A Wizard's Tears (10 page)

Keldoran rubbed his eyes wearily. He felt like sleeping, but his mind was too active for sleep to come.
The mages had given him and the others separate bed chambers. There was a communal room where they could all gather to talk, and eat, when the mages brought them food. It was here that Keldoran decided to walk to, clambering out of his prepared bed. Maybe some of his new friends would be there; he was sure no-one would sleep successfully tonight.
They had been given fresh linen and an assortment of soft furnishings, making their rooms comfortable and welcoming. A wardrobe had been provided, carrying various items of clothing, including a bed gown and, to their delight, grey robes to be worn as befitted a member of the mage guild. One ‘o the robes, Keldoran thought with a grim smile, hearing his father’s voice in his mind.
He took the grey robe out of his wardrobe, holding the velvety fabric lovingly in his hands. He had dreamed of his own set of mage robes for years. Shrugging off his bed gown, a pale grey piece of cloth that did nothing for comfort, merely there to enhance one’s modesty, he pulled on the warmer, grey robe. It fitted him perfectly.
Also provided were a sash to bind the robe to his waist, pale red in colour, and a pair of dark grey boots, his footwear. This was all the mages wore. Keldoran put his boots on, again a perfect fit, and glanced at the tall mirror that adorned one of the walls of his chamber.
Looking back at him was a mage. A natural born mage of the land. Keldoran liked the look of the person in front of him, but the person was a stranger. He vowed he would get to know this stranger.
It was no wonder he could not sleep, after the last few days. His brain reeled from all he had learned about himself, and of the tale of the Ice Lords. In addition, Vo’Loth, the name he had heard from his dream, had turned out to be the Ice Lord’s leader. What did it all mean?
Keldoran left his bedroom and made his way to the communal room. He had been shown the way; it wasn’t very far. Mandorl had said he would be shown the full breadth of the guild in good time, but at the moment they needed to wait until the threat of the sorcerer had passed. Mandorl had assured him Suralubus would come on the morrow and talk to him further about his land magicks. They could not have given him a harder task. Waiting, it was a slow and frustrating business.
He found Yvanna in the communal room. Evidently he had been right – sleep was as difficult on this night for his other companions as it was for him.
Yvanna had certainly put her few hours alone to good use. She had bathed herself, untangled and washed her hair, which hung straight and golden, and had put on a fresh change of clothes, no doubt from one of her luggage boxes. She now wore a pale red dress; it seemed to accentuate her breasts, pushing them forward, showing ample cleavage. Her shoulders and arms were bare, albeit apart from a gold bracelet which adorned her left wrist. The dress ended rather abruptly: a good way up from her knees. Keldoran flushed crimson and averted his eyes. She looked stunning to him, and her little body was very revealing in the garb she had chosen.
Yvanna did not seem to notice his awkwardness. “Keldoran,” she acknowledged him with a nod. Her tone was peevish, her face downcast. She sat on a wooden chair, one of many in the room.
Keldoran coughed slightly, trying to pin his eyes on anything but Yvanna. He stumbled over to her and sat in a chair next to her own.
The room was warm and comfortable. Tapestries hung on the walls, depicting mages and symbols he had never seen before. The floor was covered in a thick, velvety rug, which covered the stone underneath. Wooden tables and chairs were scattered throughout the room. From the ceiling hung metal and glass chimes, and occasionally, rather oddly, a slight breeze would make its way throughout the room, tinkling the chimes ever so slightly. Magick, presumed Keldoran, and it made for a relaxing sound to contemplate on.
“The mages must come here to ponder,” said Keldoran quietly. “This place is amazing to me. So many sights and sounds. I would never have seen all of this back in Demorbaln."
Yvanna sighed deeply. “I am wondering whether I should have stayed in the village!”
“Oh?” Keldoran was startled. “How so? We’ve only just arrived-“
“It’s all this waiting!” hissed the girl vehemently. “I came here to meet mages, to learn magick. So far we’ve been sent to our rooms without meeting a soul. I dressed like this-“ she indicated her dress, forcing Keldoran to blush anew, “- to make an impression with the other mage students, or even a mage himself. Then I discovered from Mandorl that we were to stay in our quarters! Well, I ignored him – I came here to see if anyone would show. I can’t just go to sleep – not on the first night.”
“I couldn’t sleep either,” Keldoran admitted, “but for different reasons than you, I believe.”
“Do I look beautiful to you?” she asked suddenly, not bothering to ask him of his reasons for insomnia. She turned to look at him, her blue eyes penetrating. She leaned forward, offering one of her arms to his face. “Smell!” she commanded before he could utter a reply. Keldoran sniffed, and was immediately assaulted by a sickly sweet perfume. Yvanna must have covered herself in a bottle of the stuff.
“It’s the most expensive perfume I own,” she declared petulantly. “I put all this on, made all this effort, and now it’s wasted. There is no welcoming party. No-one will see my beauty tonight.”
