Spirit Blade: Book III of the Dragon Mage Trilogy (3 page)

Not for long, thought Kazin sadly. “That’s interesting,” he said instead.

The waitress leaned over and whispered conspiratorially. “There are even rumours that some of the more powerful grey mages can even cause trees to move!”

Kazin thought back to his life in this time period and remembered the importance of treemen at a crucial time during the crisis.

“Fascinating,” he said.

Sara suddenly gasped. “Here I am gabbing and your food is getting cold!” She chanted and Kazin’s food instantly heated up. A man at the other table called for more ale and Sara winked at the mage before departing. “Enjoy your dinner!”

“Thanks,” said Kazin. He ate ravenously and then signed out a room. Once in the warm bed - pre-warmed by Sara’s magic - he fell into a deep sleep, thinking about the usefulness of magic in ordinary tasks. The queen had definitely been busy.

The following morning was grey and cool as Kazin left the village. Once beyond sight of the last of the buildings, he did his transformation and climbed into the air. In a few hours he would arrive at Priscilla, the capital city of the queen’s realm. The flight was uneventful and Kazin marveled at the reconstruction of the lands below him. Most of that land had been decimated by an evil necromancer over a decade ago, but little evidence of the destruction was still evident. The occasional burned out structure or charred foundation was overshadowed by the newer farm houses and abundant crops.

Priscilla was a large, bustling city. There were many roads and side roads bisecting thousands of houses and shops. Most of the buildings couldn’t have been more than a few years old and new constructions were spreading the borders of the city. In the center of the city was a large, beautifully crafted palace. The workmanship surely rivaled the quality of dwarven craftsmen and the architecture of the elves, thought Kazin.

The dragon mage found a location on the ramparts edging the palace and landed. A guard came up to him but hesitated when Kazin did his transformation. The mage pulled his cloak tighter about him as the wind tried to blow it from his shoulders. He turned to the guard and smiled. “Hello there. My name is Arch Mage Kazin and I’d like to speak with Sherman.”

The guard regained his composure and nodded. It was obvious to him that the mage was no malicious intruder, and probably had heard mention of his name before. “Right this way, Sir.” He led Kazin into a nearby stairwell which led to the palace proper. At the entrance to the inner palace, the guard transferred his charge to the men guarding the entryway. One of them led Kazin to a waiting room and told him to wait while he went to look for Sherman.

Only a few minutes later, the guard returned with a giant of a man following him. The large man was grumbling about the interruption and stopped when he saw the arch mage. “Who are you and what do you want?” he boomed.

Kazin regarded his friend with a yearning brought on by years of his absence. Indeed, it had been decades since Kazin had been at this man’s deathbed. It had seemed like a piece of him had been lost then. A long-time friend and protector who had never wavered in his dedication, his humour had been a boost to an otherwise dismal situation. The man was still strong and muscular in appearance, even more so than his barbarian counterparts. His hair was brown and long, just beyond the shoulders, and his arms were bigger than the legs of an ordinary man. He towered around seven feet tall, and his expression at the moment was enough to cause a cowardly man to run and hide.

“Sherman,” croaked Kazin. He didn’t expect to be so emotional. His eyes were moist.

“That’s me,” growled Sherman. “I asked who you are. There’s a difference, you know.”

Kazin smiled and blinked to stop the pending tears from appearing. With great composure, he said in a formal voice, “Arch Mage Kazin, at your service.” He gave a modest bow.

Sherman drew a sword and took a menacing step forward. “Don’t toy with me!” he almost bellowed. “You are not Kazin!”

Kazin held up a hand and waved his staff in front of him as he cast a spell. Then he bravely stepped forward and looked deep into Sherman’s eyes. “Don’t be deceived, Sherman. It is I - from the future.”

Sherman looked into the eyes beyond the white whiskers. Recognition slowly began to dawn but he didn’t make a move. It was not his choice; he was paralyzed.

