Trees were uprooted and the ground itself upturned as the two titans clashed, trading blows that shook the very canopy of the old forest. The pudgy flesh of the red wizard's golem absorbed much of the stone golem's strikes, making the seeming mismatch all the more even. The ground was torn, and their masters flung spells amidst the chaos created, both sides trying to garner an advantage while avoiding being trampled underneath the lumbering feet of their own creations.
Antaigne created a pair of animated ethereal swords that sped off into the fray, slashing and dancing amongst the golem combatants, seeking the taste of wizard flesh. A cleverly placed fireball followed in their wake, the red wizard barely shielded himself in time. The swords weaved around and managed a glancing blow on the red wizard, a rather nasty cut along one arm. Anger fueled his retort, with a violent flick of one hand and a sharp sounding word, a patch of large old trees were forcibly ripped from their homes in the soft earth, sent flying toward the owner of the swords. Antaigne managed to raise an earthen shield between him and the trees, the energies that fueled the two spells collided, which, unfortunately, caused the trunks and dirt to go flying in all directions as the two forces negated each other.
The feeling of falling and a gentle roar that filled the ears assaulted the familiar's senses. Blackness engulfed the wyvrr. The last thing it remembered was the gentle thump as his limp body hit the soft ground and the shaking earth of the automatons still fighting for their masters. Unconsciousness took over and Faerril happily accepted the warm enveloping darkness.
Chapter 10
Marcius took a deep breath as he finished. He fought back the tears that began to well up behind his eyes. Seeing the last day of his master's life was a humbling experience, and he was worldly enough to realize why the dwarf led the enemy wizards into the forest.
Jared was looking at him with an expression somewhere between awe and disbelief. "Marcius. . . " Jared seethed angrily through clenched teeth, surprising the apprentice with the abrupt change in mood, "I'm not the cleverest man in Faelon, not by far. But, did you say that the wizards wore the colors of the Academy?"
Marcius nodded. "The first eight did, and the latter two did not. Now Jared. . . " Marcius could see where his friend was going with this line of thinking, and he resolved to cut it off before he could go further, "There isn't anything I can do, really. The Academy is a sovereign institution, and, as such, is given full rights to handle their own matters as they see fit. The best I could do would be to submit a complaint with the King's court, which would be admitting that I'm a rogue wizard's apprentice. It would get me in more trouble than it would solve. Trust me, I've already thought about it." The edges of Marcius's eyes dampened a bit and his hand curled into a hard fist. "But believe me, if there was anything I could do, I would."
"Then shut up and listen, I already realize that. I have a sheriff for a father, remember? I'm well aware of the law." Marcius nodded, the seed of curiosity was planted in the recesses of his mind though. What could Jared have come up with? "Don't you think it is an rather big coincidence that a mere two months after someone from the Academy visits you, your Master, a rogue wizard that has managed to evade being located by the Academy, is murdered by wizards most likely under command of said Academy? Now, I'm not sure what these two other wizards are doing there, but the Academy is involved somehow. If you want answers, you will find them at the Academy in Aralene."
"Someone from the Ac-. . . " Marcius echoed, and then he realized who Jared was speaking of. "Alicia!"
It was so obvious, but he had been so self-absorbed in his own grief and shock that he failed to even connect the two simple facts. His vision clouded and the blood began to pound in the recesses of his skull. How dare this woman, no, this pawn, come into his town, his life, and completely ruin it!
All his desires, hopes, and future plans dashed, in part, by a single individual. Marcius could never get back the surly dwarf, a person he had begun to look upon like a second father. He could already feel the pangs of sadness as the absence of Antaigne began to settle in his stomach and mind. Marcius didn't notice that his hands had balled unconsciously into a tight fist, nor did he notice the crimson trail dripping off them as his fingers dug deep gouges into his palms.
"Jared," Marcius's voice was eerily calm and collected, betraying none of the turmoil that bubbled and toiled under the surface. "We are going home."
❧ ❧ ❧
"Let me see my father!" Two pairs of strong hands gripped Marcius's arms, stopping him from getting any closer. The deputies of Rhensford were a rather burly lot, not exactly chosen for their people skills, and these two were a prime example.
