The Melaki Chronicle (8 page)

“Shield!” said Talin. His arms were making stabbing motions.
The demon-thing reeled back.

Melaki reformed the shield and felt three more attempts to
batter it aside.

The wizard made his hands claws and swiped. From five paces
away, furrows appeared in the skin of the thing, erupting blackish blood. Then
Talin changed manipulation.

Melaki's stomach heaved. He was going to throw up.

The wizard's manipulation now was of the tenth ward –
exactly what Melaki had refused to work. The summoning and control of demons.
But he watched, trying to maintain the three patterns of his own. He watched
Talin form a summoning in reverse with none of the safeguards. This was an area
of the tenth unknown to him and the results were explosive. Talin deliberately
entered the creature into a state of summoning in reverse, without safeguards,
and then released control of the manipulation. Melaki had learned that
releasing control was deadly to the caster, but what Talin did in reverse was
immediate and final.

The demon-thing exploded in a spray of flesh and bone. It
looked like it unravelled.

Melaki knew he could never accomplish what Talin had just
done – not without using the very magic he refused to use. He released the
shield, panting, and then threw up.

Talin grunted. “Try not to splash my robes.”

He coughed, trying to clear his throat. He spat and wiped
his chin. But while he had refused to use spirit-magic, he did watch. He
noticed a common vibrating connection between Talin and his manipulation and
the thing and its own manipulation. He would need to see more and think on it.

“And the cachement.” Talin smiled in triumph. “I pity those
who follow in succeeding charters. We will have snatched up all the best.” He
kicked bones out of the way.

Melaki sighed heavily, feeling tired. The barrow around him
was simple, but far more elaborate than the simpler constructions of the
villagers. There was a beauty of simplicity in what he saw. Several biers were
arranged in lines along both sides of a long and large tunnel. Stone arches
reach up and overhead toward each other. Wooden beams, old and rotted covered
over everything as if someone had slapped a boat upside down over the biers.
And, of course, the whole thing was buried under dirt.

A typical barrow.

The skeletons laid out on the biers were old enough to be
browned and brittle. Their weapons were calcified.

“Oh, my, yes,” Talin said. His voice was low and lustful,
filled with desire and greed.

Melaki looked over the wizard's shoulder. Five necromantic
gems pulsed deep and purple – almost black. They were set in a bed of silver
and gold baubles and medallions. The pulse seemed to follow the pulse of
Talin's veins. He withdrew his sensing of the other's magic and briefly
wondered if there was a connection in between the pulsing and Talin.

“Here you are,” the wizard said. He handed over the smallest
of the gems. “These three shall pay our share to the imperial forces here. And
I shall have this one.” It was the largest.

Melaki pouched his new gem. The two alone could be exchanged
for enough gold and rubies to pay his way out of the Altanlean Empire and set
him up somewhere, albeit in an austere fashion. Though he was not greedy, he
wanted more before haring off to pursue his own studies. A tower somewhere
would be ideal. A view of the waters above, the surrounding lands, and a place
above the smells of anyone nearby. A quiet place for study.

“We will inspect the area tomorrow,” said Talin. “Make sure
it is all cleared. If it is, I will call for the imperial to confirm and ratify
my claim.”

Melaki took a look around at the sleeping dead.
Forever
sleeping.
He nodded.

*  *  *

Melaki noted his thoughts down onto parchment. Talin was
sleeping nearby.

There appeared to be a similarity in the magic used by
spirit-wielders and the demons. The idea made some sense to him, but he
wondered at the connection and that the magic should be used against itself.

Was it being used against itself? What if in being used, it
supported the very magic that was supporting that which was destroyed? Could
evil aid evil? Assuredly. Could evil hurt evil if it meant furthering the aims
of evil? That was a thorny question in his mind. Good would not hurt good to
further good because that would entail an evil intent towards an element of
good. But with evil? Did evil care? Did evil have morals? Did evil have
standards? Evil might have standards, but it did certainly not have a
conscience.

He penned a few notes and extinguished his blue light. He
cast out a quick sensing of the area around them. The village was as quiet as
the dead still piled in the central square.

Perhaps he would bury them on the morrow.

Maybe he would let them sit where they were as a reminder.

Hmm. A reminder of what?

He drifted into sleep, releasing his senses, succumbing to
the exhaustion, surrendering to the replenishment of sleep.

A figure formed.

Was this yet a dream?

Nihtu had said he could control dreams. Could he? He seemed
to have no control over whatever was forming before him.

Out of the swirling blackness of his imagination in slumber
formed a hideous figure that exuded hunger.

Was it possible to feel hunger in a dream? He could not
recall doing so. A singing wail increased in his dream until he could no longer
ignore it. It was a harmonious wail of sound, vibrating against his senses. It
was at once forlorn and full of intent.

A warning? A message?

He shifted over onto his other side, briefly awakening and
troubled by his sleep. Then he drifted again.

The presence was there.

It was near, but not near.

What?

He could not make sense of it in his mind.

He was told something then, with rapidity. Something
important. Something dire. He caught none of it. He grasped, trying to fetch
from his memory what was said. He recalled not a single word. In frustration,
he cried out.

He woke himself croaking urgently, but not voicing anything
but the sound of a frog.

He rubbed his eyes and flopped over. He pulled his blanket
up and drifted once again into sleep. This time, there was no presence.

*  *  *

Melaki pointed. “There.”

“I see it,” Talin said. His eyes were squinted.

They rode their horses, the wizard on his prancing stallion
controlled by force and he on his mare - placid, docile, but attentive.

“I will sense when we get close,” Talin said.

They rode towards the zombie in the fields of the farm on
the outskirts of the village.

Soam's Crossing it had been called. But no one called it
that now because there was no one left to call it that and the only remembrance
was marked as a few squiggles on a parchment Talin carried.

