A Dead God's Tear (The Netherwalker Trilogy) (10 page)

The mentioning of Thrimghol resurfaced a question that had formed when he went to get the stout.
Supposedly there was trouble in the dwarven capital. Perhaps Antaigne knew something about it? Couldn’t hurt to ask
.
“Is there something going on in Thrimghol, Master? I heard bad things were happening in there from the dwarves when I went to get your stout.”

Antaigne gav
e him a hard calculating look. “The issues o’ dwarves be no concern o’ yers, lad. Besides, I wouldn’t know anythin’ either, got banished years ago fer bein’ a wizard. Dwarfs don’ have much of a place for the arcane ye know. Anyway, let’s see that contract from the Academy quill dippers, eh?” It was an obvious attempt to change the conversation, but Marcius decided to not press the issue. Digging around his backpack, he handed the paper to the dwarf.

“
Now Marcius,” Antaigne said, donning a pair of spectacles he pulled from one of the many pouches on his robe, “I think ye are goin’ ter have ter go cut some firewood fer the familiar ritual tonight as I look over this contract here.”

“
Why don’t you just use magic to get the wood?”

Marcius knew he had erred when
the dwarf picked up his walking stick. “Bah lad! A lil’ hard work never hurt anybody! Now stop yer talkin’ and get choppin’!” Marcius managed to stay just in front of the surly stick brandishing dwarf, barely grabbing the ax by the door as he was chased out into the clearing surrounding Antaigne’s house.

T
              he door slammed behind him and he found himself staring at the imposing trees of the Fae'lorea, the dark tree line in direct contrast to the sun shining in from above. With a smirk, he set the ax on his shoulder and walked into the forest.

❧　❧　❧

Whack.
The monster screamed in rage as the ax tore through one of its many arms, responding in kind with a vicious stroke to the midsection of Marcius, which he managed to just barely deflect with the handle. They broke apart, circling warily after the initial exchange. The monster’s eyes darted to bodies of its fallen comrades, piled up on top of each other in a morbidly nice fashion. A small growl escaped the saliva filled maw. Beads of sweat made Marcius shiver in the rapidly cooling afternoon, the heat of midday being replaced by the icy grip of night; he hazarded a quick wipe of his brow, keeping an eye on the wounded monster.

Several small feints were made as they both waited for the other to make a mistake,
and as the monster stumbled a bit on a small outlying rock, Marcius saw his chance. When he darted in, a small grin on the ugly face alerted Marcius that something was amiss, but it was too late, the trap was already set and he was rushing head first into it. The monster shifted his weight, balancing the trip, one of its clawed hands coming in at an angle the rapidly charging Marcius couldn’t avoid. He watched as the ax hit only air. Bracing himself he prepared to take the hit, attempting to twist his body in a way to hopefully avoid most of the damage, knowing it was a useless gesture. . .

“
Alright lad, I thinks that be enough wood fer now. Time to prepare fer the summoning ritual, so I needs yer to get in and clean off, then take a nap. Will be a bit till everythin’ is ready.” The attacking monster turned into a stiff tree, and Marcius leaned on his axe as he turned toward the source of the voice.

Marcius had suspected the dwarf just wanted to look over the contract in private, so he had spent
the next few hours cutting down the trees around the house. The sunshine was bright and the heat was strong when he started, though it was becoming cold. Marcius kept amused by pretending each tree was a monster, his axe the only weapon able to smite these terrors, it was up to him to save the house of Antaigne.

Many ravenous monsters were slain. Their body parts were gathered in a pile by the side of the shed, a testament to Marcius
’s heroic deeds. He had been in the middle of a particularly tenacious battle. Breathing heavily, he thought that perhaps his imagination had gotten the best of him that time. The dwarf came out; his arms laden with the materials that Ken had given Marcius, in addition to several vials and containers that Marcius didn’t recognize. The wyvrr cage was already on the porch.

