Heir to the Sundered Crown (7 page)

“In time you will learn to control it Luxon. What you have is a very rare gift, one that only a few possess. You are quite possibly the first true thaumaturgist to have appeared in this world in several generations. It is a gift that enables you to do magic without the need for spells or incantations.”

Luxon raised his head and looked at his master in confusion.

“How...how is that possible?” he asked dumbfounded.

Thanos smiled “The magic within you is like a second skin Luxon. It is a reflex to you just like when you blink or your knee jerks when hit with a healers hammer.

‘To me, and everyone else, magic is something that we must spend decades in near constant practise to bring such power out in us. It is a gift Luxon, one that is both wondrous and terrifying in equal measure.”

Luxon frowned at that. “Terrifying? I don’t like the sound of that.” He muttered. A thought entered his mind. “If magic is like a reflex to me then why has it only come to me like that now?”

The grandmaster sat on the crystal table his legs swinging just above the floor.

“Your life was in danger it is as simple as that. Is it not a reflex to fight or flee when threatened?” Thanos stood once more and began pacing up and down the chamber.

“Your gift is dangerous if not controlled. I emptied the chamber because I did not want your abilities to become common knowledge. Unsavoury folk of all kinds would no doubt attempt to take advantage of your gifts.

‘In that respect I will be taking you on as my apprentice in order to teach you how to control your power. As for Accadus and his oafs they will be expelled from this city and returned to Retbit. Too many times have I had to deal with the consequences of that boy’s misdemeanours.’  

Luxon was stunned. He was being left off, and he was going to obtain the rank of apprentice, an apprentice to grandmaster Thanos no less! He didn’t know what to say, instead he smiled.

***

7.

Mountains of Eclin

In the scarce scrub of the mountain pass two rangers watched and waited. Howling winds battered the senses and the blizzard caused a near whiteout. Dressed in their grey robes and cowl they were almost indistinguishable amongst the landscape.

Carlock shifted uncomfortably, his hands tensing and un-tensing on the shaft of his longbow. His silent companion was as still as a statue his grey and hard eyes never leaving the scene unfolding on the plain far below.

“How much longer must we wait Woven? It’s been hours now.” He mumbled to the stern looking older man. Woven glanced at his comrade with an annoyed look on his face.

“We wait until they’ve all passed. Down there is an army of which we have never seen before.” Woven growled.

The two rangers had been dispatched to the mountain regions after reports flooded in of massacres and a terrifying enemy. For days the region of Eclin had been besieged, towns and cities north of the mountains had fallen silent as thousands of refugees fled the horror that was quickly consuming the land.

Baron Lido had ordered his forces to defend and barricade the mountain passes that led to the south and to Delfinnia’s capital and heartlands.

The reports of spectres and monsters had at first been scorned as mere panic induced rumour, but after survivors from the garrisons of the mountain forts collaborated with the testimony of the refugees, panic had truly set in.

Down in the valley a seemingly never-ending column of black armoured figures marched. Their destination, the barricade at Fuio pass.

“They look like men to me,” said Carlock as he shifted slightly.

“Yes… wait look there;’ Whispered Woven. “By Niveren it can’t be.”

There, unbelievably, was a shambling horde of people. At first glance they looked like prisoners of war, men and women. But to Woven’s keen eyes he could see what they truly were. The faint stains of red on the snow around them were the first clue. It was blood. Many were headless, stumbling and staggering as they followed the armoured troops.

Then came the sound. It was the moans and cries of souls in torment emanating from those walking corpses still with heads and throats to emanate the bone chilling sound. They numbered in their thousands.

“All of those people were killed in the towns and villages. Then they were brought back;” Said Woven. Carlock stared in terror, he remembered the horror stories his grandfather used to tell him and his brothers when they were small, sat around the fire on those long cold winter nights of the Dark Mages magic’s and the great war.

 “Magic. It has to be. The darkest of all.”

A roar caught the ranger’s attention. Below their hiding spot two rapidly approaching horrors came, snarling beasts with thick fur, razor sharp claws and talons of steel.

“Werewolves!” pointed Carlock.

The creatures were rare, but not unknown in the mountain regions. They were the remnants of the Magic Wars. They were men cursed by the dark mages in battle, and for centuries the beasts had roamed the peaks picking off the unwary traveller.

“They have our scent.” Woven swore and drew his bow. “Let’s move. They could be scouts for that army.” The two rangers quickly clambered down from the overhang and ran through the dense brush. Naked trees with their sharp twigs and limbs tore at their clothes as the two men bounded down the mountainside.

“Hurry!” shouted Woven as his companion stumbled in the snow. The beasts were fast approaching; their panting breaths and snarls drew closer.

Carlock picked himself up and scrambled back onto his feet, almost falling again as the thick snow shifted under his weight. Panicking now, he glanced over his shoulder to see the two wolves closing fast. The beasts’ fearsome muzzles were full of razor sharp fangs and saliva poured from there snarling jaws.

“Down” shouted Woven just as one of the creatures leapt at Carlock’s back, talons extended for the kill.

 The creature covered the large distance in a single bound almost taking the elder ranger by surprise. But Woven was a man of the mountains; his entire life had been spent hunting and fighting amongst the frigid peaks.

Instinct was his greatest ally in the often blizzard filled landscape, a place where the senses often failed or deceived. He notched an arrow, drew back the longbows cord and loosed. He shot with hardly taking aim, he never had to. After years of practise and use he shot the bow from reflex.

Carlock turned as the werewolf flew at him. Just as he thought he would surely die Woven’s arrow struck the beast.

With a howl of pain the creature lost its momentum, and crashed to the ground at Carlock’s feet. The arrow had pierced the creature’s thick hide, and its heart.

