The Return

ONE

The Return

SUMMER 965 MC* (MECERIAN CALENDAR)

T

yrell Caracticus grimaced. It was not as if his students were simpletons, but sometimes they gave answers that just boggled the mind.

"No, no, no," he said. "The founder of the Dome, or rather of the Grand Edifice of the Arcane Wizards Council, to use its proper name, was not the High Mage Weldwyn. How could it be? He died in the very war that founded our realm."

"Was it King Loran?" offered Ekthyn Ramark.

"He provided the funds, of course, but would you honestly expect a king to know how to construct a building like this? Think, people. Use those brains that nature has blessed you with."

He looked around at the students but saw nothing except blank expressions staring back at him. Then the door opened, revealing a senior apprentice.

"Arcanus," the man said. "The magic circle has activated."

"Oh? How interesting. Are we expecting anybody?"

"No, sir."

It took only a moment for Tyrell to realize the implications. "It must be one of the Mercerian mages, coming for a visit. I'd best get up there before they appear."

"And your students, Arcanus?"

The mage turned to see their looks of wonder. "It appears we're all going down to welcome a foreign mage. Come along, students, and you'll see a true master of magic at work."

He led them outside the chamber and then up a flight of stairs to the casting circle. Ekthyn ran ahead, opening the door just in time to witness a cylinder of light flare up, blinding the vision of all who peered within.

The light dimmed, leaving a solitary figure standing unsteadily at its centre. Tyrell recognized Aegryth Malthunen, but she collapsed to the floor before he could get a word in.

"Aegryth?" he cried out in alarm as he rushed forward to investigate, only to spot fresh blood streaming from her eyes and ears. "My goodness, what's happened?"

"Shall I fetch a healer?" asked Ekthyn.

"We have no Life Mage. Arcanus Roxanne is with King Leofric." He looked down at his injured comrade, a thought coming to him. "You were with the king," he said.

A low moan escaped her lips. Bending over, he tried to make out her words to no avail. Then, suddenly, the runes began glowing again, signifying that yet another mage was attempting to use it.

"Come," he called out. "We must move her." He directed his students to assist, lifting Aegryth and carrying her outside the circle. They had just crossed the outer ring when another cylinder of light shot up to the ceiling, forcing everyone to avert their gaze.

It soon dissipated, and Tyrell allowed his eyes to re-adjust to the ambient light. Another person lay in the middle of the circle, this time face down. He ran across the room, hoping against all hope it wasn't what he feared, but when he saw blood pooling on the floor, he knew it was too late. Grasping the figure's shoulder, he turned the body over, revealing the blood-soaked countenance of Roxanne Fortuna, Weldwyn's only Life Mage.

He stared at her, not quite believing his eyes. Then, slowly, he became aware of someone beside him, and when he looked up, Ekthyn was staring down at him.

"What happened?" she asked, her face pale.

"She's dead," he replied. "Killed by the very power that brought her here."

"I don't understand."

"Perhaps you'd have a better understanding if you actually read your books," he snapped. Tears came to the young woman's eyes, and he immediately felt ashamed at his outburst. "Sorry," he added. "This is not an easy thing to witness." He stood facing the other students. "Arcanus Roxanne was an experienced mage, but even she had her limits. As you know, magic is powered by the energy found within each of us. When that energy is consumed, magic can eat away at our very flesh. Such was the fate of Mistress Roxanne." He gazed back at the body. "She must have been in a far, distant place. Either that or her energy had already been spent."

"And Lady Aegryth?" asked Ekthyn.

"Likely came from the same location." He failed to mention they'd been with the king, for now was not the time to foment unease amongst his students.

"Fetch Osbourne Megantis," he ordered, "and Gretchen Harwell, if she is about. Tell them to meet me in the library."

"What of Mistress Aegryth?"

"Take her to her quarters, and send a message to Queen Igraine—" He caught himself. "Never mind, I'll do it myself. Now, hurry. There's much to be done, and I can't waste any more time with you lot." They scurried off, leaving Tyrell with his thoughts.

The mages of Weldwyn prided themselves on their mastery of the arcane arts, yet one of their number was dead, and another's recovery in doubt. This was a loss of monumental proportions. Their deaths signified more than a lost comrade, for each was the sole master of their school of magic. Without Roxanne, there could be no further training of Life Mages, and Aegryth's knowledge of the magic of the earth was singular.

He briefly thought of their counterparts in Merceria. Would they help rebuild the mages of Weldwyn by taking over the education of their students? Somehow he doubted they would have the time.

The door opened, admitting Osbourne Megantis. The Fire Mage was in a typically foul mood, ready for an argument at any moment, but the sight of two prone mages evidently caused him to set such behaviour aside.

"Tyrell, what is going on here?"

"They both recalled to our circle."

Osbourne examined the Earth Mage, carefully prying open her eyelid. "Aegryth lives, but I fear she'll need time to recover." He glanced at the still form of the Life Mage. "Roxanne?"

Tyrell shook his head. "I'm sorry, she didn't make it."

"By the Gods," said Osbourne. "Do you know what this means?"

