Thrum

  Chapter Five

  The celebratory bonfire blazed high, the feeling of relief contagious. Quirk’s men sat about eating a hearty lunch of roasted rabbits, tossing aside bones toothlessly sucked to pearly perfection. Thrum and Archendorf exchanged tales of their adventures since their separation, Thrum describing his at first not so welcome reception at the Ivory Tower, and then Karina’s help.

  Archendorf elbowed his friend in the ribs.

  “You’ve gone a bit dreamy eyed there, mate. She a bit of a looker, I take it?”

  Thrum shook his head. “Like it matters... She’s married. To one of the King’s Four.”

  Archendorf made a low whistle of admiration. “And you say she’s second-in-line for replacing the next Archmage? There’d be some serious magic in their kids, eh?”

  The truth only served to remind Thrum of his inadequacies, for indeed magical ability passed on down the family line, the progeny of two Archmages would be a force indeed. He grimaced.

  Seeing his friend’s discomfiture, Archendorf bellowed a laugh and punched Thrum good-naturedly in the arm.

  “Cheer up! If we survive this mess, then you can think about finding yourself a woman!”

  Quirk half collapsed at their feet, offering a leather gourd and motioning them to drink. “What’sh going on here fellash? Here, get some of this’h into ya.”

  Thrum did so, raising it to his lips and taking a cautious sip of the milky liquid and making the appropriate grimace. Quirk gave him a broad wink.

  “So onward’sh with the quest!” he said.

  Thrum broke from his reverie. “No. No. There’s something you should know.” He took a deep breath before plunging. “Taukin the Archmage is a traitor.”

  Archendorf’s jaw dropped open and Quirk blinked heavily.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I found out some hidden history at the Ivory Tower. It seems before his death he turned to the side of the Crylock, and he’s tricked us into carrying him back.”

  “Son of a bitch!”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “So he’s really an evil magician? I always sensed the bastard was being cagey, but this!”

  Thrum nodded. “Makes sense, his body being guarded by the Crylock, his urgency to get us to take him there.”

  Quirk spoke up. “Hang’sh on a moment, are you shaying we’ve been had?”

  Those of Quirk’s men nearby perked up their ears, the wave of silence spreading quickly and soon all had stopped chewing. A few edged closer, eyeing the scroll suspiciously.

  “It seems that way,” said Thrum, finding himself now addressing an audience.

  “It’s lucky you caught us in time,” said Archendorf.

  “It was no problems on Fawn.” Thrum indicated in the direction the Tower horse stood, untethered and waiting patiently. He glanced down at the scroll in his clenched fist. “We’ve got to destroy it.”

  A few murmurs rippled through the crowd.

  “So you believe it?” asked Archendorf. “There’s no way this girlfriend of yours could be mistaken?” Archendorf nodded towards the scroll. “You don’t think we should, you know, consult the scroll, like the old times.”

  Thrum chewed his lip for a long moment then slowly shook his head.

  “Shouldn’t we at least check?” pressed Archendorf.

  “No. I can’t… I…I’m afraid.”

  “Afraid’sh? Of what, it’s just a piece’sh of paper. I think Archendorf is right, what if you’ve been had by those’sh jokers in the Ivory Tower?”

  “I’m not going to give up everything we’ve been through without being totally sure. This is not a decision to be made lightly,” said Archendorf.

  Thrum looked despondently down at the rolled scroll and turned it in his hands. “What if Taukin can play some sort of mind-trick on me? He’s a powerful Archmage, who knows what he may be capable of?”

  “We’ll keep an eye on you. We’ll make a decision together, after all, we can’t be affected by any tricks he might pull.”

  “All right. Okay.” Thrum took several long moments before taking the scroll in two hands and by degrees he unrolled it, inclining his head upwards and peering down into the curve, as if this would give advance warning of any traps.

  “Well, what does it say?” asked Archendorf after a while, watching Thrum’s eyes move backwards and forwards as he read and re-read.

  Thrum let it fall from limp fingers, his face draining of colour, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.

  “What did it say?”

  Thrum didn’t speak for some time. Finally he shook his head, clearing it of cobwebs and trying to think clearly. “He is trying to deceive us again. No, they were right, Taukin is a traitor, he belongs to the Crylock. We must destroy him.”

  Archendorf gently reached down and took the scroll up in his bear-like hands, ready to tear it in two.

  “You sure?”

  Thrum simply nodded.

  With a twitch, Archendorf ripped straight down the centre, the sound of tearing parchment like a thousand limbs wrenching from sockets, much louder than the collective gasp of the crowd.

  “Stone me dead,” said Archendorf, regaining his breath. The terrible noise had grated against his bones like nails down a blackboard. The deed was now done; in his fists he held two separate parts of Taukin’s scroll. Crumpling them together and tossing them down, he brushed his palms together.

  “And that,” he said, “was mighty Taukin.”

  “Hip-hip,” Quirk started.

  “Hooray!” chorused his men.

  “No,” said Thrum. He spoke quietly, but somehow they heard. The men broke off, the breath in their lungs ready for the next hooray a silent exhale. All followed his gaze, watching.

  Like a thing alive, the two separate pieces of scroll found each other and morphed to form a whole. Nobody said anything for some time.

  “Dammit, well, I’ll try again,” said Archendorf. He picked up the scroll and repeated the procedure, this time tearing it in quarters then into eighths. He threw them into the air and the pieces fluttered to the ground.

  As before, the scroll seemed to liquefy and meld back together.

  “This isn’t going to work,” said Thrum. “Here, you tear it in half and you take your half over there and bury it. I’ll take my half way over there and bury mine.”

