benjamintowe

The Cloudmare bore him far into the skies and sailed by an aerie of two beautiful birds as white as snow.

The Cloudmare telepathically relayed to Boton, “Phoenixes. I’ll go low by the nest. Show them respect and they may grant you a feather or some down.”

The Cloudmare Urra descended and paused near the nest, which contained a single chick. Fluffy down surrounded the little Phoenix. The mated pair cooed gently. The Cloudmare eased toward the nest slowly. The larger Phoenix nodded.

Unspoken words appeared in Boton’s mind and warned, “You may touch the chick. Be gentle. It’s a great honor.”

Boton slowly extended his left hand and touched the little bird. He had never felt such softness…or pleasantness. For a brief moment all his grief left him and, instead of a warm little bird, he felt the softness of his mother’s skin, smelled her sweet breath, and for a moment felt fully comforted. Scratches on his arms and legs healed. The incantation for the Fifth Level Light Sorcery Spell Cure Critical Wounds appeared in his consciousness. What Boton Klarje Jhundi didn’t know was that no other person who professed to be a Dark Sorcerer had ever known this incantation.

The female Phoenix extended her beak and presented Boton with a bit of the precious down.

“It’s the material component for the spell. The gift is given by the Phoenixes at the request of their friend Innycines who is bereaved beyond saying. You are honored, young one. If you are ready, we will return,” Urra silently suggested.

Boton sat up. Maranna brought him thick sweet nectar and some effervescent liquid. He was famished, and quickly quaffed the delicious nectar.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Jove’s nectar,” Maranna replied. She offered no more explanation or description.

Boton didn’t know what Jove’s nectar was, but it was tasty and he finished it rapidly.

The womanly figure stared at him. He squirmed a bit and asked, “Ma’am, please don’t be offended, but what are you? I…I mean, who are you? I mean…I know your name is Maranna, but…I’m sorry!”

Maranna laughed and answered, “That’s a fair question. I am a Siren. You rest in Cragmore, my home. I take it you’ve never seen a Siren before, Boton Jhundi.”

“Actually, I’ve read of you. Siren. Huldra. Harpy. I thought you were hideous, without a backside. The texts say you have no heart and are like a hollow tree,” the youth answered ashamedly.

“Well, let us disprove that now,” she answered whimsically.

With that, she turned slowly and Boton saw that the skin of her back was as pearly as that of her chest. The full wings were beautiful. The only other odd thing otherwise was the thick brushy red tail. She was foxy, figuratively and literally.

“Satisfied?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied timidly.

“You need rest. I’ll fetch more nourishment. Please don’t try to leave the cavern. Unless you can fly. Oh, I almost forgot, you are a sorcerer, aren’t you. You probably can fly,” she teased.

“I cannot fly. That Magick is beyond me. Besides I don’t have a feather,” the young sorcerer replied.

“Well don’t be coveting any of mine. I don’t relish being plucked,” Maranna said and laughed again.

Being a mediocre sorcerer at best, Arthur lacked the talent and skills of his older brother Rhiann and initially refused Maranna’s gift of the purple staff Atlas.  The winged temptress whispered a melody in the young sorcerer’s ear and convinced the younger brother of her greatest friend to change his mind. She massaged his back and pursed her lips to kiss the young sorcerer. Beguiled by her gentle touch, he leaned forward to accept the buss, but she pulled away at the last moment.

“I must not!” she declared.

Dazed and confused, the shy sorcerer accepted the staff from the Siren.

“I’ll take this artifact because it’s my brother’s wish that I do so. I’ve never understood his way of thinking or known his goals. I’ve favored the study of history and literature. The people of this township are growing stronger and more loyal to one another. I’ll make this relic an heirloom of the people of Koorlost,” Arthur declared.

Maranna said, “I trust you’ll find among them the sorcerer most worthy of bearing this fine staff.”

Arthur Seigh Klarje leveled the staff before him and marveled, “It really feels good in one’s hand. What…I didn’t know how to cast…I can’t…well I suppose I can!  Magick is a wondrous thing! Siren, I’m empowered!”

Being a mediocre sorcerer at best, Arthur lacked the talent and skills of his older brother Rhiann and initially refused Maranna’s gift of the purple staff Atlas.  The winged temptress whispered a melody in the young sorcerer’s ear and convinced the younger brother of her greatest friend to change his mind. She massaged his back and pursed her lips to kiss the young sorcerer. Beguiled by her gentle touch, he leaned forward to accept the buss, but she pulled away at the last moment.

“I must not!” she declared.

Dazed and confused, the shy sorcerer accepted the staff from the Siren.

