Kazin's Quest: Book I of The Dragon Mage Trilogy (6 page)

The renegade turned to look behind him. At last! He had been waiting for Kazin to cast the swift spell for some time now. He looked at Kazin’s horse. There was something wrong with its appearance but he couldn’t make it out in the downpour. Was it lighter? No matter. He had to complete the test. He whirled and cast a lightning bolt at Kazin, knowing that while Kazin was galloping forward using the swift spell, he would have to cast a fourth spell in order to defend himself.

Kazin saw the bolt and shielded himself, deflecting it aside. Then, before the renegade could react, Kazin cast his own lightning bolt spell and immediately afterward cast another spell.

To the renegade mage, it looked like a mere spark jumping a couple of inches out of Kazin’s hand, the result of a failed bolt spell. The searing pain in his shoulder told him otherwise. He fell from his saddle, unconscious.

Kazin slowed his horse and opened a shaky hand. A moistened pigeon feather and some tree bark, ingredients for an invisible spell, fell from it. He looked down at his flame on the pommel of his saddle. The shield shimmered, and then failed. The flame, without the shield to protect it, sizzled and flared out. Kazin closed his eyes and fainted, falling off his horse like a dead weight. The shimmering horse bent over his inert body and examined him with concern. Then it sniffed, satisfied, and vanished, replaced by the original horse.

Max rubbed his injured arm and winced. He cursed his weakness in staff combat. If he hadn’t been so careless, he wouldn’t be in so much pain. His flame wavered. Every time he felt pain, his concentration on his flame would falter. He clenched his teeth. He wouldn’t allow the flame to go out just because of a little pain. His flame brightened and became steadier. That was better. He thought back to the previous parts of the test and decided that he did all right. With the exception of his arm injury, he had managed to eliminate those two bandits. The next part of the test was harder, and the strain of the magic was almost unbearable, yet somehow he managed a strong enough ice bolt to go completely through one minotaur and halfway through the next. He idly wondered how Kazin fared through that part. He chuckled. He probably used his powerful fireball or lightning bolt spell to fry those minotaurs into hamburger!

There was the crack of a twig to his left. He turned in his saddle to peer through the downpour. This movement caused his scar to reopen, forcing him to wince in pain. If only he had let that cleric tend to his wound! Instead he had to go gallivanting off after a dangerous renegade mage. A lightning bolt sizzled out of the rain, grazing his already bleeding arm. Max yelped and dug his heels into his horse’s flanks. That renegade was going to pay!

Through the trees he saw the mage. The chase was on. Max remembered the raven’s feather and cast a swift spell on his horse. The renegade turned and began to cast more lightning bolts in his direction, speeding up his own horse to keep a safe distance ahead. Max kept his horse on the move to prevent the renegade from homing in on his location. Lightning bolts were the most useful weapon under the present conditions but his own lightning bolts were too weak to do any damage. He had to concentrate on his specialty. Ice bolts. But in order for them to work, he needed to draw on more energy than he had available. To cast an ice bolt, he would have to cancel the swift spell. But if he cancelled the swift spell, the renegade would get too far ahead for an ice spell to work. He needed to get closer and stay close. A branch struck his wounded arm. “OW!” He was beginning to get lightheaded from the loss of blood. If he was going to do anything, he would have to do it now. With his last ounce of physical and magical energy, he pulled the rock from his pouch and held it up in the rain, hoarsely chanting his favourite spell.

The renegade was just turning to prepare a spell of his own when he saw the ice bolt coming at him. He raised a shield spell instead but was unprepared for the force of the ice bolt. It penetrated the shield and embedded itself in his arm, yanking him off his horse.

The last thing Max saw before he blacked out was his flame winking out in the merciless rain.

Part II

Honour and Freedom

Chapter 5

A
s Zylor prepared to leave the arena after an early morning exercise, he thought back to the time his life had taken an unexpected turn. Around six months ago his mother, Mylorga, had taken ill and was not expected to recover. On her deathbed, she had revealed to him that she was not, in fact, his true mother. She then proceeded, amid coughing and gasping, to tell him of his true heritage.