  Archendorf nodded and once again, the harsh cringe-inducing noise accompanied the tear, and Archendorf passed over half. Thrum set off in the one direction, Archendorf with his half heading the other. When he was a good fifty paces from the campfire, he turned over a rock with his slipper and crouched, thrusting the scroll underneath.

  He noticed the scroll was whole and complete.

  “Dammit!”

  He grabbed the scroll again and strode back towards Archendorf, who was also heading back with an expression of confuddlement.

  “I was carrying it, I didn’t let go, but when I’d dug my hole it was simply gone from my hand!”

  Thrum held out the scroll. “It’s obvious this isn’t going to work. Ok, how about some fire?”

  Shielding one hand over his face before its radiant heat Thrum advanced and tossed the scroll as deep as he was able into the heart of the campfire. It simply sat within imperviously in the coals for long moments, and just as they were about to despair flame caught hold of one edge. A small hollow thump of explosion puffed from the scroll and with a high pitched wail, like the singing of burning green wood, thick black smoke poured forth as fire spread across its length.

  They stood and watched it burn. Turning black, it disintegrated satisfyingly into tiny pieces that fell between the burning logs. There were a few tense minutes while Archendorf prodded the pieces with a stick, but after some considerable time it seemed they had truly destroyed the scroll.

  Thrum turned to Archendorf and thrust out his hand. With huge grins, they shook and Archendorf clapped Thrum on the back, espousing his relief.

  “It?
??s over!”

  “Then the quest is’h a success!” said Quirk, joining them and toasting his leather gourd. “Let’sh have anotsher drink!”

 

  The festivities lasted well through the day. Thrum did not last nearly half as long, however, for after filling his belly with food and drink an incredible weariness came over him. He could not remember the last decent night’s sleep he’d had, and had been running on a fast-emptying tank of adrenalin. Borrowing a blanket and sleeping mat his grainy eyes closed and such was his fatigue he slept right through the day, despite the noise.

  He awoke that evening to find the party still in progress. Someone had gone off hunting and returned with two small wild pigs that were now rotating on spits over the bonfire. Thrum wiped crusted sleep from the corners of his eyes and propped himself upright, trying to get his bearings. The delicious aroma of crackling pork wafted up his nose, triggering a flow of saliva, and suddenly he was extremely hungry again.

  They ate and drank well into the night, the blazing bonfire keeping the chill and clear night air at bay. The quest abruptly at an end, all were relaxed, for there was nowhere pressing to go.

  “So, I’d imagine the Ivory Tower will be impressed we’ve… destroyed… Taukin,” said Archendorf. He could not quite bring himself to say ‘killed’, for it seemed their act had been too much in cold-blood. Burning a scroll was one thing, murder another.

  Thrum noticed Archendorf’s careful use of words.

  “It had to be done. He was part of the Crylock. While I was in the Tower, I did some reading. I found out the Crylock were once the big wigs of the land. They set all the laws, reaped all the taxes. The whole land was theirs, before the Ivory Tower fought them for it. Who knows what vengeance Taukin would have wrought.”

  “That’s weird, I’d never even heard about the Crylock before I met you.”

  “The Ivory Tower pretty much has a law preventing anyone even mentioning the Crylock. I wouldn’t be surprised if they also had a blanket spell over the whole kingdom, erasing memories that it ever existed.”

  “Why would they do that?”

  Thrum shrugged. “It was a pretty grim battle between them, I gather. The quicker the Crylock were forgotten, the better.”

  “Huh! Interesting… Do you think we’ll get some sort of reward? I don’t mean to be tight, but I don’t have a lot of spare cash at the moment.”

  “I can ask, I’ve got to go back to return Fawn. But I don’t fancy our chances, they didn’t really believe me the first time, and now that we’ve burnt the scroll, we have even less proof.”

  “Hmm, that’s true, now that you mention it. I don’t suppose we could borrow Fawn for a bit longer, you know, take it as compensation…”

  “No. I dare not. She’s a magical horse, I don’t think they’d take kindly to that. And if there’s one lesson I’ve learnt, it’s not to get a magician peeved.”

  Archendorf laughed. “At least there’s something to take away from all of this.” He sighed. “So nobody even will know we’ve saved the kingdom. That’s a bit of a let-down.”

  “Well, at the end of the day, you and I both know it,” said Thrum, biting into a piece of meat on the bone.

  “That’s true.” Archendorf saluted with a roasted potato, for he was vegetarian and did not partake in eating the roasted pig. “A story to tell the kids!”

  After eating Thrum found himself yawning cavernously and, making his goodnights, retired to bed again and had no trouble sinking into a deep sleep.

  He slept well without any dreams and awoke early as the morning sun edged over the horizon, taking the biting edge off the morning air. Flinging aside his bedding with a shiver, he hurried some distance away to relieve himself against a bush, steam rising in the air.

  Strewn about the clearing were empty bags once containing stores of travel provisions, flasks with a few drops of liquor pooling about open mouths. In the centre, cold ashes were all that remained of the bonfire. Thrum saw the desert nomads were already awake, struggling in sombre silence to get organised.

  The thought of going back home to his normal life left Thrum feeling strangely lost. He sat on a rock, his hood over his head, basking in the rays of the sun, musing on all he had been through and all he had seen. Unlike Archendorf, he was not made for adventure; he didn’t wish to risk his life again, for he realised now how short it could have been, but by the same token he felt he had to make more of each day, and not simply waste them away as he had done all his life.

  “Ah, there you are!”

  Thrum turned to see Archendorf approach.

  “Are you sure you won’t join us?” he asked.

  Thrum shook his head. “No, I’ve been thinking about we were saying last night. I’m not sure where I’ll go. After taking Fawn back to the Ivory Tower…” He did not mention Karina - he half hoped he wouldn’t see her again, yet half hoped he would. “From there, I don’t know.”

