king. You have lost your homeland stronghold. Leave now or lose your lives.”

The elves retreat, and silence consumes the air. Cloakenstrike looks around and shrugs. “Hmm.” He looks around for a few moments, anticipating an attack of some sort, but none comes. He floats back into the Erken tree, very cautiously feeling the air with his hands, trying to detect any presence that may be close, but comes up empty. Even if the elves know they are outmatched, he figures they will fight to the end.

Everything in the throne room was made of wood with some gold and valuable gems that have melted or burned into the surroundings. He looks around and can detect no way in or out other than the entrance he created from the outside of the tree. No matter, his goal now is the Octagemerwell. Cloakenstrike has stolen the life force of Shandorn, and this is very different than stealing the life force of a non-magic user. There are no visions, no cravings. The magical energy of one magic user transfers to the essence of the other magic user. Cloakenstrike’s magic automatically increases in strength and power, and since he already has a fluent knowledge of the Erkensharie language, the magic of Shandorn will come to him through simple use of magic. He only needs to experiment a little. He has the foundation, the skill, and the language; he now only needs to use it and see what the effects are.

Cloakenstrike is a spell craftsman and creator; he has devotion and dedication to his craft, and what he has accomplished so far is miraculous. As far as his magical strength and ability, it has grown in power and intensity. Shandorn was, although you may not think so, a very exceptional magic user, and a huge transfer of magical energy has just shifted into Cloakenstrike. This does not go unnoticed. Although there are not a lot of magic users in all the worlds and realms compared to the number of living beings there are, there are still hundreds of them among many different races and species; and when Cloakenstrike stole the magical essence of Shandorn, magical energy reverberated throughout the realms, and many magic users felt this. The stronger, the wiser, and the more adept the magic user, the clearer the signs of what has transpired on this night.

Logantrance, being on the top tier of magical know-how, is well established in magic, well versed, and well acquainted with many magical beings and instantly knows Cloakenstrike has stolen the life of Shandorn. There are many tens of magic users that know this as well. Magic users are a very special breed no matter what race or species they are, and there is always power struggle, just like with any competing forces, to gain power. There are always new ways, new devices, and of course, very ambitious individuals; and Cloakenstrike has just made himself a most distinguishable target.

Logantrance knows Cloakenstrike is one of the most powerful, and he is letting everyone know it. Dozens of magic users throughout the realms and worlds are now waiting the sensation, a powerful magical wave, to hit them. The talk has already begun. Many are anticipating the rise of a new power and what the effects may bring upon them. The reality that the Octagemerwell may be passed to the hands of a human is very serious. The reality is that if the Octagemerwell is passed to the hands of Cloakenstrike, Cloakenstrike will have superior intuition and strength over all elven magic. The fate of elven magic lies in the balance.

CHAPTER 10
The Search for Alluradaloni

Logantrance sits in his home, staring into the fire burning in the center of his study, surrounded by an astonishing library of magical books and the like. He stares motionless into the fire, smoking his long pipe. He has felt this before and knows change is coming. He faced Cloakenstrike to a standoff before, but that was with the help of his teacher Swallgrace, and he remembers the confidence, the outright disregard of others in Cloakenstrike’s quest for power. He remembers how Cloakenstrike was very unique in the sense that he was and is an evil man, but his pursuit for power is not evil. It is ambition.

Logantrance was summoned to the planet Kronton by his master, Swallgrace, and there they faced and prevented Cloakenstrike from obtaining a very powerful spell book written by Ledgehorn, one of the most successful and talented magic users in the Krinston Realm. Ledgehorn had spent two millenniums writing his book on the beings of the Krinston Realm and the world of Kronton and included his special brand of spell crafting in it as well. Cloakenstrike sought the book to further his magical ambition.

