Windmaster Golem Chapter 1

Defeat the clay golem. Protect the Oracle’s sister. Defeat a rogue mage? The problem? Do it without any powers of your own.
 
 

A Look Between the Pages  - Chapter One

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CHAPTER ONE:

Tendrils of fog clutched at Brodie’s ankles. The thick haze not only dampened the sound of the surf crashing against the cliff, it hid the trail along the cliff edge. Not even the light from the gibbous moon showed anything other than shadows.

For several breaths he stood and marked his location on a mental map of the trail. Switchbacks and a sharp drop-off marked the downhill slope to the village. A tug pulled the long sword from the scabbard hanging on his back. “Good thing I have TânOer with me,” he told the night. He kept the weapon in his cottage in the main village unless being used in a lesson. “The short sword I usually carry while on the Isle of Mages is too short to be useful as a pointer.” The memory of why he had the enspelled long sword with him flickered into being. That afternoon he had shown the folly of hubris to a pair of second-season students and spent the rest of the day at the forge.

One final breath to center himself and he dragged the tip along the ground in a long arc in front of him. Step by step, he listened for the scratch of steel on dirt or the swish as the blade slid into the grass alongside the trail. Boulders filled the space from the grassy verge to the cliff’s edge, so a scrape on rock told he was no longer on the path. Every snick of steel on stone dropped him to the ground. On hands and knees he explored the area until he determined if it was a single rock or a pile of them marking a sharp turn of the path to warn the unwary to slow down.

His fingers didn’t meet more rocks, just open air.

“Too close for comfort,” he growled. Crawling to the right he found dirt. Once again he checked his mental map. “The bench is not too far ahead. Just a hundred steps.”

The slow exploration of the invisible world around him resumed.

Foot by foot, he probed and listened. The sword scraped on stone, and again when he moved it a foot higher. A screech, dampened by the fog, was quickly snatched away. Three more times he tested the rock face until the blade hit open air. Mental calculations revealed the stone was a head taller than his own considerable height. Only two people on the island were taller, the archmage and Murdo, the former mercenary who was now the head cook for both the mages and non-talented who lived on the island that was home to the school of magic and the council of wizards.

“I’m at the bench,” Brodie whispered. “Safe, at least for now.” The path grew steeper from there. It was dangerous even in daylight, now with the dew-slicked grass, near impossible to navigate blind. TânOer sheathed, he sat down with the weapon across his lap. No sooner had he stopped moving than his skin crawled from the cold. Only where his hand lay on the hilt of the sword did the chill fail to penetrate and the fingers remain warm.

The fog seemed to come alive. Icy fingers slid around his neck … and squeezed. More hands gripped his arm and trapped the sword in its sheath.

“No,” he moaned. “Magic is controlling this fog.” Yet again, he cursed his lack of talent. I may not be able to break the spell, but I can reach Denai. If she can’t help, she can at least contact her parents.

His hands scrabbled for purchase. I have to reach the metal. He forced his fingers to inch down the leather grip. Cold steel greeted his questing fingers. Denai ... help … trapped … fog.

As it did with the sound of the crashing surf just a few lengths away, the fog snatched away the mental call. The ethereal noose around his neck tightened. Blackness narrowed his vision.

Fear added power to his call. His thought turned from a cast net to a silver thread tied to a dagger. A silent prayer to his ancestors to guide his aim and he threw the message towards the sleeping village below. Denai ... help … trapped … fog flew along the lifeline. This time the impression of a sleepy “Ummm,” and the flick of fingers greeted his attempt.

The fog vanished and with it the stranglehold on his neck loosened. Overhead, the twin moons shone brightly. Their light clearly showed the path in front and behind.

Evaluation of the two routes took only heartbeats. His workshop at the forge might only be a lean-to, but the archmage had laid protective spells around the entire area and the iron itself would dampen the effects of an attack. Downhill was steep and potentially full of roots that could trip and send him over the edge. Brodie’s feet flew along the trail back towards the clifftop and his forge.

~* ~

Boredom added to Relliq’s dark mood. He blew on knuckles bloodied once again from scraping the edge of the bowl as he ground herbs for poultices. The bag Ysbail had left to be ready for her return was still three-quarters full. “I’m not a healer,” he snarled. “Smashing herbs into small pieces isn’t magic. It’s just woman’s work.”

But Ysbail was not only the healer of Montrat, she was also his teacher. At least for the moment, he thought. Soon the student will surpass the master. Sighing, he dropped another clump of the dried leaves into the bowl and picked up the heavy stone grinder. The cool stone rubbed against skin not yet callused. Only three turns later, sharp pain meant another blister raised and broken.

“Enough is enough,” he hissed. Swift movements dumped the clumps of herbs back into the bag and half-filled a bowl with water. The liquid cooled the sting in his hands. A slight movement of his fingers swirled the drops of blood that oozed from his knuckles into an intricate design. The rune for fog appeared, then the one for entrapment.

Snatching his spellbook from the shelf, he quickly flipped through the pages looking for instructions on how to pair the two runes. “There must be something that will work,” he muttered. “Even if the fog only affects the mind, confuses the will, it will be a useful tool. But how to direct it?”