Kazin squeezed his friend’s arm. “It’s me, Sherm. I’m older now, that’s all.” He stepped back a few paces and canceled the spell. The guard who had been watching this seemed relieved. He had been paralyzed too.

Sherman slowly sheathed his sword. He squinted at his old friend. “Is it true? You’re Kazin?”

Kazin nodded. He stepped forward slowly and put his arms around the big man, embracing him fiercely. “I’ve missed you so much,” he said in a shaky voice.

Sherman nodded for the guard to leave them and then embraced the feeble old mage uncertainly. “It hasn’t been that long,” he said awkwardly.

The mage let go of the big warrior and looked up at him. “To me it has been decades. The last time I saw you, you -,” his voice broke and he turned away.

The comment about Kazin being from the future finally sank in. If Kazin was as old as he seemed, Sherman himself would surely have been dead. Dragon mages lived long lives just like the dragons they controlled. Ordinary humans lived short lives in comparison. The warrior didn’t know what to say. He waited silently for the mage to regain his composure. He could only imagine what Kazin was going through. As Kazin leaned on his staff, any doubts Sherman might have had about the mage were dispelled. The staff was undoubtedly the one his friend carried everywhere with him. It was older and more weathered, but the orb atop the staff was the same vibrant green orb he always remembered. It changed colour for different reasons, but it primarily glowed green as it did now.

The mage suddenly turned back to the big warrior. There was no sadness or tears in his eyes. That was all replaced by a fiercely determined look. “Sherman, I need your help.”

*      *      *      *      *

Benny and Lenny exchanged a series of parries and thrusts. They weren’t fighting in earnest. They were practicing swordplay. Since they were young, they had both wanted to be like Sherman, the queen’s champion. It wasn’t uncommon for them to want the same things. They had wanted the same things since they were born. As identical twins, they looked and acted alike in every way. Freckle-faced with short red hair, they endlessly played practical jokes on people, particularly their ward, Sir Wilfred Galado, and to this day no one could truly tell them apart. With hard work, they had made their way into the ranks of the queen’s personal guard. At only 20 years of age, it was a remarkable achievement. They were adept with swords and had proven themselves time and again. Nevertheless, they had often broken the rules, but had managed to establish a perfect alibi each time. As a result, Sir Galado couldn’t take disciplinary action against them. It annoyed him greatly, but without proof he could do nothing. He had been the brunt of many of Benny and Lenny’s practical jokes and he had berated them for it. But he loved them as sons, not having any children of his own. The queen also loved them, and had requested them as sentries for many royal events. She knew they would occasionally leave their posts to flirt with the young ladies, but she also knew their watchful eyes were roving the ballroom for any signs of danger. More than once they had sprung into action, leaving women on the dance floor standing in shock while they removed unwanted guests or troublemakers.

Lenny put his sword up in salute to end his sparring. “I’m beat. How about you?”

Benny lowered his weapon. “Yeah. I’ve had enough. It’s almost time for supper, anyway.”

Lenny’s stomach growled. “Not a minute too soon, either.”

The boys went to the weapons rack and put their weapons away with the others. They paused on their way out of the armoury to stop and gaze admiringly at the massive swords that belonged to Sherman, the queen’s personal guard, chief and commander of her armies. The massive battle axe and war hammer were incredible in their quality and craftsmanship. But the weapons that caught their eye were the collection of swords.

Lenny looked around to see if anyone was nearby and then pulled one of the swords from its scabbard. “Wow!” he exclaimed reverently. “It’s very lightweight!”

Benny drew another sword and hefted it carefully. He swung it a few times to test its balance. “This one’s really well balanced,” he remarked. “It must have been made by a dwarf.”

“Try this one,” said Lenny.

The boys exchanged blades and played with them for a few minutes.

“This one’s certainly easy to swing, it’s so light!” exclaimed Benny.

“I think this one has a better chance of doing damage,” said Lenny. “The blade is very sharp.”

“This one’s got to be magical,” continued Benny. “I’ll bet it does more damage than that one.”

“Wanna bet?” countered Lenny. There was a tone of challenge in his voice.