There was a great magical duel between Cloakenstrike and Ledgehorn, and Cloakenstrike was victorious in slaying Ledgehorn. He did not possess the ability to steal life force at this point and was seeking the book to help him in this quest, but before he acquired the book, Swallgrace intervened and faced Cloakenstrike in magical battle. This was over a millennium ago, and at that time, this was the greatest magical battle ever seen.

Logantrance appeared to see the two magic users flinging each other around with their Staffs of Throwing. Each man was bloodied and bruised. Logantrance hit Cloakenstrike with a lightning bolt and nearly killed him, but Cloakenstrike was very powerful even then and somehow escaped with his life. Before Cloakenstrike fled, he threw a Dagger of Speed, striking Ledgehorn in the heart, killing him. Swallgrace was able to magically bring Ledgehorn back to life, and the three became fast friends. When Logantrance and Swallgrace realized the destruction done by this one individual, they knew they had a lifelong enemy, and the devastated people around that had survived the fireballs and lightning strikes begged the two magic users to protect them. At first they helped the people of Breezzele bring their life to a little bit of calm, because Cloakenstrike used their destruction as a diversion in order to draw out Ledgehorn so he could in turn steal the book
The Magic of Krinston
. This was Ledgehorn’s book on magic and very, very powerful at that time. The book was not stolen. Ledgehorn did not die, and the three magic users talked and planned for future attacks from Cloakenstrike. The alliance between Ledgehorn, Swallgrace, and Logantrance held true, and Cloakenstrike was never heard from in Krinston again.

Ledgehorn was already a very old magic user in the twilight of his life, and within a millennium, he had passed, passing
The Magic of Krinston
to Swallgrace. After Swallgrace had lost his life to Alluradaloni, the
Magic of Krinston
was passed to Logantrance and just recently passed to Vegenrage. Logantrance can’t help but think that somehow someway Cloakenstrike had something to do with the way Alluradaloni had taken Swallgrace’s life but has never found a shred of proof that Cloakenstrike had anything to do with it.

Logantrance shifts his thoughts to Vegenrage, and the astonishing leap magic has taken with him. Cloakenstrike, as powerful as he is, still must chant the spell of powerful magic for it to happen. Oh, he can just think about well-used magic or less-powerful spells, and they will happen without him speaking it. He can meditate long, long periods of time to just think the existence of some powerful magic, but he is mostly limited to having to chant the words for powerful magic to happen. Vegenrage on the other hand just made it happen right from the get-go like; it was meant to be. Logantrance worries that if Vegenrage were to go rogue in pursuit for personal power, what a devastating, threatening power he would be.
Is this how Cloakenstrike started out?
Logantrance looks up like he is awake now.
What is done is done, no time to waste
. He gears up with his Bag of Holding, his staff, and some other effects and walks into the air, vanishing.

Vegenrage is sitting on a large rock formation overlooking the end of Pinegrow Forest, which he has flown over, to his back and the Crisdor Sea in front of him. Vegenrage is completely unaware of the magical tremors rippling through the realms because he is in the bottle on the world of Wherlerria, and nothing penetrates in or out. Vegenrage is watching the sun come up over the Crisdor Sea and wonders how Logantrance ever conceived this world in a bottle, complete with gravity and a sun and a moon—truly breathtaking and amazing.

Well, enough of that,
he thinks, and he admires the Staff of Barrier Breath and puts it in its scabbard as he does with the Staff of Power. He looks at the scale he ripped from Blethstole as the warm, salty air blows his hair behind him and ponders how to adorn himself with the scale. He puts it to his chest, his arm, and his leg. “Hmm, where am I going to put this?” The scale is large enough to cover either his right breast or his left breast, and finally he magically secures it to his shirt, covering his left breast, thinking it should cover his heart. He magically alters his shirt to conceal the scale, and remarkably, his shirt looks like just a well-fitting black shirt with two protective breast plates covering his pecs.

