Vegenrage: The Magic User (19 page)

“Wow. That is so cool, Vegenrage, it’s beautiful.”

“It is and it will protect us while we are occupied with treasure hunting. Come on, let’s go get some things.” He goes to where the house used to be and looks around.

“What are you looking for?”

“Well, the house was really a front for her real home, which is under the house. We just have to figure how to get in, which shouldn’t be hard to do. Stand behind me for a minute.” Vegenrage blows into his hands and faces his palms at the ground, which create a huge wind tunnel blowing all the loose soil out of the way, exposing a narrow stone walkway circling into the ground. He starts to walk down the stairs.

“Is there any trap we should be afraid of?”

“Well, any magical traps would’ve died with Alisluxkana, and I doubt she set any snares or traps like that. That would be just too much unnecessary work. Let’s find out.” He descends into the darkness.

Farrah walks down the stairs behind him. “I can’t see a thing.”

He holds out his left arm, and it bursts into flames from his elbow to his fingertips. The rolling flames of black, red, and yellow produce the light they need to see as they descend into the damp dark. The stairway circles a few times then straightens out to a long descent some twenty feet to the floor.

Vegenrage looks around, wondering,
What did she use for a light source?
There are wide candles with very thick wicks sitting on ledges in the walls, and he shoots flames across the room from his burning hand to light them. The candles burn surprisingly bright, lighting up the room. There are molten ridges of cooled wax dripped down each candle, showing the use. Their eyes light up as the golden treasure covering the floor walls and ceiling is revealed to them. This is far more than Vegenrage ever expected. There are armors, staffs, rings, pendants, trinkets, shields, maps, rubies, diamonds, pearls, necklaces, helmets, swords, battle axes, bows, arrows, and the two of them look astonished for minutes before their eyes meet and they both exhale.

“This is unbelievable,” says Vegenrage. “She had all the wealth she could ever want.”

The stairwell they followed down circled a few times and then descended about twenty feet along the wall. The stairwell is made out of wood, and from the wooden stair is a table along the wall that extends about twenty feet, also made out of wood. The table is overflowing with rings and jewels and smaller treasure. When the table ends, there are all kinds of weapons leaning against the rock-and-earth wall, with more weapons stacked on top of each other on the floor, then another table with maps and scrolls and parchments overflowing onto the floor, and under the table are stacks of books.

“Where does that lead?” asks Farrah. After the table with all the books is a tunnel leading into darkness.

“We don’t want to go down there. That is most likely where Alisluxkana summoned demons and practiced the black arts. This is where we want to be. I am quite sure what we need is right here. I just don’t know where to start.”

“Well, why don’t you start by looking over here?”

“What? Who, what said that?” They look around.

“I don’t know. I bet there are a lot of items here that can talk.”

“Yeah, but only I can talk from my own free will. Only I can talk without being woken by the magic of my master.”

Vegenrage looks to the wall between the two tables and sees a bag hanging from a large nail between the two tables. He carefully wades his way through the treasure, toward the bag, squinting his eyes and looking at the bag as he heads toward it.

“Behaggen, is that you?”

Two eyes form on the bag. “Yes, it is I, the first, the one, the only Behaggen.”

It is Behaggen, the first Bag of Holding, and when he talks, the opening in the top of the bag moves, imitating his speech.

“I am here to rescue you from this evil prison.”

“Well, what are you waiting for? Get me out of here.”

“So you accept me? You won’t just consume me?”

“Nah, I know you follow in the path of Logantrance, who followed in the path of Swallgrace, and I have been stuck here for far too long. Come on, get me out of here already.”

Vegenrage grabs the bag by the thin golden rope and picks it up to have Behaggen open his mouth (the opening in the top of the bag) wider than Vegenrage’s head, with large shark-like teeth and screaming, “Aaahhhhh!” Vegenrage flinches, almost falling over, frozen stiff in his boots. His face is frozen with fear and staring straight ahead as Behaggen shrinks back down to his small-bag size, laughing out loud. Vegenrage is staring straight ahead motionless as the heebie-jeebies have been scared out of him.

Farrah starts to laugh. “Ahahaha! That was great.”

Vegenrage slowly turns his head to her, still shaking with the chills. “That was not funny.”

“That was funny,” and she laughs.

Behaggen looks to the Bag of Holding around Vegenrage’s waist. “Parnapp. That’s my sixth offspring, Parnapp. Vegenrage, touch me to him.”

Vegenrage holds Behaggen to Parnapp, and a blue light with diamond white sparkles emanate from between the two bags.

Two eyes appear on Parnapp. “Dad, what are you doing here?”

Farrah is loving this and wades through the treasure to get close to see this.

“What, are you not glad to see me? After all, you could be sleeping and speechless all the time, but thanks to me, now you can talk. The only problem is you need to find a new master now.”