  “You should come with us,” Archendorf pursued. “Quirk is more than happy for you to join the tribe as well. Come on, it’ll be fun, see how far north we can get before world ends!”

  “I’ve had enough quests for one lifetime,” Thrum said with a wry grin. “But ride with me as far as the Ivory Tower.”

  Archendorf nodded. “You got a deal.”

  Nearby one of Quirk’s men scooped up the collection of debris that had been the contents of his saddlebags and shoved them into the bag. He threw them over the back of his balking camel, the beast barking with annoyance as it backed away. Tossing its bearded jaw the camel stretched its snake-like neck, lifted its tail, shuddered, and launched a liquescent and voluminous crap upon the ground. The nomad was shocked and took a step backwards, but soon saw the camel seemed its usual placid self once again, so he continued to saddle up.

  Very slowly the camp packed, and the morning was well progressed by the time they were all moving, Quirk in the lead, with Thrum upon Fawn alongside Archendorf, and the rest of the band following in single file. Two tribesmen rode tandem at the rear of the train, as one had given up a camel for Archendorf.

  The camels glided along at an even and jaunty pace. Thrum and Archendorf rode in companionable silence. The pocket of Thrum’s new cloak hung with the weight of the cruciform, but every now and again, he found himself startled and checking for the scroll, only to realize what they’d done. It was a burden lifted, but still Taukin’s final message, the one that he could not tell anyone, haunted his thoughts.

  “Thinking of a crafty new scheme?” teased Archendorf.

  Thrum broke from his trance. “What, oh? No, I was just thinking.”

  “You know, it’s been fun,” said Archendorf.

  “Fun? Ha! That’s not what you were saying back in that cave,” Thrum reminisced with a smile.

  “Ah, I was just a little scared.”

  “You finally got your wish to experience fear, eh?”

  “What came over you, wanting to charge in after that guy?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I was trying to make it up to you, to show I wasn’t such a chicken, like I was before.”

  “The dwarf’s shop…?”

  “Look Arc, I’m sorry for being a bastard and running off on you.”

  “Not at all. Lucky one of us has a brain, all I can say. If I’d have had my way, at this moment I’d be knocking on the Crylock’s door and they’d be no doubt willing to let me right on in.”

  “He had us both going, didn’t he?”

  “Sneaky bugger.”

  “I hope to meet again sometime, Thrum.”

  “You never know…”

  The day passed. The mountains receded slowly and the grassland once again opened up, the clattering of broad camel hooves upon stone softening in stages. They had been travelling for most of the morning and by Quirk’s reckoning were well on course to the Ivory Tower when Dulog, the sharpest eye among them, spotted something ahead.

  “A rider!” he hailed.

  They reined in their
mounts a little, loosening sabres in scabbards, as the unidentified mounted rider topped a nearby hill. It seemed to be galloping directly towards them, cloak billowing grandly behind, the horse massive and black. It drew closer with startling rapidity and Thrum saw the figure’s hair streaming out behind.

  “Karina! Quirk, it’s a friend!”

  Quirk sheathed his weapon but did not take his hand from the hilt. The camel train had drawn to a halt and awaited the breathless arrival.

  “Thrum!” she cried. “I’ve found you!”

  She drew up alongside. The camels were of similar height to Karina’s lofty steed. Thrum, however, was a good three hands shorter upon Fawn. He felt a little self-conscious and out of sorts. He suddenly felt possessive of his time spent alone with Karina, a special enclosed sphere of his life that he wanted to preserve and loathe to share. Seeing her here was the intrusion of reality upon dream. None-the-less, he made the introductions.

  “This is Karina, of the Ivory Tower. And this is my friend Archendorf.”

  Karina inclined her head slightly. “Well met, friend Archendorf. And of course I know Quirk.”

  Quirk grumbled a little but wisely did not take Karina’s sternness to heart.

  “I came as soon as I was able, but the negotiations with the elves were difficult.” Karina said. She was still dressing in the same riding clothes of the previous day, her black hair tied back in a simple yet mysterious manner, her face glowing and spirited, her cheeks flushed red.

  “Is your husband here?” asked Thrum as casually as he was able.

  “No. I’m afraid he doesn’t believe the story that Taukin’s scroll could still be in the land of the living.”

  “Ah, it’s not!” said Archendorf.

  “The scroll’s destroyed,” Thrum said.

  Karina’s eyes widened. “Destroyed?”

  Archendorf nodded, reaching down and clapping a hand across Thrum’s back.

  “That’s right!” Arc said. “We burnt it!”

  “That’s fantastic,” cried Karina. “So, we are finally rid of Taukin the Turncoat! Congratulations on the spell, Thrum, finally managed to crank out a fire spell, eh?”

  “Spell?” asked Thrum, sensing all of a sudden that something was not right.

  “No, not a spell,” put in Archendorf. “Just plain fire.”

  “Normal fire?” Karina’s tone rose several pitches in disbelief. “You tried to burn a magic scroll with plain earthly fire?”

  Thrum nodded slowly, not sure where all this was going but feeling a heavy weight grow in his stomach. “Ye-es.”

  “You need magic fire to destroy a magic scroll, I thought you of all people would know that Thrum.”

  “So the scroll is not destroyed?” Archendorf asked.

  “No, you pair of imbeciles. It’ll regenerate. Where is it?”

  “Back at our camp.”

  “Quickly, there’s no time to lose, let’s go back and see if we can find it before someone else does. Archendorf, you can ride with me. Fawn and Hiro will outpace your camel.”

  Archendorf looked a little hesitant, but Karina’s voice was so confident that he found himself obeying. He slung both legs on one side of his camel then hopped the small distance onto Hiro’s back as Karina drew alongside. Thrum watched jealously and he averted his eyes lest he betray emotion as he saw Archendorf’s hand brush Karina’s.

