Kazin's Quest: Book I of The Dragon Mage Trilogy (44 page)

“That’s an awfully dangerous way to learn about the future,” commented Kazin.

The other mage nodded. “I know. I didn’t much relish the idea of risking my life each time, either. A few years ago I learned some summoning spells and have been using them as an alternative. Summoning doesn’t always give the results in true detail like going there physically, but it is sufficient.” He reached into his cloak and pulled out a talisman on a chain. “This talisman was given me by my wife. Without it, my summoning of images of the future would not be strong enough.”

“Aren’t you afraid of changing the future by writing about it?” asked Kazin.

“No,” said the mage. “You see, by writing vaguely in the form of rhyme, not many can interpret the correct meaning. The meaning often only becomes apparent after the event has occurred.”

“Then why bother?” asked Sherman.

“People have to be warned to prepare for the worst,” said the mage, “even if they don’t know exactly what to prepare for. Those who heed my words will be ready for the worst. Look at yourselves. You are looking for those very words to help explain what is going on around you, even if you don’t fully understand them.”

“Do you go through time anymore?” asked Harran.

“No.”

“Then do you know what lurks in that place?” continued the dwarf.

“Yes,” said the mage. “There are zombies and giant flying things like bats.”

“Why are they there?” asked Kazin.

“The zombies are the fouled bodies of those whose deaths came untimely,” explained the mage. “They are the ones who are not satisfied with their early demise. Their ambition is to seize the bodies of those who are traveling the time line and go into the past to change their own fate.”

“You mean they weren’t trying to kill us?” asked Sherman. “They were only trying to take our bodies?”

“That’s correct,” said the mage. “If they killed you, it would not serve to help them. They need to knock you unconscious enough to allow their souls to enter your body. Then they can take control. Once they have succeeded in taking your body, they gain re-entry into the world before they were originally dead. Then they use your body to save their lives. When that is completed, their souls return to their original bodies and your own body dies, and you become a zombie like they were, trapped in time.”

“What about those bat-things?” asked Harran.

“They are the keepers of those restless souls who are trapped in those zombie bodies. Any mortal who travels the time line is a danger to their host of souls. If those mortals can change history, some of those restless souls may be lost, simply by not dying an untimely death.”

“So they are out to kill us,” finished Sherman.

“Yes,” said the mage.

“Why didn’t they attack the zombies to try to prevent them from taking our bodies and changing their own destiny?” asked Kazin. “Didn’t you just say they were worried about losing some of the souls they’re in charge of?”

The older mage chuckled. “What difference to them if one zombie is exchanged for another? If one zombie regains his life, one mortal loses his in an untimely fashion, thereby taking his place! Moreover, there are likely to be more untimely deaths which are the result of that zombie making his mark in history when really he should be dead.”

“And if those mortals who travel the time line are killed, they become more lost souls for the bat things!” exclaimed Sherman.

“Exactly,” said the older mage smugly.

“Well,” said Olag, who had been silent until now, “I’ve got no arrows left. We’re going to have a tough time making it through this time.”

“Not necessarily,” said the older mage. “There is a way to make it through safely.”

“How?” asked Kazin.

“Silence,” said the mage.

It took a moment for Kazin to realize the mage had given him an answer, not an order. “Silence?” he repeated.

“Yes,” said the mage. “If you travel quietly, you will make it safely to the other side, at least, most of the time.”

Kazin nodded. “That’s why we were halfway through the last time before we were attacked.”

“One more word of advice,” continued the mage. “Once you have entered the time line, never EVER turn back, even if it’s the easiest path. You will be destroyed!”

“I understand,” said Kazin.

“Good,” said the mage. “Now, if you will all stand where you came in, I’ll cast the magic required to send you back to your time. Unfortunately, this magic isn’t exact. You may be returned within a few days of when you left, before or after! So if you return before you left, don’t interfere with yourselves! The results could be catastrophic!”

“We understand,” said Kazin.

The mage seated himself cross-legged as before where they had first found him. He withdrew his talisman. Clenching it tightly, he began to chant.

A glow appeared behind the companions and they turned to see a golden door shimmering brightly in the torchlight of the study.

