The Rogue Elf of Urlas- Songs of Wrath Read online

  The necromancer smiled. “I will not lie; I am not a simple student, as you say, but I am still learning. To learn, I must practice. To practice, well, villagers must die.”

  She began to walk again, leaving Ruak.

  Kealin walked up to Ruak, and Jesia and Brethor continued on.

  “If you’re wondering if I trust her,” Ruak whispered, “I do not.”

  “No,” said Kealin, “but we must tolerate her. Vakron-Tur was involved with whomever these ‘five’ are, and my brother said for us to seek them. But I don’t expect us to agree with them.”

  Veora led them to a large circular structure that lay overgrown in the middle of a circle of elder trees. Archways stood at random around the general grounds. Between one of the several archways near the structure, there was a tattered green cloth flapping in the wind.

  She walked up to the archway and placed her staff into a star-shaped cut in the stone. The pillars began to glow, and a melodic tone came. A moment later, a door appeared in the stones.

  “Come now, happy elves and man and Rusis.”

  The necromancer’s mocking was not amusing to any whom she referenced.

  Kealin stepped through the doorway, and by some power of magic, they were in a massive domed structure. It was well lit with glowing stones and skylights that let in the sun from high above. There were also hundreds of candles and bookshelves that lined the outer walls. A single stairwell led down from the door and went toward a large glowing tree surrounding all manners of plants, from herbs and flowers to mushrooms and several plants Kealin had never seen.

  A dwarf walked around from the opposite side of the tree, holding a mushroom. As Veora approached, the dwarf reached for a twisted wooden staff lying against the tree.

  “Acolyte, you return to our home, but you are not welcome.”

  “Dear Hunda, I return with the ones called to our sanctum.”

  “Veora, you are not a member of this sanctum; your master was by decree of her office. You are not your master. You hold a staff that is not yours in a place you are not welcome and with visitors you are not of enough honor to stand beside.”

  To their side, a man in a fiery red coat walked into the room. Veora lifted her staff up and the man, with a twist of his arms brought his staff up as well.

  The man laughed, “I wish to not roast a dead thing with flame, but it is almost worth it if you threaten my fellow wizard.”

  This wizard looked at Kealin directly.

  “Hmm, I imagined you a bit different. To defeat Vakron-Tur was a feat, no doubt.”

  Veora jerked her head and stared at Kealin. She then looked back to the wizard in red.

  “He has fallen in battle?”

  “Not just him, but his entire orc horde, the matriarch of Ur, and even his elven bodyguard. We saw the outcome of the battle before it had taken place, and we warned Vakron-Tur that a battle would end in failure.”

  “But the Fadabrin uprising? They will be killed, Frinda!”

  “There is much that must be discussed, Veora. Many of our followers have fallen within the city, and we have lost contact with the archwizard. We understood him safe, but that is not enough. The clerics have begun purging all who do not agree with our aggressors. Vakron-Tur has failed, and now many more are at risk.”

  Frinda looked away from her and to the others. “Welcome to our hiding place, also known as our temporary prison, or if you like, the Wizard’s Hold. I hope you do not hate it too much. I am Frinda, archwizard of fire within the High Sanctum of Fadabrin, deposed, of course.”

  A doorway to the far left of them opened, and two more wizards approached. One wore a robe that had undulating colors like the ocean. In his hand was a staff with a shell-capped tip. The other beside him was an elf. His staff was clear, but within it danced bolts of lightning. They both gave Veora a disapproving glare and then filed beside the other two wizards.

  “We welcome you here, survivors of the Riverlands. We foresaw the horror to come, but it was too late,” the man with the shell tipped staff said.

  They then each lowered their staves, pointing them at Veora.

  Kealin took a step back with the others. Up until now, he had questioned the actions of this necromancer, but he had no allegiance to anyone in this room, save those he had fought with many nights before.

  “I see.” Veora laughed. “You are not happy I took the staff of rebirth from its home?”

