Sinners of Magic (29 page)

‘
Come back to
the table,’ coaxed Gamada, waving his hand in the air. ‘We must all
decide on a plan of action that will enable us to defeat Forusian
and bring Crystal back to where she belongs.’

Bridgemear turned to face the
man who had stolen his life. His eyes burned red with fury whilst
they rested on Gamada, his body knotting with tension when the
physical pain seared through his psyche like a hot blade thrust
deep into his soul.

‘
You are
unbelievable!’ Bridgemear exclaimed. ‘You stand there, calm and
composed, and ask for our help after what you have done to my
daughter. Because of your stupid pride you told us nothing,
preparing instead to use your own granddaughter, your own flesh and
blood, as a pawn in some half-hatched plan to win a battle which
could, in effect, destroy every realm in the land.’

His eyes flickered to Elveria
before returning back to the king. He pointed an accusing finger
straight in his direction.

‘
I find this
all just a little ironic,’ he said, with bitterness running through
his voice. ‘You, the king, who punished me all those years ago for
breaking the most ancient of laws, now wish to use the fruit of my
loins to help defeat Forusian; my, how the tide has
turned.’

‘
Enough!’
shouted Elveria, clearly irritated by the wizard’s outburst, ‘we
must fight together or no one will defeat him.’

‘
Damn you, I
will have no part of it!’ Bridgemear shouted back in a sudden rage.
‘As far as I am concerned you started this without me so you’re on
your own.’ Before anyone could reason with him he made for the
door.

‘
Running away
will not solve a thing,’ Gamada hissed, his voice filled with
resentment, but his words were unable to penetrate through
Bridgemear’s pulsating skull. Instead, the mage turned and looked
at Mordorma, whom he saw as his only ally.

‘
I will find
my daughter and bring her back to the realm of Raven’s Rainbow,’ he
said, when their eyes locked. ‘Crystal is my only concern now. I
betrayed her once and lost the love of my life because of it, but I
will make amends for what I did and make sure it never happens
again.’

With a defiant gesture he swept
his cloak across his shoulders and vanished from sight. Silence
engulfed the remaining magicians until Elveria beckoned to
Amadeus.

‘
Follow him,’
he instructed, ‘do not lose sight of him; he is angry and this will
only blind his senses. However, be wary of his temper and keep
downwind. Take Mordorma with you, he will use his magic to keep us
informed of his whereabouts.’

‘
Very well,’
said Amadeus, when Gamada nodded his agreement. ‘But I think he
will know we are following him.’

‘
Of course he
will,’ Elveria snapped, almost losing his temper. ‘However, he
cannot do this alone, no matter what he thinks right now. This
journey he feels he has to take will put his life in jeopardy and
his daughter’s too; therefore we must help him all we can. Whether
he realises it or not, he
will
help us to defeat Forusian, because he’s the only
one who can.’

C
hapter 17

Brilliant sunlight streamed
through the trees and awoke Bridgemear early the next morning. He
had camped for the night in the surrounding woodland, his bed a
mere mattress of dried leaves and soft mosses. He cast his gaze
upwards to soak up the warmth of the sun’s rays, which fell in
ribbons of light on his chilled body, and thought what an idiot he
had become.

His anger abated and in its
place sat only regret. He had been too quick to judge the king’s
reasoning, but what he had done was wrong; to use his daughter in
such a way to win his war was a despicable trick to play and he
couldn’t get the feeling of betrayal out of his head.

Frustrated, he rolled up his
cloak, which he’d used as a blanket, and set to building a fire. He
knew he was not alone for he sensed Amadeus and Mordorma watching
his back and it gave him some much-needed comfort.

He wasted little time
collecting wood and wisps of kindling and used no magic to light
it. Breakfast consisted of little more than a few dried crackers
and a cup of tepid water. He could have made himself a feast fit
for a king if he’d used his magic, but he felt the need to punish
himself.