Marcius merely nodded, since he was tired and sweaty. The muscles in his arms were sore, and the respite from chopping caused them to stiffen, making Marcius wince in pain as he opened the door to hi
s room.

On the desk was the contract, with the scrawling signature of Antaigne, but more importantly, a wash basin sat in the middle of the room, gentle steam rising steadily. Marcius was quick to shed his clothing into a rumpled pile, giving an audible g
asp of relief as the lukewarm bath soaked into his skin. Do things for yourself without magic, eh
?
He sincerely doubted the dwarf gathered the water and warmed it with his hands, but with a slight grin, he figured it was something he could always point out after the bath.

Marcius laid back; closing his eyes he could hear the sounds of crickets starting their evening cadence, joining the other sounds in the forest to create a relaxing melody. Most local people would have been surprised at the noise, for the
fall season was approaching fast as the trees tried furtively to hold onto their browning leaves. Winter in the South wasn’t too bad, but it was enough to generally drive most residents into hiding around this time of year, including the animals. But Antaigne’s clearing went by different rules, as Marcius had learned.

He still remembered his first visit to the dwarf
’s place. Lian had lead the journey, escorting his young son and showing him the way there, as well as warning him of each of the traps the dwarf had placed along the trail. It was the middle of summer when they visited, but a field of white snow greeted them when they emerged into the clearing, wafts of thick smoke escaping the dilapidated cottage’s chimney. Lian had merely shaken his head as young Marcius played in the snow, while only a few feet beyond, the thick clammy heat of midsummer ruled with a sweltering and unyielding grip.

“
Such strange occurrences are common with the amount of magic present,” the dwarf had said as explanation that day; though after the volume of magic Marcius had sensed in Ken’s room which seemingly had no tangible effect on the environment, he suspected the oddities of the clearing were induced by some deliberate enchantment of Antaigne’s.

Marcius dried himself off, th
rowing on only a pair of pants from his, thankfully now inanimate, clothing chest, and he dived under the covers with the weariness of one who had done a hard day’s work. The bed was as soft as he initially assumed, but despite being tired, sleep eluded him as he tossed and turned, unable to feel comfortable.

His thoughts kept turning to the empty spot on the bedroom floor where the cage had been. 
It’s really happening
. . . the impending ritual that would culminate in him becoming a wizard.
It’s really happening
. . . Marcius could feel the familiar creeping of nervousness in his stomach. What if it failed or he was not good enough to become a wizard?

There were a multitude of things that could go wrong, and Marcius went through all of them, one by one, in
his head. After what felt like an eternity of agonizing and listening to the sounds of the surreal clearing, Marcius eventually started fading off into sleep.

❧　❧　❧

“Okay ye dolt, get up. Time fer the ritual.” Antaigne had somehow managed to time his entrance to the moment that Marcius’s eyes began closing. The stout dwarf’s frame was a dark silhouette in the open door, through which the gentle cracking of the fireplace could be heard. Marcius groaned, but knew better than to keep Antaigne waiting. He groggily put on a shirt and followed the dwarf outside, his body still so sore that he limped most of the way there.

Marcius's weariness left him as he blinked a bit in surprise at the sight in front of him. It woul
d seem as if the dwarf had indeed been busy. In the middle of the clearing, where there had previously been nothing but grass, the wood that Marcius had cut lay in a big stacked pile like a funeral pyre. The wood was situated behind a complex looking rune drawn with some material Marcius couldn’t identify. Whatever it was, it glowed with a purple fluorescent light in the now darkened clearing. The moon and gentle evening stars were the only other witnesses to the dwarf’s artistic creation.

At each corner of
the mystic rune, a torch, rapidly shimmering through the colors of the spectrum, burned brightly on holders impaled into the soft earth, giving Marcius a minor headache just from watching them. Beyond the first rune, Marcius could see two other identical but smaller runes drawn, perfectly parallel with each other, with a smaller set of torches as well. A steel cauldron bubbled with some unknown viscous mixture on a small fire pit situated within the large rune. The smell made Marcius feel peaceful, not at all as unpleasant in that regard as it was in sight.