“I’ll take this artifact because it’s my brother’s wish that I do so. I’ve never understood his way of thinking or known his goals. I’ve favored the study of history and literature. The people of this township are growing stronger and more loyal to one another. I’ll make this relic an heirloom of the people of Koorlost,” Arthur declared.

Maranna said, “I trust you’ll find among them the sorcerer most worthy of bearing this fine staff.”

Arthur Seigh Klarje leveled the staff before him and marveled, “It really feels good in one’s hand. What…I didn’t know how to cast…I can’t…well I suppose I can!  Magick is a wondrous thing! Siren, I’m empowered!”

 

Nigel began to stroke his short, neatly trimmed beard and for awhile he said nothing.  Eomore stood and walked over to the bars.  Nigel remained seated on the cot.  After about three minutes he said, “You ask me to leave a certain meal and a dry bed to undertake a Deathquest and offer me a forsaken spot of land if I succeed.  Who are the other fools who serve themselves as though they were lambs being led to the slaughter?”

Eomore faced him.  “I will lead the party.  The mage Roscoe will lend his great powers to our efforts.  Knarra the high priestess will accompany.  The elven prince Vannelei, Deron the dwarven swordsman, the physician Sedoar, an elven girl Cara, Tjol Bergin – a tried warrior, and several of my strongest and most skilled rangers will make up the group attempting to follow the raiders.”

“A fickle magician, a holy head, two long-eared freaks, a sawbones, an idiot, and a prince – a motly crew to go on a Deathquest.  Yet you must know that my greatest weakness is my love of my ability to go where I choose when I choose.  I will say in advance that I will perform my ‘duties’ to the best of my abilities, because my own life will likely be in jeopardy.  I will also say that from what you have told me, we are all fools and have little chance of success and better chance of death.  Death, however, is the better alternative only when compared to two other things – marriage and imprisonment.  I will not question your command unless you try to do my job and do it incorrectly.  But I don’t expect any of this bowing and ‘my Lord’ stuff – that is not my ilk.  I agree to your terms, Prince, and I know the strength of your word.  I’m glad the tables aren’t turned so that I don’t have to trust myself,” Nigel added.

 

The beating of the great wings created turbulence in the air. The tall mountains resembled small dunes far below. Beyond the mountains, a plain came into view and in the distance a great river appeared as a rivulet. There was a speck upon the plain. As the winged creature descended, the speck changed to a large keep strategically situated upon a minor plateau rising above the plain. The walls were filled with alarmed defenders. Panic ensued with the approach of the hulking beast. The air was filled with arrows fired from the wall. A few struck the approaching creature but were no more than a nuisance. The great wings stopped beating and were extended in a fixed position. A great whistling sound filled the air. The gargantuan began to coast downward and prepared for a landing. The defenders rushed to self-protective positions. Taekora landed anyway. The arrows continued. Frustrated, Taekora inhaled deeply and exhaled, not Dragonfire, just Dragon breath, but it was enough to knock most of the defenders to the seat of their pants. Taekora then roared.

Knarra rushed into the enceinte, the quadrangle of the Fane of the Setting Sun. The massive, angry, ancient, prismatic Dragon stood on its stocky hind legs and beat its wings. The force kept the defenders on the ground.

Knarra stood before the beast. The tresses of the Priestess flew madly in the great wind but Knarra had no difficulty standing.

“You are messing up my hair, Taekora!” Knarra said emphatically.

“I’ve not received a very warm reception my old friend,” the massive Dragon answered, stopping her wings.

The confused men and Dwarves slowly stood.

Anectrophinea stumbled on the lair of the Cavedragon Phanres. Phanres was over eighty feet long and stood almost sixty feet tall when reared upon its hindlegs.  Small vestigial wings on its back served only to aid in warding off blows, for they would never hoist its bulk into the air.  Where was there to fly in the caverns anyway?  Magick did not touch Phanres. The dragon held great contempt for those who used Magick.  The great beast had long since abandoned the practice of going above ground for prey and treasures. The caverns supplied it with more than enough even for a dragon’s standards. Old Phanres dominated the dark caves beneath Parallan. Anectrophinea heard the beast’s heavy breathing and detected the scent of its lair. She quickly cast Invisibility and peered around the corner.

Phanres sniffed and said, “Aha! A snack! Invisibility won’t help you, sorcerer! This old nose knows right where you are! Ha ha ha! I made a funny! My nose knows! Please don’t run. I’m going to catch you anyway and it’ll be over much quicker for you.”

