Fate Rides Wicked: Volume I of the Lerilon Trilogy (9 page)

As soon as the gag came off, Nandel tried to cast a
verbal spell that would have freed his binds, but found that
he could not concentrate with all the emotions of The
Thirteen surrounding him. They laughed and Nandel felt
his will wither.

“Tell us, magician, where were you going when you
felt us coming?”

Because of his fear, he answered, “home.”

Misunderstanding came forward. “I do not understand.
Why were you going home?”

Nandel tried to remember, but something stifled his
ability to do so. “I don’t know.” A sudden thought hit him,
that maybe the rock had injured his head. He quickly
stifled the glee that welled up.

“Try harder, worm,” said Fear, leaning close to his face.
“Does an endaril have something to do with it?”

“I can’t...remember. Maybe, it’s all so faint.”

Fear began to walk away as if getting some distance to
turn and strike, and then stopped. Nandel felt the wells
drain again and shouted for joy. In the ensuing confusion
of The Thirteen, with the combined happiness and energy
drain, Nandel kicked out and caught Fear in the back of his
legs, sending him sprawling onto Discomfort. Using a
technique taught to him by the monks near his home, he
jumped to his feet. The Thirteen reeled in confusion, their
powers momentarily effected.

With a hop, Nandel reached the mouth of the cave and
fell out. There his sword lay against the entrance. He
stood. He backed up to it and removed it from its scabbard.
Holding his knees apart as far as he could, he swung it
awkwardly from behind at the ropes around his feet. After
two or three chops, they broke. Carefully, he slipped the
sword back in the scabbard and picked the whole unit up.

Energy returned to his magic wells and he knew two
things: The Thirteen would recover and he had to leave.
Chanting the spell of unbinding, he sprinted towards the
edge of the stone and jumped. In midair he realized his
mistake when he looked down. He had jumped off the cliff
side of the highest platform in the Efres. His hands came
free and he brought the sword around.

“YOU DIDN’T GET AWAY,” called Fear from above.
“NOW YOU’RE GOING TO DIE.”

Nandel looked up and saw Fear falling after him. As
the leader got closer, Nandel began to chant a spell of
feather falling. He unsheathed his sword at the end of it.
At the last moment, he stabbed upwards and impaled the
startled demigod. Fear vanished, but did not die.

A few minutes later, Nandel landed lighter than if he
had a parachute. He knew that, in less than a day, Fear
would recover and they’d be after him. He ran south, away
from his home. His sword slapped against his side and
branches pulled at his cloak and face. He ran and ran, his
lungs hurting after an hour. Time continued to crawl by as
he stumbled onward. His lungs screamed for relief. Blood
ran down his face and hands from the cuts the branches had
made. Finally, he collapsed and passed out.

Five minutes later he woke. His breathing still came in
short, ragged gasps, but he stood and started again. He had
run for nearly six hours. Suddenly, he began to feel fear
and knew the chase had begun. He tried concentrating on
the joy he had felt earlier, to hide from their probing. Still,
he could feel them coming. He stumbled from lack of
concentration. He jumped up again and kept going, leaping
over a log.

He broke through the trees. In front of him ran a river,
gurgling North around the mountain. He took a nearby log
and threw it in, then fell to his knees and took a drink. He
rested on his knees for five or ten minutes while he
watched the log float down the river. He stood and began
to chant, drawing runes in the air. They hung like clouds as
he continued to cast, concentrating on the trail home in his
mind. As the faint howl of the wolves reached him, he
finished the spell and vanished, leaving only footprints
behind.

About twenty minutes later, The Thirteen arrived at the
river. Fear growled and touched the scar on his chest.
“Which way has he gone?”

Worry laughed, “Look at the broken flotsam down the
river. He jumped in and floated down.”

Misunderstanding roared with anger. “You stupid idiot.
Of course he crossed the river and climbed the other side.”

Fear yelled at them to be quiet. “Jealousy, what would
you do?”

“A magician would do neither. He has flown away.”

Mistrust smiled. “Not flown, teleported.”

“Where?” asked Fear.

