A Wizard's Tears (22 page)

The demon's scream echoed through the ether, a vast and powerful sound amidst a sea of quiet. Keldoran's head shot up in alarm, it having been bowed and staring with increasing unrest at the boulder below his feet. What sort of creature could make that sound? It was a terrible, harsh sound, and it was filled with omnipotence and fury. Although the noise had frightened him, Keldoran took it as a sign he simply had to follow. There
was
life, here in the void.

He had become quite restless, and almost resigned to floating aimlessly along until he died of hunger. He was glad, now, no matter how dangerous, to get his teeth into something. The creature may even give him clues on how to find the sorcerer and the priestess, or even a way to get home.

Home - now there was a thought! He had long ago set his mind onto the fact that he would never return to Elrohen, and yet, now, he yearned to see it again. In particular, he missed his mother, and the peaceful farm life of Demorbaln. So much had happened since he had left the village, and in such a short space of time, he had changed irrevocably, his old self lost in the essence of time. Where would he go, now, if he made it home? It certainly would not be back to Demorbaln. He could potentially stay in Malana, with the mages, learning his land magick capabilities to the full, or he could travel, and see the other continents, even perhaps visit the Ice Lords' domain on the snowy planes of Isoch.

Yet, something inside him told him there was no real purpose to going back to Elrohen. His function, he was sure, was here, to follow the sorcerer and take his life. After the death of Relb, Nagoth, and all the other innocents in the city of Malana, there was a certain sweet justice to killing the sorcerer. Moreover, he could sense the blue eyes of Vo'Loth glaring into his soul, telling his mind that this was what he was born to do. Keldoran could not explain it
- he just knew it to be true.

With his magick, he altered the movement of the boulder he stood upon, heading towards where he had heard the wailing screams. He wondered what he would find when he had got to their source. He was sure that it would be far different to anything his vivid imagination could come up with.

He seemed to be heading straight into a shoal of tiny tentacle beasts. There were loads of them, filling the sky all around him. Maybe their food to survive, he guessed, lay up ahead. He thought about the food chain here: surely they must eat something, or be eaten by something. The thought chilled him, and he banished such ideas from his mind. This is the path he must take; there was no need to elaborate on things further.

Keldoran came, at last, to the vast ground below, where the sorcerer and priestess had travelled across only a small time before. Knowing he was near to the source of the cry he had heard, Keldoran poured more of his land magicks into the boulder, sending it travelling faster over the terrain, looking, searching for something in the void.

Soon, he saw the fissure that the demon had come out of earlier, steam still rising from the crack in the ground. Keldoran slowed down his rock, and came before the fissure. He spied something else on the ground, a piece of black fabric. He had seen this before - it looked like part of a robe, a mage's robe! He remembered Vergail had been wearing such a robe, and his heart leaped. So, she had been here, probably with the sorcerer, and with whatever had made such a scream.

There was no sign of anything here, save for the tentacle critters that zoomed and rushed to and fro in the air, all around him. He wished they could speak and tell him what had happened, here. Landing on the stone rock, Keldoran picked up the fabric, and ran his fingers through the piece of black robe. He wondered what to do next. Whatever had happened here, he had missed it.

At that moment, a scream, this time a woman's, or so it seemed, came from the fissure, deep down. It was an agonising cry of horror. Was that Vergail, the priestess of Malana? If it was, she was undoubtedly in trouble, but very much alive.

Keldoran approached the steaming fissure warily, as if expecting it to explode out from under his feet. What would have forced the priestess down to such depths? Had she fallen, or had she been pushed? Moreover, should he risk his own skin trying to save her?

He did not take too long to decide. This was his only lead, his only clue. Abandon the priestess, and he would never know what had happened to the sorcerer. He had to enter this fissure, somehow. His mind turned to the task. Could his ice magick sustain him in this heat? Perhaps, if he enclosed himself in an ice shield, it would take the brunt of the steam. It was a suicide mission, and he knew it.

He had to try. Already tired from his exertions on the boulder, Keldoran focused his mind and will to the crystal staff he carried. Rivulets of blue energy caressed it, the Ice Lords’ magicks firing up into life. He hoped they would be enough.