  “That staff”—the wizard with the ocean-like robe pointed—“is to be wielded only by the one who holds the office of priest or priestess, not an acolyte.”

  “I hear your words, Surk, but at my priestess’ capture, the staff was given to me. Unless the archwizard himself demands it from my hands, I will not give it over.”

  Surk looked at Hunda and then at the one wizard Kealin did not know the name of. He then approached Kealin.

  “You are more than it seems. I can feel it.” He bowed. “I am Surk, a friend to those troubled in the North. I have traveled to the Riverlands more than once. I see you are not as Ruak; you are half-elf. Your eyes are not as proud as some other elves.”

  Kealin sighed. “And?”

  “It is rare to see ones like you. I feel your anger. I feel a pain upon you.” He then walked around the others, nodding.

  “You are each hiding a pain beyond mere discussion. I will not insult you by offering condolences. It will not bring those lost back. It is a sad fate that so many died.”

  Ruak shook his head. “Listen, elf, you may speak as if our sacrifice was for naught, but many died who didn’t need to.”

  Surk closed his eyes and bowed. “I am honored to meet the son of the one who bore the god-blade, but I will not ignore the ignorance of our race. Did Vakron-Tur simply charge in? Did he not offer parlay of some kind?”

  “He did,” said Brethor, “and in the fairness of discussion”—his eyes glanced to Ruak—“the lords of elf and man refused to parlay peace.”

  “So, it became as we feared. A snarling, arrow-throwing piss fight.” Hunda sat down on a nearby stool. “The word of Michranok reached my ears, and I could not believe my home had fallen. I had been there a mere year before. It must be known by you four that the Grand Protectorate seek us all dead.” Hunda looked to the wizard with the staff of lightning, “You were right, Lizk. They have now confirmed what we feared. You must know they will not stop until we are all as those of the Riverlands.”

  “We figured that out,” Jesia said.

  “But it is how, that we fear now,” Lizk explained. “The capture of magic-users and the veil on a place of old magic gives a reason for us to fear. There was something they sought at Michranok some reason for a false peace. There is something in the winds, a change, a whisper of evil.”

  “You spend time speaking in riddles,” Veora growled. “The four of them arrived, so we must move to save the priestess!”

  “Veora! It is not as simple as you may feel. Magic is essentially dead in our hideout and the region where the priestess is held. She is one of our sanctums and will not be abandoned, but we have more distressing news. The archwizard is but the only person who can access that place where your priestess is kept.”

  Kealin tired of the back and forth between them all. He knew of Michranok. Perhaps it would work to center the conversation.

  “What if I knew of Michranok? Would it help?”

  There was an abrupt silence, and then Lizk nodded and made an affirming motion with his hand.

  “It is not simply something I will talk of without drink and food for my friends. If you have that, we need it. While you have been here doing whatever you do, we have been fighting orcs and a wizard. We need rest.”

  The strange request Kealin made was followed by a peculiar look from Brethor and Ruak but an agreeing nod by Jesia. Instead of the continued interchange, they were taken to a side room with many beds lining the wall. The place they were in was some kind of school; at least, at one time. There were many books and desks. There were also la
rge stone plaques with runes and different intersecting lines.

  “They are spells,” Jesia said. “I saw a book once that had something like this, but I never understood it.”

  Kealin and Jesia were standing in a long hallway. On one side were the stone plaques, and the other side was open to a large garden of trees with a columned room.

  Brethor and Ruak had gone to a dining hall of sorts some distance away. Kealin nodded with what Jesia said, but his own mind wasn’t on learning. He had taken off the armor he had found in the cave and, for one of the few times in many days, removed his swords. As Jesia continued to look at the walls, he took her in his arms and embraced her.

  She was surprised at first. He felt her pulse quicken in her chest, and she did not immediately return the grasp. But slowly she did.

  As he held her, he thought of the many he had lost. He did not want to do more than that; his mind would not let him grieve more than this. His pain must’ve been sensed by the Rusis, for he felt her cough and his chest became wet with her tears.