“What new master? Hey, look at this. Hey, baby, want a bag?” Parnapp looks at Farrah with loving eyes.

“Auwe! He is the cutest bag ever. I want him.”

“She wants me. Give it up, Vegenrage. I’m hers.”

Vegenrage puts his hand on his forehead. “Are you kidding me?”

“Come on, Vegenrage, give me to Farrah. I’m hers now.”

“Give him up, Vegenrage, you can only have one Bag of Holding. You can’t carry us both.”

“OK, but, Parnapp, she does not know magic.”

“You leave me with the Staff of Barrier Breath, and I will take care of the rest. Come on, Dad, give it to me.”

Behaggen looks at Parnapp and looks at Farrah. “You always were a sucker for the pretty ones, weren’t you? OK, hold on, son.”

Little white lightning bolts shoot from Behaggen to Parnapp, and this lasts for about ten seconds.

“Hurry, give me to her, Vegenrage.”

Vegenrage waves his right hand, and the thin rope around his waist comes undone and secures itself around Farrah’s waist. Immediately upon securing itself around her waist, that same white lightning starts to emanate from the rope, jumping continuously to Farrah’s waist. She gets a very startled, happy look on her face, clinching her hands and squeezing her arms and her breasts and rubbing her legs together. This goes on for some long seconds as she shakes about, finally saying, “Stop that, stop that!” and smacks Parnapp.

“I had to imbue you. Feels good, don’t it?”

“Imbue me. That’s not what you were doing, but something is different. What is it?”

“You can’t have a Bag of Holding unless you are a magic user, and now you are. You are the most beautiful magic user, and with my help, we will seek adventure and explore.”

Vegenrage looks to Behaggen.
Nice going
. Behaggen shrugs, his eyes with deep eyebrows forming over them, and his golden rope ties around Vegenrage’s waist.

CHAPTER 15
Lushantor, Rowgen, and Gripzon Charge Ugoria

The sun is rising high in Hunoria, and Bastrenboar is sitting in his command tent, looking over his map and thinking about his humanors attacking Ugoria. Cloakenstrike appears in front of the table on the other side of Bastrenboar.

“Cloakenstrike, you did it. You have the Octagemerwell.”

“I have it, and now it’s time for you to own the Snow Gold Trinket. Are your humanors ready?”

“They are.”

“Gather the three armies, and let’s prepare them for their journey to Ugoria.”

Bastrenboar excitedly exits the tent and summons a close-by humanor sentry to sound the call to arms. The sentry raises a large straight horn and blows, making a long midrange trumpet sound. The humanors exit their tents and rush from the practice fields and gather in a clearing to the back of Bastrenboar’s tent. An army, three hundred strong, stands at attention facing Bastrenboar and Cloakenstrike. The rustling and talking come to a halt as Bastrenboar begins his instructions on the assault of Ugoria.

“Humanors, our day has come. Today we take from the elves and return our human form. This is the battle to release us from the abnormal shape cursed upon us by Arglon and the elves. It is time to send fear down the spines of the elves and return our glorious human form and extend the reach of Hunoria into Ugoria. This is our day, this is our time, this is our world.” Bastrenboar raises his arms, and his men cheer loudly.

Bastrenboar walks to Gripzon, standing to his right and in front of his one hundred soldiers. “Gripzon will lead his army up the Gwipps River and attack from the north.” He walks to Rowgen, standing in front of his one hundred strong army in the middle of the other two armies. “Rowgen will head due east and attack Ugoria from the east.” He walks to Lushantor, putting his hand on Lushantor’s shoulder. “And Lushantor will lead his army up from the south and attack Ugoria from the Creshian Forest. It is time for me to introduce my mentor to you all. This is Cloakenstrike, the most powerful magic user in all the realms, and with his magic protecting us, we have more than a fighting chance of ruling the day. We all know the elves possess powerful magic and the deadliest of weapons. Cloakenstrike will equal the magic of the elves and surpass it. Our strength will crush the elves that get close to us. I give to you all, with all my confidence, the ally that will see us to victory, the master Cloakenstrike.” Bastrenboar steps aside and holds out his hands as Cloakenstrike raises his hands high in the air, and the humanors cheer loudly.

“Humanors, what you need to see you to victory is not ambition or strength or desire, because you have that. It is protection from the arrows and swords of the Ugorian elves, which are lethal. You need protection from these weapons, and to trick the elves into thinking you are dead and when they are close to what they think are dead humanors, the humanors will be in striking range—and this is all you need to knock their numbers down. Let me show you what I mean.” Cloakenstrike reaches into his Bag of Holding and pulls out a beautiful Ugorian bow with two arrows with deadly single-edged razors at the end.