With a cry of pain, the magick shot out of the staff and enveloped Keldoran, forming into a blue, translucent sheen around him. His protective shield had been born. With a deep breath and a heavy heart, Keldoran stood at the edge of the precipice, looking down into the burning steam that issued from the awaiting abyss. For a moment he stood thus, looking down, making sure his shield dissipated the steam, sending it around him, which it did. Satisfied, he summoned his boulder, using his staff to slowly bring it across to the edge of the fissure.

A moment’s hesitation entered him, and the foolhardy task that was ahead of him filled his mind, making it scream at him to stop. He ignored his mind’s protests, quenching his thoughts with stern resolve. He simply had to do this. He was already dead, in this endless void, without the help of the priestess.

Keldoran stepped forward, onto the boulder that floated in front of him at his bidding. Planting his feet firmly on it, he lowered the staff to touch the surface of the rock, and sent his power downward. The boulder teetered from side to side for a moment, before slowly lowering itself down into the fiery abyss.

Steam greeted his eyes, and that was all he saw, save for moments of rock and stone appearing from side to side as he descended. The fissure was narrow, but long. He watched, not without awe, as his power protected him, as his shield deflected the powerful heat from the steam around him. He felt a slight increase in temperature as he descended, but nothing that would be considered as life threatening. Even so, the steam kept coming, hitting him again and again. Each time, his shield sputtered and hissed as cold hit heat. Each time, his heart leapt into his mouth.

As he travelled further, the steam suddenly began to ease, and he could see more of his surroundings. The fissure had opened out into a cavern hewn into the rock. Large stalactites hung from the ceiling, stretching as far down as the ground, which was littered with sparkling crystals and quartz. Plumes of steam and smoke rose from small holes in the ground.

Keldoran changed the direction of his boulder to travel sideways, along the cavern wall. He hugged the wall slowly and silently, trying to stay as hidden as he could. He knew the priestess had to be near. He had not heard her scream anymore, a thought that worried him. If she was already dead, his quest was lost.

His eyes made out a bright glow ahead, small at first, but growing in size as he approached. Keldoran’s eyes widened, as the light cast a red hue onto the scene before him. He had reached the end of the cavern. Before him, the entire wall was covered in crystals that sparkled and shone a bright red. The sight was amazing, and Keldoran would have stared for ages at the wall itself if not for the creature in front of it.

Hewn into the wall, made out of these red crystals, was a throne of sorts, and sat there, the priestess clutched in one of its tentacles, was a beast out of Keldoran’s worst nightmares. A huge, monstrous being, by his accounts twenty or so feet tall, with two horned snake heads, and a violet skin that seemed to undulate and change colour as he watched, sat as king here. Tentacles instead of arms tossed the priestess into the air, only to catch her at the very last moment as she tumbled head over heels down to the harsh rocky ground. This creature was playing with her, tormenting her, for its own pleasure. As she screamed, and scream she did, the thing let out a harsh, bellowing laugh. The laugh was so evil, so maniacal; Keldoran prayed he would never remember the sound, for it filled him with uncontrollable dread.

He had not expected this. His mind reeled from the enormity of the task ahead – how could he save the priestess from such a creature? He was shaking in fear, even though he had not been spotted yet by the beast. This demon, this king of the underworld, would devour him and his ice magick whole, of that he knew.

Oblivious to having a spy in its midst, the demon brought the cringing priestess up to its mouth, gentle raising the tentacle that held her up to his eyes. Whimpering, Vergail closed her eyes, her whole body convulsing in fear. Without warning, a huge, forked, green tongue issued from the demon’s lips, slowly licking the entire body of the priestess, who shrieked. Sticky saliva coated her, and it was all she could do not to retch.

Keldoran watched in horror, noticing one of the demon’s tentacles changing colour to a motley green. He watched as the creature tickled the priestess with this tentacle, and heard its ragged breathing and inhuman chuckles. Appalled, Keldoran grasped his staff tightly in his hands, the scene almost too much for him to cope with.