His father was the former emperor of the minotaur empire who, in his prime, had supposedly died of a sudden heart attack at a formal reception nineteen years ago. In truth, he had been poisoned by his evil brother, Traygor, who had his eye on the emperor’s seat for some time. By killing his brother, Traygor was in line to take the seat as the only male next of kin.

Meanwhile, very few knew that Zylor’s real mother, Minga, was pregnant and had given birth the night of the murder. The birthing was difficult and Zylor’s mother died shortly after he was born. Mylorga was the midwife during this time and when she heard that Traygor was coming to see his sister-in-law to send his condolences that very night; she fled with Zylor in her arms. Most of the guards were near the reception so she escaped out the servant’s entrance. Glancing down a long hallway on her way out, she saw Traygor entering Minga’s bed chamber with a long dagger in his hand. This confirmed her suspicions. As she left the fortress behind, she heard a horrible bellow of anger and rage. Mylorga laughed dryly at this, “Imagine his surprise when he discovered that he couldn’t have the satisfaction of killing your mother since she was already dead!” Apparently, Traygor’s rage didn’t end here. He killed all the servants and sent out search parties looking for a lone female minotaur with an infant. Many innocent lives were lost that night. Mylorga had a friend who had hidden them in his cellar and helped them to escape into the mountains during the night. There some dwarves, of all people, found the compassion to care for them for a few months.

When Traygor’s rage finally subsided, he reasoned that the infant couldn’t harm him so long as he denied its existence. If the baby was female, it didn’t matter—she couldn’t rule anyway. If, on the other hand, someone claimed that their infant was his nephew, he would kill first and ask questions later. So he called off his search parties and Mylorga left the safety of the dwarves and settled in the mountain town of Manhar, where Zylor now lived.

Zylor’s path became clear then. He would take back the throne, but he wouldn’t stoop to his uncle’s tactics to do it. He would take part in the election battle like any other would-be emperors.

This battle took place every four years and the winner of the one-on-one battles would have the opportunity to challenge the present emperor to a duel for leadership. The champion of the battles had the choice of either receiving a large sum of money for his victory, or offering a challenge for leadership. The emperor himself would then either accept the challenge, or step down from leadership with a decent retirement package and his honour intact. If the challenge was accepted, the challenger had to fight without weapons, while the present emperor could use any weapon of his choosing; again without loss of honour. This battle went to the death. If the emperor won, he retained his leadership and personally financed the burial of the challenger, who died an honourable death. If the challenger won, he immediately assumed command and the former emperor was buried without honour. After all, he had a weapon and still failed. Usually the challenger would still bury the former emperor with some show of respect if the people enjoyed his rule.

“Not bloody likely,” thought Zylor, thinking of Traygor, who wasn’t a very popular leader to begin with.

If the emperor died before the next election, the next of kin male would take over until the election battle took place. If the new leader was not old enough to rule yet, the mother would rule until her son was of age. This resulted in the only time a female could be in charge. If there was no mother available, the emperor’s lead general would take command until the son came of age. When the son came of age, (usually sixteen), the election battle would commence. This new leader could then step down with his honour intact or he could fight to retain his leadership. If there was no next of kin, the election battle would take place as soon as possible and a new ruler would be selected.

Zylor looked forward to the day he entered the arena against his uncle, achieving revenge for his father and those who were killed that same night, as well as restoring his name on the throne.

“Zylor, where are you going?”

Zylor turned and realized he was so engrossed in his thoughts that he had walked right past the prison gatehouse where he worked. He shook his head and grinned sheepishly. “Morning, Karlan. I was just thinking of my glorious future as a prison guard.”

“Yeah, don’t we all,” grunted Karlan, the head of the prison guards. He was nearly as tall as Zylor, about eight feet, but his horns were much shorter than they should be. Many minotaurs ridiculed him for this, since bigger horns meant more strength. But Karlan fought his way through the ranks and those who knew him knew he could hold his own and more. “Working out again?” he asked.

“Yeah,” said Zylor. “It’s a good way to start the day.”

“Well, so is working in. We’ve got a new prisoner today. He’s a little banged up but he’ll survive. Since you’re on feeding duty this week, it’s your job to feed the guy until he can feed himself.”