Anectrophinea said, “You aren’t going to eat me, you blowhard!” She stepped around the corner and dispelled the Invisibility. She was in full view of the massive Cavedragon.

Phanres said, “Aw, it’s a pretty girl. I bet you taste better than you look, too. Come on over here and jump in my mouth.”

Anectrophinea replied, “I was thinking how much my warriors would enjoy Cavedragon stew!” The Cavedragon snapped its maw at her. She quickly moved aside.

Phanres laughed, “It’s pretty and funny. But I sure am hungry. Aw shucks, I missed! Hold still! I’m going to eat sooner or later.”

The sorceress tried a subtle Charm Spell. Phanres said, “I’m too hungry for that, pretty wizard.”

Theandra cleared a small area, removed invisibility, and attended her leg. Visualizing the wound made attending it easier. An enhanced healing spell mended the wound. She saw a group of bronze-skinned, seven-foot tall muscular blokes without weapons moving stealthily through the woods. She used her childhood spell “Tree” and transformed to a sturdy sapling. At the last moment, she remembered to present red foliage. One of the Draiths sniffed around her and went so far as to touch her “bark.” The spell wasn’t illusory. Theandra was a tree!

The Draith muttered, “We’ve passed this way many times. I don’t recall this tree. It could be Kiennish or Drelvish tomfoolery!” The powerful warrior drew back his strong hand and struck “Tree-andra” with an open-handed blow. The force of the blow shook her foundation and fomented horrific pain. She struggled to maintain the spell.

Another Draith said, “I hope you didn’t hurt your hand, Dontax. It’s what you get for thinking you know every tree in the forest!” Three other Draiths laughed.

Dontax growled, “Go on and laugh a******! If I’d been right, when we turned our backs, we’d be scorched by Magick.”  The incredibly handsome warriors moved on after a time and moved toward the meadow.

Theandra caught her breath, fought back tears, and scorched the five Draiths with an enhanced Fire Spell. The Draiths held on much longer than Dark Elves. Dontax crawled most of the way back to her and died at her feet. Shouts rang out from the meadow. A large party of Drelves ran toward the site of the spell.

Theandra said stoically, “There’s plenty more for you.”

She conjured and sent a ray of fire toward the Drelves. Fortunately, Seilvre carried the Keotum Stone and Lignis held the Xennic (Enhancing) Stone. Theandra’s spell enveloped the Drelves. The forest folks suffered non-lethal burns. Seilvre organized a rapid retreat into the forest.

Dee Tenet maneuvered the wyvern across the meadow. The beast landed a few paces from Saligia’s entourage. Riders labored to calm their terrified steeds. Wyverns were fond of Kiennites’ stone pony mounts and oft made snacks of the stout equines. The wyvern rider approached the liege of Aulgmoor and gloated, “General Saligia, I have cleared your path. The Spellweaver was in the guise of a pale skinned youth with small round ears, but he did not fool me! The wretch now writhes in agony on the forest floor.”

Skeptically High Protector Cu Seven asked, “Pale skin? Are you sure you didn’t shoot a Mender?”

Dee Tenet staunchly replied, “Absolutely! He wasn’t as pale as a Mender. He was protected against Death Magick! I shot the Spellweaver, I tell you, and in the unlikelihood, he survives the wyvern’s venom, every minute you delay your attack allows them time to aide him. Be bold!”

Saligia menacingly growled, “Don’t tell me when to attack, wyvern-rider. Your lot has let me down before. My eyes have looked upon this Spellweaver. Like his scoundrel of a brother, he is not pale. He’s as orange as a carroty ogre’s a**. Drelvish Spellweavers are not adept at Illusory Magick. I doubt he’d be able to change his visage. How can you be so sure your fancy bolt hit the Spellweaver?”

Dee countered, “I tell you I shot him! He singed me with Fire Magick. Here’s the burn on my hide! Be bold!”

Saligia looked at Dee Tenet’s burned tunic and two scalded areas on her dark skin and replied, “You use a water sprite’s crossbow. That’s not very bold, Dee.”

Cu Seven and the warren leaders enjoyed a guffaw at the expense of the gnarly wyvern-rider.

Four thousand Dwarves faced Morlecainen’s paltry force of five hundred mercenaries and Hobgoblins. Lexx held the Dark Elves in reserve. The commanders of the Dwarves and their allies made ready. The Mage Roscoe sprinkled some fine sand, waved his staff in the direction of the castle, and reported that there were no invisible defenders.

The sorcerer reported, “What you see is what we are against.”

Dwarf King Travan said, “There must be a start to it. Send forward the first ranks.”

The first ranks moved forward. Five hundred paces separated the foes.