“
Get in the middle o’ the one small doodle; I’ll place yer wyvrr in the other one.” The dwarf gestured, the cage held firmly in between his hands. Marcius complied, and the magic in the air twanged, sending heat wave like disturbances throughout the clearing. Small shivers ran up his spine as he waited.

“
Here take this,” Antaigne instructed, handing Marcius what appeared to be a small stick wrapped up with cloth and coated in an unknown substance, “Put it in yer mouth an’ bite down on it.” The trepidation returned full force. He could only nod and comply because if he tried to do anything else, Marcius was afraid his voice or his actions would give away his fears.

Didn
’t Master Antaigne say this would hurt? Marcius gingerly put the stick into his mouth and bit down as instructed. Whatever the stick was coated in tasted faintly of vegetables and left a thick trail of numbness down his throat. Gradually Marcius felt his muscles relaxing and the gnawing unease in his stomach abated.

He felt detached, as if he viewed the world through a window, and he became dimly aware of a dull throbbing behind his temples as Antaigne took the wyvrr cage over to the small rune opposite of Marcius. The thought of spitting the
stick out crossed Marcius’s mind several times, but for some reason it seemed like too much effort.

Antaigne mumbled something to Marcius, who swayed a bit as he simply nodded to whatever the dwarf said. Marcius found he didn
’t really care about anything anymore, and with a blissfully vacant expression, he watched Antaigne free the wyvrr from the cage. The dwarf cast a spell that caused the struggling animal’s muscles to lock up, and then with a solemn expression he held up a finger coated in the same stuff Marcius had taken, forcing it down the wyvrr’s throat.

He released the paralysis spell as soon as the appendage left the needle toothed mouth. Antaigne then unceremoniously dumped the wyvrr on the ground, causing a brief sound of protest from the animal
. The intelligent green eyes were quick to glaze over and, with his head drooping in a vaguely drunken manner, the wyvrr now sat complacently staring into nothing.
Must be what I look like.
Marcius found the thought highly amusing and chuckled. . . or at least he meant to, but the sound felt stifled and twisted.

Antaigne ignored him, instead taking up a post over the cauldron, shaking unseen kinks out of his arms. Various materials were taken out of the ever voluminous pockets of the robe as the dwarf
’s hands wove intricate patterns in the air, dropping a component into the bubbling cauldron at the apparent completion of each design. At the end of a pass, the contents boiled and sizzled as if the wizard’s actions angered them, though the hue never changed from the bright green color the mixture had assumed.

Marcius was not sure how much time he spent watching the dwarf weave his spells, but he vaguely noticed that the patterns now had a slight visual tint to them. They left slight trails of energy as the dwar
f’s casting grew more hectic. The throbbing in Marcius’s head grew more pronounced, matching the crescendo of the wizard’s work, becoming unbearable as the cauldron started to glow.

The pain in Marcius's head became stronger and stronger, and a warm liqui
d started trickling like a gentle stream out of his ears, Marcius knew exactly what it was.

Despite the drug, he almost felt motivated enough to protest, when suddenly the sensation stopped, the abruptness causing him to lurch. He cautiously glanced at th
e cauldron, only to be rewarded with a painful, yet exquisite sight. A light bright enough to cause the drugged Marcius to squint in distress emanated from the pot.

Antaigne calmly reached in with bare hands, the sleeves of his robe rolled up his arms, and
took out two pulsing white objects. The light from the cauldron vanished as if swallowed up by some unknown beast, leaving only spots that danced in front of his weary eyes.

Wordlessly, Antaigne stuffed the small glowing item into Marcius
’s hand then stuck the other object in the wyvrr’s mouth. It felt like a hard crystal that warmed Marcius’s entire body, and he found himself tightening his grip over it. Antaigne reclaimed his position between the sigils on the ground, his eyes closed.