Vegenrage sits on the rock just watching the sun rise, thinking this is great, and enjoys the peaceful morning all by himself. He sits there for quite a while, in no hurry, just wondering what he should do next. Two phases of his quest behind him, and all he has now is to face Alluradaloni and get the Rose Unbar Key along with other magical items. But where is she, and how is he going to find her? He decides to go back to Mourbarria and start there. Vegenrage can use his Dimension Door spell to travel anywhere he has been. He was able to travel to Shaspar because, by seeing into the mind of Mournbow, he gained knowledge of the landscape.

Vegenrage uses his Dimension Door and vanishes into the air. Vegenrage appears on the great wall surrounding Mourbarria Castle. He walks right into yet another early morning since the sun has just risen here. All is quiet, and Vegenrage floats down to the castle entrance. He walks up the steps to be greeted by the two guards pointing their spears at him. He motions his right hand before them. “Let Mournbow know he has company.”

The guard to his right pulls a thick rope, which rings a bell, and the guards open the doors to the castle.

Vegenrage enters, and the doors close behind him. He enters the large hall, and Inglelapse comes hurriedly down the stairs from his chambers.

“Vegenrage, you are back.”

“Inglelapse, I need to talk with Mournbow and why not you too.”

“Wait here. I will get him for you. Oh, Vegenrage, before you leave, I have something I think you will find very interesting. Don’t let me forget to tell you about it before you go, OK?” Inglelapse goes up the large stairwell to Mournbow’s room and knocks. “Mournbow, Vegenrage is back.”

“Vegenrage is back?” Mournbow opens the door. “Vegenrage is back?”

The two come down the stairs to greet him. Mournbow extends his hand to Vegenrage, and they shake. “Vegenrage, did you clash with Xanorax and Blethstole?”

“Yes, I did, and it was eventful.”

“We have not heard from Xanorax, and I expected some sort of retaliation from him by now concerning the death of Belron. Did you defeat and kill Xanorax? What of Blethstole?”

“I have met both, and both still live. I have come to ask something else of you. I need to know of the witch Alluradaloni.”

“Alluradaloni, the seductress of men.” Mournbow looks at Inglelapse.

Inglelapse looks at Vegenrage with a wide mouth. “Alluradaloni has the power to steal the life of any and all men. Ah, yes, a scale from Blethstole can give immunity to her charms. This is why you sought out Blethstole, but why Xanorax?”

“I need to know where I can find Alluradaloni.”

“Come, follow me.” Inglelapse leads Mournbow and Vegenrage into the room with the large map of Kronton on the wall. “Alluradaloni controls the Wickenfall Forest, which surrounds the Mindsunk Bog.” Inglelapse points this region out on the map for Vegenrage to see. Inglelapse turns to Vegenrage. “This place is the most evil of evil. Very few have ever returned from the Wickenfall Forest, and no one has ever ventured into the Mindsunk Bog and come back from there. The entire Wickenfall Forest sits on a crater, a fifty-mile-wide crater. The whole forest is on a hill just steep enough to support the forest, and at the bottom of the crater is the Mindsunk Bog. It is said that all life entering the forest is drawn or pulled to the bog, and there life ends. The forest and the bog are all controlled by Alluradaloni. No man has ever resisted her seduction and no creature or beast has declined her rule.”

“Well, she is about to be resisted and tamed.”

“Vegenrage, the beasts there are cruel and merciless, if you survive them. Alluradaloni is the most formidable witch ever known. No man—I mean, no man—has ever looked at her and survived to tell about it.”

“Well, it looks like this Wickenfall Forest is on the other side of the world where I just came from. Shouldn’t be too far from Pinegrow Forest and the Crisdor Sea, at least not too far to fly fairly quickly.”

“Are you really going to see the witch? Can I have my Staff of Power back?”

Mournbow jumps in, “Vegenrage, please have some breakfast with us and talk some more before you go.”