“Benny! Lenny!” called a voice from down the corridor. “Come here at once! The math teacher has arrived to give you your studies for today.”

Benny and Lenny looked at one another in alarm. They had forgotten their math teacher was coming today. Math was their least favourite subject. Hastily, they sheathed the swords in their scabbards and fled from the armoury.

A moment later, Sir Galado strode into the room. He was of ordinary height, muscular, with dark hair and a dark, finely trimmed mustache. He had a habit of twirling his mustache on the ends and was doing it now as he glanced about the room. Torches in wall sconces lit the room fairly well and there was no way anyone could avoid detection here if they were hiding. “Where have those infernal twins gotten off to this time?” he muttered. He strode from the room via the same exit the twins had used. A hush fell over the armoury with his passing. Everything was in its rightful place except Sherman’s two big swords. The twins had inadvertently put them in the opposite scabbards…

*      *      *      *      *

Everyone was jubilant as Sherman shook hands with the dwarf and minotaur. The reunion was a welcome change for the trio. When they had last parted, new commitments had prevented any of them from attempting to contact one another. They eagerly related stories of subsequent adventures in their new lives. While they reminisced, Kazin departed to look for the fifth and final companion that he needed for his quest.

When he was far enough away from his friends, he transformed into a dragon and launched himself into the air. He headed west to the shores of North Lake, where he found a sandy beach to land. It was nighttime, but the starry sky gave its reflected light off the primarily calm surface of the lake, and the landing was easy. Kazin came to a running stop and folded his wings back before transforming back into his human form. He stepped toward the lake until the gentle lapping of the waves crested over the edges of his sandals and onto his feet. Here he paused and raised his staff high into the air. The mage began to chant and the staff glowed with a brilliant white light. After a few minutes he stopped chanting and the staff dimmed. He waited for a number of minutes before repeating the procedure. Then, after another pause, he tried again.

At last, a ripple appeared in the surface of the lake and a dark head appeared, blinking in the bright light emanating from the staff.

Kazin quickly dimmed the staff light and spoke to the being who treaded water a short distance from shore. It was natural for this creature to be distrustful of a stranger, particularly one who wielded magic.

“I will not harm you,” said the mage in a calm voice, just loud enough for the creature to hear.

“What do you want?” said the creature. Its voice was more like a loud whisper than a voice.

“I’d like you to fetch someone for me,” said Kazin, unperturbed by the unusual voice. “His name is Olag. He is a friend of mine.”

The creature hissed. “And who calls for him?”

“My name is Kazin.”

The creature hissed again. “I know that name. You are a dragon mage.”

“That’s right,” said Kazin.

A short pause ensued. Then the creature spoke. “Prove it.”

Kazin sighed. He didn’t want to drain his magic like this, but he supposed it was inevitable. “Very well.” He stepped back from the water and transformed.

The creature hissed as the transformation took place, suddenly aware that it was much smaller than the giant dragon, and easily within reach of the potentially fiery breath, despite all the water around it. Satisfied with the demonstration, the creature spoke hastily. “I will get him. Where shall he meet?”

“Right here on this shore,” rumbled the dragon. “Is sunrise sufficient time to get him here?”

“Sunrise will be fine,” hissed the creature, anxiously sliding beneath the waves to carry out the dragon’s wishes.

The dragon also departed. He had to bring his friends to this spot and they would camp for the remainder of the night on the beach.

Chapter 3

S
unrise had not yet materialized when Harran snapped to attention at the sound of a breaking twig. He had the last shift of watch duty and was surprised someone or something had gotten so close without being detected. He winced inwardly at this failure to effectively perform such a simple task. Royal life had made him soft. Undoubtedly he would have to be more alert if he was to be of any help on this quest.

The dwarf peered into the morning mist in the vain attempt to see what may have caused the sound. He didn’t have to wait long.

“Don’t move!” hissed a voice menacingly.

The voice emanating from the mist was enough to put any dwarf on high alert. Harran thought it was a dreaded lizardman.