Did anyone care? Did the dead care?

Talin blew the zombie into a blizzard of stinking chunks.

Melaki was happy to let the wizard do the work. Forming two
patterns was taxing enough. If he was needed, Talin would demand. But until
then, the other wizard took pleasure in demonstrating his superior skill.

He's good. He's better than me. Stronger in the
spirit-magic.

The wizard stopped and reached out with his senses. “There,
that way.” He pointed.

Melaki could sense nothing. Was that Talin's greater
experience? Was that a difference in ability? Power? He thought he felt a
connection, but he was not really trying. Did he care? He did. But did it
matter?

The duo rode towards Talin's pointed finger. Tila kept up
with the wizard's stallion.

His hair and cloak blew back with the speed of their
passage. For a moment, both were almost identical in figure – streaming forward
with purpose, with confidence, and with determination.

An eruption of violence and magic disrupted their advance.
There in the grass, a full hundred paces from the graveyard of the next village
was a deathly white figure.

Talin said nothing. He began a fast manipulation.

Melaki formed a shield without being told. Then he formed a
pattern of force.

The white thing flung some evil against Melaki's shield. It
rebounded.

At least this time he did not feel sick.

Force magics from both Talin and himself resulted in the
eruption of the white thing into flying fragments of something wet and
disgusting.

Talin tried to control his stallion. “That should satisfy
the imperials.” He looked around, spinning his horse. “It's cachement must be
somewhere, but it could be anywhere. Probably the graveyard yonder. Killing it
out here away from its lair will make quite a search. I will let you do that
tomorrow.”

Melaki nodded. The village and its surrounding areas had
been cleansed. He would find the thing's lair, eventually.

“I will depart tomorrow, and pay the charter fees. I will
bring the inspector and we shall proceed with our claim.”

His claim.

They rode back in silence. They crossed over the humps of
stone walls that spoke of an older time, something before the recently deceased
villagers.

“Do you regret anything?” he said. He regretted asking it
immediately.

“Regret? Me?” Talin said. His voice was several shades of
offended. “No, why should I be regretful, and over what?”

Melaki shook his head. What could he say?
Are you
offended over using evil to destroy evil and have you really done so? Do you
regret using evil?

Talin sighed with exasperation. “The questions of initiates
were never to my liking.”

“I am not an initiate.”

“A month ago you were.”

“I am not an initiate.”

Talin sneered at him. “You think those braids on your sleeve
qualify you as one of my status?”

He sighed, realizing once again he would get nowhere with
Talin. Sometimes he could learn from him; sometimes he could not. “Never mind.”

Talin seemed pleased and rode ahead, nose held high.

One stripe of braid. That is all that separates us.

They rode into the stable area of Soam's Crossing. His
repair-work had made a viable and livable area for them in the midst of the
dead village.

With the horses tended, he entered the tavern they had
secured. The windows were boarded against surprise and the door warded with
magic.

Still, he reached out and sensed the building.

It was empty.

That meant safety in an area such as this.

Melaki formed a fire pattern and blew a blazing inferno into
the fireplace and the logs there. He formed an additional pattern and heated
the cookware. In seconds, their stew was ready to eat.

Talin nodded at the bowl offered him in the light of the
fire. He spooned the contents until the bowl was empty. “Maybe I shall bring in
some farmers to work the farms.”

He pursed his lips. Talin would only do that which profited
him. What did he care about farms? He was certainly waxing great about his
kingly ambitions...

“A rightful ruler cares about his--”

Melaki burped. Loud. “Sorrow, wizard.”

Talin dismissed it as easily as a simple stomach cramp.

He finished his stew and eased back before the fire.

He was not aware of falling asleep.

The vision came as he started to dream.

He gritted his teeth, fighting it, forcing it back. But it
came on, relentless, as the light brightens the waters above in the morning. As
the fingernails grew on his fingers, as the day slipped to night. Inexorable.
He saw darkness and weight.

How can I see weight?

He saw it. Felt it. Weight, all around. Water.

Water was everywhere. It hung in the mists of the air. It
flowed in rivers and gathered in great oceans. Why should he dream about water?

Was he dreaming?

Then the sadness hit him. The fury. The anger. The sorrow.
The regret.

Water washed away all that he was in a torrent from above,
driving him down, underneath the surface of a water he was now in.

How had he gotten here?

But such questions did not matter to him. Not at such a time
as this. He needed to swim – find the surface. Or drown.

Drown.

He was being rocked. No, he was being shaken.

“Melaki!”

A voice drifted to him, coming closer, gaining speed.

He awoke, gasping, shaking, his back on the floor of the
tavern. The fire roared brightly next to him. Talin leaned over him, annoyed.

“Do you have a sickness?” Talin said.

He tried to sit up. “I...”

“Yes?” said the wizard.

Weariness and despair overcame him. The inevitability of his
vision destroyed any resolve he had. “I just want to sleep.”

Talin scowled.

He drifted off once again into a very deep sleep.

*  *  *

Melaki smelled the air. Damp, fresh, and only tainted with
the slightest bit of death.

Normal.

Talin had been gone since morning. His ride would take six
days there and six more back. He sat looking at the fire, the morning light
creeping through the shuttered windows.

He would scout certain of the buildings today. Talin had
allowed as much as his claim to whatever he wanted in the village.

How magnanimous of him.

He would find a place separate from Talin. The wizard's
conceit grated on him.

He can brag his crap to his horse.

Later, he would start searching for that cachement where
they had killed that white demon out in the middle of nothing. It had to be
somewhere.

He got up and went outside. He eyed the pile of bones in the
square. Without thinking, he groaned. He knew he would be burying them so he
would not have to look at them.