***
The innkeeper rushed into his daughter's room, the curtains billowing in the open window.
"Dorn, my sweet," he said gently, falling to his knees by her bedside.
Raising the oil-lamp he could see the blood-stained sheet that covered his trembling daughter. Gently lifting the sheet back over her head as though he might hurt her, he shook with rage, confused. Who had done this to his only child, his precious girl? What manner of monster had been within his walls? He raked the tears from his eyes, his hand covering his trembling lips.
"Who?"
Eliazer forced himself to his feet.
Dorn looked up at her father through tear-drained eyes. In the pale yellow light of the lamp he could see her mouth moving in mute words.
"Martha," he yelled for the girl's mother, "quickly."
He stood, pointing a trembling hand at his daughter.
"Baby," Martha cradled her only child in her arms, rocking her gently. "Eliazer, you must get Finlay, now." She looked at her husband through eyes burning with rage.
"Right."
The innkeeper set the lamp on the bedside table and left to find the chief of the Fighters' Guild. Soon the whole village would be up hunting for the monster; if found he would hang.
The door to the room opened, its frame filled by Finlay who stood silently surveying the scene. He looked at the woman comforting her child and spoke softly to her.
"Martha." He held his hands in open gesture, "I... I am so sorry at this dreadful event," he murmured. Kneeling beside his sister he drew her close. "How is she?"
Dorn clung tighter to her mother.
"She'll pull through, like us all." Martha sighed. “Is there anything I can get you?"
She kissed the crown of Dorn's head.
"Do you have a description of the man?" Finlay rose to his feet, puffing out his cheeks.
"Speak to Eliazer, he can tell you," Martha hung her head, returning her attention to her daughter.
Eliazer finished lighting the fire and lamps around the inn and was now sat at the table where Dekor had been earlier. He stared at the fire, toying with something in his hand.
Finlay sat in the chair beside him and placed a huge hand upon his shoulder. "Eliazer, I know this a bad moment but can you tell me anything about the fugitive?"
"It was a young man, a guest." Eliazer turned his head slowly toward Finlay, his eyes red with tears. “He's gone missing, but he left this." Eliazer dropped the scabbard onto the table then wiped his nose on his sleeve. "He was only a boy. What sort of kid does that?" Nothing would stop the tears now.
As Finlay picked up the scabbard, his eyes widened, his mouth hung open.
"This is the scabbard of a battlemage, a new one at that. What else can you tell me?" he asked, placing the scabbard back on the table as though he was handling an ancient and holy relic.
"He was wearing a dark green cloak with gold trim around the hood and small silver tassels about the cuffs. The boy smelt of fire, and something else." The innkeeper looked straight at Finlay. "Death."
"The robe you describe is that of the Archmage Magnus, but the scabbard is that of a battlemage. I will ride to Belgor immediately and see what I can find out." Finlay rose from his chair. "Have courage. We will find this boy and kill him."
Very soon the innkeeper and his wife heard Finlay issuing orders to his men outside the inn. "Damon, Balto, Regis, come, we ride to Belgor. You others see to it no one gets to Dorn, and I mean no one."
They swung themselves up onto their horses with a cry of "For Alzear!" Finlay and his men rode off with the first fingers of the morning sun to their backs.
The road to Belgor glistened in the rising sun. Its surface had been reduced to a thick layer of slippery mud causing the horses to stumble and slide. They rode in pairs, Finlay to the fore with Balto at his side, the last two holding tight formation behind them. Often they had to ride around debris from the storm, but they stopped for nothing. With his mind fixed on the task to hand Finlay drove his horse forward, despite the difficulties of the road surface. Mud spattered over horses and riders yet still they remained in a close group, hooves pounding through the mud trying to gain purchase on the harder earth beneath.
As Belgor rolled onto the horizon, the University tower a dark finger supporting the paling sky, Finlay raised his hand and slowed his mount to a trot. Each man drew his sword in preparation. A huge black object lay awkwardly across the road while a large-framed man in heavy armor inspected it with a sword held loosely in his hand. The man staggered, teetering on the edge of his balance. Stumbling heavily he turned to face the squad, his sword at the ready.
"Who goes there?" Finlay called, sliding from his saddle, as the rest of his men spread out, flanking him.
"Finlay! Am I glad to see you?" Garrant sighed, sheathing his weapon.
"What happened here?" Finlay asked, inspecting the charred remains of Garrant's destrier.
"I have no idea. I was riding back from the inn at Bethraim; I had been there with Arrborn. Out of nowhere I was struck from behind by a fireball. Had it not been for my battle dress ...," he looked at his horse then down at his ruined cloak, now nothing more than a tattered fringe on a once magnificent silken collar, "then I would have ended up like that." Garrant gestured toward his horse. "Why out this early with so many men?"
"There's been trouble at the inn where you were earlier. Someone has defiled Dorn."