Keldoran opened his mouth to say something, but Yvanna pushed herself to her feet. “Goodnight, Keldoran,” she said to him, sighing. “I will see you at breakfast.” She vanished from the room in a sea of smell and colour in as little time as it took for Keldoran to blink.
The sway of the chimes in the room suddenly seemed to have a harsh twang to them, and Keldoran found his thoughts even more disturbed. He had come on the hope that someone would listen to his own problems, not shout about their own grievances. He found himself annoyed at Yvanna, then. For all her beauty, for all her posturing, she was a girl simply trying to find a date. The threat of the sorcerer, the beauty of Malana, the events that had happened on their way here, all seemed forgotten to her. Keldoran shook his head in disbelief. Wasn’t she even
afraid
of what was to come?
He had much deeper concerns, the sorcerer foremost on his mind. Who was this man, that could harm the fabric of the land, and cause his own magick to rise within him? Where did he come from?
He prayed the leader of the mages, Suralubus, would find the answers, and also the answers to controlling the magicks that bubbled within him.
“Good evening, Keldoran!”
Keldoran glanced up at the voice, and saw Corg, the Bu’Kep, walk into the room. The young man smiled in greeting, relieved and glad that someone else had made an appearance. He did not want to be alone, this night. “So,” started Corg, sitting down in the seat Yvanna had just vacated, “how do you fare, mage of the lands?” “Oh, please…” Keldoran gave a nervous shake of the head. “I don’t know who I am, right now.”
“That’s understandable,” replied Corg, in sympathy. “It’s not everyday you get to hear you’re a natural mage. Yet that’s not the only thing that troubles you, is it?” Keldoran eyed the juggler suspiciously. “What do you mean?”
“I am very perceptive, Keldoran. It’s what keeps my race from becoming extinct. Many doors and many people cast us aside as freaks. Well, I can’t say I blame them. I do have an odd horn in my forehead.”
Keldoran glanced to the floor, subdued and embarrassed.
“As I was saying, “ Corg continued, “I’ve learned to see through people, to see beyond the polite greetings and the false smiles. Most people who smile at me either are plain scared of me, or don’t know what else to do. You…are different. You smile at me because you are genuinely pleased to see me. For this, I thank you. You are so much better than a lot of the people of this land.” Keldoran was stunned by the compliment, and simply nodded in appreciation.
“So, maybe I can return the favour of friendship to you, Keldoran, and talk with you about your concerns. I might even be able to help, being an experienced and welltravelled fellow, you know.”
“Do you know anything about the Ice Lords?” asked Keldoran, clearly accepting the Bu’Kep’s offer.
Corg’s eyebrows shot up at that. “Well, I wasn’t expecting that question. Maybe I should ask you what you know about them first, hmm?”
“I know very little, “ shrugged Keldoran. “The high mage told me of the history of the land, about the battle between Ice Lords and Slardinians, and why your race hate the Norfel so much…”
Corg’s brow furrowed in understanding and remembered anger. “Yes, I know the history. We have never truly forgiven the Norfel for their lack of aid in the Slardinian war. Perhaps it is time we put our differences aside, but I don’t think I’m the one to do that – my blood boils whenever I catch sight of one of the green-skinned cowards!”
Keldoran trembled slightly at the sound of Corg’s voice, which was filled with hate and poison. He carried on hurriedly. “Well, in answer to your question, the mage told me of how the Ice Lords came and defeated the Slardinians, and how they prophesied the return of one of natural magicks. I’m wondering if this person is me…” Corg was quiet for long moments after this, clearly pondering. Finally he spoke, and confirmed Keldoran’s thoughts. “A natural born mage has not been seen in hundreds of years. You are the first, and this has been confirmed by the high mage here. You may well be the one the Ice Lord spoke of.”
“But what can this mean?” asked a worried Keldoran. “I know nothing about my power, how to harness it…nothing. How can I be the one to give peace and prosperity to the land?”
“All in good time, my friend,” said Corg soothingly. “All in good time. The mages here will train you. They will know of ways to harness your talents. The peace and prosperity may just evolve naturally. You are very friendly and open, a rare treat of a person to talk to. Maybe that will be all you need!”
“Thank you,” stammered Keldoran.
“Don’t mention it. Oh, and as to your question, I have heard of the Ice Lords, but never seen one. Blue skinned, tall fellows, by all accounts, but I’ve never visited Isoch to the north. Too cold for my old bones.”
“I know one of the Ice Lords’ names,” announced Keldoran then. “Vo’Loth!”
Corg appeared startled, but covered up his surprise quickly. “You know much more than me about Ice Lords, Keldoran. My best advice to you right now is, don’t worry. You are in the magick guilds of Malana. Once this sorcerer has been dealt with, you will get the training and answers you seek.”
Keldoran nodded. “It’s just the waiting…it’s unbearable.”
Corg grunted in agreement. “I am sure, however, that things will certainly get interesting here in next to no time at all.”