Fortunately for Vergail, it appeared she had once again lost consciousness. The demon slowly started to peel away what clothes were left on her, its tentacle running along the contours of her body gently and seductively, before inching downward.

In an instant Keldoran knew he had to act. He could not sit here and watch while this demon tormented and used the priestess for its own sick fantasies. Jolted into life by the sickening sight, Keldoran raised his staff and exploded all of his magick into it, right at the demon’s leering faces.

A blast of cold, blue magick coursed across the space in the cavern, smashing with full force into the demon’s eyes. With a loud hiss, more of surprise than of pain, the creature shot up from its throne, its tentacles clutching its heads as the magick bit deep. In its shock, the demon dropped the priestess, who fell to collapse on the ground below.

Not stopping to see what the demon would do once it recovered, Keldoran sent his boulder flying down to the fallen priestess. If he was quick enough, he could pick her up, and guide his boulder to safety, before the demon retaliated.

Keldoran lowered his boulder, and ran to the side of Vergail. He lifted her from the ground, grunting from the effort. She was heavy, and he was weak after all the magick he had spent. Struggling, he half dragged, half carried the woman over to the boulder, trying to keep hold of his staff all the while. Adrenaline giving him more strength, he threw Vergail down onto his transport, and hopped back on.

Keldoran looked up, and with horror noticed the demon was looking at him, its two heads just above him, leering in anger at this affront in its domain. “Another traveller!” it hissed.

Not stopping for conversation, Keldoran sent his power into his staff, causing the boulder below him to shudder to life. It was painfully slow now, though, his energy lost in the burst at the demon. His staff shone a bright blue, the Ice Lord’s energies smothering it, seeping into the boulder, giving it life. Yet it was not enough. Slowly, the boulder tried to move, but was stuck in place. Keldoran’s power had expired.

The demon appeared entranced by the blue crystal staff. Its red eyes stared at the object in obvious desire. “Power from ice…” it said in a soft, guttural voice.

Did this creature
know
of the Ice Lords? Keldoran’s mind raced, wondering how this could be, how it had known the staff’s creators, if, even, its strange words had meant that. No, surely it must know...and if it did, the repercussions were immense. The Ice Lords must know how to travel between worlds, like the sorcerer…

It did not matter, anyhow, Keldoran thought. Without his magick to guide him away from here, he was in a precarious position. He waited, in fear and in loathing, for the demon to kill him. Beside him, lying on the boulder, he heard the priestess cough. So, she was still alive. He pitied her, and wished he had had the strength to save her.

The demon reached forward, tentacles swaying silently, and snatched the staff away from Keldoran’s numb fingers. Immediately the staff flared anew, as the energy within it bonded with the enormous magicks of the demon. The staff grew white, a searing light that scorched Keldoran’s eyeballs, and he had to avert his gaze. At least he would not see his death, which he was sure would come quickly.

Moments passed, and nothing happened. Daring to look, Keldoran opened his eyes, shielding them with his hand, trying to pierce through the intensity of the light. He could make out the demon, clutching the staff, shaking it desperately but seemingly unable to let it go. A halo of light engulfed the beast, and it howled in frustration and pain.

Not knowing why he still lived, Keldoran knelt down before the priestess, who had fallen unconscious once more. Her tattered robes hung about her shoulders, and her skin was ashen. Keldoran cradled her head in his arms, willing her to wake up. He had seen too much death, and would rather the demon end this torment now.

It was not to be. In a blinding flash, the crystal staff shattered into a million pieces. Fragments of the great artefact drifted downward like snow. Most of it fell on the ground harmlessly. Some of it landed upon Keldoran, and, as it did so, images flooded into his brain, as if the last breaths of the Ice Lords’ powers within the staff hang onto existence.

Fire and ice, heat and cold fought each other, an eternal dance of molecules. The demon threw bolts of fire across the azure sky, exploding snow and ice into tiny, melting pools. Vo’Loth, the Ice Lord, threw back snow and hail, freezing and destroying the demon’s flames.

It was a startling image in his mind, and Keldoran felt each blow of fire and each blow of ice as if he stood in the middle of the battlefield. The image faded as quickly as it had arrived.