  “Wha’sh going on?” Quirk asked.

  “We’re going back,” said Archendorf from his position behind Karina’s narrow waist. The big man sat off the back of the saddle. “Catch us up.”

  Karina geed and the mighty war stallion, imbued with magic, leapt into blurring motion like a fish flashing into deep water. Thrum hardly needed to urge Fawn on for she turned about of her own accord to follow her stable-mate. Thrum hunched forward in the saddle as Fawn sprung into a gallop, the ground flashing by underfoot, the acceleration smooth and strangely gentle.

 

  Something twitched in a mound of camel dung. It was a sloppy mix and most it had run clear of the crumpled, broken umbrella shape buried within. It twitched a second time then began quivering, shaking a brown spray.

  With a creaking and popping sound like fingers rubbing across a balloon the wings elongated and the body of the bat puffed outwards. In a complex series of jerks, the shape unfolded upon itself again and again until finally, with a snap, Valgus returned to human form.

  The first few minutes he spent coughing violently, hacking deep in his lungs and bringing forth great globs of colourful phlegm he spat aside, suffering the very understandable dejection of spirits that comes with being passed through the digestive tract of a camel. Very slowly, he became aware of his surrounds and managed to creak open an eyelid. Naked and shivering after his transformation he propped his one remaining arm under himself as a blistering headache pounding in his temples. His white body, covered in crease and fold marks, stank horribly. He tried to move but his broken marionette joints seized and popped uselessly.

  And he’d lost the scroll.

  Valgus hung his head. He had been so very close to success; he’d allowed himself to dare dream of the great things to come. Ladanum would shower him in praise, he would no doubt have gained another ranking in the Magician’s Scale, perhaps even to Archmage as Ladanum himself. With some intensive healing spells of the Crylock combined, they would be able to patch his body back together. His future had been rosy.

  After all he had been through, all was now lost. For a long while he sat, uncaring that runny camel dung squelched slowly up his crack. Battered, bruised, his life was at an end.

  Something caught his tear brimmed eye, something fluttering in the breeze and he looked, hardly daring to believe. Could it be? The scroll, partially caught beneath a half burnt log, flapping as if waving to catch his attention. He stood slowly, lest he scare this apparition away, and hobbled across on bowed legs, eyes never leaving the pristine parchment. When close enough he snatched at it, half surprised it did not dissolve in his hands, joy bursting forth in his miserable black heart.

  “Yippeeee!”

  He danced a jig as best as he was able, a naked magician looking as if he had come out of a wringing machine, kicking dust up with untended-toenail feet and cackling riotously to the sky.

  “I’ve got it, I’ve got it, woo hooo!”

  He held it tight in his one hand and forced himself to take several deep breaths.

  “Ok, calm down. I’ve got to get out of here before they get back. No magic left, I can hardly walk. Ok, think Valgus, use that big noggin of yours.”

  He paced tight circles, restless eyes scanning the horizon for any dust cloud. For the moment all was quiet.

  “Ladanum. That’s it!”

  Valgus folded himself into a seated position and closed his eyes. He allowed a good long five minutes calming into the proper state of mind before attempting the mind-reach spell, for he knew he had only one chance before his strength gave out. He felt in the stillness of his conscious the calling of his mind towards those in the Crylock.

  With a suddenness that almost made him break contact Ladanum’s cowled visage appeared. His characteristically measured paced and emphasised speech came through clear.

  “Valgus! By the mighty sins of Holgat! What happened to you?”

  Valgus recovered the strength of the connection before trying to reply. “I have the scroll. Need assistance.”

  “You have it?”

  Valgus felt Ladanum’s effortless strength bolstering the spell, firming the contact.

  “Yes, I have it. But…weak…don’t know when they’ll be back…”

  “Stay there, I have a fix on your position. Gehmat and I will be there as soon as possible.”

  “Gehmat…?”

  “Yes, he made his way back here some time ago, said you’d met your end. Seems he’s become quite proficient on the broomstick, as you will see. Save your strength, we’ll be there soon.”

  “Yes, my Lord. Thank you.”
>
  The connection broke. Valgus’s mind fell back loosely into his brain and he jiggled about until it felt mostly back in place – mind connections always left him feeling as if his body were an alien thing. Still clutching the scroll, he walked towards one boulder, with every movement his joints clacking and popping. It was only a matter of waiting.

  The sun rose slowly in the sky, shadows shrinking and the chill mists clearing. Every now and again he would drag himself around the other side of the boulder and scan the horizon for signs of the camel troupe’s return, and then the sky for any sign of Ladanum. It was a tense waiting game and much as he felt the driving need to flee, any movement caused an agonising ripping pain. He went through periods of doubt, fear, euphoria, and terror. What if his foe should arrive before Ladanum? He couldn’t bear the thought of another drubbing, the thought of losing the scroll again stilling his heart with icy dread. Then he thought that on the broomstick Ladanum would be here in the no time, providing they did not get lost.

  That thought shocked him. What if right now they were shooting out of control right over his head? If they did know what they were doing, surely they would be here by now, which meant they were lost.

  Caught in these revolving paroxysms of elation and dread Valgus crouched with his knees drawn up to his chest, his eyes on the sky every second breath and starting at every birdcall.

  Then he saw it - a black speck low in the sky growing closer fast. With a graceful wide arc it circled his position, the cracking sound of its passing delayed several seconds behind. Valgus saw two figures riding the broomstick, their cloaks wiping behind as it slowed, steepening its bank and braking majestically in the air. The landing was graceful, like that of a pelican skidding with webbed feet into water, the magicians aboard the broom stepping from it with a minimum of fuss.

