Black Wizards (51 page)

“Evan!” he called, turning to step alongside the group. The bandit, still enamored by the charm spell, turned to him with a broad smile.

“We’re off to the fight,” he declared proudly.

“Fight?”

“Rumor has it the king’s army is marching on Doncastle. My company is headin’ into the woods. We’ll skirmish them the whole way. They’ll have a plenty bloody trek through Dernall Forest!”

“Your captain?” asked the sorcerer. “May I meet him first?”

“Captain Cassidy? He’s right over there.” Evan gestured to a large open area, a grass-covered city plaza. Kryphon saw more than a hundred bowmen gathered there.

“Tell him that I have important news for him,” whispered the mage. “Have him meet me under that tree.”

Kryphon stepped into the shadow of a broad, low-limbed oak. He watched the man hurry into the plaza, stopping to speak to a man on horseback. The officer trotted his steed toward the oak tree, an expression of annoyance on his face. He dismounted easily and stalked up to Kryphon.

“What do you want? I haven’t time for—” He stopped suddenly as Kryphon began to wave his hand.

“Dothax, Mylax Heeroz.” Kryphon repeated the spell that had, thus far, served him very well. He pulled a diamond pendant from beneath his robe and waved it slowly.

The captain paused, confused, He looked suspiciously at the sorcerer. Slowly, his hand crept toward the steel shortsword girded to his waist, His face twisted as his mind wrestled with the magic.

“Captain Cassidy, my friend,” said the sorcerer softly. “It is good to see you again.”

The officer looked at him uncomprehendingly, but finally gave him a tentative smile. Magic had won over his mind.

“There has been a mistake,” continued Kryphon urgently. “The attack comes from the south—you must take your company there! Screen the approaches to Doncastle, but remember—from the south!”

Captain Cassidy nodded earnestly, grasping the mage’s hand. “Thank you!” he said sincerely before springing to his horse and
racing into the plaza.

Kryphon smiled to himself before turning back to his original path. The chapel of Vaughn Burne was not far.

The cleric knelt in reverence, meditating. His goddess answered his calls for strength, filling him with her life- affirming power. She knew, as did he, that the coming battle would test his might to the limit.

Vaughn Burne felt a slight disruption in the rhythm of his meditation. Immediately he knew that someone, some evil, had entered his sanctuary. A dark presence sent a shiver down his spine.

The cleric ceased his meditations and rose to grasp his silver war hammer. He stepped to the thin curtain that separated his meditation alcove from the main chapel and looked out. The front door stood open, but the huge room, with its dozens of benches, was empty.

Or was it?

Vaughn Burne cast a spell upon himself, passing a hand before his eyes. Now he looked at the room and saw it as it truly was.

Along the far wall, an invisible man was creeping stealthily. The intruder had covered himself with magic, and he carried no weapon. The cleric deduced that he was a sorcerer. And his fingers glittered with diamond rings—this was indeed the killer from his dream. The cleric grew angry, knowing that he was looking at the man who had killed his friend Annuwynn—and who now intended to slay him as well.

The cleric did not grow overconfident. He knew that if not for the warning provided by Chauntea, he would probably have been slain at his meditations. But now he had the advantage, and the sorcerer was not the only one who could use magic.

Vaughn Burne whispered another spell and became every bit as invisible as the mage. He stepped around the screen, careful not to disturb the hanging fabric, and crept toward the intruder. Carefully, he raised the silver hammer. The weapon, like him, could not be seen.

But a floorboard creaked beneath his careful step, and across the room the sorcerer froze. His black eyes turned toward the cleric, and seemed to sear into Vaughn Burne’s flesh. But the mage surely could
not see him!

Suddenly the magic-user reached into his robe, pulling forth a slender, glittering rod—a glass tube, studded with diamonds. He pointed the thing at a spot just to the cleric’s left, as if he didn’t know exactly where Vaughn Burne stood.

“Blitzyth, Dorax zooth!” he chanted.

A bolt of energy exploded from the rod, crackling like a lightning bolt through the chapel. It sizzled the air and blasted a hole in the wall, sending dust and shards of wood flying into the street. Vaughn Burne dove to the side as the lightning struck, but heat and fire blazed across his chest. He felt as though his lungs were consumed by flame as he tumbled over empty benches and lay still on the floor.