“Don’t move!” hissed the voice again. “One flinch and your forehead will have a hole in it.”

Harran swallowed but said nothing.

“Put your weapon on the ground,” continued the voice. “Slowly.” The ‘s’ in ‘slowly’ was drawn out.

Harran obeyed, furious with himself for letting himself get caught like this. When he straightened up, a small figure not much taller than he stood facing him, holding a crossbow aimed at him with steady arms. The face of the creature was froggish in appearance, as opposed to a lizardman’s pinched expression. Wide lips spread across a large mouth, and beady eyes protruded from the head, allowing the creature a wide peripheral view. Its webbed fingers ended in sharp claws. Spiked fins ran from the top of its head down its back while narrow red gills ran down the sides of its neck and along the front of its shoulders. It was a cousin of the lizardmen known as a skink warrior.

A shadow suddenly appeared behind the skink warrior and before Harran could acknowledge its existence, the skink warrior was hoisted into the air by a massive brown arm. The skink warrior dropped its weapon and gurgled while struggling vainly against the inhuman grip.

“What have we here?” growled Zylor as he regarded the skink warrior struggling in his grasp.

Harran heaved a sigh of relief. “I believe you’re holding onto Olag, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Olag?” said Zylor, looking at Harran quizzically. “The skink warrior who helped us win the battle at the Tower of Hope?”

The skink warrior gurgled and Harran nodded. “I think so. It’s hard to tell those creatures apart, but I think it’s he.”

Zylor lowered the skink warrior to the ground and loosened his grip on the creature so it could speak.

The skink warrior regained his breath and spoke in a hoarse whisper. “You can let me go, minotaur. I was merely being cautious. When my counterpart told me Kazin wanted to see me, I was skeptical, as you can imagine. It has been many years since we last spoke.”

Zylor released the skink warrior and laughed. “Well I’ll be!” he exclaimed. The minotaur slapped Olag on the back with zeal, forcing him to stagger forward into Harran. Olag would have fallen had the dwarf not caught him in mid-step.

Olag hissed and turned angrily on the minotaur, but the sheer size of the hairy beast quelled any further outburst.

Harran further diffused the situation by placing a gentle hand on Olag’s shoulder. “It’s good to see you, my friend.”

Olag sighed and shook his head in resignation. “I should have known I’d run into you guys again.”

Zylor was still grinning. “Oh, come on! You like hanging out with us!” His grin vanished. “Not many deserve to have that distinction,” he added seriously.

Olag was surprised by the compliment. He fumbled for words and was relieved when a different voice called out from the mist. “Who’s making all the racket?”

“We have a visitor, Sherman!” responded Harran.

The warrior appeared and strode into the group. He looked at the skink warrior and smiled. “Olag! You’re early!”

Olag shrugged. “I wasn’t far away from here when I received the message to come and meet with Kazin. Now I’m wondering whether I should have come at all.” He glanced in Zylor’s direction as he painfully rubbed the fins on his neck.

“Have you been showing off your latest battle techniques again, Zylor?” chided Sherman.

Zylor chuckled and Olag scowled.

“Let’s have breakfast,” suggested Harran. He beckoned the skink warrior to follow. “I’ll apply some ointment to your bruises, Olag. I’m betting Kazin wants you in perfect condition for our new quest.”

Olag had started to follow the dwarf but stopped in mid-stride. “Quest?!”

Zylor laughed behind him. “It looks like we’re going to spend some quality time together!”

Olag turned to glare at the minotaur and Zylor laughed even harder. “A glare like that would earn you respect among my kind.” He retrieved Olag’s weapon and handed it to him. “Sorry about the rough treatment, Olag. Had I known it was you - .” He shrugged.

Olag sighed in resignation and followed Harran to the camp.

When the skink warrior was out of earshot, Sherman said, “I hope you didn’t scare him off this quest, Zylor. Kazin insisted he come along since he was with us last time we went back in time.”

Zylor shot him a look. “He is honourable. He will come.” The minotaur tromped off after the skink warrior.

