Armies of the Silver Mage (2 page)

“How long do you think it will be before anyone comes looking for you?” he asked with a tight smile.

“They’re already on the way,” Delin stammered.

Wiffe laughed. “You’re no good at bluffing, young Delin Kerny. I know better.” He laughed again after watching their eyes widen. “Oh yes, I know you. You as well Fennic Attleford. And I’m willing to bet neither of you told anyone about your little adventure to my forest. Two fools blind to the world and her ways.”

He left them thinking long enough to shift the embers around and add another log. The smell of coffee filled the quaint home.

“Are you going to tell me why you broke into my home, or shall I guess? Hmm?”

“We got lost in the forest,” Fennic lied.

“Did you? Here’s what I think. I think you stole away from your work just to go fishing. Probably after Big Tom down in Ellif Pond. But something turned you around, forced you in this direction. You found my home all by itself. It wasn’t long before curiosity set in and you invaded my life. Just to see if the rumors are true.” He paused. Fear poured from them, dominating the atmosphere in the room. Wiffe sat down across from them and stared with hard eyes. They fidgeted on the floor, wanting nothing more than to get away from this place.

“How close am I to the truth? Speak quickly. My patience is almost gone these days.”

Fennic broke down and babbled the entire tale. Tears trickled down his cheeks, much to Wiffe’s silent amusement. His laughter was the last thing either of them expected. Delin was sure he was going to kill them. No one would ever know what happened.

“It’s good to see my judgment isn’t failing. At least not yet,” Wiffe laughed. “You can both relax. I’m not going to hurt either of you.”

“You…you’re not going to kill us?” Delin asked.

“Kill you! Darkness no. Have you any idea how long its been since I last had a visitor out here?”

The boys exchanged a cautious glance.

“Granted, the forest is peaceful and calming, but folks don’t venture out here like they used to. Most I knew are getting on and passing to the next life. The rest, like you two strapping lads, are scared of hokey myths and tales, and for good reason. The roads aren’t as safe as they used to be. Not with the Silver Mage rising in the east.”

Neither were totally sure who this Silver Mage was, but the number of peddlers and travelers moving through Fel Darrins was dwindling and there was much talk of this man. Prices were rising due to the lack of buyers, making times hard for the common townsfolk. Of course neither Delin nor Fennic paid particular attention to the grown-up world. They were more concerned with enjoying themselves before the summer ran out.

“I bet you want to know how I know who you are and why you’re here,” Wiffe said.

“Yes, sir,” Fennic replied.

Wiffe grunted. “Why else do you think I’ve been wasting good air explaining things to you?” He paused until their confused looks faded. “A long time ago, when I was still young and vigorous, the world opened up for me. Life was good until the Silver Mage rose from to power and began the great Mage Wars. Hundreds of us answered the call to arms and joined the war. If Paedwyn fell, so too would the rest of Averon.

“That’s when I first met your grandfathers, Gisle Attleford and Sharn Kerny.” He held up a hand to quiet them. “I know what you want to say. That your families have lived here for generations and never been involved in any war. Those are half-truths at best. They told you what they wanted you to know. Your grandparents were afraid that one day the urge to see the world might grow too strong and you’d wander blindly into war.”

The hound growled and stretched before laying its head back down.

“I can’t say as that I blame them. Your grandfathers were good men with clean souls. They came away from the war relatively intact and ran off to a far secluded part of the world to spend the rest of their days. I followed, after a time, and only when I could no longer serve the king. A lousy Goblin hacked my arm off during an ambush.”

He gazed fondly at the stump of his right arm. “Maybe I should have left with them, but I was never that smart. Then again, war seemed about the only thing I was ever good at. King Baeleon died in the same battle I lost this. But we won the battle. The Silver Mage disappeared after his defeat at the mountain fortress of Gren Mot. I stayed long enough to see the king buried and made my way here.”

“It’s been a long while since I told that tale. Doubt if I’ll be around to tell it again. I’ve known you were going to come here. It was written on the winds.”

Before either of them could start asking questions, Wiffe got up and strode to the fireplace. He stared at the sword for a moment before noticing it was out of place.