The bow is a beautiful dark-brown bow stained in lacquer, giving it a shiny look. It looks like a very big recurve bow, only much thicker with beautiful carving along the entire bow. The arrows are light brown with white feathers dripped with red on them, and the humanors sigh loudly at the sight of this.

Bastrenboar walks away from Cloakenstrike about fifteen yards and talks loudly, “Humanors, let us show you what we mean by protection from the weapons of the elves.”

Cloakenstrike draws the bow and points the arrow at Bastrenboar. The humanors look on, fidgety and nervous. He lets the arrow fly, and it flies straight and true right through the heart of Bastrenboar, who falls to his knees. The humanors look on, becoming vocal, yelling and shouting. Cloakenstrike lets the other arrow fly, and it strikes Bastrenboar just to the left of the previous arrow, and he falls to his right side, dead. The humanors start yelling, “You killed him! You killed Bastrenboar!”

“No! He is not dead. Lushantor, go to him and see if he is dead.” Lushantor looks at Cloakenstrike, confused, and approaches Bastrenboar, who looks dead, all right, and kneels beside him, scratching his head. Bastrenboar opens his eyes and grabs Lushantor with his left hand, startling him.

“What is this?” Lushantor asks.

Bastrenboar rises to his knees and stands. He looks at the arrows, which slowly but painfully exit his body without him even touching them, and they fall to the ground.

“This is the protection we are talking about, and this will bring the elves close to us. And when they are within striking range of us, they will not rise from our attacks.”

The humanor armies look on quietly but impressed.

Cloakenstrike spends the rest of the day painstakingly casting powerful magic on the three hundred strong that must travel to Ugoria, and this takes a lot of his energy and all his strength. He has to cast the magic on each humanor no more than ten at a time, and then he has to give each individual a vial to take with them. This vial is the actual protection that allows them to heal from the deadly arrows and swords of the elves. He has to cast magic first to help conceal their scent and presence as they travel, and when they drink the magical potion Cloakenstrike has prepared for each, the magical effects will last for only eighteen hours, allowing their bodies to heal from elven weapons, then the magic will fade. He advises each humanor to wait until the last possible moment to drink the potion because of this, and it is very important that the elves think they have killed all the humanors so they will approach, giving the humanors the advantage and the ability to take down as many elves as possible.

The sun is fading, and early evening is upon Hunoria. Cloakenstrike and Bastrenboar, as always, have planned and are executing right on schedule. Lushantor leads his army south through the Mogle Lands. Rowgen leads his army due east straight for the Ugorian Forest, and Gripzon leads his army onto boats heading up the Gwipps River. Cloakenstrike has exhausted himself to the point where he needs Bastrenboar to carry him to his tent so he can sleep through the night. It will take the armies two nights, and on the second morning from now, they will attack. This is all by design. The armies are traveling by foot and taking all precautions to reach their attack points on the Ugorian Kingdom undetected by the elves. Cloakenstrike will need all night tonight to sleep, all day tomorrow to rest and regain his strength, and then tomorrow night Cloakenstrike, Bastrenboar, and his ten chosen fighters will plan out their attack on King Trialani in his throne room.

Lushantor and his humanors jog at a brisk pace. They are in a single line, one hundred long. They jog, focused only on their task, which is to reach the Creshian Forest three hours before daybreak. They don’t talk; they don’t stop for breaks. They just jog and jog at a steady pace, knowing they will reach the forest on time. They jog for nearly nine hours straight without stopping—not to eat, not to rest, not even to pee. The humanors have incredible stamina to match the power in their muscles. They are not wearing armor and have only a round shield strapped to their back, with a long sword at their side and a flask of magical brew each. They wear a type of pant that goes from their waist to their knees, and this is all they wear on their long run to the forest.

They reach the forest at the height of night and finally take a rest. The stars are out, and it is a balmy, warm night, perfect for running in. They are sweaty, breathing heavily, and this is very bad because this will give them away once in the Creshian Forest. Fortunately, Lushantor and some of the men with him specialize in the scouting of the forest and are very good at avoiding the elves and know where the elves patrol the forest.

Lushantor leads his army to a stream, and they happily bathe in the cool water, washing away their sweat and relaxing their muscles. They wash and relax for only thirty minutes and then head into the forest. Lushantor leads the way as they still jog, but at a much slower pace, through the dark woods. The one great thing about hoofed feet is that very little hurts them, and they are extremely silent, especially in the woods.