Sherman followed more slowly, wondering whether skinks - the cousins of lizardmen - could ever be considered honourable. He finally decided that Olag had proven himself in the past. There was no reason to mistrust him now. The human hatred of lizardmen was still a powerful feeling that sometimes got in the way. Minotaurs were also an ancient enemy of humans, yet Sherman wouldn’t hesitate to put his life in Zylor’s hands. It was no different with Olag. Granted, Sherman hadn’t spent as much time with the skink warrior as he had with the minotaur, but Olag had some valuable skills to add to the team, and Kazin trusted him to come along. That was good enough for him.

Kazin was awakened, exhausted from the previous day’s exertions. He warmly greeted Olag and repeatedly had to assure him that he was indeed Kazin the dragon mage. Olag wasn’t entirely sure about Kazin’s older appearance, but the ease with which he got along with the others meant that he must be one and the same as the mage he had known several years back. As the quest and associated conditions were made known, Olag became very nervous. His last experience with going to the past was terrifying enough. What Kazin was suggesting meant he would have to go through all of that all over again.

The others tried to convince him to go along with it, reminding him of his accomplishment in defending the Tower of Hope with his forces of skink warriors. The Tower of Hope, a bastion of the white magic wielders in the human’s world who concentrated their magic on the healing of others, was being attacked by enemy forces. An alliance was forged between the white-robed clerics and the skink warriors just prior to this, resulting in an influx of skink defenders at a crucial moment in the battle. The tower held on thanks to the heroics of the skink warriors led by Olag himself.

Olag argued that the quest was not a matter of courage, but wisdom. How could they know that their very idea to go into the past to correct the problem wasn’t actually the catalyst?

Kazin had the only convincing answer. The future, as he knew it, needed to be saved. To do nothing was not an option, because the future was literally falling apart.

Olag’s last concern was the fact that his race didn’t exist in the time they were going back to. If he and his kind did not exist yet, would it be safe for him to go back and make an appearance?

Kazin assured him it was in fact safer to bring him than the others, since, if they didn’t know his race, he would be more likely to be trusted by any enemies they encountered. He could potentially obtain information the others couldn’t.

Olag was still skeptical, but finally agreed to go along with it. He would be long dead by the time Kazin’s uncertain future became an issue anyway.

With that settled, discussion turned to planning the next course of action.

*      *      *      *      *

The mage stepped carefully around and over the bodies, his staff held ready before him. The stench was unbearable, the decay already setting in mere hours after the battle had moved on over the eastern ridge. If it wasn’t for his sense-dulling magic, he would have succumbed to the stench long ago.

He looked up as a pair of ravens squabbled over a fresh chunk of flesh nearby. Ravens dotted the landscape, each one poised over its own corpse, pecking ravenously. There were more than enough bodies to go around. This had been one of the fiercest battles of the year, and the quantity of casualties was a testament to that fact. The rising sun was a glaring red in appearance, a sleepless eye overseeing an endless war.

The mage stumbled over an unrecognizable corpse and cursed. What he sought wasn’t as readily available as before. He wanted a corpse, human, freshly deceased. Most of what he saw was too far gone to be of any use.

A weak moan sounded nearby and the mage anxiously searched in the direction of the sound. He was beginning to despair when he finally spotted the body. Half buried in gore from some ugly creature lay a soldier in a crumpled heap. Whatever had struck him down had used a blunt instrument to smash his spine. The mage instantly knew this soldier could not live much longer.