  “We both share the same pain, in some ways. But if I can say it, I am happy we are together,” she said.

  He heard the words, and he felt himself feel an ounce of happiness. He looked down at her and nodded but didn’t speak.

  The dwarf wizard cleared his throat to their right. Kealin looked over to see him holding two chalices.

  “It isn’t much, but the one called Brethor says the wine is good. It is something of a comfort I pray will help.”

  Jesia took the cup and smiled. “Thank you, Hunda.”

  He nodded with a wide-eyed grin before looking up at the stone runes.

  “It has been some time since any stood before these and read them. I saw you before when I was retrieving the wine. This place is very old. Some of the greatest wizards trained here. Even the one who wore those robes. I remember the archmage of Vueric. She was a cunning one, and I do miss her.”

  “So this was a school?” asked Kealin, changing the subject.

  “It was until we moved the study of magical sciences to Fadabrin. Now it is there, and I have many acolytes of earth magic there waiting for me.”

  “Why are they not here?” Jesia asked.

  “It is a difficult truth. One that perhaps is not my place to say in private like this, but I care little for rules, unlike the others. We were forced out.”

  “Forced?”

  “By those who have come against many. By those who came against the orc and also the forces of magic that fought them. It was what we feared in Fadabrin, but it seemed the opulent catered to the needs of the Grand Protectorate. The once royalty of the region are now servants to the Grand Protectorate. But come, let us speak with the others.”

  Hunda motioned for them to follow him to the dining area. There were many large tables. At least enough for one hundred or more students, but they had only one that the group surrounded. There were some berries and roasted fish in its center. On the outside of the room, there were many wings of the building. They were messy and dark, with no candlelight to give any life to them.

  Brethor looked up as Kealin and the others approached. “The fish is good, and the berries ripe. I was worried about what was taking you, but I assumed Jesia found herself caught up reading one of the books.”

  “Read as you must, Rusis,” Frinda said. “We wish for one of elemental magic to get as much knowledge from this place as they can. At the High Sanctum, we have even more, and staves for practicing. There are a few things here of use, but mostly it is a wreck.”

  “A wreck is a simple way of putting it,” Lizk said with a harsh tone. “We have been here for weeks. We give one of the last treasures to some elven wizard, and what does it get us?”

  “It possibly gave us answers,” Surk said as he motioned to Kealin.

  Kealin was not as hungry as he assumed they expected. He cared for those with him and the fact that their journey thus far had actually been a difficult one. He still did not have the stomach to eat anything.

  “I went to Michranok. I was called there by a lone dwarf asking for protection who in the end took his own life. Wualu of Michranok.”

  “The Grand Alchemist of Michranok?” Frinda asked.

  “He said the legions attacked. They fought, and the dwarven locks held; however, his family was forced to tunnel into a vault containing vials and books and things that I still am not sure what they were. But he said history has lied. There was indeed a great victory for the forces that fought the orcs in the great war thousands of years ago, but it came from the ingenuity of dwarves. A magic-like curse that infected them.”

  “I have never heard of such things,” Ruak said. “It is well documented that the events of the war had many happenings. But there were only large battles or smaller raids, nothing involving curses.”

  “Then it could be said they may have it?” Surk said.

  “Wualu believed so. Enough for him to take his own life.”

  Hunda rubbed his head. “If that is true, the taking of Fadabrin did have a greater point. If only we could take it back. The clerics have such a hold, and we have few friends.”

  “Are the clerics not of your order of magic?” Ruak said.

  “They were. They then betrayed the archwizard and lied to the people. The Grand Protectorate came in, and when their blades were drawn to spill our blood, many of our acolytes fell in battle. It was, if credit can be given, Veora and the priestess, along with many others of necromancy, who saved us.”

  “We erupted from the grounds of the inner keep and sent them into retreat,” Veora snapped, “if the story is going to be told.”

  Kealin had not seen Veora before this, but now she sat up from a sitting area near a dwindling fire. She approached them and leaned over the table.

