This is a, well, I suppose it'll turn into a book one day if I stick with it. Not really EQ related, but there are EQish elements. I was inspired a lot by Robert Jordan. If you like fantasy, the Wheel of Time series is the best, bar none. Oh, please keep any criticizems in the oter post (the one I'm about to make). Sorry, it lost all formatting it had from Word so it's a bit tough to read. Anyway, without further ado..
In The Wizard's Hand By Travis Thompson
He who was shall be again.
Few were taken before in need,
All will be taken now for greed.
The sun will rise only if it is his desire,
His temper will bring mountains of fire.
The seas will dry if it is his command,
The world will turn in the Wizard’s hand.
-From The Legashrift Prophecies
as translated by Linoran Mani
1285 BWI
PROLOUGE
The sound of three horses splashing through the puddles into camp caused Daerul to look up from the spluttering cookfire in front of him. The horses blew steam in thick clouds from their nostrils and tramped wearily in the mud as they were brought to a halt. Two of the riders rolled easily out of their saddles before the animals had fully stopped, the third hung over his like a sack of grain, tied ankle to wrist. These were not the type of men to have accidents in the woods.
A knot of people had gathered around the returning scouts, shouting out, asking what had happened, but the two men pushed through the throng toward the largest tent in the not inconsiderable camp. Armsman-General Alkayra had heard the commotion, and already had the flaps on his tent open, admitting the soaked men.
“What’s all this about, then?” asked Kemmel, sitting with the hood of his cloak pulled up against the rain. He was a man entering his middle years, with dark eyes sunken deep in his head, and protected by a single black eyebrow that stretched from the far corner of his right eye to the far corner f his left. Black curly hair, now lank with the rain framed a very round face. A bulbous nose sat over a bushy mustache that partially hid lips that looked like two long grouse peppers pushed together. “I’ll go see if the lads caught anything. You just wait here and mind that the fire doesn’t go out.”
Daerul chuckled to himself as Kemmel got up and went to give the others a hand taking the dead man from his horse. Daerul reached behind him into the flap of the tent the two of them shared, which now was so full of drying wood there was no room to sit. Given a choice between keeping dry or going without hot coffee, the soldiers chose coffee nearly every time.
Watching the others go about their business, he wondered at those around him. Mercenaries to the man, nobody had any real allegiance to anything save the gold they received regularly as pay, and the loot they could plunder from wherever it happened to be they were attacking. Oh, there had been plenty of both at first; a handsome monthly salary and more loot than they could carry away when they left a place. Now things had changed. The dead man’s armor and weapons, along with anything else of value he might have, had would go up for auction, with the proceeds and any other gold the man had been saving going back into the coffers to pay their salary, which was now only a small portion of what it had been months ago when Daerul had joined on in mid-summer. Not that he had a choice to just leave. Every member of the band, him especially, oh yes, him more than almost any among them, had been marked traitors to the People and would surely be killed without trial if ever they were caught alone. So the choice, which really was no choice at all, was continue fighting, or die.
Seeing the shallow grave was almost filled in, Daerul poured a cup of coffee for himself and his friend. “Scouts back from Arnel way, got caught up by some of King Devat’s men.” Kemmel said as he took the cup of steaming coffee, giving a smile of thanks. That smile quickly turned to a scowl as he continued. “Goat kissin’ fools got themselves seen. They musta’ been recognized for who they are, else wouldn’t a been no trouble.” He brushed aside Daerul’s comment that the King’s men could have simply been enforcing the draft orders. “If they got close enough to be asked for their tickets willingly, then they’re bigger fools yet.”
“Still, this doesn’t really change anything, does it? He must have known we were close, or he would never have called out that draft in the first place. These three were scouts. The King’s men might not be able to track them back to us.” countered Daerul. He did not relish the idea of moving again so soon, especially in this weather.
“That may be true, or it may not be. ‘A smart man might trust his luck to the dice. A fool would trust it to anything else.’” quoted Kemmel. Daerul supposed his friend was right. He himself knew very little of planning battles and fighting wars. His talents lie elsewhere.
Packing up their things only took a few minutes once the Armsman-General gave the order to do so. They had been camped about four days ride from the city of Arnel, which was to be their final stop on the long campaign that had taken them steadily north, every day closer to The Ice.
Weakened by bandits attacking with more coordination than ever from the Plains of Duman to the east, Arnel had had to draw most men to a border that had never before needed anything but the most basic of defenses. Seizing this opportunity, Lord Edim had come east from his estates in Letha. Joined by other small houses and bands of mercenaries, he had pushed north along Arnel’s western border until finally turning east into the country proper. Fighting through the western part of the country had been fairly easy, with no two houses united against him
Now, with the army closing on the capitol, King Devat had called on the houses to protect him, and their own land. With an army of six thousand men, Lord Edim hoped to take and hold the city of Arnel. Daerul wasn’t sure if it could be done or not, but trusted Kemmel when he said their odds looked better than even.
He hadn’t wanted to come on this expedition, but Milna had insisted that he needed some true practice to get a feel for his art. He had to admit, it has given him a much better understanding than any books ever had; and also gave Milna some time alone to study. So, when Lord Edim’s call went out for fighting men, Daerul had decided that it was the opportunity he had needed. When he showed up to sign in as a mercenary, they laughed at him and told him to go back on home. It had taken days to get an audience with Lord Edim himself to prove that he would be a good investment of the Lord’s gold. Nobody had laughed at him after that.