They jog steadily and quietly; no one talks. They just concentrate on moving as quickly and silently as they can. It is dark, and they stumble, trip, and fall many times, but this does not discourage or upset them. They get up and quietly move on. They sustain a lot of cuts and bruises from running into thick branches and thorny bushes, but they jog on and make their destination just as the sun breaks the morning sky. They reach a wide pond where they bathe again and form little hideouts to conceal their presence as they comfortably sleep through the day. They will sleep here through most of the day, and then tonight they will move some fifty miles through the woods to reach the Ugorian Kingdom. This is an incredible accomplishment, but they are focused, determined, and they will do it.

Rowgen and his army head off east straight for the Ugorian Forest. Like Lushantor and his army, they wear a shield, a sword, a vial of magical brew, and the traditional humanor pants. They jog just as the other humanor army did, focused, not talking, just concentrating on their mission. They reach the Ugorian Forest in just a little under an hour and bathe in a cool stream. Rowgen and his army have the most difficult path to travel. The Ugorian Forest just east of Hunoria is heavily guarded and patrolled by the elves. Bastrenboar and Rowgen, along with his army, have talked a lot over the past few days about the strategy to reach the eastern point of Ugoria. It is mostly impossible to make it undetected by the elves taking this route. The elves are very weary of the humanors, and this, being the closest point between the two races, is heavily guarded by the elves.

Cloakenstrike had thought of using imaginary armies of humanors at different points on the kingdom of Ugoria, but this proved too difficult a task; not even Cloakenstrike has the magical power and strength required to cast such powerful magic at such a great distance. The decision was made to use Rowgen and his army as decoys, and they took on this challenge with bravado. This army is the most highly skilled in all of Hunoria. The strongest, most agile and vicious of all the humanors are with Rowgen. Each humanor in this particular army knows how valuable they are, and they cannot afford to lose any of them. The reality is that they will encounter elves long before reaching Ugoria, and they have a plan for this.

Each humanor in this army had a very special potion to drink before they left camp. This drink gives them the eighteen-hour ability to heal from deadly elven wounds and to boost their strength. The vial that each of them carries is divided into two parts, giving them three eighteen-hour doses plus the additional strength. Their strategy is simple: they are going to run straight for the Ugorian Kingdom. The humanors have incredible sense of smell, and they can detect the elves. But the elves are masters of camouflage, and although the humanors know they are there, they can’t tell where most of the time.

Rowgen and his army are going to use a show of force, forcing the action. They are going to run straight at Ugoria. The elves will attack from the trees, out of reach of the humanors, and many will die. The great thing about the magical potion is that they can lie motionless, seemingly dead for hours, before they must revive. They actually never die. Their internal organs always keep working but at such a slow rate they appear dead. This is true for all in use of the potion. They can still hear, smell, and see. They are going to head straight for Ugoria, and the elves that attack the humanors will be occupied on the invaders. The humanors believe some elves will head back to warn Ugoria about the intruders and will send many to attack, thus leaving the north and south more vulnerable. Timing is of vital importance for Rowgen and his army. When they are in Ugorian Forest, they will wait till nightfall then move slowly, silently, using their great sense of smell to sniff out the elves, giving them the advantage during the night hours. They will try to ambush any unsuspecting elves they can. The following day, they will still move silently, hunting elf, until they reach a landmark, the Gosebek Lake. Once here they will rest and wait until just before the next daybreak to make their final run for Ugoria. They fully expect to meet strong resistance from the elves before they reach Ugoria, and the fight of their lives is about to begin.

Gripzon and his army get into ten boats set up with ten oars each. The humanors begin their mission, concentrating on the task at hand, rowing. They are strong and focused. They row in unison with strong long rows. They do not talk; they row with the muscles in their backs, shoulders, and arms flexing with every powerful stroke. It is amazing to see each boat with each humanor rowing with such synchronicity. Like the other armies, they have a shield, which they hide on the floor of their boat. They wear the standard humanor pants, each with a vial of the magical potion. They each have a long sword in the boat as well. The only humanor not rowing is Gripzon, who stands in the lead boat at the front. He is focused on the surroundings and shouting course corrections in their travel when needed to provide the quickest, least-resistant path up the river. They are heading north up the river; however, the river is, for the most part, a slowly descending one with only a few falls, which are easily maneuverable by the boats they are rowing. The water flows slowly, but still this is a very difficult row, and the humanors here have some seventy miles to row, and their goal is to do it in twelve hours. They need to reach the intersection where the Akelsen Desert, the Ugorian Highlands, and the Gwipps River meet. This is a very bold goal, and one trait that the humanor race excels in is the drive to achieve physical dominance over their surroundings. Once they have set their minds to something, they focus and strive until the task is finished.

To watch the ten boats from an above vantage point commands respect and awe. Each and every humanor rows with power in every stroke. No one is talking; they are not complaining. They are not fighting or discouraged. They are moving strong and fast through the current flowing against them. The Gwipps River flows south from its birthplace, the Gwippen Uprising. This is a natural wonder.