“Which of you has been tampering with my steel?” he asked in a plain and forceful tone.

“I did, sir,” Fennic quietly admitted.

Old man Wiffe turned on them, a grave look etched into his features. “Come forward, young man.”

Fennic slowly complied. He was unsure what his punishment was going to be. His father always frowned on his natural curiosity. More often than not he was in trouble for this or the other.

“What drew you to this blade?” Wiffe asked. He had the sword in hand, golden fire light dancing on the immaculate silver.

Fennic’s eyes locked on the mystical weapon, mesmerized by the simple perfection of it. “I don’t know. I just felt pulled to it, as if it were.”

“Enchanted?”

He nodded. The urge to reach out and seize the magnificent weapon was almost too much to resist. Fennic failed to understand why he was so drawn to it. It was just a sword after all. Where was the supernatural desire coming from? All knew was that the sword seemed to call his name. It wasn’t until Wiffe slapped his hand away that he realized what was happening.

“Careful lad. This sword has seen the best and worst of men.” He eased it back into the sheath. “Enchanted it is. The Elves made it long ago out of friendship with Man. It’s said that only one in every generation may use it, and the sword always chooses who that person is.”

“Does it have a name?”

“All items of power have names and legends surrounding them. This one’s name is Phaelor. It means “Heaven’s Eyes” in Elvish, and it’s made of pure star silver. Phaelor has been around for a thousand years. I’ve had it for almost fifty of them. At last I can give it to another. My time has come to an end.”

Delin interrupted. “What do you mean?”

“Young Fennic has been chosen to safeguard the sword,” Wiffe announced.

“Your father is going to kill you when he hears about this!”

Fennic wasn’t listening. Every slumbering desire throughout his short life was culminating in the folded grain of this weapon. Scholars argued it belonged in a museum for the world to see, magicians laid claim to its inherent powers. Regardless of what the more civilized folk believed, Phaelor was a tool of war and had a role in the shaping of the future of Malweir. Whether he wanted to or not, Fennic was now part of that legacy. What was more important, he wanted to be a part of it.

If he looked close enough, he could just make out the pure crystal gemstones for which it was named. They grabbed the light and radiated a confidence and power seldom seen in this quiet part of the world. He could see the wrath laid out by the blade. The blood and horror. He saw brave men die, begging for their lives, and kingdoms topple while the sword remained cold. And he discovered fear.

The sword had claimed him, bonding them until another came along, and that frightened Fennic. He’d always had dreams about what the world was like, but had never had the inclination to find out for himself. Phaelor wasn’t going to give him the choice. Wide eyed, torn between the quiet home life and high adventure, Fennic suddenly became aware of whispered urgings.

“You have been accepted by Phaelor, and I pass it to you freely,” Wiffe said in a voice mixed with relief and sadness. “Though I warn you, do not let the sword consume you as it has others before. It can neither show you the right path nor solve your problems with a sharp swing. I looked long and hard for someone, anyone, capable of unlocking its secrets, and every time I came away empty handed. Ware the future, my young friend, for Phaelor is destined for greatness and ruin, as are all who dare hold it.”

Fennic remained quiet almost the entire way home. Every time he touched the naked steel, a host of memories assailed him. He watched men go mad with power and be consumed by fire. It was one of the trappings of the magic, Wiffe had explained. The sword was neither good nor evil, it simply was. Man was responsible for determining greatness or despair. Delin left him to face his father’s wrath, and even through the long lecture given to him, all he could think about was another time and another age. Delin and Fennic both went to sleep wondering what life might be like if they weren’t in Fel Darrins.

THREE

Passing weeks saw summer begin to fade. Leaves turned the hillsides into paintings rich with fall’s colors. The last of the crops were harvested and stored for the coming snows, and life in Fel Darrins continued as it always had. That was how the townsfolk wanted it. Many of the old had already seen other parts of the world and the turmoil that came with them. Locked away in this forgotten town, they had a chance to live peacefully. Soon it would be time for the harvest Ritual, a grand festival rival to those rumored in the king’s court at Paedwyn. The mood was bright and cheerful.