His robe was gone—burned away—and wisps of smoke rose from his skin.

The duergar spilled from their lair like an army of insects. Their number seemed limitless as they continued to pour forth long after Finellen’s companies had pulled away.

The retreat threatened to become a rout, as even the sturdy dwarves—most of them veterans of a dozen campaigns—quailed before the savage onslaught. With the greatest difficulty, the dwarven captain kept her formations assembled, placed a rear guard, and managed to keep the shaken morale of her troops from breaking entirely.

They had discovered a vast nation of dark dwarves—not the tiny outpost she had first suspected. Somehow, the duergar had overcome the natural balance of forces that served to maintain peace in the underdark: They had destroyed or driven away enough of their neighbors to enable them to develop vast resources of precious food. With that food supply secure, there was little that could stand in their way.

Finellen feared for her people, the dwarves of Gwynneth. The retreat of her companies must not lead to the clanholds, or the entire population would suffer an unspeakable fate.

So she directed the retreat away from Gwynneth, away from the caverns that led to her home. She had only one hope—a slim one, at best. She would try to lead the duergar onto the surface, where their
strength was weakest. Perhaps if she could lure the pursuing horde under the light of the sun she could face them and die with honor.

That was all she had left to hope.

Alexei was one of the first to arrive at the smoldering chapel. He saw the hole in the wall and smelled the distinctive odor lingering in the air. And he watched in silence as a group of men bore a stretcher from the wreckage.

He heard the thundering of hooves behind him and turned to see the bandit lord gallop in. O’Roarke’s face reflected his anger and shock as he dismounted.

“Do you know what happened?” he asked, looking somberly at the stretcher as it was borne from the church.

“I am certain a sorcerer used lightning magic. The damage to the church and that smell in the air is clear evidence. The cleric is not dead, but he is badly hurt.”

“How bad?” O’Roarke’s grief showed in his eyes, though his voice remained steady.

“He will be crippled and blind, unless you have another cleric here capable of healing him,” Alexei said bluntly.

“There are none in Doncastle. This is a serious blow. Now we are left to face the attack without a cleric or a wizard.”

“Perhaps not,” said Alexei. “Vaughn Burne used his healing magic on me last night.” The mage held up his hands. They were still twisted and scarred, but he was able to move his fingers with some control. The grimace distorting his face showed that his dexterity returned with considerable pain.

“He also gave me access to the spell books of Annuwynn. I have been studying them.”

“And?”

“I think I can use them.”

“You can start by finding whoever did this!”

“That would please me greatly,” said Alexei.

“I’ll be with the troops at the King’s Gate. Let me know if you learn anything,” said O’Roarke.

Now Alexei could begin to wreak his vengeance. He would avenge himself upon Cyndre, upon Kryphon—upon the entire council that had turned him out.

And it would start with this agent who had caused so much damage in Doncastle. He had a good idea about the attacker’s identity, but he stepped into the chapel and quickly reconstructed the attack to be sure.

The wizard went over to the spot where the spell had been cast. Searching the floor, he found what he sought: little shards of the rod that was used to cast the spell.

And he learned more than he dared hope. The shards were not glass, or even amber—materials most magic-users would have used for the spell. The glittering fragments were unmistakably diamond.

“I didn’t like that place anyway!” declared Newt. “All those people running around—you couldn’t even get a bite to eat without asking somebody. And they’d always say no!”

“I d-didn’t like that t-town either,” replied the wood sprite. “B-but I miss Robyn—miss Robyn!”

Newt’s tail drooped as he settled to an oak limb high above the floor of Dernall Forest. “Why’d you have to say that?” he said wistfully. “I miss her, too! Why do you think she didn’t want to come along with us? I know she likes the woods!”

“I think it was the prince—her prince.”

Newt sniffed. “Well, we’ll go back and see her in a few days. But for now we’ve got a whole big forest to explore!” With that he dove like an arrow through the leafy canopy, searching for something to interest him.

Still moping, the wood sprite darted behind him.