Magician Reborn (Book 2) Page 8

  “How do you think he escaped the explosion?”

  “Judging from the amount of damage to the Tower,” the senior teacher went on, “it would have required a very powerful shield of protection, and from what we know of the Testing it hardly requires any mana at all. Some of the more adept students have been known to pass the Testing without using any power.”

  “There is little reason for a student undergoing the Testing to use so much energy,” chimed in another teacher who stood against the far wall. He was wearing a long black robe which he hugged tightly to himself to ward off the morning chill blowing into room. “We’ve all passed the Testing, we know what they’re up against. Nothing they face requires so much mana, so it seems impossible the student was responsible for his own protection.”

  “So if he didn’t have the mana to build such a shield, then someone helped him. Even though it was for the boy’s ultimate safety, it infers an external interference, thus voiding the Testing.”

  Those assembled in the Headmasters chamber looked around at each other in the hope that someone could find fault with the logic. They had all been there after the explosion, along with a lot of other staff and students, and they had all witnessed the young man being teleported to the infirmary without a mark showing on his body. Even his clothes had remained unscathed.

  “For Xander to survive, not only the explosion but also fall several hundred feet to the courtyard, was impossible without some kind of magical assistance. Therefore, whoever saved him was either at the right place at the right time, or knew the attack was going to occur.”

  Headmaster Bishop held up a hand, commanding silence. “There is one other option we have not considered.”

  “You’re suggesting the Tower saved him?” The plump senior teacher asked incredulously.

  “It may be possible,” replied the headmaster. “There is enough magic imbued within the walls of the Tower, who knows what it may be capable of?”

  “Granted the Tower is enchanted, but alive?”

  “Not alive,” he paused as though searching for the correct word to use, “but aware. Maybe, sensing a threat to itself or the student, the Tower responded in an act of preservation.”

  “That is stretching credibility, Headmaster,” spoke up the black robed teacher, “but with no other logical explanation we can only assume someone or something intervened at the last moment. The boy is very lucky indeed to have survived.”

  “I fear that it may not be the last attempt on his life though,” said the Headmaster, “which is why everyone outside this room must believe he did not survive. Only the few of us gathered here will know the truth, sworn to secrecy, until we find those responsible.”

  “You trust us so little that you would ask us to be Oath-sworn?” The mousey woman said with a nervous glance at her fellow teachers, looking for support.

  “It is not a matter of how much I trust you, you have all been exemplary teachers here at the Academy and have earned my unconditional trust, however, I believe the knowledge of Xander’ survival to be of paramount importance and would only place him in further danger should those seeking his demise learn the truth.”

  Headmaster Bishop walked over to a tall bookcase that held old leather-bound books and tomes, as well as an odd assortment of small devices. From among the collection of various stones and crystals he took a metallic disk about the size of an orange and inset with a blue sapphire in the middle. As he brought it forth those gathered around could make out an intricate pattern of lines and runic symbols around the disks circumference.

  One by one, beginning with the Headmaster, those assembled drew upon their mana and slowly channelled into the artefact which they touched lightly with their fingertips. “We agree to be Oath-sworn,” the Headmaster intoned, “to never reveal the truth; that the student, Xander of the Meridian Academy, survived the explosion upon the Tower of Testing. To break this Oath we invite swift and utter destruction. I so swear.”

  “I so swear,” the assembled teachers repeated.

  The sapphire glowed brilliantly for a moment as each magician was bound to the Oath of secrecy, and as the blue light died down the teachers tentatively released the artefact, sharing a brief nervous look with each other. To be Oath-sworn was very serious, and even contemplating breaking it made those gathered shiver in fear; you don’t just die, you are obliterated.

  Chapter Eight

  “M’Lord!” The voice was muffled, indistinct, but carried with it a note of urgency.

  Opening his eyes slowly, Marduk inwardly cursed the gods for the worst hangover. A barrel of ale and several jugs of wine were probably too much for a single person under normal circumstances; however it was all too effective at making him forget the past few days. For a brief moment Marduk could not recall who or where he was, but as his vision cleared and the world stopped spinning thought returned to his sluggish mind.

  He thought the pounding was only in his head, but soon it was repeated, and Marduk realised it came from the locked door across the room. Fighting a wave of dizziness, he slowly sat up on the low bed, and with a small gesture of his hand the door unlocked with an audible click. For a brief moment silence reigned, as the person beyond paused to enter.

  Fearing the ale and wine had dulled his senses too much, Marduk recalled at the last moment the door was also enchanted. Had anyone tried, friend or foe, they would be nothing more than a pile of ash by now. Anyone who sought to gain unauthorised access to his room would not survive crossing the threshold, such was the ferocity of the spell that waited to be unleashed should the door be opened. After a moment of concentration, Marduk annulled the protection ward.

  Sensing the door was no longer protected a lone figure rushed into the room and knelt before his master. Knowing the message to be of great importance he began reciting the words told to him a short while ago on the castle’s wall. “M’Lord, the Northern wall has run out of auxiliary units so reinforcements are being brought from the West. Siege ships have finally been deployed to the East and South. Commander Varras expects bombardment to begin soon while the main force assembles for another attack on the Main gates.”

