The Written (6 page)

With a shout the last thug ran
towards the powerful mage wielding a long club high above his head.
‘I’ll kill yer!’ he yelled. Farden smacked his wrists together and
threw a quick bolt of fire into the night. The sizzling bolt burst
against the mans chest with a blinding flash of light that burned
the clothes from his skin. He hit the mud flat on his back with a
short yelp and choked on rainwater. Farden dashed towards the
charred man while he struggled to lift his head up from the
clogging mud. Without missing a stride he sent his boot flying into
the grimy thug’s nose with a lethal kick. The man’s face exploded
with blood and bone and his head slammed back into the ground with
a nauseating thud. He did not move again. Farden skidded to a halt
and then leapt to his feet, and listened to nothing but the
dripping rain.

The bald man stirred under the
carcass of the other bandit. His face looked like a crimson
landslide and he lifted shaking fingers to feel the damage,
breathing through cracked teeth. Farden retrieved his grimy sword
and wiped it on the leg of one of the downed men. Farden watched
him struggle. Durnus would not have been happy with such a vicious
display, he realised. But Durnus wasn’t there. Farden shrugged to
himself and spat on the bald thug, sheathed his sword, and
left.

The mage walked alone, letting
the rain drip down his face and cool his hot angry skin. He let the
fight replay in his head. A smirk curled at the corner of his
mouth. Might as well start the night as he meant to go on, he
thought. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the soaking
piece of parchment, looked at the lines and contours of the map, at
the word
Jergan
,
and then shoved it back into his pocket. He doubled his pace and
jogged into the night.

Eight hours later a lone figure
crouched on the summit of a low hill, his long cloak billowing in
the stormy wind, rain lashing his unblinking features. The man was
staring avidly at a small hovel cowering in a shallow valley
between two hills. It was barely surviving the weather, its rough
wood and stacked stone walls were shaking violently in the howling
gale. A single struggling candle peeked from a tiny window. The
man’s eyes flicked to the cloudy sky as a fleeting gap in the
clouds revealed the white saucer of the full moon, radiating blue
light down on the hills for a split second. His watchful gaze
returned to the hut.

Farden had been watching this
poor excuse for a house since finding it three hours before. His
headache had finally gone, and he could feel the power swelling in
his wrists and head now, magick running through his veins like a
strong river pulsing and surging through a canyon. A faint glow
came from under his cloak. But he tried to keep it under control,
creatures like Jergan could sense magick, smell it, like the wyrm
in the north. They hunted it, given the chance. The rain slammed
into him with hurricane force and rain pelted his face and yet
Farden didn’t even blink, completely focused on his task.

Suddenly in the corner of his
eye something seemed to move on the hillside. The mage snapped his
head in its direction and stood upright just to make sure. Slowly
he inched his sword from its sheath and stood ready. Nervousness
crept over him and his breathing became short and quick.

For an age Farden didn’t move,
watching the stormy hillside getting lashed with curtains of rain.
He slowly crouched down again with sword in hand and looked back at
the hut. The candle had gone out.

From absolutely nowhere a
massive shape bowled out of the rain and barrelled into the mage,
driving the air from his lungs. He flew down the hill, barely
rolling as the hairy creature fell with him and snarled savagely in
his ear. His sword fell from his hand dug into the grass and he
grabbed it, letting the creature slide off him and tumble to a
halt. He scrabbled to get upright and once he did so he punched the
ground and a searing light cut through the darkness of the stormy
night. The light spell revealed a hulking creature standing a dozen
yards down the hillside, matted hair drenched with rain and plumes
of hot breath escaping from a mouthful of fangs. It growled and
snarled, words slipping through yellowed daggers of teeth.

‘Leave this place.’ barked the
monstrosity. Its long arms were hanging low beside muscular legs,
and its stretched hands and curving claws were dripping with
water.

‘I’ve come to find Jergan! I
must speak with him!’ Farden shouted above the gale. He slowly
moved back towards his sword and the creature menacingly took a
step forward in return. The thing’s eyes were red pools of pure
madness Farden slid a hand into his travel pack and searched for
something shiny.

‘Jergan is dead! He doesn’t
live here and never has so LEAVE!’ The lycan crouched low and his
thick mane stood up and flapped in the wind. Farden took another
step back and a sword hilt knocked against his leg. The mage held
out a hand, warding the animal off, trying to get through to the
man inside him.