“Time to go,” said Harran gruffly. Kazin pointed his staff and the door opened, revealing a small landing surrounded by a thick fog.

“Remember,” whispered Kazin. “Be quiet!” He led the way from the mage’s study, followed closely by the others.

Sherman exited last, not wanting to do this again, though he knew he must. As he stepped from the room, he heard a faint scraping noise under his boot.

After they were all through, the golden door vanished, leaving them alone on the ledge, the thick fog coiling about their ankles.

Sherman bent to examine his boot. In the tread of his left boot was a shiny golden object. He pried it out and was surprised to find that it was a ring. He half turned as if to return the ring to the mage in the study but it was impossible. The door was already gone.

Kazin was whispering to the others, instructing them to enter the same formation as before.

“Sherman,” said the mage, turning to the big warrior, “I want you to—Sherman?” He looked around, horror stricken. Sherman was gone. “Sherman, where are—?!”

“I’m right here,” said a voice directly in front of him.

Kazin jumped, startled.

Suddenly the warrior reappeared, holding a ring in his left hand. He was looking at it in amazement.

“What’s that?” whispered Kazin angrily.

“A ring,” said Sherman. “It was caught in my boot. I tried it on and suddenly I vanished! I mean, I was still there, but I wasn’t—.”

“An invisibility ring!” exclaimed Kazin hoarsely. He glanced at where the golden door used to be. “Well, it’s too late to return it now. We’ll have to keep it.”

Sherman handed the ring to Kazin.

“No,” said Kazin. “It’s yours now. I don’t need a ring to turn invisible.”

Sherman hesitated.

“I have an idea,” said Harran. “Why don’t you wear it and lead the way, Sherman? You can fend off any blows from the front and the zombies won’t know what hit them!”

Sherman frowned.

“It’s a good plan,” argued Kazin. “With the Sword of Dead, you have a better chance to cut through the enemy. We’ll be right behind you. You’ll be fine.”

“We may not see any enemies this time,” said Zylor. “It may not be necessary.” He didn’t relish the idea of being pulled from the front lines of a possible battle.

“It’s O.K.,” said Sherman. “I’ll do it. Just keep close.”

“I’ll be right behind you,” said Kazin. “Olag, you’re the most vulnerable. You stay in the middle.”

“I’ll follow him,” said Harran, donning the chain mail the mage had given him. “Zylor can take the rear guard.” He looked at the minotaur understandingly and Zylor returned the glance with a respectful nod. He was being allowed to take the second most dangerous position.

They quietly marched down the crosswalk with Sherman in the lead. He had chosen to remain visible for the moment. If his fear of heights got the better of him, at least the others could see to give him a hand.

They were more than three-quarters of the way to the opposite side when Harran doubled over and let loose with a loud sneeze.

Screams rent the air around them as the bat things were disturbed and the crosswalk jiggled with the pounding of feet.

“Run!” yelled Kazin. “We’re almost there!”

Sherman put on his ring and surged ahead, followed closely by the others.

As Kazin ran, he saw the zombies staggering toward him. He raised his staff to slice into them with a lightning bolt but stopped himself just in time. Sherman was between the zombies and himself, and he was invisible!

The zombies closest to the mage suddenly screamed in a wailing fury as a mysterious sword appeared out of nowhere, slicing into them and turning them into ash. Kazin looked back but the others were still running. At the edge of the fog behind them faint images could be seen running after.

Kazin turned ahead and was surprised to see the ledge and the golden door behind only a few zombies. They were almost there!

Sherman easily dispatched the last of the attackers just as a bat thing hurtled down on his location, sensing rather than seeing this outrageous threat.

Kazin raised his staff and sliced the bat thing into fragments with a lightning bolt. Pieces of the bat littered the platform and showered the companions as they crowded the platform in front of the golden door.

Kazin quickly opened the door while Zylor held off the zombies to the rear. “Hurry,” the mage called. “Let’s get out of here!”

The others complied while Kazin waited for Zylor to throw one last zombie into its followers. The minotaur staggered with the effort. As misfortune would have it, a bat thing chose that moment to swoop down as the minotaur was attempting to regain his footing. It succeeded in knocking him even further off balance. Zylor would have tumbled from the ledge if Kazin hadn’t been there to prevent his fall, springing up behind him and pulling him back to safety.