“Home,” laughed Mistrust. A fist struck him.

“Uncertainty, why did you strike him?”

“Because he was acting stupid. He knows we’ll look
for him at home.” Uncertainty frowned.

Fear smiled. “But he must return there eventually. We
will ride to where we found him.” The leader turned and
headed back north. The log Nandel had released went into
an underground cavern and over a waterfall. It landed
thousands of feet below sea level and shattered.

The wizard sat and, for a half hour, practiced simple
spells in his mind until he had recovered physically and
mentally. He thought over his repertoire of spells, trying to
decide which ones to use to trap The Thirteen.

The decision made, he stood and drew complex designs
in the air, singing a powerful spell. As he cast, he used a
technique only an experienced mage has mastered and
wove in a trigger.

He turned and walked twenty feet away from his house,
then began to chant a lesser spell. Taking three feathers
from his pouch, he placed the stems in his mouth. Slowly,
he lifted off the ground. He willed himself up until he
cleared the trees then flew towards home.

A few minutes later, his hut passed underneath him and
he dropped two of the feathers. This caused him to drift
down to earth. He ran to his hut and entered. Frantically,
he gathered up his important belongings—his magic staff,
spell books, magical artifacts, food and clothing—and
carried them outside.

When he finished this he picked up his staff and began
chanting and singing as he walked around and around the
hut. Soon his steps began erasing themselves. He
continued his march, and soon the house began to lose its
solidity. He wove three spells together until his house and
footsteps were gone. One spell was invisibility. He had
also placed a trigger and an earthquake spell on the area, so
that if anybody canceled the invisibility, as one of The
Thirteen could, the earth would swallow them up. He knew
they would end up in one of the caverns underneath his hut
where the credarils lived. They would trouble them until
they reached the surface. By then, he hoped to be long
gone and done with a spell to mask his location from his
pursuers.

He picked up his belongings, all wrapped in a cloak,
and used the staff to teleport to a place he knew well in the
most northwest kingdom, Efrenbont. Like a bolt of
lightning, he arrived at the entrance to the most northern
pass through the Efres, the North Kingdom Highway.

Seconds after appearing, a squad of twenty leather-clad
soldiers surrounded him. He knew forty more would come
quickly after if need be. He didn’t plan to make that
necessary. “Hold it, friends. Don’t get hasty.”

A soldier in chain mail stepped forward. His armor
bore a cloth ribbon going from his right shoulder to his left
side where it looped through his belt and up his back.
Three stripes ran the length of it, green, blue and tan, each
the width of a sword. “I am the Captain of this squad.
Who might you be?”

“Nandel. I have no particular kingdom and my home
was recently destroyed. I am weary and need a place to
stay before passing through to Efreiden.”

The Captain surveyed the wizard with his brown eyes.
“You are a magician, aren’t you?”

“More than that, sir, and thus not one.” Nandel forced a
weary smile to appear as friendly as possible.

“You speak in riddles. In my experience only
magicians, bards and thieves do this.” The Captain
lowered his sword to Nandel’s abdomen. “Tell me which,
since all are truly thieves in my mind.”

“A wizard to be exact. That sword could be your death,
friend, if it is not removed.”

There passed several minutes of quiet. Both parties
eyed each other. Nandel made his staff glow and his blue
eyes penetrated deep into the captain’s soul. The other
soldiers began to shuffle restlessly, their swords, axes and
spears ready. The Captain sheathed his sword and stepped
back. Loudly, to the entire group, he said, “He’s safe, take
him in to a bed.” The leader turned and left the circle. On
his way out, he whispered to one of his men, “Tie him up
while he sleeps.”

Nandel heard this, since the spell he activated to light
his staff gave him increased hearing ability. He sighed as
they led him into the trees. He would have to protect
himself even in sleep.

They passed along a short trail to a large, low, wooden
building. Entering, Nandel noticed that many doors opened
off the long hallway. The soldiers led him to the last door
and opened it. Inside were four bunks of two beds.

The soldier who had been ordered to tie him said,
“Take any of them. These beds are extra for times of war.”