‘I don’t want to hurt you,
Jergan, I just want to talk!’ Farden’s heart was beating double
time against his breastplate.

‘Arrrgh!’ The lycan snarled and
leapt towards the mage. Farden smacked his wrists together again
and stamped his foot. A wall of fire billowed out of the ground
towards the beast and ripped through the rain, but with a roar the
agile creature jumped over the flames and bared his teeth in the
red glow.

Farden whirled his sword and
dodged to his right as Jergan flew past him. The lycan skidded on
the wet grass and with a terrible clicking he unhinged his jaw even
wider. The mage summoned a huge globe of fire and aimed a blow at
the growling animal. The fireball smacked into the lycan’s shoulder
blade and sent him sprawling. Farden bravely strode forward and
held his curved longsword high. Jergan jumped to his feet and
roared deafeningly. He sprinted towards the mage and swung his
claws in mad arcs. Farden blocked and cut straight across Jergan’s
left arm. It sent the lycan reeling backwards, yelping, but he
managed to reach out with one deadly punch. The swipe caught Farden
on the breastplate, winding him and cracking a rib. But the mage
did not falter and jabbed at Jergan, finding the skin beneath
matted hair at his neck. With incredible speed Farden yanked the
mirror from his bag and showed it to the cowering lycan, lifting
his light spell to blinding levels.

‘Look at this!’ The mage
yelled. Jergan blinked and squinted at the silver trinket, covering
his eyes with bleeding hands.

‘Look!’ Farden strode forward,
marching his mirror before him into the face of the lycan. But the
beast suddenly barked a guttural laugh and shouted above the
rain.

‘You should tell your maid not
to buy you cheap silver mirrors mage!’ He barked a short cackle and
kicked out at Farden’s chest with a long hind leg. The huge foot
caught him hard right below his throat and the mage tumbled
backwards with a cry, but as he fell he threw three small bolts of
blistering fire at Jergan and the lycan stepped back quickly
swiping fire from his face. Farden rolled backwards skilfully and
regained his stance, the wind blowing the smell of charred hair and
flesh to his keen nose. He threw a massive fire blast at the
creature and followed it up with a quick spell to drain the lycan’s
strength. Jergan yelped and barked as he threw a rock at Farden.
The powerful mage deflected the missile with his sword and kept
throwing spell after spell at Jergan. A few more firebolts and a
blast of lightning threw the lycan to the ground. Farden summoned a
dark well of strength and threw his arms out wildly. A ripple of
magick ripped through the ground like a carpet being shaken and
rocks flew in all directions. The quake spell hit the lycan in the
back and the crack of several bones was audible. Farden reeled from
the massive spell, cramp striking his arms like a hammer bouncing
off an anvil. The mage gritted his teeth and still strode forward,
watching the beast scrabble to get upright. Jergan’s fur and skin
were raw in patches, and blood gushed from his arm wound.

‘Leave!’ The lycan hissed.

Farden halted and watched the
creature pick itself up. ‘Let me talk to Jergan! I know he’s in
there somewhere,’ he held his arms wide, twin balls of fire
spinning in each hands as he struggled to keep up the level of
spell casting, but he knew it was the only way he could make the
lycan retreat.

‘NO!’ Jergan pounced and Farden
clapped his hands together with a blast of flame. But the lycan had
been too quick and the spell broke, the two of them falling back to
the ground. Farden struggled for his life as razor teeth snapped an
inch from his face. Claws dug deep furrows in the grass next to his
head and the lycan spat and roared in his face. Farden was using
all his strength to hold back the massive shoulders of the beast
with his sword, backing up his efforts with an iron spell of
force.

‘Get….off!’ Farden shouted and
rolled over. His blade sliced across Jergan’s hand again and
skilfully reversing his grip he raked the sword across the lycan’s
side. The beast snarled and leapt away, but not before scraping a
claw across Farden’s chest, luckily only finding armour beneath.
The blade swung again and caught a hind leg. Farden could not
chance even getting a small scratch from one of Jergan’s teeth. so
he kept swinging his sword in a vain attempt to ward the animal
back to a safe distance. Relentless magick was the only weapon that
could keep Jergan at bay. If they had to fight until the sun came
up then so be it, Farden thought grimly.

Lightning forked the sky above
them and a roar of thunder followed it. Jergan howled a haunting
cry, arching his head towards the heavy clouds. Farden spun away
from the lycan and the two of them circled again, both breathing
hard and shaking with effort. The creature was bleeding from
multiple places but the wounds already seemed to be healing and
scabbing over. Farden cursed the lycan’s regeneration ability.