  “Necromancy is looked at as the elves looked at orcs. Evil because of the old ways, but in the end, it was the order of life that brought pain upon Fadabrin. We had been allowed into your city but given no official status. We lived on the edge of life, dwelling near the great barrows in the mountains. At least we were alone to practice our art.

  “When the fire basins of the High Sanctum were lit by the archwizard signaling that Fadabrin needed aid, my clan of Ur came, as did many others. The one’s who fell at the main gate were resurrected as warriors and continued on. We overwhelmed the defenses, and the clerics felt the burning fire of our magic!”

  “You are part of the clan Vakron-Tur established?” Brethor asked.

  “One of many, and we do not fear to embrace the old ways.”

  “It is the Itsu you worship who bring so much pain to our lives,” Frinda said as he pointed at her. “It is they who turned the magic of death to darkness.”

  “Sometimes you must embrace darkness to see the true light, so many pursue it without knowing the truth.”

  Her eyes shifted to Kealin, and he felt something. A twinge in his mind, a whisper, but it was unclear to him. He kept staring but attempted to use his powers he had so long ignored. He had followed his own path, doing what he wished for so long. He needed to use more of his gift, but it had been so difficult. Now, as he felt he drew close to Alri, he needed to trust what he had not before.

  “Will the clan not attack Fadabrin again?” asked Ruak.

  “My clan was hunted by the clerics. It is when most were killed and many more were taken. My priestess and many other acolytes fell before the very place that so many of arcane power have been taken. The Hall of the Moon. It is at this time she entrusted me with her staff.” Her eyes tracked to the other wizards specifically. She then looked to Ruak. “The clan, once strong under the Matriarch and Vakron-Tur, is no more. We must rescue my sisters and brothers. When it was clear to me that none of those who had hidden away in this place would help, I trusted Vakron-Tur to keep his part of the bargain, and I went after the Cleric. At least one of us did what they needed.”

  Frinda shook his head. “Without magic, we are worthless to help. The device the monks now inh
abiting that hall uncovered has pacified all magic reaching out nearly to Fadabrin itself.”

  “It assures none of magic can assail that place,” Surk said. “The monks are followers of some strange entity. Something none of us know as a god, but a power nonetheless. They are called the Monks of Rusadafrik. Named for an old city within the sunken lands.”

  “We do not need a history of our enemy,” Veora hissed. “The archwizard can access it no matter the spell upon it. It is known that only he can do it.”

  “So you spend a few hours in our library at the sanctum, and you take time to only seek out information about our archwizard?” Frinda asked.

  “I read what I am led to read, and it is information that I, as an acolyte to the priestess, need to know.”

  “You speak like it is a position of power for you. You are a student.”

  “I am as strong as any of the strongest students of your orders!” Veora grimaced, and her face darkened for a moment. “I am disgusted and done with being compared to your weak excuses of mild-mannered, book-grabbing wizards. We must act. We must not wait, and we must stop acting like we are still part of an institution. I learned in the wilds with few friends and even fewer now that we became involved with the likes of you.”

  Lizk stood up. His eyes flashed gold, and his staff hummed to life. “There is enough magic for me to send you to the death you so hotly worship. You will not disrespect those within this room. You learn your place, necromancer.”

  Veora glared at him, and then her faced returned to its normal color.

  “I am angry. I admit that is something I must manage, but the orc army is gone, and you called to this mix of elves and men for some reason. We must get to it.”

  She moved a chair from the table and sat. Brethor looked to Ruak and then patted the table.

  “You did call to my friend Kealin, and we came looking for answers.”

  “Dear Brethor, you did, and we will do the best to give them to you,” Frinda said. “Yes, we called, as we learned the Orc Star had been destroyed. The birds gave warning of evil within the Riverlands. Vakron-Tur was to secure alliances and then move east to attack Finar and Lokam. Two large cities ripe with Grand Protectorate that slowly moved their tentacles into every corner of the known realms.”