Unfortunately, he pulled a little too hard, and the minotaur tumbled down on top of him, still struggling for balance.

A sharp pain engulfed the mage’s leg and he lost consciousness. The minotaur rose in fury, throwing off several zombies who had pounced on him. With one hand, he grabbed the unconscious mage and leaped through the doorway, bellowing a war cry that echoed in the abyss known as the time line long after the golden door had vanished.

The dark-haired mage opened his eyes. The spell was complete. He hoped he had sent the companions to the proper time and place. Only history would tell. He sighed. There was nothing more he could do on the matter. He rose unsteadily, staggered to his chair, and sat down wearily. The spell had taken much out of him.

He focused on the page of his book he had begun writing moments earlier. It was incomplete. It was not his way to leave things that way. He visualized the remaining members of the party and picked up his writing implement.

“Let’s see now,” he murmured. “Of course, there’s ‘the healing hand’.” He paused. “I described the others by their weapons, so while I’m on that theme, what other weapons did I have in my previous visions? Ah, yes, a dagger!” Thus, he wrote: ‘the dagger throw’. “There were supposed to be eight heroes in all,” commented the mage. “My readers must be told this.” He wrote some more.

“Now, let me see. How many of the heroes have I described? Six? I’ve forgotten some! What other weapons—oh, yes, a bow!” He blinked abstractedly.

“That creature, what did he call himself? A skink warrior? He carried a bow. Yet why did I not see him in my visions? Yet a bow is prevalent in my visions, and somehow it was related to a horse, although I still cannot fathom the connection. Yet it must be written, for it is necessary.” He scratched his head. “That mage also mentioned a dragon. Could it be? I will mention it.” Thus, he wrote: ‘the flying fire, the arrow straight, the swift of hoof—.’ “Now what? I’ve run out of material. Perhaps I should send a message. Time is of the essence. They must not tarry, or they will be too late to stop the evil.” The mage scribbled the last line on the page: ‘don’t be too late!’

The door behind him opened quietly and a striking, red-haired girl entered the room.

“Are you O.K., Daddy? I heard voices.”

The mage looked up, startled. “Oh, did I wake you, my child? Pay no heed. I merely quarrel with the ghosts of my imagination.”

“I’d like to meet those ghosts someday,” said the girl.

“Don’t be silly, child. Off to bed with you now.”

The girl tiptoed over to him and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek. “Good night, Daddy.”

The mage affectionately placed his hand on the girl’s head and wrinkled her golden red locks. “Good night, Amelia.”

Part VI

The Eight Heros

Chapter 38

N
ice to see you again,” said Shawna from the pool where she and the other three mermaids faced the time travellers. A golden door shimmered behind where they sat.

Sherman smiled. “Believe me. It’s good to be back.”

“That’s a matter of opinion,” muttered Olag.

Suddenly a bellow sounded behind them and Zylor stepped through the golden doorway carrying Kazin in one hand and his axe in the other. Behind them, the doorway flickered and vanished.

“What happened?” exclaimed Sherman, assisting the minotaur to lower the mage gently down on the ship’s wooden deck.

“He pulled me back from the edge of the ledge as I was falling and I landed on him instead,” explained Zylor, rage still evident in his voice. “I shall never allow a giant bat to get away from me alive ever again!”

“What happened?” said a familiar voice behind them. Standing there in a dazzling blue robe stood Milena, her face strikingly beautiful and proud.

Sherman’s jaw dropped. “Milena?” he asked weakly.

Milena smiled at him. “It’s only me, Sherman.” Then she noticed Kazin’s still form on the deck and immediately pushed past the big warrior to kneel beside the unconscious mage.

After a moment she sighed with relief. “He’s O.K. His leg’s broken, that’s all. He probably went unconscious from the pain.”

“You would too if a minotaur fell on you,” rumbled the dwarf. He was jesting, but concern was in his eyes.

“Someone prepare a splint,” ordered Milena. “I’ll also need water and bandages.”