The Black Wizard's Spire, Daylan Ephitis [great book club books txt] 📗

just above his knee. Inside the wound, there were two hound teeth stuck in the flesh. He pried them both out of his leg then ripped off a piece of his cotton shirt under his cuirass and tied it around the wound.
Narthak started to limp south, towards the closest known standing camp, the camp of the Skelork clan. Barren tundra surrounded him in every direction and ominous white peaks of colossal mountains tore through the sky. He left a light trail of blood behind him as he walked through the knee deep powder, every few minutes he had to stop and catch his breath. As he trudged through the plain, the pain all over his body slowly ceased but he continued to bleed immensely out of his thigh.
Finally, after over an hour of wandering, he could see the smoke of the undisturbed camp up ahead.
It was larger and more populated than his camp once was, before it had gotten completely destroyed less than an hour and a half ago. Nestled in a small valley, the tents were darker and more condensed, a large red banner hung above the central tent and flapped noiselessly in the light wind.
Narthak neared the camp and a tall figure approached him.
“Halt! From where do you hail? You look to be Mastodorian. . . . Which clan are you from, and what business do you have with the Skelork clan?” demanded the figure. He stepped closer and drew his longsword. Narthak could see his gaunt face and steel plated armor. He bore no facial hair, but had a feral, unkempt, black mane.
“Hails, brother! Why must we greet each other with such hostility? We both crawled from the same dirt, you and I. I am from the Nhoktur clan, but . . . it is no more. We were camped about an hour’s march from here. A band of dark wizards raided our camp; they brought demonic beasts from some other world with them. . . . The whole camp was lit ablaze, everyone was wiped
out . . . I am the only survivor,” stated Narthak, solemnly.
“Indeed, we’ve seen the smoke, this is wicked news you bear. I am sorry for the rough welcome, but these are tough times; as you know, bandits and raiders on the lam have been spotted all around the highlands.” The man sheathed his longsword.
“Yes, hard times. I am Narthak by the way.” He held out a bloody hand and the man happily grasped it.
“Though you bear wicked news, you are welcome with the Skelork clan. I am Kanoh.” He looked down at Narthak’s mangled leg. “You are wounded my friend. Please follow me, we can help you.”
“No, I’m quite fine. It’s nothing,” grumbled Narthak stubbornly.
“I insist! We have women with oils and herbs from the forested southern lands of Mefala. You will be good as new in no time. Please, come with me,” said Kanoh, politely. He took Narthak to a small tent that smelt of flowers and fresh tree sap. Strange flasks and beakers stood atop a wide table. A woman with long, flowing brown hair and a heavy green tunic led him to a makeshift cot and told him to lie down; he obeyed. She unwrapped a small vial from a tattered scrap of brown cloth.
“. . . What happened?” Her bottom lip quivered but her gaze was hard.
Narthak returned her gaze, then after a long moment, he answered, “A creature of a kind I’ve not seen before. . . . It bit me with its hideous jaws . . . well . . . one of them did. I did not notice it until after the fact.”
“No . . . never mind,” she whispered, looking down at the vial she held. She popped off the cap and began to rub the contents – thick red oil – onto the deep wound in his thigh. Narthak cringed as his skin started to bubble and steam. The wound slowly began to close up. Eventually, it looked as if it had not been there at all.
“What is this black magic!?” shouted Narthak, sitting up. He cursed as he inspected his leg with careful fingers.
Kanoh, who had been with them in the tent, explained to him that the oil was not a product of black magic, nor anything wicked at all. The clan purchased it from a roving temple peddler last spring.
After Narthak was rested and healed, he and Kanoh took a walk outside. Many clansfolk greeted him, some with open suspicion.
“Look there,” said Kanoh, after some time, “In the distance.” He pointed with an extended finger to the east.
Narthak did, and what he saw amazed him. It was a black spire towering into the heavens, maybe a few miles away, though he could not get a clear glimpse of it from so far away.
“It was erected perhaps yesterday. One minute there was nothing there, the next, it was standing tall as if it had been there for ages,” stammered Kanoh, a hint of fear underlined his usual calm tone.
“By the heavens!” exclaimed Narthak. “That must be the source of the evil that attacked my camp! It is a true wonder your clan was not attacked first!”
“We are leaving tomorrow; the whole clan. We’re packing up and heading as far away from that thing as possible. If it brought as much destruction as you say it did, then there is really no time to waste,” said Kanoh. He looked confident but scared.