Vegenrage agrees, and the three head to a table to have some breakfast, but before Vegenrage sits down, he pulls the Staff of Power from its scabbard and places it on the floor beside the table. “Here you go, Inglelapse, if you can remove the staff before I go, it is yours again.”

Like before, Inglelapse strains and struggles to remove the staff, which sits perfectly perpendicular on the floor. It’s funny to watch Inglelapse grin as he pushes and pulls and tries desperately to regain his staff, with no luck. The three have breakfast and talk about Vegenrage’s adventure with Xanorax and Blethstole. Mournbow and Inglelapse listen quietly, engrossed as Vegenrage tells the story of how he defeated the four demons. They eat their breakfast as Vegenrage goes on telling about Blethstole and his lair. Vegenrage is very conscious not to tell about the magical items he has acquired or the real quest that he is on. They finish breakfast, and Vegenrage readies himself to travel on to find Alluradaloni. Inglelapse goes to the staff and tries to pull it from the ground where it sits.

“Inglelapse, do you know why you cannot regain the staff?”

“Well, obviously not.”

“Inglelapse, do you even know why magical items are magical items?”

“What do you mean?”

“You see, all items, all inorganic items whether man-made or not, are just that—items. However, when magic is applied to an item and a name given to that item, the magical essence infuses the item, making it magical. The item now has a name and can perform a specific function. It does not think. It acts and reacts to the magic trying to acquire the item’s magical ability.” Vegenrage starts waving his hands slowly in circles with magical blue and white sparkles following the motion of his hands, and he grabs the chair at the end of the table with both hands. “You see, Inglelapse, I have just given this chair a name and imbued it with magical essence. Now it is a magical item. Mournbow, would you sit here please.”

“It’s not going to hurt, is it?”

“No.”

Mournbow sits, and the chair’s arms wrap around him, securing him tightly so he cannot move.

“See, this chair is now a Chair of Holding, and I have given it a name. In order to use the chair’s true ability to the fullest, you must know and call it by name, and it will respond to you. You don’t have to verbally say its name out loud. You can just think the name, and it will hear you, provided you have the magical ability to summon the magic of the item.” Vegenrage whispers into Inglelapse’s ear, “Now you know its name, and this is your own secret magical item, which no one knows about except us three. OK, release Mournbow and don’t speak out loud.”

Inglelapse touches the chair with both hands and closes his eyes. The chair releases Mournbow and regains its normal shape.

“Cool. So how did you know the name of my staff?”

“Well, some magic is more advanced than other magic.” Vegenrage whispers in Inglelapse’s ear again, and Inglelapse walks up to the staff, grabs it, and it releases to his person. Inglelapse smiles.

“Now you can use the true ability of the staff.”

“Thank you, Vegenrage. I always knew there was so much more to this staff.”

“Well, gentlemen, I must be going now.”

“Vegenrage, please, if you survive this crazy endeavor you are on, please come back and see us.” Mournbow shakes his hand.

“OK, Mournbow.”

“Wait, Vegenrage, I have something to show you. Come, come with me.”

Vegenrage follows Inglelapse up the stairs and into his room. Inglelapse rummages around in his room, humming and rubbing his forehead. “Where is it? I know it is here. Ah yes, I remember.” Inglelapse brushes all the junk off a chest, and he opens it. “Here, this is what I wanted to show you. There was a time when I was adventurous myself, and I came across this. I never knew what it was, but something told me it was very special. Maybe you can make better use of this than I was able to.” Inglelapse hands Vegenrage a small bag with a thin golden rope attached to it.

Vegenrage accepts the bag from Inglelapse and immediately knows this is a Bag of Holding. “Inglelapse, where did you ever get this? You know what this is?” Vegenrage releases the bag, and it hovers, and the golden rope unties itself and wraps around Vegenrage’s waist and secures itself snugly.

Inglelapse looks at Vegenrage with a smile, like a father watching his son put on a tie for the first time.

“Inglelapse, this is a Bag of Holding. This is a very special magical item.”