  “What about sappers?” Marduk replied, his voice came out raspy. He really needed a drink of water, and looking about the room he spied a pitcher on a nearby table. Ignoring the messenger, Marduk got up and crossed the room. No wonder he felt so terrible; he was still wearing bits of armour. In his exhausted state he must have forgotten to properly undressed before literally falling into bed.

  Not content to suffer aches and bruises all day, he gathered a little mana and wove it into a healing spell. Instantly he felt better, and the grandfather of headaches was lowered to just an annoying ache behind his eyes. Chastising himself for wasting mana on something so trivial, Marduk vowed to be more conservative with his power. Several days of fighting had sapped his strength, and now cut off from his mana source, the essence of life was just too precious.

  It had not always been so. Ever since coming to this world, mana had been more than abundant. Raw mana crossed the depths of space from a relatively young Sun, coalescing in the lands and forests and oceans. The primitive inhabitants were ignorant to the very existence of mana, worshipping the Sun instead for its ability to banish the darkness. Now, many thousands of years later since the first crossing, the closest repository of mana was being threatened.

  Dark magicians, along with their minion horde, created a huge drain on the local sources of mana, leaving very little for those fortified inside the castle. It was a common tactic, one he was all too familiar with – surround your enemy and cut them off from their power. Underestimating the dark mages initial strength, Marduk should have at least seen this coming. With no access to a mana source every magician within the castle will eventually run out, and at that point their defences will fall and everyone dies. That’s why his final plan had to succeed – failure was no longer an option.

  “We haven’t detected any work to move underground; they probabl
y want to wait us out, knowing we’re going to run out of power sooner rather than later.”

  A slight smile creased the corners of Marduk’s mouth. “Now it is their turn to underestimate our strength. Tell Commander Varras to continue as planned, and hold on for as long as possible. Hopefully today we shall gain a small reprieve.” Marduk took several swigs from the earthenware jug, thankful for the water’s coolness. The messenger boy bowed hastily and retreated from the room silently. Putting the water jug down, Marduk began removing the bits of armour still strapped to his lean body.

  A lifetime of fighting, both with sword and magic, had honed his physical form into a lithe killing machine. Strengthened beyond mortal limits by magic he would wade into battle and cut down any who stood against him. Preferring magical weapons designed to harm magicians he was now forced to rely on mundane blades, for now. His personal arsenal would only waste too much energy - energy now vital for the completion of his final project which required mana he currently did not possess.

  Donning more comfortable attire, Marduk put aside thoughts of mana and projects to concentrate on more pressing matters; the enemy had finally decided to test the strength and resolve of those remaining in the castle. On his way to the north wall he was intercepted by messengers from various quarters of the Keep, and quickly dealing with each matter he eventually made his destination. The original command platform, built a long time ago, overlooked the castle grounds with a perfect eagles-eye view of the surrounding lands. Unfortunately, had it not been for a lucky strike the stone platform would have remained intact, now it showed signs of recent reconstruction where the large stone had hit.

  Commander Varras turned at the sound of approaching steps, these ones familiar to him. “I appreciate you coming so quickly, but you should be resting.”

  “The wound is almost healed, although I could have done without the morning headache.”

  “A small price to pay for your life,” Varras pointed out, although he knew his lord was not really paying attention, but staring out at the enemy forces arrayed against them. Commander Varras didn’t need to tell him how many there were, the numbers grew every day, swelling the ranks by thousands. “You intend to proceed with this insane plan? If it works, it will only buy us a little extra time, but not much.”

  “I am almost finished,” said Marduk, “but the final piece requires mana I do not have.”

  “Dark mana is hard to come by, since we’re trapped here. Otherwise, only those versed in the dark arts are able to channel it in great quantity, which means, someone over there,” Commander Varras pointed vaguely in the direction of the assembled host, “needs to be brought over here.”

  “Easier said than done, I know. Somehow we need to capture at least one magician and drain their energy. It is now vital to our survival.”

  “I’ll say an extra prayer to the Gods; we’ll need their favour today.”

  “How are the men?” Marduk asked, swiftly changing the subject.

  “Of the two thousand we began with,” replied Varras, “we’re down to less than a thousand able men and about two hundred wounded. Unfortunately, the Healers are critically low on mana, and will only operate on those with a good chance of survival.”

  “What of the dead?”

  “We don’t have enough room to bury them. We thought about burning the bodies but the smell may disturb the soldiers. The only other option would be a burial at sea, but with that blockade assembled we wouldn’t have much chance of getting through even if we did have enough ships.”

  Lord Marduk considered the options, and coming to a decision gave his orders. “Throw the bodies over the wall, today.”

  “M’Lord? There are proper burial procedures which must be taken care of. Dumping the bodies like garbage over the walls will only attract sharks and other sea scavengers.”

  “Trust me, old friend. There may be another way of breaking this blockade, but it requires some assistance.”