Nandel entered and set his heavy load on the floor. He
knew by the bars that this served as a holding cell before
they even closed the door. “All the better,” he said aloud.
He set to work on one last spell before sleep. Turning to
the door, he chanted once more. As the spell neared its
end, he removed a piece of steel from his pouch and threw
it at the door. It hit the door and vanished as he finished
the last line. Now the door would never open without
magic. Slipping off his cloak, he climbed into one of the
beds. In moments he began dreaming of peaceful valleys.

He slept right through the efforts of the soldiers to open
the door. They couldn’t get in anymore than a normal man
would have been able to escape. After close to two days,
with only one five minute bathroom break, he woke up
rested and ready. He cast a dispel magic spell at the door
and then a spell which shattered the door called knock.
Picking up his belongings, he walked down the hall past
startled soldiers and into the sunlight of late spring. The
fresh smell of cut grass and a hot forest wafted through the
air as he turned at the pass and headed up. He would
spread the call so that all magicians would head towards
Polentair to join a new army. That task, he remembered.

Fear and his cohorts charged into the glade as Nandel
slept. Immediately a time-stop spell triggered. As with all
powerful creatures, spells may or may not affect them.
Only Discomfort, Jealousy and Stupidity were frozen,
along with all the steeds. The other ten dismounted and
cursed Nandel as they sat down to wait for the spell to end
for their friends. The wolves would be here until Nandel
ended the spell, but the members of The Thirteen carried
too much power to be trapped forever.

After an hour, they all snapped alive. Dismounting
without a word, they changed themselves into lions and
charged up the trail, the other ten following in the same
shape. Fear charged to the lead. In a few minutes they
reached the hut and took on their humanoid forms.

Impatience searched the area while the others waited.
“He has not been here, there are no footprints but ours.”

“We can see the hut. I wonder if a normal creature
can.” Fear ran into the woods. He came back a few
minutes later chasing a rabbit. It ran into the hut without
slowing and fell unconscious. Suddenly the ground
rumbled and shook. A huge crevice opened and ten of
them fell in with the hut, the focal point of the tremors.
Fear looked at Worry and Mistrust. “We might as well join
them. Wouldn’t want the credarils finishing off such
clumsy idiots.” With this, they jumped in after them,
falling, as expected, into one of the many chambers far
under the mountain where the credarils lived. They
brushed themselves off and headed down one of the
tunnels.

Doleof rested on a bed of precious metals, magic
weapons and armor. Underneath could be found a large
mound of dirt, hiding the true value of the treasure. Lendril
would only barely scrape her head on his belly if he stood
on his powerful legs. His neck lay coiled, hiding that he
could see over an old tree while lying in the forest.

His lair was a giant cavern with a large cave leading in
and a smaller one leaving behind his bed. When his huge
wings spread, the tips came within feet of hitting the sides.
The ceiling rose forty feet above Lendril’s head. Tych lay
on a bed of feathers across from Doleof and Lendril sat
next to him on a stone, waiting for him to open his eyes.
She could feel the steady heat of the dragon’s breathing,
every now and then looking up to admire the huge horns
and wonder at their safety.

Tych opened his eyes and blinked out the sleep. He felt
warm and comfortable. Lendril stood up next to him.
“Hello, my love,” said the Prince. Tych saw a huge, lizard
like, horned head rising up behind Lendril and his eyes lit
up with surprise. He started to move.

Lendril bent over and pushed him down. “No, don’t
move. That’s Doleof. He saved you from the river.”

The dragon’s head now reached over the bed. “Hello,
Tych, how do you feel?”

Tych just stared at the giant face. It took him a moment
to gather himself to respond. “I’m sore but comfortable.
Why would an enemy save me from ending up in the Great
Lake?”

“I am at peace with the endarils. They stopped
destroying us years ago and one of your kind saved my
master, Buhlaht.” Doleof coiled his neck up on his back
and looked at them from atop the coil.

Tych sat up. Lendril sat down next to him and kissed
him. “It’s good to see you back,” she said. “You’ve been
asleep for a couple of days.”