Prince Ordrych Aivendar of Lyndyn said, “I will join them.”

King Travan said boldly, “The honor of leading falls to me.”

The Dwarves moved forward at a steady pace. The guarding force held their ground. The center of the defensive line parted, and a single tall figure started to move toward the army of Travan. He wore no armor and carried no shield. Flames flickered from the longsword he carried.

Roscoe looked through his Magick prism and dumbfoundedly said, “This is the sorcerer. He radiates Magick but he casts no spells. He is committing suicide!”

Dwarf Sergeant Saultzo queried, “What is suicide?”

“He seeks self-destruction,” Roscoe answered bluntly.

Grizzled warrior Dann Rocherr boisterously exclaimed from his position in the front rank “I’ll be glad to oblige him.”

Curate from the Fane of the Setting Sun Pirmis added, “He carries no staff. I detect no illusion.”

Four hundred paces separated the foes. Roscoe raised his small prism, pointed his staff at Morlecainen, threw a snail shell into the air, and uttered an incantation.  A pink ray streamed from the end of the staff and bathed the lone advancing enemy. He continued forward.

The mage uttered dejectedly, “He radiates great Magick. There are no effects from the Slow Spell.”

Roscoe then threw a piece of coal into the air and spoke the arcane phrases of the Darkness Spell. A black cloud left the staff’s end. The cloud dissipated over the advancing tall figure.

Roscoe confided, “There is no effect from the Darkness Spell.”

Three hundred paces separated the foes. Roscoe then threw a precious piece of sulfurous rock into the air and uttered a harsh incantation. The smell of rotten eggs filled the air. The Fireball exploded around the advancing tall figure and incinerated twenty of the fighters behind him. The spell had no effect the advancing figure.

Roscoe surmised, “He has cast many Protective Spells upon himself. I doubt that I will be of much help in this fray. Why does he not use spell attacks?”

Two hundred paces separated the foes. Travan raised his shield hand and stopped the advance. The tall figure continued to move forward.

Travan spoke to the archer beside him, “Ophirr, he comes to within bow range. End this affair now.”

Ophirr said, “There’s no honor in this.”

The young archer then drew taut his bowstring and then the bowstring hummed. The arrow arched high and flew toward the steadily advancing target. Ophirr’s aim was impeccable. The arrow struck the figure in mid-chest. He did not fall. Instead he raised the flaming blade to the sky and repeated a phrase three times. The impaling arrow fell from his chest. He moved forward. A roar swelled from the men and Hobgoblins behind him, and they ran forward at a rapid pace, soon overtaking and passing him. One hundred paces separated the foes. The Dwarves held their ground.

Casting Detection of Magick required only an owl’s eye as material component. The sorcerer pinched a dried eye, gestured, muttered the incantation, and turned in a circle. Faint emanations of Magick appeared in an area in the dense red forest to his right. Otherwise, the area was devoid of Magick. The shimmering rectangular light stood out in the sea of reds, yellows, and oranges. Morlecainen brought out the Orb of Dark Knowledge, used his knife to cut his index finger, and allowed his blood to drip onto the orb. The sorcerer muttered,” I give to you my life’s blood. I ask of you how I may return.”

The sorcerer the eased over to the rectangle, held the orb in the direction of the shimmering light, hazarded a peek into the rectangle, and saw green grassy ground. An image formed with in the orb and words entered his mind. “Donothor lies before you. Traversing the Gate requires Protection from Magick.”

Morlecainen reached into his robe, removed a piece of dried bark, uttered a brief incantation, and chewed the bark. The sorcerer felt the familiar prickly sensations associated with the Protection of Magick Spell which he had known and cast proficiently since boyhood. He gingerly placed a finger into the shimmering light. He felt warmth, then the sensation of cool damp air on the other side. He placed one foot into the shimmering light and then stepped through with the other foot… thump!

The sorcerer fell the distance from the gate to the ground and hit hard. The Gate was about the height of an average man above the ground.

He grimaced and cursed his clumsiness. “Fool!” The only thing injured was his pride. He held up the Orb. The doorlike outline shimmered about six feet above the ground. A simple Levitation Spell would work. He threw a small feather into the air and muttered another brief incantation. He slowly began to rise into the air and reached the base of the Gate. The towers of the dark black-gray castle at the base of a great mountain appeared in the distance. Unseen forces pulled him through the shimmering door-like shape. From Donothor side the gate was evident only by Detection of Magick. The Detection of Magick and the Protection from Magick spells that he had cast were still in force. From the other side, the shimmering lights were nigh blinding.