When he was finished saddling Lothain, his horse, he swung onto the animal and huddled inside his cloak. He looked awkward on a horse; his skinny legs were too long to fit comfortably in the stirrups, and he was so ungainly that he could never manage to match the horse’s smooth strides. Milna had always told him he would become more balanced as a man, but at sixteen he still felt self-conscious around others. Rain dripped from the hood of his cloak onto his nose. He didn’t think it was that much longer than is normal. His eyes were light grey, although he could remember them being brown when he was a small boy. High cheekbones drew down to a narrow chin. He was trying to grow a mustache in imitation of Kemmel’s, but it was still scraggily. Oh, what joke was it that made the hair on the top of his head go very thin and recede up his temples like an old man, while the hair on his lip remained soft and short like a young boy’s?
“We’re marching straight in to the city.” Kemmel told him as they set out again, turning toward the Jeweled Road, named because of the riches in gems transported along it. “Lord Edim wants to arrive before any more reinforcements can.” They were riding behind the cavalry, and fifteen hundred men and horses in six columns made a fine sight, as well as a fine mess for the four thousand infantry trailing behind. Lances were all tilted at the same angle with green and white ribbons hanging limp with dampness. All the riders bore the green arrow and oar on white tabards worn over their breastplates. Officers with varying number of white or green plumes on their helmets, designating rank, rode to the side of the columns.
“What will happen when we get there?” Daerul asked the man next to him just after they had finished eating their midday meal of dried meat and hard cheese in the saddle. When he had first joined with the band, Kemmel had been assigned as his bodyguard, though weather to protect him from others or to protect others from him had never been explained. They had grown to be friends over the last months, and Daerul respected his experience.
“I s’pose it depends on how many men the King has gathered. If he’s got a goodly number, then we’ll have a lot of fightin’ to do. If he don’t have so many, then we’ll more likely set siege to the city an’ starve ‘em out. That’ll be a might trickier, but a sight less bloody for us.” Replied Kemmel. Daerul hoped it would be a fight. This would be his last chance practicing his skills before returning home to Milna, and he wanted to be able to impress her.
They were fools. The vaunted High Council had not recognized what was happening. They had helped him. And soon now, it would be too late even if they realized exactly what it was he was doing. Viseth knew there was only two pieces left of the incantation, and he had the Conjurers working on one now. He knew the markings of the other, just not how to read them; and no one living could teach him. It was Necromancy. This was not a setback he had been prepared for, although he had a fair idea of how to solve it.
A soft chime announced a new arrival. “Come.” Viseth said in a pleasant voice. Many had called him handsome; and he was young to hold the seat of Arch Convoker, but he had ambition, a trait lacking in most wizards. Tall, with auburn hair falling to his shoulders, he wore a dark purple robe of helaw, a material much softer, and more sheer, than the finest silk. Many golden bracelets adorned his wrists, each inscribed with spells to strengthen him in some way. Only one ring decorated his hands. On the middle finger of the left hand was the signet of Arch Convoker, crafted of platinum with a large sculpted amnythest, which signified the color of all disciplines.
“Master, Arch Sorcerer Melanair sends his word that all is prepared for you, and you may come by at your convenience.” one of the apprentices intoned as he entered the room, completely formal.
"Very well. You may lead me to him.” replied Viseth, a small smile curving his lips. Fools indeed.
“Yes, Master. If you will follow me?” said the student as he turned to go. Then, in a more excited voice that betrayed his age he added, “It will be wonderful being a part of mankind again Master. If anyone can bring down the Barrier Mountains I know you can. Nobody has known as much about all three schools of magic since Lothair himself, may peace favor his name.”
“You are quick to compliment, young one, but I still could not ever dream of accomplishing anything without the aid of all the houses. Remember that Lothair, may peace favor his name, had drawn on the power of one hundred wizards when he raised the Barrier Mountains. Although it was a small thing for him, no thousand wizards together could crumble them for thousands of years after his death.” Viseth said in a lecturing voice as they walked though the halls of the Academy. The wizards did not have a government. All decisions were made by the High Council, which consisted of the highest seat in each study, and was presided over by the Arch Convoker.
“Master, forgive me if I am imprudent, but I am confused how you will succeed where all have failed before.” the acolyte said meekly.
As they reached the doors to the Sorcerers quarter Viseth chuckled and replied “My son, if I could explain it to you so fast, I may as well hand you the Arch Convoker’s ring.” The boy looked horrified at the thought, and stood frozen for a second stammering. “Well I’ll never find the secret myself unless you open the door so I can speak with the Arch Sorcerer, son.”
“Yes, Master, I’m sorry Master. Please believe I meant no disrespect, Master. I know it will take me years of study to become proficient in Alchemy, let alone a master of all, as you are.” stammered the acolyte as he pushed open the door.
The boy was smart; he had seen what the High Council had not. Of course he couldn’t tear down the Barrier Mountains with his power alone. He intended to draw the power from every magic being in the world, and once he had that, he didn’t plan on stopping at the Barrier Mountains.
Heelar Salvavidas
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Heelar Salvavidas Grasalak Scorpse |