The soldier looked pitifully up at the approaching mage as he bent over him. Not knowing what else to do, the mage took the man’s hand and held it. The soldier seemed to take comfort from that action and his laboured breathing eased. Moments later, he breathed his last. The mage brushed his hand lightly over the soldier’s face to close his eyes. He gently brushed the soldier’s dark hair from his face, feeling deeply saddened by the young life that was extinguished so soon in life. Then he stood and pointed his staff at the man’s body. He chanted a spell and his body stiffened as he put all of his energy into the effort. A wisp of barely visible steam rose from the body and entered the orb atop his staff. The steam whitened and then faded again as the last of the life essence was absorbed into the staff. When this was completed, the mage stopped chanting and regarded the orb. He spoke a word of magic and it radiated a bright, blinding white light. A nearby raven squawked in irritation and abandoned its corpse in search of one further away. Nodding in satisfaction, the mage canceled the spell and the orb faded. The magical strength was satisfactory. He sighed. This could very well be the last time he could attempt his experiment using the life force from the bodies in this field. After this he would have to go farther afield to obtain the samples he needed. Nevertheless, his staff was now fully loaded and it was time to head back to his cave.

Along the way, he encountered several scavengers poking among the dead for souvenirs. Most of these were goblins who were too cowardly to fight. None of them gave the mage any trouble and most gave him a wide berth. None wanted to tangle with a spell caster. It was just as well. The mage needed the life essence in his staff for his experiments. He had no means of fighting a battle save for the dagger at his side. Only once, a creature came near him, but it backed away when the mage gave a command and his staff lit up with the brilliance of the life force trapped within the orb. The threat of magic was enough to ensure his safe passage.

It took several hours to reach the base of the mountain housing his secret cave. Another half hour of climbing a hidden path brought him to the cave entrance. With a word of magic, the magical warding shielding the cave from unwanted visitors or prying eyes was removed. Before entering, the mage turned to regard the death and destruction below. From his vantage point, the battlefield was a smoking, black ruin. The view, however daunting, was infinitely better than being down there among the stench, death and decay. Way off in the distance, a dragon was visible, undoubtedly headed in the direction where the battle still raged. Shaking his head sadly, the mage turned and entered his domain.

The cave’s interior was quite comfortable. It was only a short distance in from outside, but it was spacious. A makeshift forge was set up in one corner and a fissure in the rocks conveniently vented the smoke up to some unknown void within the mountain. A stone workbench was backlit by a couple of torches in sconces on the wall behind it. A comfortable looking black leather chair stood in front of the table and a pile of swords lay in a heap on the floor next to it. Another group of swords lay in a neat row on the floor near the forge. To the left, on the opposite side of the forge, stood a workbench, containing an anvil and a large hammer. Seated at the table, slumped over fast asleep, was a shaggy looking dwarf in rumpled clothing. Emanating from somewhere within the black beard were loud snores.

The mage shook his head in amusement. How the dwarf could snore with his head hanging down in that position was a mystery.

He walked quietly over to the stone table and put his staff down gently so as not to wake the dwarf. Then he went and picked up a sword from the row in front of the forge. He brought it back to the table and set it down. The mage contemplated the time he had still been back at The Tower of Sorcery, recollecting the studies he undertook under the tutelage of one of the master mages. Apparently, the experimentation of magic at such high levels of complexity was discouraged. He had disagreed, and soon discovered the studies in the tower were hindering his own ambitions with regard to magic. Being much older than the other students didn’t help. They were too young and impulsive, and there was no one mature enough to collaborate with. So he left to do experiments on his own. It had taken a few years to find a secluded spot, and another year to set up his workshop to accommodate his experimentation, but it had ultimately worked out well. Over the years he had succeeded in crafting, with the help of the dwarven smith, an extensive array of magical weaponry. But this project would be his ultimate achievement. If he could succeed at this, it would be the most powerful artifact that he, or anyone else, had ever created.

The previous attempts were all failures of varying degrees, as indicated by the pile of swords in disarray beside him. Some of them had varying levels of magic stored within, and others had no magic at all. But none had what he desired. They were all failures as far as he was concerned, but the dwarf convinced him to save them so they could be sold to finance their project. The spirit blade the mage was trying to create would be far more powerful than these specimens. But he hadn’t succeeded yet. The mage primarily blamed himself for the failures. The spell was exceptionally complex. He reasoned that it wasn’t entirely his fault. The quality of steel in the swords was also an issue. The dwarf had done his best, but imperfections in the steel limited and sometimes even prevented the magic from taking hold.