  “If you say so,” said Commander Varras, careful not to show his uncertainty. Motioning for a messenger to approach, he quickly passed on a list of instructions. Saluting, the soldier quickly left to deliver his message.

  Turning back to observe the enemy forces, Varras couldn’t quite shake his feelings of anxiety. At least Ten thousand soldiers were bivouacked in the surrounding lands and mountains, forming a human barrier against escape via land. That was not the only barrier that prevented escape; a magically created shield had been erected around the castle which effectively cut off those inside from drawing mana further afield. With that shield in place they could only rely on their own power to create spells, and as the days passed they were only getting weaker.

  Glancing surreptitiously at the tall magician by his side, the Commander wondered what secret plan was being devised to break through the enemy’s defences. They still required a source of dark mana, which meant capturing an enemy mage, which in itself seemed impossible. But he had faith in his Lord; they had fought together for many years and been in more desperate situations than this.

  “Commander Varras.” The voice brought him out of his partial reverie and suddenly noticed it had gotten unnaturally dark. On the platform appeared a smoky form, indistinct at first but soon gained definition, and those gathered around could make out a red-cloaked man. Soldiers wielding crossbows levelled their weapons at the figure but a raised hand from their Commander stopped them from firing.

  “It’s only an illusion,” he said to the soldiers on the wall, “no cause to be alarmed, it cannot harm us.”

  “Well met Commander,” the illusory man replied, his voice came out like a whisper but carried far enough for all the soldiers to hear. “I wish to convey a message from my Master: Open the gates and you shall all be spared and given safe passage from these lands.”

  “With only your ‘masters’ word as guarantee? Forgive us if we find it difficult to trust only words,” Marduk spoke up, stepping forward to identify himself.

  “The Lord of the Keep is indeed wise. What would you ask of us to prove our sincerity?”

  Without hesitation Marduk replied. “Lower the barrier around the castle.”

  The phantom man laughed. “We would, if we thought you’d keep your end of the deal. No, the shield stays in place. You have until midday to open your gates and leave.”

  In a swirl of smoke and darkness the illusion imploded upon itself, leaving the platform sunlit once more.

  “I was at least hoping for more time,” said Varras.

  “It will have to be enough. Make sure everything is in order, and let me know when they prepare to marshal against the Keep.”

  Commander Varras saluted in acknowledgment, clenched fist over heart.

  Horns blared in the distance, summoning the soldiers to form ranks. Through the plumes of dust kicked up by thousands of feet something resembling an army took shape. The ranks may not have been perfectly straight or matching armour worn by every soldier, but the glint from polished weapons showed the enemy were at least prepared for a fight.

  The horns changed tune and began a slow cadence in time with the beating of large hide drums. As the soldiers were ordered forward they started up a rhythmic chant to match the horns and drums. Over ten thousand voices rose up in a dark litany, a paean to their barbaric Gods, praying for courage during battle.

  Those standing resolute on the walls remained silent.

  Behind the ranks of the enemy came lumbering siege engines pulled by large woolly mammoths. These towering creatures were twice the height of their lesser cousin the elephant, and completely covered in thick course hair due to the freezing climates of the North from where they had been taken. As if crossing an invisible line the siege engines unleashed their deadly load, and a barrage of stones were sent sailing through the clear blue sky to rain destruction on the castle walls. Only the man-sized rocks didn’t make it all the way.

  Like many times over the past few days the stones slowed down and eventually lose all forward momentum
, falling impotently to the ground. The base of the castle’s walls looked more like the site of ancient ruins, with shattered stones scattered haphazardly wherever they landed, and as the advancing army closed the distance they soon became hindered by their own ammunition. However, as more stones were thrown they penetrated the magical barrier further, until one in ten eventually smashed against the stalwart walls of the Keep.

  The first dozen ranks of enemy soldiers slowly navigated the rocky terrain, but those behind grew impatient at the slow pace and decided to push forward. Like a tsunami, the front ranks of soldiers dissolved into chaos as they were trampled from behind. Hundreds perished within minutes until a semblance of order could be restored, but the surging army soon found themselves mired as the pulped flesh of their fallen comrades turning the soil into mud.

  With the bulk of the army stalled a hundred feet from the walls Commander Varras gave the signal. A nearby soldier raised a red banner and suddenly there was a flurry of activity down in the courtyard as runners disappeared into a recently dug tunnel. For long tense minutes nothing appeared to happen, but then one runner returned, followed by yet more, and eventually came soldiers covered in dirt and grime.

  One of the returned dirty soldiers yelled instructions to a nearby group with shovels and picks and soon work began to collapse the tunnel entrance. Commander Varras glanced at a small sand timer which had been turned over when his first order had been given. It had just run out of sand.

  The banner-man dropped his flag and raised a horn to his lips. A quick succession of short bursts could be heard by all around the castle keep, and those in the courtyard working on the tunnel dropped their tools and scattered in every direction. Those on the walls, to a man, dropped down onto their stomachs.

  If these actions had been seen or understood by the enemy they did not seem to be aware of its significance. Trying to advance, with bloodlust in their hearts and war-chants on their tongues, the very earth they trod suddenly heaved violently upwards.