  Gehmat, his yellow cloak freshly laundered and gleaming drew the broomstick under one arm. His dark robed passenger stood and cast a hooded gaze about, spying Valgus instantly near a boulder. They had landed only a score of paces away and Ladanum closed the gap with large strides.

  “Valgus.”

  He struggled to a standing position, aware of his nakedness but none-the-less puffing his chest with pride.

  “Your arm seems to be missing,” said Ladanum, the timbre of his voice pacing like careful deliberate footsteps. He waved a hand casually and a growth sprouted from Valgus’s stump.

  Valgus watched as it clawed and flailed like growing ivy, taking on shape, and a few moments later he had the rudiments of an arm back, still wishbone thin but filling out slowly.

  “You have the scroll,” said Ladanum, his deep-sleeved arm outstretched.

  “Yes, my Lord, it is yours.”

  Ladanum accepted the scroll, taking a moment to fill his lungs, eyes closed, as if listening. Gehmat the Yellow sidled up, looking a little embarrassed. He and Valgus exchanged piercing looks, both amazed the other still lived. Animosity flared between them, for as Valgus recalled, Gehmat had fled when he himself was in dire need. Similarly, Gehmat scowled at Valgus for he recalled how he’d been terrorised on the broomstick piloted by Valgus back when they first set after the scrollbearer.

  Ladanum exhaled and lifted the scroll up to eye height, very slowly pulling the roll of the parchment apart, scanning the blankness therein.

  Valgus and Gehmat froze, watching for their Lord’s verdict. Was it the genuine article? After all this time, what if they’d be chasing a fake? Valgus felt dizzy.

  “It is Taukin,” said Ladanum at last. “The spell of silence is strong, but I can sense his soul. We are successful!”

  A wave of relief swept Valgus. The end was in sight.

  “Wait, what’s that?” Gehmat said. He craned his neck and peered with slitted eyes at something in the far distance. A blurred shape grew larger very rapidly, the earth distorting about its form as if it passed through a powerful lens.

  “They are Ivory Tower horses!” said Ladanum. “Valgus, take the scroll, return to the Crylock. Awaken Taukin the Archmage!” He thrust the scroll into Valgus’s good arm.

  Gehmat had the broom ready. Valgus noted an odd detail in the rush; the wooden handle was varnished and shining and the straw bristles groomed to neat perfection. Gehmat noticed the attention.

  “I’ve given her a bit of a clean-up.”

  “You know how to fly this thing?”

  Gehmat nodded. “On my way back to the Crylock I picked up a few things.”

  Valgus moved in and grasped Gehmat about the waist with his new stick hand.

  “What about you?” Valgus asked.

  Ladanum’s attention was upon the approaching riders. Already they were only seconds away.

  “Get moving. The scroll must not be lost again. I will hold them off. Now go!”

  Indeed Gehmat’s skills had improved; it was with a controlled and deliberate surge he lifted into the air, carrying Valgus and the scroll with him.

  Karina saw the broomstick with the two mages aboard and Ladanum’s deep cloaked form like a wall between them.

  “Stop them!” hollered Thrum, close enough to see the scroll clenched in Valgus’s fist.

  Hiro plunged straight ahead, powerful iron-shod hooves clawing the air at Ladanum’s unflinching face. The dark Archmage’s wrist flicked in a dispelling motion and Hiro reared up on hind legs and cast over backwards as if struck by a wall of water.

  Thrum saw the blur of confused motion as Karina and Archendorf collapsed to the ground, pinned beneath their mount. Thrum was a little behind Hiro and his steadfast steed leapt with ease into the air, straight over the wreckage and even over Ladanum’s head. Time seemed to have stopped for Thrum. As if watching himself in slow-motion he knew Fawn with her mighty leap carried him within striking distance of the broomstick and the mages aboard. His heart was mid-beat, his eyes fixed the scroll, aware of the tableau beneath him, of Ladanum’s tilted back head and unbelieving gaze, Karina and Archendorf struggling to free themselves.

  This was his moment to be a hero.

  Grasping the pommel, he reached out his other hand, the scroll suddenly close, so very close. Valgus, too shocked to move all but his eyes, could only watch his own hand as Thrum’s straining fingers brushed the edges of the scroll.

  In that fraction of an instant the scroll tugged a little, caught between Thrum’s index and forefinger. A hero…

  Time accelerated again. In a sudden rush, Gehmat powered the broomstick and Valgus surged away. Thrum fell forward into recently vacated air, thrashing wildly, managing to cling to the saddle as Fawn reached apogee and came to ground again, her front hooves striking earth, her muscles rippling to take up the shock.

  The broomstick overhead spiralled upward and in moments a mere speck heading directly west towards the Crylock. The scroll was gone.

  Fawn’s momentum took her several long strides past the others and by the time Thrum wheeled about Karina and Archendorf were on their feet, bracing themselves before the evil Archmage. Time seemed to be trying to make up for its lack previously, for everything seemed sped up. Thrum fumbled in the tangled folds of his cloak for the cruciform and by the time he looked up again Archendorf was mid-air, throwing himself with reckless abandon like a mauling bear.

  Archendorf’s speed almost had Ladanum, but it takes more than human speed to catch an Archmage off-guard. A waved hand, and Ladanum batted Archendorf away like a fly, deflecting the big man impossibly into the air where he hung as is suspended between giant invisible hands. Ladanum held his arms outstretched and moved them apart slowly. Archendorf screamed overhead, the voodoo magic tearing one half of his body from the other. The sounds of ligament straining merged with his defiant angry cries.

  Karina cast a spell of her own. She reached down, hauled on an ethereal weight, and the earth at her feet puffed and ran in a line towards Ladanum as if she were flicking up a buried cable. It snaked rapidly about in a neat circle, throwing Ladanum to the ground, legs ensnared.