Once he had eaten, he was ready
to ride and, heading out, his mind whirled with cunning plans and
newly formed ideas. He was no fool and understood that to challenge
Forusian on his own turf would not be wise but not impossible.
However, he knew he was not alone, Mordorma and Amadeus were with
him and if he guessed correctly the other wizards would not be far
behind.

Birds sang in the trees
overhead whilst others foraged by his feet for an easy meal. The
woodland was becoming alive with activity and many animals as well
as birds scurried between the leaves along with other woodland
creatures. The tension Bridgemear felt yesterday diminished and he
rode in the saddle of his horse with much confidence, winding in
and out of the dense trees with smooth, natural movements with only
his tangled thoughts for company.

A pair of small, brown eyes
watched the wizard pass by. The well-camouflaged creature, both
inquisitive and meddlesome, chuckled inwardly at finding a new
playmate and followed Bridgemear through the forest for most of the
day. Fear was not a feature of this creature’s genetic chemistry
and with silent footsteps he kept close to the mage.

After several hours, Bridgemear
leant over to reach for his water bottle held in a pouch on the
rear of his saddle. His hand searched for his drink and he stopped
his horse abruptly when he couldn’t find it. He turned his horse
and retraced his steps, peering on the ground in search of the
container. The path lay empty with no sign of it and, confused,
Bridgemear headed once again in the direction of Forusian’s castle.
Seconds later, his cup and plate fell from the straps that held
them secure and they dropped noisily to the ground, clattering
together on impact. The noise startled the horse and Bridgemear’s
reaction was to draw his sword, wondering what mischief was
about.

A fleeting shadow in the
bizarre shape of a wisp of leaves shot past the corner of his eye.
Bridgemear became guarded and dismounted. He scanned the
undergrowth and thick bushes for an indication of an intruder, but
could see no trace. He noted the time of day, twilight. He also
recognised the type of trees that dominated the forest. Oak, ash
and hawthorn grew in abundance and the telltale signs of his
troublesome stalker soon became apparent.

He placed his sword back into
its sheath, no longer troubled, and decided to rest for the night.
The place he had stumbled upon was quite charming: the soft grass
sat like a bright-green cushion on two lush banks of earth and a
large brook opened up and created a small, freshwater pool. The
water looked inviting, but Bridgemear knew better than to
contemplate a swim with something devious hiding in the shadows.
Once again he built a fire and waited for his trickster to play yet
another prank, knowing this time he would be ready.

As darkness began to descend
upon the forest and wrap it dutifully in black, the silence was
momentarily broken by Bridgemear using his magic to create a force
field around himself. It was not something he would normally do,
for to use his magic out of his own realm would be frowned upon and
small spells were his usual limit; however, for peace of mind and a
good night’s sleep he had no choice but to use a spell that was
usually not permitted.

His force field was invisible
to the naked eye and whilst Bridgemear wandered the grassy area
surrounding the brook, it travelled with him. He bent over and
cupped his hands into the sparkling water, splashing it on his face
and washing away the dust and grime of the day. Once refreshed, he
settled on a broken log, eaten away and crumbling with old age.
Hunger bit at his empty belly and soon after he had ample meat
roasting on a spit.

From the seclusion of the
trees, two watchful eyes were becoming irritated and impatient.
Whilst time ticked slowly by, temptation became too much for the
intruder to bear. He had waited as long as he could muster, eager
to strike and steal whatever he could from the weary traveller.
There came a rustle in the undergrowth and then a painful howl
exploded into the forest, frightening a pair of nesting birds.

Bridgemear felt no alarm when
the painful screech penetrated the night air and he sat eating his
meal, whilst a slow smirk danced at the corners of his mouth. At
his feet a small creature lay in a daze outside the force field,
its nose bleeding and its front tooth looking slightly loose.

‘
Good
evening, wood sprite,’ said Bridgemear, allowing a stern note to
creep into his voice. ‘I hope you haven’t done any serious damage
to yourself?’