“No . . . I have always said that cowardice is truly just, if you survive because of it and are able to do good things in the future. Bravery is a waste if you get slaughtered without making any impact on the world around you. Leaving tomorrow is foolish cowardice. You will surely get slaughtered by these wizards and their demonic pets during your travel. They obviously came here on a mission, and will not rest until that mission is complete. They are trying to wipe out our people, I presume. We cannot just run away and let the other clans get slaughtered because of our cowardice, we must rise and fight. We must go to the tower and destroy these evil sorcerers,” proclaimed Narthak, completely sure of himself.
“. . . Are you a madman?” asked Kanoh, cautiously. He glared at Narthak with suspicion.
“I’ve seen this all first-hand maybe two hours ago. They attacked us without warning or remorse. They won’t stop . . . I know that for a fact. We must end them before they end us. Please . . . they’ve killed everyone I’ve ever known,” explained Narthak, suddenly deeply saddened. A look of inner hurt grazed his icy blue eyes, though he quickly masked it with a hard gaze.
“Well, I think I believe you, sir. Even though we Mastodorians broke off into separate clans long ago, we retained our strong relationship with one another. We are still a great family, and I will gladly follow one of my brothers into certain death, if only for the greater good of the people. We must protect each other in times of need, no matter how much we distance ourselves from one another during the times in between. I will follow you – to the ends of Mefala if I have to – to destroy this common threat.” Kanoh turned around and signaled for Narthak to follow him. “Come with me, I will gather all my greatest warriors and we shall conquer every ungodly being in that spire before nightfall!”
Narthak followed him, surprised at how willing Kanoh was to aid in something he had so little information about. It was just trust, he thought. He also knew that Kanoh could probably smell the magic in the air and sense the evil close by – just as the late Henrik had.
Narthak noticed right away that the Skelork clan was a lot larger than his own late clan, the Nhoktur. It was much more crowded and dense. Small children played in the packed snow and women sat by a warm fire, knitting blankets and clothing. They looked at him knowingly and he nodded in return. The whole camp seemed to be worried and anxious, though they still welcomed the newcomer with open arms.
By high noon they had assembled a ragtag group of warriors; the strongest and fiercest of the clan. Men who claimed to have no fear or any other human emotions. There were nineteen of them. They all had dark piercing eyes and hard faces, they wore armor similar to Narthak’s; cuirasses made of sewn together wolf pelts complimented with chain mail gauntlets, greaves and boots. They were indeed fierce and brave, but Narthak did not know if they were noble enough for such a quest. They reminded him more of an angry group of mercenaries than a band of brothers preparing to set out on a noble quest for the good of the Mastodorian race.
Narthak and Kanoh explained the goals of their mission to the warriors. They seemed delighted at the prospect of killing many things at once. When Narthak explained to them what happened earlier that day – how the dark magicians had slaughtered the whole Nhoktur clan – the morale increased, surprisingly. The men now wanted to wipe out the whole tower as a form of avenging their fallen brothers, they did not seem to realize the extreme danger that this quest promised.
After gathering a modest amount of supplies – mainly healing oils – they headed out into certain doom. They marched single file, as one unit, through the deep snow, no one talking or making any sound; all of them focused on their common goal. Narthak led them up an icy hill perhaps half a mile from the spire. As they reached the summit, the rancid stench of magic entered Narthak’s nostrils. He immediately was reminded of the horrors that took place earlier that day. His stomach lurched in disgust, but he walked on just as he had before.
Finally, after a steady march, they arrived in the vicinity of the black spire. It stood tall and strong, just as Hathus had described it during the fire in his dark dream. A shiver ran down Narthak’s spine.
“You can see wards all over the perimeter of the tower. They look like wards to protect against the magic of the Light . . . if I’m not mistaken . . . though I am certainly no expert,” said Kanoh. He pointed a finger at the obvious purple tint that ran along the black shell of the tower. The energy looked especially concentrated upon the spire’s black pointed top.
After a long stare at the ominous spire, one of the warriors – Borjak was his name – spoke up. “The mages will be drained of most of their power if these wards are as powerful as they look. Remember what we were taught as youngsters: if they focus all their energy on a particular spell, they have little physical energy left to harness and use. It takes time to regain that energy. Since they have used most of their energy to create those wards, I suspect they will be