Zylor sighed. “Where is he?”

“Cell sixteen.”

The prisoners were an odd assortment of humans, orcs, goblins and dwarves. The orcs, humans, and goblins were used as entertainment in the arenas and were treated well if they fought well. The dwarves were not used in the arenas as often, being more valuable if held for ransom. Any dwarves that were captured alive and relatively unharmed were traded for superior dwarven weapons that the minotaurs were using in their battles to the east against the humans. This arrangement was fine to both parties.

Zylor liked his job. He was particularly kind to the dwarven prisoners, remembering the stories Mylorga had told him of their aid and friendship in the mountains many years ago. Her story then was that she was being pursued by a crazed minotaur lover who thought Zylor was another minotaur’s child. It was partially true, he guessed, and there was no reason for her to lie about the dwarves’ aid. However his life had changed, he would still feel a kinship to the dwarves.

He came to cell 16 and looked through the bars into the darkness. After a moment, he could make out the shape of a figure curled up on the cot. No threat there. Zylor grunted. Of course not. Karlan said he was banged up after all, didn’t he? Still, it wasn’t the first time he’d been attacked while delivering food. The key rattled in the lock as he fumbled with the mechanism. Zylor cursed. He always forgot to tell Karlan that the locks needed oiling. Finally the lock snapped open and Zylor entered. The figure did not move. Zylor approached cautiously and gently prodded the figure with his finger. It was a small figure—another dwarf. He prodded again and this time the figure groaned and rolled over. Both eyes were swollen shut, the grey beard tangled and matted. The upper lip was swollen with a bluish tinge. Zylor frowned. This was not going to be easy.

“Not in very good shape, is he?”

Zylor turned to the doorway.

Garad, another guard, continued, “He fought like hell when he was caught. Knocked out one minotaur and severed the arm of another before the blunt end of a battle axe knocked some sense into him. Or out of him, if you prefer.”

Zylor said nothing.

Garad shrugged and continued down the corridor.

Zylor turned to the dwarf and began to administer the food. The going was slow. The dwarf winced with every spoonful. Eventually the gruel bowl was empty. A short while later, Zylor returned with some bandages and ointment and bandaged the dwarf’s head. The bandages were large and were meant for minotaurs and when the job was finished, Zylor sat back to examine his handiwork.

Garad appeared again and chuckled. “First time we had a mummy in our prison.”

“Very funny,” said Zylor, but he couldn’t resist a chuckle of his own. The dwarf did indeed look like a small mummy.

A few days later, the bandages were removed and the dwarf looked slightly more dwarfish and a lot less like a mummy.

Harran squinted around at his cell. Though it was dark, it was still hard on his eyes, which had seen nothing but blackness for several days. There were two minotaurs glaring at him. They always glared, the ugly brutes, thought Harran. “Well, what’s wrong? You never saw a dwarf before?”

One minotaur growled; the other never changed its ‘glare’.

“I’ll take over from here, Garad,” said the glaring one.

Garad left.

“What’s your name?” demanded the remaining minotaur.

“What’s it to you?” snapped Harran.

“We need to give your name to the dwarven emissary so ransom can be arranged.”

“Go to hell,” said Harran.

Karlan shook his head. “Suit yourself.” He got up and shouted down the corridor, “Zylor! Come feed the twirp. It looks like he wants to stay with us for a while.” As Zylor passed into the room with a tray, Karlan smirked, “Maybe he likes your motherly touch!” Zylor growled. Karlan tilted his head back and laughed. Then he playfully slapped Zylor’s arm and strode off down the hallway, still chuckling. Zylor shook his head and turned to the dwarf. “How about some solid food for a change?”

The dwarf glared suspiciously at the minotaur. This was the beast that had dressed his wounds? Harran harrumphed. He didn’t owe this minotaur anything. Minotaurs got him into this mess; they can get him out of it. His stomach growled, causing him to take notice of the tray held before him. It was even steaming. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to eat a little something. Zylor noticed the gaze and gave the tray to the dwarf. The dwarf took it, sparing only a quick glance at it before returning his eyes to the minotaur.

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