  It saved Archendorf’
s life. Like a discarded toy, he shot into a boulder, where he lay if not breathing, then at least whole.

  Ladanum raised himself like a vampire from the coffin, striking the ground with the flats of his hands and pivoting upright about his heels. He paused, head cocked, looking Karina up and down.

  “You are of the Ivory Tower, that I can see. But how dare you challenge me!”

  “I’m not afraid of you.” Karina’s eyes flashed, her lips a tight determined line.

  “Then you obviously don’t know me,” said Ladanum. With slow movements, he reached up and cast back his voluminous hood.

  Karina gave a momentary start. She recognised the dark skin, the close-cropped greying hair, the little goatee. Ladanum was a man of intimidating physical bulk, his shoulders broad, neck thick with muscle.

  “Give up your little quest,” he said. “It is lost!”

  She felt her heart stutter as if on command from his words, words that took on a simple power of their own, not magic but something deeper.

  She snapped herself back into control and spoke firmly, trying to keep her voice level. “No, Ladanum. I’m not afraid of you.”

  Ladanum laughed. His closely set eyes squinted in sudden determination as he conjured tendrils of black cloud from his body. The brewing thunderheads billowed, growing in substance and roiling about Karina, who stood her ground firm, the clouds enveloping her diminutive form.

  Karina breached the darkness with an incantation that came with a defiant shout, the clouds of stabbing lightening driven apart and scattering as rapidly evaporating mist, leaving her free once again, on her knees, head bowed, arms cast out to either side.

  Ladanum paused, a cat playing with its prey discovering the mouse had teeth. The Archmage’s eyes smouldered black as he drew deep from inner strength to strike a deadly blow with all his might upon this pesky upstart. He pinched his fingers together and almost delicately raised them to his lips and puffed a breath over them.

  Meanwhile Thrum had dismounted, torn between the ongoing battle and rushing to help Archendorf. He held the cruciform in one hand, his head snapping backwards and forwards between the two combatants. He had felt the dark heavy pressure of the storm clouds, and knew that although Karina had warded them away easily enough, she was desperately outmatched. He knew, as she surely did, that she only bought time. Time for he and Archendorf to escape.

  The stony ground surrounding Ladanum started rippling and many helmed heads sprouted like mushrooms, lifting skywards, exposing the bodies of earthen warriors. Their flesh, clothing, helmets and chain mail were all a uniform dusty grey. Thrum stumbled aside as one emerged practically from under his feet. He need not have shrunk away for the stony warrior’s mechanically intent visage betrayed neither emotion nor spark of life. There were at least fifty, no, more like one hundred now, focused intently on Karina. Their feet emerged at the same time, a synchronised snapping as if from moulds, the warriors charging forward voicelessly, rushing inwards in a shrinking radius.

  Ladanum did not relent or wait for the tit-for-tat parry and riposte of the traditional magical battle exchange, as many more old-fashioned mages may have done. He intended to finish this quickly with overwhelming force. He raised his arms and called aloud in an ancient tongue, summoning a comet of fire from the sky.

  The warriors raised earthern blades as they drew upon Karina, she seemed too shocked to even move a single muscle. Ladanum saw a slight ghostly flicker to her form and instantly saw through the ruse and cast a finding spell. Teleportation spells could only cover short distances and they left a telltale bluish mist in their wake. In the same instant the earthen warriors smashed together into Karina’s dissolving decoy Ladanum diverted the comet of fire, channelling it into the teleportation trail.

  It was only the fact that Karina had not paused for breath that saved her. The ball of searing heat blasted the air she had recently re-materialised in but moments before. The stench of sulphur filled the air, the smell of natural hot springs and rotten eggs, as the pool of fire spread, thinning as it did. Katrina danced away from the steaming tendrils as they petered to a stop.

  Still Ladanum’s strength did not falter as he reached into seemingly depthless reserves. He made a cupping motion with one hand that sealed Karina in a shimmering orb, a life-sized snow globe with warriors trapped with her, pivoting like automations and charging again. Karina felt the press of rising air pressure as the sphere shrunk, her ears aching and buzzing, her sense of balance skewed. Caught within she knew she could not teleport again. Her short sword was in her hand and ringing out as it shattered the blade of the nearest warrior in a shower of clods of dried mud. Swiftly she deflected a second blow, smashing the warrior’s head into tiny pieces.

  Thrum’s heart leapt as he saw the glassy sphere shrinking. Karina fought bravely, smashing foe after foe, but her movements were slowing and becoming desperate. With a cry Thrum pushed out a palm, in that instant no longer thinking anything at all, strangely calm. It was as if in the manic flurry another part of his mind had taken over, leaving the rest simply taking it all in.

  The power from his fingers shocked Thrum. He had tapped into something hidden but familiar, a sensation as intangible as smell, yet having the solidarity and rightness of a childhood memory.

  This power was his.

  The shrinking sphere did not simply fade; it literally shattered into thousands of fragments as if made of eggshell-thin glass. The magic rush cleared the ground of stone warriors in a sweep of wind accompanied by the sound of breaking pottery.

  Ladanum did not move, his face twisting uglily. Karina moved her eyes in Thrum’s direction in a curious mixture of admiration and stricken anguish. He could read that look – it said, ‘Why didn’t you flee while you could?’

  Ladanum cast out a hand in Karina’s direction and said a two-word spell. A terrific crack tore open in the ground, shooting towards Karina like an arrow and the rock wall at her back splitting with a tremendous crack. Karina doubled over, gasping and coughing blood.

  Ladanum turned in Thrum’s direction.