Garrant's brow furrowed. Biting his lip he shook his head and staggered backward.
"But that is only the tip of it," Finlay continued. He held out the scabbard for Garrant to inspect and then told him about the robe Eliazer had described.
"But that is Magnus' robe and this scabbard is..." A single tear rolled down his cheek. "It is too late." Garrant held a hand to his face and wiped his eyes.
"What is too late, Garrant?" demanded Finlay.
He had known Garrant for many years. They had both enlisted together into the Warriors' Guild and many were the times they had stood shoulder to shoulder in battle.
"It is the boy, Dekor. I don't know how to say this." Garrant looked up to the heavens for inspiration or guidance, but the Divines were not answering. "He has succumbed to the lust of the flame and has taken to the ways of the warlock. I can only hope Magnus did not lose his life in parting with his robe. If the boy has..." Garrant closed his eyes, gritting his teeth together.
"Divines forbid it." Finlay had seen others go down the same path. It was his unpleasant duty to end their journey before it was too late. "Can we have lost both Magnus and the boy? We must ride at once to Belgor and alert the Mage Guild immediately. I only hope it is not too late."
Garrant strode over to Balto. "I'll borrow your horse if you don't mind? Balto, Damon, stay together and clear this carcass from view, then return to Bethraim. You know what must be done. Regis, when this is cleared, make your way to the barracks and rouse the men."
"My lord."
The three men watched Garrant and Finlay race off into the morning. At full gallop, they were no more than a quarter hour from Belgor.
The horses' hooves clattered over the paved streets of Belgor as Garrant and Finlay charged through the gates into the city. The first shadows of the morning were drawing themselves across the streets where marketers were setting up their stalls for the day. Around the next corner they would be at the University.
Garrant tied off his horse and ran through the open doors of the University.
"Garrant!" A voice resounded along the stone corridor.
Garrant spun around. "Magnus!" He slumped back against the wall catching his breath as Finlay came through the doorway. Garrant grinned at Finlay, pointing toward Magnus. "There is at least, some good news.
It was still the early hours of the morning when Magnus called the War Masters together. They knew it must be urgent as the Archmage was not one to lose sleep over anything trivial.
H'rat was already waiting for Magnus as he entere
d the council chambers. The darkling elf was tall and slender with deep purple skin and slicked back hair of the darkest imaginable blue, like when the night consumes the last remnant of the day. H'rat leaned toward Magnus hoping to procure his ear for his own gain.
"My lord Archmage, see what has become of your council." He gestured toward the assembled members of the high council.
Magnus raised a hand to silence H'rat, his attention drawn by the disorder of his council. "There are so many rumors at flight in this room I doubt the truth could be discerned even by the wisest of men."
H'rat licked his lips, smiling as he twisted the collar of his silken robes. "Since I entered this room, the moment that I was notified, there has been nothing but shouting and profanity resounding from these great walls. There was nothing I could do to calm the situation."
H'rat then gasped, astounded, as Magnus swept him aside.
"Gentlemen." Magnus called out, but the councilors were busily haranguing one another. Arms waving, fingers wagging at one another accusingly. Some were pressed face to face in heated debate. "SILENCE!" he yelled. "A little quiet if you please! This is not the time to bring your petty squabbles to court. We have grave news. A time is upon us like none before. So I shall waste none in telling what we know. One of our own has taken the path of the warlock."
Whispers and mutterings began to filter into the air.
"Battlemage Dekor." Magnus waited for calm to return to the room before he continued. "I spotted him from the University tower out in the woods practicing his black art. As a result of our meeting, I was burned, struck down and left for dead. Be warned, his powers grow rapidly and he has taken my robe. Though this is a terrible thing, it can play to our advantage. I have called for Thiakim, the alchemist, to come. He is gifted in tracing enchanted items and should be able to give us a lead to the direction in which Dekor has run. If found, the warlock is to be executed on sight. So far," Magnus raised his voice a tone to quell the rising disquiet, "in one evening, he has assaulted myself and Garrant and defiled a young girl in Bethraim. I hope she is not with child through this."
Magnus walked along the row of elders looking at each one in turn. "We can be sure Dekor will stop at nothing. His seduction is complete; he is now in the grasp of the flame. Spread the word wherever you go that we have a warlock on the loose and be sure to get a complete description of him out before he learns to change his appearance."
"Archmage," H'rat sprang forward, "I will send for a tracker from among our people if you would be so good as to provide an escort for her."
"Clearly you have someone in mind, H'rat. Very well." Magnus turned to Garrant. "Have one of your more experienced warriors accompany whomsoever H'rat sends."
He addressed the council again.
"Gentlemen, I am sure you all have many questions, but alas I have no answers. Until we find out where Dekor is heading and what his intentions may be, I have nothing further. May the Divines go with you all." Magnus held out his hands to them. "I am sorry that it has come to this. Go, now, everyone, for the safety of Alzear depends on us all."