The wood sprite, his vision
blurred from the blow to his head when he crashed into the force
field, was speechless for only a matter of seconds before regaining
his high-jinx attitude. Standing up on his wobbly legs, he pressed
his hands on his hips, his lip already swollen and his face
swelling at one side.

He was a mere three feet high
and of agile stature. His small eyes were clear like glass and his
mouth fixed in a firm grimace. Wood sprites are created by Mother
Nature to protect the foliage and live within the heart of the
trees. They are made of plant tissue and sap runs through their
veins instead of blood. The lines on their faces coincide with the
shapes of leaves, and their skin is green and made of living
matter. Wood sprites are renowned for their mischievous
misbehaviour and exasperating habits, and anyone with an ounce of
sense did not intentionally get on the wrong side of one.

‘
Are you
talking to me?’ the wood sprite asked, pointing a finger that
looked like a stick of asparagus to his chest.

Bridgemear carried on eating,
finding him easy to ignore.

‘
You’re not
allowed in these parts,’ the sprite insisted, shaking the same
finger crossly, ‘and what’s more, you’re certainly not allowed to
use that kind of magic in here.’

‘
Oh really?’
said Bridgemear, glancing up and raising an eyebrow. ‘So how do I
stop thieving little sprites like yourself stealing my
supper?’

The sprite appeared shocked by
his words and displayed a wounded expression on his leafy face.

‘
If that’s
for my benefit, I wouldn’t bother,’ said Bridgemear, gnawing
hungrily at his food. ‘I have met your sort before.’

The sprite moved his shifty
gaze and wandered around the force field, measuring the width of
it, using his feet to calculate the length.

‘
What are you
doing?’ asked Bridgemear, watching his every move.

The sprite looked up. His feet
were in an odd position and the ends of his shoes curled up in a
strange way.

‘
Nothing,’ he
said, looking rather sweet, ‘I was just curious as to how big your
force field is.’

‘
What does it
matter?’ asked Bridgemear, becoming irritated by the spirit’s
presence.

‘
Well,’ he
replied, touching his chin, ‘you know you can tell a lot about a
wizard by the size of his force field!’ Bridgemear almost
choked.

‘
Why, you
cheeky little pile of compost.’

The sprite giggled, showing a
row of bright green teeth; it was clear it gave him great pleasure
to taunt new visitors to the forest.

‘
Be off with
you!’ commanded Bridgemear, already bored with the rude little
fellow.

The sprite ignored him; this
was more fun than sitting by himself watching the woodworms digging
holes in his favourite tree. He sat down adjacent to the wizard. He
clicked his fingers and a beautiful mass of fireflies buzzed golden
around his head, their glowing bodies lighting where he sat like
someone had just switched on a stadium of light.

‘
What’s your
name?’ probed the sprite, always burning with curiosity.

Bridgemear pretended not to
hear him and took a drink from his cup which bore a sharp dent in
the outer rim from its fall earlier.

The sprite caught his gaze and
used it to his advantage.

‘
My name is
Bracken,’ he revealed, with a wide grin, ‘so aren’t you gonna tell
me yours?’

Bridgemear kept silent and
moved to the sanctuary of the water’s edge. Naturally, the wood
sprite followed.

‘
It’s
Bridgemear, now sod off!’ the magician bellowed, becoming
ill-tempered when Bracken continued to follow him like a stunted
shadow. ‘I do not want your company this night or any other night
come to think of it, so get lost!’

Bracken was unfazed by the
wizard’s grumpy attitude and simply skipped from one slippery stone
to the next, following him everywhere he went. Happily toying with
the idea of falling into the water, his aim was to grab the
wizard’s full attention but Bracken decided against it because he
didn’t fancy having to dry out and besides that it would make his
skin crisp and flaky.

The forest was settling for the
night and Bridgemear decided to do the same. Perhaps in the morning
the sprite would have tired of his latest victim and moved on. The
evening was one of beauty. The night sky was not quite pitch-black
and the stars twinkled their existence to anyone who wished to peer
so far. There was no wind to blow the phantom shadows away and so
they sat alone, unable to dance in the moonlight.