Suralubus entered the dark cavern, part of a labyrinth of tunnels built long ago underneath the guild of mages. Few knew of their existence, others would not dare to travel the caverns: being so close to the magicks of the land, power could be felt emanating through every vein of rock. It was said by some mages that the land knew who visited it there, deep in the dark, and judged their souls.

The high mage had no fear as he entered the catacombs; he had been here many times before, to hide powerful artefacts from prying eyes and thieves, and also to seek solace. Here, he felt truly alone, more so than his personal chamber, and he found the silence calming to his mind.

He came today to find a special item. The talk with the young man, Keldoran, had given him much to think about. The time of prophecy was close to hand, and he would need the artefact kept here for guidance. Moreover, it may help in his coming confrontation with the sorcerer.

The cavern he had entered was vast, with a huge, domed ceiling, littered with stalactites. The ground sloped downwards, ending in a silent lake of icy water. Not a ripple could be seen on the surface; in fact, you could hardly notice the water in the blackness of the cavern. No lights were on here, Suralubus could see only by a night vision spell, which he had conjured prior to coming here. Even then, the darkness was palpable, organic, sucking anyone into it, smothering in its warm, black folds.

Suralubus walked down to the edge of the lake, and touched the ground before it. He chanted softly, an ancient spell few could utter, and waited silently. After some time, a stone pedestal surged upwards out of the lake, circular and around three foot in diameter. Atop this pedestal was the artefact he sought, and had so carefully hidden, hundreds of years ago: it was a blue, crystal staff, made from what appeared to be pure ice.

Surlaubus moved his hand so it was over the staff, and instantly his body jerked backward, as the power of the staff soared upwards to enter his hand. Immediately his mind was awash with images and powerful energies.

He saw an icy wasteland, huge cliffs of snow covered granite stretching to own the blue skies above them. His eyes raced across this landscape, the energies from the staff bringing him to the source of the power. Over and under crevices and caves in the snow, across vast icy waters where icebergs reigned, past strange beasts covered in white fur, at last coming to a thin column of stone, the bottom of a ruined pillar. The image raced, raced ever higher, following the pillar up, up, to the very top.

The beast slumbering atop the pillar stirred, as it felt the energies caress it lovingly. Cunning, slanted eyes opened from an eagle head, and the creature roared, beak opening to screech at the power that had awakened it. Great wings unfurled and felt the breeze in the air. The beast stood on its two legs, towering at least seven foot tall. Covered in brown feathers, Suralubus knew this to be a wild birdman of Isoch, a servant to the Ice Lords.

With a snarl, the birdman vaulted off the pillar, and his great wings took to the skies, flying with speed. Suralubus watched as the birdman flew further and further away, knowing where it was headed, but to a place his energies could not take him.

It was heading for the sacred home of the Ice Lords, and he had summoned them, as he had been bidden to do so, when the time came.

The Slardinian hissed at the lights of the great city of Malana, as if its voice could shatter the light from the glowing orbs. Next to him, the dark sorcerer, Lorkayn, stopped, his black eyes hungrily eating up the sight of the walls in front of him.

This was where he had been required to come: this city, the source of the images flooding through his brain. The priestess lived here, as did the power of this strange world. This is where the battle would begin, and this world would start to bow before him.