"We did try to warn you, Archmage, about admitting children to the University." H'rat stared coldly at Magnus through his unblinking pupilless eyes, shimmering pale candles stuttering in a breeze. "In our kingdom such a thing is unheard of."
"As indeed are most things. The secretive nature of the elves makes it difficult for us to know anything of your ways at all," Tralchar, said in a gruff, disapproving tone.
The dwarf stared at the elf, daring him to argue. His dark beady eyes glinted beneath the dense forest of his eyebrows.
H'rat pursed his lips, pointed a long, slender finger at Tralchar then thought better of it. "I'll not be drawn down to your level," he huffed turning his back and striding out of the room. Tralchar grunted something unintelligible but no doubt derogatory at his back before whistling for his ram.
"Magnus," Arrborn spoke softly, "a word afterwards if I may?"
pariah
"My Lord." Garrant entered the room and closed the heavy door behind him. "H'rat's tracker has arrived, though it is her first time in Mor," he added, with a groan.
Magnus rose from his seat. "We will see to this at once. Is your man ready?"
They left the room, turning toward the main council chambers.
"He is. Thiakim is providing us with a means to track the enchantment upon your robe. But we are already a day behind Dekor. Though I am assured they have found his trail to the north of Bethraim, it would appear that he is heading for the mountains. Once there he could hide forever."
"It is my guess he will head north. There is no way that he could get through the Dark Iron Hills or Learmont, is there?" Magnus led the way into the council chambers where Thiakim waited with the trackers.
"Magnus." Thiakim bowed politely. His gray hair had the texture of stone. His pale gray skin was smooth and perfectly dry. He wore a dark gray tunic and trousers, his clothing moved with the weightiness of heavy drapes. His feet were broad and his bare toes looked as though they had been carved from a single piece of stone.
"I see that your people have done nothing for your condition." Magnus eyed Thiakim from head to foot with a look of both pity and distaste.
"Since my father, the king, disappeared I have been in exile in Northshire. I am among a people who accept me as I am. I do, however, thank you for your concern." Thiakim's melodic voice betrayed his elven heritage. "I have instructed Regis, on how to track your cloak. As the enchantments upon it are heavy, it should pose no problem to a competent mage. I should like to introduce you to Buurn, who is a first class druid and an excellent tracker."
Buurn stepped forward bowing, her hands held lightly before her.
Magnus nodded to the darkling elf, taking a small step back as she offered her hand.
"An honor," Magnus stumbled over his words. He had become accustomed to H'rat over the years, but Buurn was different. Her beauty was beguiling. Her long purple hair was swept back over her head behind her tall, slender ears. Her eyes shone bright as lamps, a sharp contrast to her dark purple skin. Unlike the high elves Magnus had met before, darklings did not wear the pale satin and silk vestments and simple trousers. Buurn was covered from her neck to her ankles and from wrist to wrist in black leather wraps with neither beginning nor end. They moved as a second skin without crease or wrinkle.
"Archmage," Buurn looked right into Magnus' eyes, "does my presence offend you?" Her voice was soft, gentle as a summer breeze.
"No, I am sorry." Magnus cleared his throat accepting the proffered hand.
Garrant did likewise introducing himself as he did so. The playful smile spreading across Thiakim's lips did not go unnoticed by the others.
"If there is nothing further then I should like to be on my way before the trail becomes marred and cold." Buurn bowed politely, taking a step back before turning to leave. Magnus was speechless. "Come, Regis it is time we were gone."
Buurn swept past Regis with a single stride, her turn of speed taking him by surprise as he half-ran to keep pace.
"Where is your mount?" Regis hauled himself up onto the only available horse, his chain mail slinking as he sat in the saddle.
"I have no need of one. How far is it to the village where the incident took place?"
Buurn was already at the city gate when Regis caught up with her. His horse snorted as he drew alongside her.
"Easy boy," Regis pulled the reigns to steer the horse toward the road. "Something is unsettling him." Regis patted the animal's neck. "Easy boy."
Buurn stopped suddenly, reached out her hand and grasped the horse's bridle.
"Ssh." Tapping the horse lightly on the nose she looked directly in its eye. "Enough. I am your friend." The horse shook its head, snorting. "He will be fine now." Buurn looked up at Regis, smiling at his fearful expression. “Many animals do not like Darklings, especially horses, they are acutely sensitive."
"I see," Regis looked at Buurn through
narrowed eyes, biting his lip. "The village will take an hour or more at the gallop by road."
"And over the fields?" Buurn looked along the road.
"Though it will indeed be shorter, the going will be soft from the rain." Regis spurred his horse into a trot.
"Then I guess we are going by road."
Buurn ran alongside Regis, placed a hand upon his thigh and smiled up at him. In the twinkling of an eye, they were hundred yards further down the road.
"I cannot do this all day although I will do it as often as in necessary. We need to get to the village and beyond as soon as possible."