Fennic, however, was of a different mindset; a sense of foreboding told him that something was going to happen. He didn’t know what or when, but events were well beyond his control now. Phaelor whispered secrets to him late at night when only

shadows roamed the lands. He found himself wanting to see the legendary smiths of the Dwarves, the great mountain fortress of Gren Mot where his grandfather had lived and waged war. Most of all, he wanted to see the sparkling whiteness of the royal palace under a moonlit winter night.

The desire became almost torturous. He was the one who had never wanted to go any further than the pond. one morning and a chance meeting with a crazed old man and his life was changing forever. Work kept his days filled, but they felt empty to him. He hardly saw Delin as the time of the festival approached. Their parents thought it best to keep them apart for the time being, lest they find any more trouble. Try as they may though, neither boy could forget the events of the forest, or the portent the future held.

Fennic stepped into the early autumn morning and regretted not wearing a heavier shirt. He clutched his jacket tight and walked to work as fast as he could. A heavy frost covered everything and his breath came out in thick vapors. The bitter cold this early in the year meant winter was going to be brutal. Unfortunately for Fennic, the mill was all the way across town.

He spent the day in relative misery. Phaelor seemed bound to hundreds of mystical thoughts and mysterious dreams. Wiffe had tried to warn him about the possessive powers of the sword but had not mentioned how to combat them. The sword demanded his attention. It beckoned with horrors and riches. Fear and elation blended convincingly enough for Fennic to feed his desire. He wanted to ride into battle with Phaelor held high and an army at his heels. Parents and friends spurned his newfound wants, dismissing them as adolescent dreams. This did little to dissuade him. Fennic knew he would be leaving Fel Darrins soon.

He spent hours coming up with a rough plan. When he decided it was sufficiently worked out he met Delin for dinner at the Tavern. The success of his plan lay in whether or not he could convince his best friend to come along. Still, the hope far outweighed the gloom. Fennic entered the common room and looked around for his friend. He spied Delin sitting at a corner table close to one of the fireplaces, talking to Tarren Brickton. They’d been flirting for seven years though neither of them had actually realized it until recently. The only question was when the wedding would take place. Tarren offered him a flashing smile so simple it melted his heart and for an instant he was jealous of his best friend. She danced off to make her rounds of the tables, leaving them to their business. Fennic was immediately glad for the fire. The frost was permanent, with occasional light snows.

“What are you so glib about?” asked Delin.

He shrugged. “Maybe it’s the weather.”

“I can’t see what about snow would make you this cheery. All this means is that your little sword is warping your mind.”

“Much like your pretty girlfriend, no doubt,” Fennic replied with a rueful smile.

“Leave her out of this!” Delin scowled. “She doesn’t have anything to do with your queer behavior.”

“No, I don’t suppose she has. I’m sorry.”

Delin smiled. “Forget about it.”

“I’ve been thinking. All this stress about old man Wiffe and the sword and then our parents. Maybe we need a change of scenery for a while?”

His voice was quiet and he sounded tired. He’d languished for hours trying to think of how to best put the idea before Delin. The onset of an early winter dealt him a severe setback, but did not discourage him. They’d grown up with snow, but had never traveled more than a few leagues before going home again. If things worked out right, they wouldn’t be going home for some time. This storm was going to be their toughest obstacle.

“What are you saying?”

“The same things you have for years. Everything about you has been looking for a different place in a different time. I’m starting to share that dream. I’m tired of being the miller’s apprentice. There’s a better world out there. One in which we can make a name for ourselves.”

Delin’s eyebrows peaked. “We? Or you and that sword? What’s happening to you? You were always the voice of reason. Even the elders would condemn this as insane. Think about it! Why now? Why after that crazy old man filled your head with impossible stories?”

“Why anything? Can you explain why the sun comes up or winter comes early? I can’t,” Fennic protested. “I don’t know why or how, but Phaelor has already changed my life, and for the better. I want to see those things we’ll never have the chance to once we get older, Delin.”