  “And you must be the scrollbearer. I have something special for you…”

  The air above Thrum’s head tore apart with a ripping noise, a small pinprick of blackness that rapidly stretched with a sound that made one’s hair stand on end. It stretched, peeling away the fabric of space, revealing a deep blackness beyond, growing and growing until it was an arm width wide. A wind picked up, gentle at first but growing to a roar as air rushed to fill the hungry void beyond the portal. Thrum fell to his knees, scrambling with fingernails into the ground for purchase as the folds of his cloak whipped and snapped. Squinting against the whirling sand he managed to pull himself a few steps away, feeling weightless, on the verge of lift-off.

  A figure descended from the portal, lowering in a few awkward stages from the rim, feet wavering uncertainly above the ground for a moment before letting go and dropping the last little way.

  Thrum strained his eyes against the stinging sand. “Mum?”

  It was too strange to be true, but he could not deny his eyes. She looked as she had just before she’d died four years ago, a little scruffy as if she’d just woken up, that woollen shawl she always wore about her shoulders, peering and squinting despite proclaiming when quizzed that she saw perfectly and did not need glasses.

  “What…What are you doing here?” he said.

  His mother shooed the dust irritably as she hobbled in Thrum’s direction. “There you are,” she cried. “Come on, we’ve got to get you out of here.”

  “But… you’re dead.”

  “Pah! I’ve more magic in me that you think, my boy. Come on, we have somewhere safe for you. You can bring your friends too, I’ll get them. You just get yourself up in there quick smart!” She hauled him upright by the arm and started to propel him towards the portal.

  “There, you’ll soon be safe, come along, come along,” she doddered.

  Thrum saw a shadow rise up behind his moth
er’s head. His mind in a state of blank shock did not register Archendorf, a mighty stone block between hands raised up high.

  The stone was clearly heavy and at the limit of Archendorf’s strength. He brought it down squarely upon his mother’s head and it exploded into a thousand rocky shards upon impact, driving the woman’s neck down into her body like a stake into the ground.

  Archendorf’s now empty hands followed through and he staggered off-balance into the wailing woman. Her eyes had popped clear of her head and writhed about on stalks, her hands flailing and grabbing, finding Archendorf’s vest and drawing the big man in close.

  Thrum fell back as the thing transformed before his eyes, the illusion shattered and transforming into its natural shape. Horns sprouted from its head, the hair falling off in ugly mats revealing a blotched and bald scalp, clawed fingers doubling in length, the illusion of the old woman’s clothing fading into nothingness, exposing a gnarled, long limbed and red-skinned demon-being.

  Thrum scrambled away on his back like an upside-down spider. One of his fluffy rabbit slippers came off but he hardly noticed. He could only watch as Archendorf grappled, he and the demon locked in a struggle that caused them to roll away. Thrum felt the wind increasing, plucking insistently at his cloak, as the portal grew and grew. He knew he had to do something.

  For every spell there is a counter-spell, and the trick to magic is to know that counter. An average scholar would know the portal spell has no counter, its appetite insatiable. Thrum was no ordinary scholar. Reading scores of hours every day, drinking knowledge and learning every spare moment, his mind was a sponge. He knew the only way to counter a portal.

  Thrum began to incant. Words came to his mouth easily, as if the exact text lay right there before him, one he had practiced in the past but of course never completed.

  This time everything was different. The wall had broken. He knew where to find his strength, he knew the trick.

  “Erogarth upar, narshanth urgol hal, erogarth ulum hadgar ulum.”

  Description defies the experience of casting a powerful spell; his whole being lifted and tossed about, the last words sending a shock rocketing through his body, power drawn from every ligament draining him instantly and leaving his mind stripped.

  Another portal formed in the sky just to the side of the original - the portal that he had summoned. Thrum saw the blackness within, writhing shapes of dragons and sprites. It grew alongside the other, both portals wavering and shimmering as edges hovered closer and closer. The surface tension broke like two pools of water flowing into one as the edges finally touched, both portals shrieking with the intake of great torrents of air now feeding off one another. With a sharp and rather unceremonious pop both disappeared into one another, a snake that had eaten itself from the tail up. The gale ceased immediately.

  In the strange new silence Thrum opened his eyes to see Archendorf had gotten the better of the demon. He had it trapped in a wrestler’s body hold, his legs trapping its flailing clawed arms that judging by the blood on them had scored a few telling blows. With grim determination Archendorf grabbed the demon’s slippery hairless head between two massive palms and gave a mighty twist, the muscles in his arms bulging. The demon’s neck made a loud crack and spun a fully backwards.

  A slow, mocking applause made Archendorf look up. Ladanum was close by, clapping slowly and shaking his head in wonderment. “You people amaze me. Don’t you see, we’re just trying to help.”

  He raised a finger and blasted a ball of molten fire. Archendorf dodged, rolling neatly and with surprising agility for one so large. He was not quick enough. The edge of the fireball struck him with enough force to whip his head backwards, the stench of searing flesh blossoming into the air. Like a rag doll he struck a stone, the air heavy with the tension of his agony that could not find release from his throat.

  Red-hot rage swelled with Thrum. The cruciform was still in his hand. Without thinking he drew an arm and flung the thing with all the strength of his fury in a flat backhand throw like a discus. It spun horizontally through the air towards Ladanum in a golden flash, transforming smoothly mid-flight, gleaming silver edge extending in a blur.

  Ladanum saw it coming and raised a protective arm. The sword swished through the black cloak sleeve and continued. For a moment, Thrum thought the Archmage had dodged. Great splashes of crimson spun from the sword as it loped away like a wolf returning to the shadow.

  Ladanum’s hand fell to the ground, sliced cleanly through. An expression of twisted surprise contorted his face as his head teetered then, as if in slow motion, tilted backwards, the neck severed cleanly. The headless body stood upright for a long moment before it, too, toppled forward. A blue rippling of magic sparked about the body, flaring into a peak before slowly fading away.