"I'm fully aware of the implications. There's no way in the Four Kingdoms that either of these mages would abandon their king. I'm afraid it can only lead to one conclusion—Leofric is dead."

Queen Igraine of Weldwyn waited as the Grand Mage made his entrance. He walked right up to her but then halted, his shuffling feet revealing his nervousness.

"If you have something to say, Arcanus, I suggest you say it."

"It pains me to be the bearer of sad tidings, Majesty," said Tyrell Caracticus. "It appears King Leofric is dead."

The queen paled. "What do you mean 'appears'?"

"I just came from the Dome, where only a short time ago, Aegryth Malthunen, our Earth Mage, recalled from gods know where. She was immediately followed by Roxanne Fortuna, but I'm sorry to inform you that the Life Mage is dead, consumed by the effort."

Incapable of responding, Igraine stared back, her mind, as yet, unable to articulate her feelings.

"Where is Aegryth?" she said at last. "I need confirmation of the king's death."

"She is resting at present, my queen, but due to the injuries sustained during the casting, she is incapable of speaking."

"Then we must find her a healer."

"We have none, Majesty. Lady Roxanne was the last master of such magic."

"Then find someone who deals in more… traditional medicine. We need to know what happened to Aegryth. The fate of the kingdom depends on it."

"You may rest assured we will do all we can."

"I shall count on it. Send word immediately if there's any improvement in Arcanus Aegryth."

"Yes, Majesty." Tyrell Caracticus bowed solemnly, then backed from the room.

Igraine turned to one of her ladies-in-waiting. "Inform my son, Alstan, he is needed here this instant."

The woman curtsied. "Yes, Your Majesty."

The queen looked around, but everyone avoided her gaze. She suddenly felt incredibly alone—a coldness gripping her heart. Could Leofric truly be dead? She mentally shook herself, for it was no easy task for someone to make such a claim in her presence. Such a thing would not have been done without a careful examination of the facts. The truth of the matter was the mages Aegryth and Roxanne had both accompanied the Royal Army when it set off to help the Mercerians in their Norland campaign. It was difficult to imagine a scenario where either might return without him, let alone both.

The door opened, admitting Prince Alstan. He was the spitting image of Leofric, and the sight of him only served to deepen the sense of loss felt by the queen.

"Is something wrong, Mother?"

"It is your father. I fear he has met an untimely end."

Alstan's eyes widened. "Are you sure?"

"As sure as we can be. The two mages who accompanied the army have returned. One is dead and the other too weak to speak at present." She watched as the full import of the words dawned on her son.

"The army…"

"Is likely destroyed. Why else would the mages abandon it?"

"But surely their duty would be to bring back his body?"

"Indeed," said the queen, "but, as of yet, we have no idea of what transpired. It may well be that such an act was deemed impossible, for whatever reason."

"If that's true, the entire Norland campaign would be in jeopardy. We must get word to our allies."

"I considered that, but until we know for certain, such a message might only sow confusion. My hope is Aegryth recovers, and then we can learn the truth of what has occurred."

"We should at least send riders to Merceria."

"No," insisted Igraine. "Until we have confirmation, we shall wait. I shouldn't like to spread false rumours."

"But they could be in danger!"

"Do you not think I know that?" she snapped. "Your father would want us to think dispassionately, and losing those men makes us vulnerable. If word gets back to the Clans, they'll be across the border in a thrice."

"I hardly expect they're in any position to do so," said Alstan. "We gave them a good thrashing the last time they attempted an invasion, and we still have their High King rotting in our dungeons."

"Do not underestimate the Clans," she warned. "They are a treacherous people, ready to seize any opportunity to destroy us."

"What of the Crown?"

"I shall rule in your father's stead until we have confirmation of his death. In the meantime, we must make arrangements for your own coronation, should it prove necessary."

"And the army?"

"You must raise the militia with all haste. Only by projecting the image of strength can we keep our enemies at bay."

"Surely," said Alstan, "they knew Father had gone north?"

"Yes, but any thoughts of invasion would have been tempered by the belief he could return at any moment at the head of a massive army. With that hope now dashed, they'll see it as a golden opportunity to finish what they started four years ago."

"I still say we owe it to Merceria to tell them what has happened."

"And we shall," said the queen, "but sending word now would only cause havoc. Once we learn the true story of what transpired, we'll send Gretchen Harwell. She is quite capable of using her magic to travel to Wincaster. A day or two's delay won't make much of a difference to our allies, but it will, hopefully, provide us with information that could prove invaluable to them."

"And what of Alric?"

"What of him? He's in Wincaster, is he not?"

"No, Mother, he is with the Mercerian army in Norland."

The queen's countenance turned frosty. "Why wasn't I informed?"

"It's not my place to be my brother's keeper. He is prince consort to a queen. You can hardly expect him to do your bidding."

"Is that what you assume? That I try to control him?"

"These are trying times, and I know you only want what's best for Alric, but you must give him the freedom to make his own choices."

"I worry about him," said the queen. "And now that your father is no longer amongst us, I feel lost."

"I'm still here, Mother."

She reached out to take his hand. "I know you are, Alstan. I know. Where are your sisters?"