He spun around as he heard the second wolf snarling. His adrenaline now pumping and buoyed up by his friends kill of the first he drew his own bow.

The remaining Werewolf was more patient and cautious then its deceased companion had been. Slowly it circled the young ranger, its feral eyes never leaving those of the man before it. Despite the cold, sweat poured down Carlock’s face almost blinding him. The monster before him circling; just waiting to strike.

 Its fangs looked like knives capable of rending flesh with ease; its coarse thick fur was aglow with ethereal cursed energy. Carlock slowly notched an arrow to his bowstring, he didn’t want to startle the creature into attacking, and that was why he saw Woven moving slowly behind him, a new arrow strung on his great longbow. Delicately he took aim and drew back the cord. His breathing was deafening and his heart pounded like a drum.

The Werewolf snarled and its eyes narrowed, it sensed the ranger was about to attack. With a blur of speed the beast crossed the distance to its prey in a split second. It pounced onto its prey. Carlock hardly had the chance to scream as with lighting speed the monster was upon him.

Woven shot his arrow but this time the point only grazed the wolves flank, bouncing harmlessly off of the beast’s thick hide. Swearing he now drew his silver sword and raced towards the downed figure of his comrade who was desperately struggling to hold the monsters fangs away from his face. He winced as he heard Carlock’s arm snap as the wolf’s jaws clamped around it, he felt pride however that the younger man did not scream out the pain he must surely be feeling. To do so would alert the army still marching through the valley below.

Blood sprayed as a talon raked the ranger’s chest, Woven reached the struggling pair and without hesitation raised his sword high into the air. With a two handed downward thrust he stabbed the werewolf between its shoulders. The tip of the blade ripped through flesh and bone until it burst the monsters heart to rip through its chest and stop just inches from Carlock’s face. Before the wolf could roar out its pain and give away their position Woven drew a dagger from his cloak and deftly sliced the snarling monsters throat cutting off the gurgling scream of pain.

 With a kick he rolled the heavy corpse off of his companion only to find Carlock covered in blood and gasping for air. His chest was a mass of cuts where the talons had scratched at it, and his arm was at an impossible angle.

It was then he saw the bite mark on the younger man’s neck and despair filled him. Woven slumped to his knees, the bite of a werewolf meant one thing to anyone who was not eaten or killed outright. The cursed magic in its saliva spread into open wounds passing it onto the victim. Carlock would turn into the very thing the Rangers hunted, a monster of evil.

Carlock grabbed Woven’s shoulder and drew him close. His breathing was rapid with fear.

“Woven” he tried to say. He coughed, causing blood to foam at his mouth. “Already I can feel it” he managed to utter. His eyes turned glassy and then the colour began to change. First to black, and then slowly to yellow.

Woven picked up his sword and put the blade to his friend’s neck. “I am sorry my friend. It is better to die a man and under the grace of Niveren than a monster of the darkness.” He reverently said reciting the Rangers code. With a thrust of his blade Carlock was silenced never to rise again. Woven fell to his knees and sobbed and all the while the army below continued its march, it seemed as though the horde would never end.

He respectfully said a silent prayer to Niveren for his friend’s soul and knelt to retrieve the pendant around his neck. The young man’s fiancée would despair at the news. With a final glance at the scene below him Woven turned away and began to move down the mountainside. He had to warn the soldiers at Fuio pass.

***

8.

The barricade had taken just three days of constant building to finally be constructed. It was an engineering feat worthy of the ancient Golden Empire. The manpower needed to erect the massive mounds of earth used to block a pass over a mile wide was immense.

Twenty thousand soldiers of the barony of Eclin had been put to the task and none had protested. They had each heard the rumours of the nightmare that was threatening to overwhelm their homeland and they were itching for the chance to deal out death to their foes.

Baron Lido watched as the final wooden stake was hammered into place, finishing the last line of defences.

A hundred paces in front of the stakes were the hastily built watchtowers and palisades. Archers would take up position in the towers whilst the infantry would hold the walls. In front of that was the great mound of Earth that was so steep it took a man several attempts to reach the top. There, the skirmishers would be placed; among them the rangers and hunters, experts at hit and fade tactics. The baron hoped they would deliver such a hail of arrows that any enemy would turn tail and flee, even one that was said to have magic as its ally. 

Finally, there was the field of stakes that would slow down any attackers and would buy his forces time to regroup and counter attack if the battle began to go ill.

Interspersed between the stakes were pits filled with sharpened sticks and nails. At a signal the pit could be collapsed by one of the many squires that would be waiting behind the battle line. The baron had made it clear to the young boys that they would have an important role to perform. They would be the ones who’d re-supply the arrows and weapons of the troops and bring food and water.

Lido was a confident commander; he had ruled the mountain lands for thirty years. He had seen his fair share of battles, both against mortal enemies and the remnants of the dark mages that sometimes attacked.

Zombies and ghouls were of no concern to him, he had seen and fought them before, and had emerged victorious. This time however, something made him doubt. A nagging feeling that this time he would face something far more terrible than the centuries old left over’s of the Magic Wars.

The war raging for the crown in the southern lands was of little concern to Lido, his name was listed as one of the so called six claimants, but in reality he and his men had not even marched against the other claimants. His war was here like it always was; his job was to defend Delfinnia from what lay within and beyond the vast Eclin mountain range.
 

A zombie after a century was a feeble thing; slow and weak. The ghouls however never lost their power, and were formidable foes. He adjusted his sword belt and gripped the hilt of his sword called the
 
Mountain’s Hammer
 
tighter. It had once belonged to his ancestor who had fought in that terrible final battle of the magic wars. The hilt was ornately decorated with golden serpents and at the centre laid a blue channelling crystal, which enabled the magic inside to enchant the blade.