  Thrum watched for what seemed a long time, his limbs seemingly set in concrete, his jaw hanging wide.

  “Bugger me dead,” he muttered under his breath after some time, the words in his ears breaking the spell of immobility. His sipped quick glimpses about the clearing for his friends, quickly returning his gaze to the decapitated corpse should leap into life. It seemed Archendorf had not moved from his curled position on the ground, and although Karina stood, she was doubled over in pain.

  Archendorf was the closer. Thrum sidled in his direction, his feet feeling like lead, his head buzzing with adrenalin overflow. Karina straightened carefully and took long deep breaths, forcing herself in a staggering limp towards Thrum.

  “Do you think he’s dead?” asked Thrum.

  Karina gave a solemn nod. “That was a magic blade. Normal steel cannot harm an Archmage, but that thing...” She shook her head. “You are full of surprises. How is your friend?”

  Thrum cradled Archendorf’s unconscious head. A large gash leaked blood above closed eyes and one side of his face torn with burns.

  “Here, let me help.” Karina’s fingers drifted just above the wounds and she quietly spoke the words of spell. The blood stopped leaking and the burn marks closed over, leaving a rippled mat of skin.

  The big man gave a cough.

  “Arc!” Thrum yelled. “You’re alive!”

  “Always one to state the obvious.” Archendorf tried to lift his head. “Did we win?”

  “We got him,” said Thrum. “Thanks for saving my bacon back there.”

  “I thought that old hag had the best of you.”

  “Old hag? That was my mother.”

  Archendorf’s brows shot up. “Your what? No way, oh far out, I’m so sorry. From the back, you see, I could only see, well, you know, she was all hunched over and her hair, I mean, if you came across her in a dark alley you’d be, well, you know how trolls tend to look when they’re half in shadow, but no wait, I’m not saying that she-”

  “No, no, it’s ok, you did the right thing. It was an illusion, a trick to get me to follow. Besides, it was only my foster mother. I never knew my real parents…” Thrum trailed off, his eyes reflecting the troublesome thought that crossed his mind.

  Archendorf propped himself upright, his hand cupping the injured side of his face. “I think the bastard stung me a little,” he said, breaking the moment.

  Thrum shook his head, clearing it of the thought that had troubled him, and forced a grin.

  “You’ll have a nice scar to show the ladies,” said Karina. “But you’ll live.” She sat back on her heels and brushed a stray wisp of hair from her face. Thrum’s heart turned over in his chest at the perfection of the scene, everything seeming just right, Karina’s eyes flashing, her lips parting in a smile.

  “You know,” she continued, “a good part of me didn’t really believe you, right up until I actually saw Ladanum, I was half playing along with what I thought was your game. Who’d have thought a little known magician from a little known town would find the scroll of Archmage Taukin, after all these years.”

  Thrum shrugged, trying to find the words. Even after all they had been through, he still found talk
ing to her difficult. “I guess so.”

  Karina made a huffing noise under a breath, a noise conveying grudging admiration. “And to defeat Ladanum… Come on, we’d really be best to get out of here.”

  “The scroll,” said Archendorf. “Did we get it?”

  “Precisely why we have to get moving - they’ve taken it back to the Crylock.”

  “I was close,” said Thrum, recalling with clarity how his fingers had brushed the scroll before it had shot into the sky on the broomstick. “I almost had it.”

  “We’ve got to get it back,” said Archendorf, trying to get to his feet yet underestimating his giddiness and falling back on his butt.

  “No,” said Karina. “Once Taukin is restored to his body, it will take the combined strength of the Four Archmages to even hold off an attack, let alone mount an offensive. He is many times more powerful than the late Ladanum.”

  She raised her eyes to the sky, as if trying to determine their enemy’s strength. She knew that Taukin’s revival would trigger storms and powerful winds that would be felt the length and breadth of the land. The sky, so far, was clear.

  “So what, we just let it go?” said Archendorf.

  “Yes, we let it go.” Karina turned her attention back to Thrum. “Now that Taukin is restored, we need call on all our strengths. You must join us in the Ivory Tower, you’ve shown us your power.”

  “Me? What do you mean?”

  “Those were no novice spells, I saw them myself. You have talent.”

  “See,” said Archendorf. “I told you that you’d get it one day!”

  Thrum shook his head – things were happening way too fast. “I managed a couple of spells, yes, but-”

  “And the first is always the hardest. With tutoring, I’m pretty confident we’ll unearth something big. With time, you will learn the ways of magic at the Ivory Tower. Who knows, perhaps become one day you’ll become one of the greatest of Archmages, fighting for the side of light.”

  “I… I…” Thrum rubbed his forehead, for of course it was his dream to be a magician, and to be taken in by the Ivory Tower a privilege, but his heart was heavy with reluctance.

  “You had other plans?” asked Karina.

  Archendorf punched Thrum in the arm. “Sure he did, the motivational speech circuit, right Thrum?”

  Although Thrum did not allow himself to be drawn by Archendorf’s playfulness he had to admit he had a point. There was nothing for him back on Hamontoast, he was now a part of this thing.

  “Do you think there will be a war?” Thrum asked, already knowing the answer.

  Karina nodded. “There are things about the Crylock that few are privy to. They will be quick to claim what they believe is theirs.”

  “Do you think that I can possibility make a difference?”

  “That’s what we will find out.”

  “I guess so. It’s just that, well… I hope I do not fail you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Words dredged from Thrum as if from a great depth. “As… Taukin once did.”

  “Ah yes, the turncoat,” Karina sighed. “If it should come to that, my husband has an excellent dungeon from which no man has ever escaped.”

  Thrum gaped.

  Karina’s grin brightened her face, instantly dispelling the sombre mood.

  “Just kidding, you great lump! Now let’s get our back before all hell breaks loose.”