His search of the book revealed no answer, still, the lure of the envisioned magic called him. Careful so as not to disrupt the symbols, he cast the spell and peered deep into the bowl to watch the result.

The image of a rolling surf changed to a narrow, rock-lined path. Recognition dawned. The Isle of Mages? 

What if the archmage finds out? fear wondered.

It doesn’t matter, Relliq countered. One day, and not too far away, I will be in charge. His plan settled, he threw more magic into the spell. A man appeared. Tall and wide-shouldered, he strode with confidence along at steep trail. Gray ropes snatched at his legs. The air around the figure thickened and within a heartbeat became an impenetrable haze.

Now the liquid in the bowl once again showed its true nature. As he had just moments before, Relliq searched his memory for the means to use and control the spell. A pairing came to mind. “Night be dark, light be gone, mist turn into a living fog,” he hissed.

What had been a haze thickened and pulsed in a rhythm that mirrored a heartbeat.

Relliq’s lips parted. He leaned closer to the bowl. The shadowed man fell, rose to his feet, shambled a few paces, fell again, then on hands and feet crawled through the swirling mass. Movement ceased when the figure placed his back against a sheer rock face.

The liquid in the bowl shimmered, then exploded. Sparks flew around the room, landing on the table, the floor, and in Relliq’s hair. Slaps put out the embers that burned his skin and clothes. Remnants of the shattered spell danced along the bowl’s rim as glowing sprites. After a frenetic dance, they merged and flared into a solid flame. A shriek at the pain in his hands and Relliq threw the bowl against the wall. Fire flowed down the wall where the blood droplets touched the stone.

His hastily whispered dispersion spell touched the flames which flickered into nothingness to cast the room into darkness. A single moonbeam pierced the gloom and moved across the room to pin the doorway in a spectral glow.

Expletives not consistent with the discipline of the Way filled the small space. “Who broke my spell? The archmage is out and about on the mainland and no one else is powerful enough. Not even that woman he calls his mate. There is no one else at the Council Isle smart enough to recognize my spell, let alone destroy it.”

No answer to the question appeared and reality interceded. His gaze lingered on the broken bowl. The shards no longer glowed, but a master wizard could still pull information from them. All evidence of the spell had to be destroyed. Wrapping a cloth around his hand, Relliq gathered up the pieces and set them on the hearth. Several blows with the brick used to prop open the door in summer crushed the shards into pebbles intermixed in a fine powder. Sweeps with the cloth pushed the remnants into the back of the hearth. A kick and the powder mingled with the pile of gray ash.

Another general dispersion spell and satisfied he had done all that he could to cover his tracks, Relliq lay down in bed. However sleep remained elusive. A single thought kept pulling him back to awareness. Who broke my spell?

~ * ~

Warmth on his face woke Brodie. A leonine stretch to his full height removed more of the night’s chill from his skin—and his soul. Picking up his sword where it lay across the open space in the wall that led to the forge, he hung it on the hook on the wall. Other hooks held finished blades awaiting their hilts. Competing thoughts fought for control. One said to tell the archmage about the fog attack.

Another voice hissed to talk to Lady Ellspeth. She is as powerful a mage as Lord Dal.

And the archmage is not at the school, reality countered. He is out and about seeking candidates for the next recognition ceremony.

Use the signal bowl in the council chambers, the urge to contact the archmage added. Or have Denai reach out to her parents. The light chatter of children’s voices preceded their owner’s appearance.

Denai will be busy with her lessons came from the part of Brodie that didn’t want to reach out to Denai. Of late, she had been making special efforts to be near him. As he had done so often for the fast few sevenday, Brodie wondered how to handle the fifteen-turn-old’s crush.

Sooner or later, I’ll have to speak to the archmage and his wife about it.

If they don’t already know, fear hissed.

Denai’s appearance at the trailhead ended the racing thoughts. Behind her, a half-dozen children, ranging in age from ten to fourteen, followed in single file. Her older sister, Elendl, brought up the rear of the line. Even though only older by a few heartbeats, she often emphasized the “older” aspect of the twin’s relationship.

A nod to the girls and Brodie returned his attention to the blades laid out on the workbench. Several pumps from the bellow and the coals glowed a deep red. Picking up an iron blade, he examined the edge for imperfections. The recognition ceremony would soon take place and he wanted to finish the blade for Denai. Instinct told him she would answer the call and need a journeyman’s blade to serve as a focus of her powers.

“And this will be hers,” he muttered. “I may not have a wizard’s magic, but I can make sure that the tool she uses for the rest of her life is special.” Satisfied nothing more needed to be done, he selected another formed-strip of iron. Although nothing irregular could be seen, one spot bothered him and he placed the future blade into the heart of the coals. Watching the metal shift color from black to red to white when the desired malleability was achieved helped calm his mind.

Strong swings of the hammer worked the hot metal, narrowing the edge. The metal’s glow changed color. Thrusting the hot metal into the oil, he snatched a rag from the workbench and sauntered over to the wall and leaned against the cool stones. Memory of other stones, those chilled by the fog, surfaced.

No one on the Isle, no one who studies the Way, would without provocation use their powers against one who had none. So who attacked me?



Windmaster Golem -From BWL Publishing
Cover Art by Michelle Lee

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