The mage ran the flat of his
sword over his left gauntlet and the blade burst into flame,
spitting and crackling. He threw two more spears of fire at the
lycan and swung his sword at the lycans skull. Jergan ducked and
rolled, the flames licking his flanks. Sparks of electricity leapt
over him as Farden hit him with another jolt. Jergan was getting
tired and he knew it, the lycan’s spell starting to break under the
pressure of such powerful magick. Farden was starting to crack as
well, keeping up such powerful spells was draining him, and badly.
Remembering Durnus’ words he extinguished the sword in the ground
and began to concentrate on the wind around him, forcing a vortex
of rain to spin around the snarling lycan. The wind howled keenly
and the rain battered Jergan as Farden sent wall after wall of wind
at the beast. Farden mercilessly drove a few more blasts of energy
at the wolf-like creature. The wind tore back his hood and the
cloak flapped while rain lashed the mage’s face. His jaw was set
and the effort drained his stern features of colour. The lycan
stumbled back again and spluttered as rain water filled his face.
Lightning ripped through the sky.

‘Leave me alone!’ Jergan
shrieked. He scrambled backwards to get free of the powerful
onslaught. He turned tail and stumbled away from Farden’s vortex
spell. The lycan ran off into the night, howling as he
disappeared.

Farden swayed on his feet as
the wind died back to its normal level. He lowered his hands and
collapsed into the soaking grass with exhaustion, still trying to
keep his eyes open and fixed on the hills around him.

Morning brought him iron skies
and a light drizzling rain. The rolling green hills lay quiet and
sodden, the grey outcrops of rock scattering the scarred grass from
the night before. Farden lay in a trance, hunched up with his knees
at his chin, cloak gathered around him in a tight bundle. He had
forced down some meat and water earlier in an attempt to stay awake
and alive. The exhausted mage wiped rain from his face for the
thousandth time. His eyes were surrounded by dark rings once more,
and his lips were white with the cold. Farden’s sodden hair covered
his face and a beard was starting to decorate his chin. In the
valley before him lay the tiny wooden hut where Jergan had
retreated to earlier that morning. After the battle the lycan had
disappeared into the storm, howling occasionally and spying on
Farden from a nearby hill. When dawn finally broke over the moors
Jergan had began to transform and so he had slunk back into his
hovel.

Farden stood up resiliently and
drew his sword. He gripped the cold steel and bound leather with
his weary frozen fingers and cleared his dry throat with a crumbly,
hoarse cough. After taking a final swig of rainwater and relieving
himself gratefully behind a boulder the mage determinedly strode
forward down the sloping hill towards the hut.

‘Jergan! Come out here and
talk! Don’t make me cut your head off you cur!’ barked Farden. He
marched up to the door and banged loudly on the rough wooden
planks. No answer.

‘Jergan! Get up!’ Farden kicked
the door in and cast a light spell to burn through the darkness of
the messy cabin. The rancid smell of wet dog and rotten meat made
the mage gag. A clatter of pans came from the corner behind the
door and Farden stormed into the tiny room.

‘Don’t! Don’t kill me!’ shouted
Jergan. He held up his muddy hands in defence and covered his eyes.
Pale skinny legs flailed in the air as the gaunt man scrabbled in
the dirt. The mage’s magick burned his eyes. Jergan spluttered and
coughed. ‘Please, I’ll do whatever you want!’ he managed, and
Farden let his spell die. He looked at the poor excuse for a man
lying on the floor.

Jergan looked as though the
years had eaten away at him. His arms were thin and bony and his
brown fingernails were long and chipped, and now starting to curl
with age. A scrap of cloth barely covered him, and it was soiled
with mud and blood, leaving his ribs poking through papery skin.
His straggly white hair hung thick over a weary face, and dull
violet eyes poked from deep holes above sharp cheekbones and
cracked lips. Scales adorned his chin amidst grey stubble. Proud
flecks of blue striped his cheeks and ears. He was the complete
opposite of the foul creature he had faced last night, the
antithesis of threatening, a broken old man lying in the dust, and
the mage felt a tinge of pity for him. Scaly feet and ankles kicked
pans as the exhausted Siren lycan hauled himself to a sitting
position, a dishevelled crossbreed of bad luck.