"Edwina is at her lessons."

"And Althea?"

"In the stables, I would expect. We can't seem to pry her out of that place of late."

The queen chuckled. "She shares her father's fascination with horses."

"She's quite an accomplished rider," added Alstan. "I recall you were no slouch in that area yourself."

"That was long ago before your sisters were born."

They sat in silence awhile, the rest of the court continuing to keep a respectful distance. Alstan reached out, placing his hand on that of the queen.

"We will get through this, Mother. I promise you."

Tyrell Caracticus looked at Ekthyn. "Are you sure you can do this?"

"Yes," the young woman replied. "That is to say, I believe I can. I've never actually cast the spell before."

The Grand Mage managed to avoid a grimace. New students were notoriously shy when it came to casting spells, and now he was asking Ekthyn to cast one she had never before attempted. No wonder she was nervous.

"Take your time," he soothed, "and remember to breathe." She glanced down at the book and commenced reading the words of power.

"Remember," he continued, "you must use your mind to imagine what it is that you're healing."

"But nothing's happening!"

"Concentrate, and put everything else out of your mind. Some mages find it beneficial to wave their hands around. It acts to keep their minds focused."

She tried again, and this time Tyrell felt the buzz of magical energy as if a swarm of bees had entered the room.

"Good, good," he said. "Now, keep it going."

The power began to build, and then the student's hands lit up with a pale white light. Her eyes went wild as she witnessed the transformation.

"Now, put your hands onto Mistress Aegryth before the spell dissipates."

As she placed her hands onto the unconscious Earth Mage, the light flowed into the woman's body. Aegryth's eyes opened.

"Where am I?" she croaked out.

"You're back in Summersgate," said Tyrell, "at the Dome."

The Earth Mage sat up but was obviously still weak. "The Dome? Oh yes, I remember now."

"What happened, Aegryth? You appeared unexpectedly."

"Roxanne!" the Earth Mage called out.

"She arrived shortly after you, but, unfortunately, the spell of recall proved too much for her, and she perished."

"We were attacked by an army of ghosts. The king is dead. We tried to save him, but there were just too many of them. Our only hope of escape was to use recall, but we had to cast in a hurry."

"Why did you each cast recall?" asked Tyrell. "Could you and Roxanne not have travelled using the same spell?"

"We were separated during the battle. It was terrible, so much death and destruction."

"Who led this army?"

"I don't know. We saw robed figures amongst their ranks, but from where I stood, I could see little of their leader."

"Was there no defence against them?"

"We inflicted casualties," said Aegryth, "but for every spirit that fell, two more were ready to take their place. They overwhelmed us."

"Overwhelmed? That was the largest army Weldwyn has ever assembled? How could it possibly be overwhelmed?"

"You don't understand," she pleaded. "They're creatures of the spirit world. They never tire, and each Weldwyn warrior that falls adds to their numbers."

Tyrell paled. "How do we fight such creatures?"

"If there's a way to do it, it's beyond me."

"And you are sure the king is dead?"

"I saw him fall with my own eyes," she sobbed out. "He led a group of horsemen directly into the enemy ranks before he was cut down, along with every single one of his companions."

Tyrell sat in silence, contemplating what he had learned. He had no doubt Aegryth's recollection was sound, but it promised far worse to come, for the men of Weldwyn would now be added to the ranks of this army of ghosts. How do you fight an army that never tires? That absorbs the dead as new warriors? The prospect was frightening, and even the thought of it terrified him.

He'd spent a lifetime dedicated to the study of magic, but that study had, admittedly, led to a soft life behind the hallowed walls of the Dome. Some said he was the most powerful spellcaster in the kingdom, but now he struggled to see how his skills might be used to help defend that which he held so dear.

"We must get word to the Mercerians," said Aegryth. "I can use the spell of recall; I've been to Wincaster before."

"No. You are still recovering from your encounter. Mistress Harwell has made the trip before, so I shall send her in your stead. Can you tell us where you met this foe?"

"We were far to the north, near a place called Hakenell."

"The name means nothing to me, but I will pass it along. Now, you need to rest. Your body requires time to recover."

"I cannot, Tyrell. The danger to our kingdom is too great."

"Precisely why you SHOULD. At the moment, you couldn't resist the efforts of a flea, let alone an army of spirits. The time for fighting will come, but until then, you must recover your strength." He left her, stepping outside to find Gretchen Harwell waiting for him.

"You were looking for me, Tyrell?"

"I was," he replied. "Doubtless, you've heard what occurred?"

"I have."

"We need you to get word to our allies in Wincaster."

"And if the Queen of Merceria is not in the capital?"

"Then take whatever steps necessary to find her. Travel into Norland if you must, but take care. The enemy is powerful, and we can't afford to lose another mage. We have few enough as it is."

"When do I leave?" she asked.

"Soon, but first I must report to the queen, and she may wish for you to carry a message. I shall seek you out when I return. Until then, you should rest and conserve your strength."

"Anything else?"

"Yes. If you feel so inclined, pray to Malin for wisdom. It may be the only thing that can save us."