The moment Marcius had stepped onto the grounds of the Realure household he knew something was horribly wrong. The first thing that tipped him off, besides the feeling of strangeness that had made the hairs on his neck stand on end, was the fact that Lars was not there to open up the door like he always did. Instead, he was greeted by the grim visage of the town sheriff, Gary Garalan, the infamous Bloodhound. An imposing sight no matter the circumstance, his friend's father always had a larger than life aura about him. He could silence a rowdy bar with a stern glare or make guilty men confess just by being in the room.
Marcius never felt comfortable around him, and he wouldn't have been embarrassed to admit he went to great lengths to stay out of trouble for that sole reason. Though the sheriff's presence pretty much assured trouble was afoot. The second indicator was Clarissa curled up on a dining room chair, eyes red and swollen from crying. It looked like she had been at it for a while.
Marcius had rushed home after dropping Faerril off at the Healer's Guild. He intended to ask his father for advice and deliver the tragic news about Antaigne, before going to visit Alicia and wring some answers from the Mage. Whether she agreed to provide them or not. Jared, unfortunately, had went his own way as soon as they hit the outskirts of Rhensford, muttering something about needing a strong drink or two, though he did promise to meet Marcius over by the Healer's guild later on.
Marcius knew better than to accept the apology at face value. It was obvious that his friend was scared of seeing him like this, and the worst part was that he couldn't really blame him. Marcius was terrified too. He was not one prone to allowing his emotions to control him, or at least that is what he kept telling himself. But every time he started to believe it, he could see Antaigne's accusing eyes staring at him from across the inky blackness of death, and the inner rage would build up again, stronger than ever.
He realized, thanks to his friend's ability to point out the obvious, how the Academy most likely found out where his master lived, and he couldn't help but feel responsible. So he embraced that anger, sheltered it, nurtured it, all as a shield against the guilty feeling growing in his gut.
But now here he was at the place he called home, being denied entry into to the one shelter he had that would protect him from the storm that had engulfed his life. The only place he could depend on. His father would know what to do! Lian Realure had an uncanny knack for making even the biggest problem seem as menial as what to wear when you went out on the town.
He needed to see the weather worn face, to hear the baritone voice that would say comforting words to him, to feel the strong, yet caring hands clasp around his shoulders, forming a protective shell against the outside world. Yes, his goal was so close, and yet, thanks to the gruff man in front of him, it seemed so far away.
"What is going on here?! I want to see my father!" he repeated desperately.
"I've got a few questions for you," the Sherrif said, ignoring his plea. "You see, boy, I've a sneaking suspicion that's been brewin' in the back of my head for a while, and what happened here answers a few of my questions, but it seems to have opened a few of 'em as well."
"What do you mean ‘what happened here'? What exactly did happen and where is my father?"
"That's what I want to find out. Boys, if you don't mind, a little privacy?"
The two deputies nodded, letting go of Marcius's arms. They tipped their hats in respectful condolence to Clarissa on the way out. "I. . . guess. . . I'll go take a nap," Clarissa said meekly, between sobs. She shot Marcius an apologetic look, which he returned with a subtle dip of his head. The cook just didn't want to be around the Sheriff.
Not catching the real reason for her departure, Gary merely nodded his understanding, waiting until she was well clear of earshot before turning to Marcius. A well calloused hand gestured toward the dining room, where two chairs waited.
This was the formal dining room of the Realure family, typically reserved for business occasions, special guests, and parties. Marcius felt a bit out of place in the ornate surroundings. It was obvious that Lian had spared no expense when decorating this section of the house. Which was understandable, the quality of your table was an unspoken announcement of your wealth amongst the upper class nobles, and Lian was one that always kept in good standings with all rankings. Marcius found it all trivial, really. He doubted he would ever understand why nobles had to complicate things.
"I'll answer your question first, since I believe it will convince you to tell me the truth." Gary shifted around in his seat as if he was having a hard time putting what he wanted to say in words, or maybe he was just as uncomfortable in the room as Marcius. Either way, it was a sign that didn't bode well to Marcius. "Your father has been taken to the Healer's Guild, as is mandatory with these cases."