The Elements of a Mystery
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“We can go down to the harbor now,” said the captain. “But there won’t be another chance before nightfall.”
They went down to the water’s edge, where the boats were tied up in neat rows along the wharves and the fishermen worked at their nets. The little craft had come from the north, from the Sea of Fallen Stars, they could tell by its sails. It was not much larger than the fishing boat the three of them rode in; it might hold six or seven sailors in its long cabin.
“There will be a lot less wind when we’re closer,” the captain warned. “It’ll be slow going.” He pointed toward a large merchant ship. “That one is going south. She has an extra mast—a foresail, with jib, main, and mizzen as well. But if you’re on her, you’re not here.”
“What’s this for?” asked the wizard. “A race? Are all ships in port here so well-armed?”
“You don’t want to know. Just stay away from those bigger ones, and you’ll do fine. They’ll be coming downriver later, so we can get our supplies and provisions then.”
He turned his attention back to their ship and gave some final instructions. Then he took the little skiff out into the bay and rowed toward the open sea. There was no wind; the sail hung limp and heavy over the deck.
As the skiff moved away, a dozen other small fishing boats followed suit. Their hulls were painted red and gold; their sails showed many bright colors and designs. These, too, had been brought in from the north, they knew. In fact, most of the vessels had probably been shipped down from the Sea of Fallen Stars during last season’s trading run.
They all carried flags, and they all flew different kinds of banners—all of which proclaimed that these boats belonged to various guilds or families.
Their little skiff drifted along until it came under the shadow of one such vessel. A man stood up in the stern and waved them in. With only the wind to propel them, the skiff glided toward him.
He held his hand out and beckoned. The wizard nodded; the boat slid alongside the larger vessel. As soon as the men aboard saw what was in the skiff, they rushed forward and helped the three of them clamber up onto the deck.
There were shouts of welcome—and a great deal of laughter at seeing the wizard and the soldier. At least some of these men were merchants, but many of them also wore uniforms from other places.
The wizard noticed that the merchant ship’s captain was wearing a gold chain with a small medallion around his neck. It was a mark of favor from the king, he knew.
They passed between two other vessels and came close enough to see the crew working on the main sail. As one man cut a line, another adjusted the tautness of the rope holding down a piece of canvas, while still others prepared to haul on a second length of rope to tighten the sail further.
The wizard realized suddenly that this was a ship of war. He had never seen anything like it before. It was huge, with three masts, each carrying square sails and with more rigging above than any of the fishing boats did below. Its sides were high and sharp; its prow was carved and shaped as if it were a dragon’s head with wings outstretched behind it.
And on either side of its broad decks sat dozens upon dozens of men. Most of them wore armor made from black metal. Many bore shields—not simple pieces of wood, but large iron shields that seemed to be fashioned after the old designs. All the soldiers carried weapons—short swords and spears. And they all looked dangerous enough to be ready to kill.
“Welcome,” said a familiar voice. The wizard turned toward the bow and saw that their boat had drifted under the shadow of another ship. This one had even fewer sails than the one they had approached. It was smaller, perhaps half as big again as the one they had boarded. And there was something about it that looked vaguely familiar to him.
Then it became obvious. “This one is a galley,” he said in a whisper. “They have the same kind of sail, although they’re usually painted blue and white instead of red.” He pointed to the ship ahead of them.
“Blue and white,” repeated the soldier. “That’s right.”
“But why are they all here? Why do they need so many men?”
“We’re here for the king’s birthday celebration.” One of the men at the stern waved at the wizard. “Come up and meet everyone aboard!”
After the wizard had climbed over the side of the skiff, he found himself looking up at a wide deck with a railing that stretched almost to the water’s edge. On top of the deck, he could see a small platform with a few seats, where several men were playing a game involving stones and sticks. There was no sign of any women among the soldiers, or any children, either. But there were a good number of servants and slaves—servants with dark skin who wore robes of various colors; slaves, also of many races, dressed in plain brown.
The captain of the vessel had joined the group of soldiers on deck. He motioned to the wizard. “Greetings!”
“Good day!” replied the wizard. He felt a little awkward. He didn’t know these men—he couldn’t tell whether any of them were friends, or enemies. And he wasn’t sure that these people knew who he was.
In fact, he was surprised when the captain smiled at him—smiled as if he had met someone he liked.
The captain spoke. His voice was deep and pleasant; it reminded the wizard somewhat of the voices in his dreams. “I am the captain of this vessel. I am pleased to have you aboard our ship.”
There were many cheers then—some of them sounded like applause. But the wizard had a hard time following it all since there were so many different languages and dialects being spoken at once. But he heard many greetings, and he heard the captain introduce him as the wizard of Anuin.
He bowed, not knowing quite how else to respond. After all, the king had just told him that he was a wizard.
The captain laughed. “You’re a bit overwhelmed by it all! I understand. We have a lot of soldiers aboard this vessel. Most of us hail from lands beyond the Great Forest. It’s an honor to have wizards and priests and priests-in-training aboard.”
The wizard smiled in relief. He could understand those words. Then he remembered something. “Do we go back to Anuin now?” he asked.
The captain nodded. “Yes, and soon. The king would like you to come with us and present yourself before his court, wizard. You’ll find a palace there. A palace with very fine food and wine. And it is my hope that you will enjoy yourself.”
That last sentence caused another round of laughter to erupt. The captain looked embarrassed, and he tried to explain.
“I’m afraid some of my men don’t understand your speech,” he said in a low voice, “but that’s only because we’ve lived together so long. And they’ve seen too many wizards in their lives, and some of them are afraid—afraid that wizards can hurt them.”
That made sense to the wizard. But he didn’t think it was wise for a man to be afraid of something that frightened so many other men. He looked around again and saw a great many slaves—all dressed in rags. Some of the slaves had been chained to stakes along the sides of the vessel. And he thought he saw others tied to the posts, as well.
“How much gold is there?” he asked the captain.
The captain blinked in surprise. “Gold?”
“Aye, gold. What does one bring to pay such a price? I mean…” He waved away the question. “Never mind.”
“Well—” began the captain. But a loud shout from a dozen yards away broke the conversation short.
“Captain!” shouted a large man wearing the colors of a soldier’s uniform. “Someone’s approaching!”
“Aye?” responded the captain, looking to the front of the vessel. “Where?”
“I don’t know!” cried the soldier. “But I hear shouting.”
Several others ran to the rail and peered ahead. “I’ve never seen anything like it!” exclaimed a soldier from the bow. “It must be one of the giants!”
Another soldier added, “And it looks angry!”
The wizard looked in that direction himself. There was indeed a figure approaching, on foot.
He saw only one giant—and the creature seemed to have no head. Or rather, his face was missing.
Instead, he wore what looked like a helmet—one that had the shape of an animal’s snout. And it was covered in hair, the same color as the rest of him. The beard was long and wavy and matted down with dirt and blood.
“It’s a troll,” explained a sailor from the stern. “He’s mad like a giant sometimes gets when his magic wears off.”
The wizard was surprised—the creature was not as big as he had expected it to be. He could see that it had towered over him at first but had quickly shrunk down as he approached.
Now that he got a better look, it did seem more beast than man.
But the captain of the vessel had already begun shouting orders. “Get ready to run out of here! I’m telling you, it’s one of the beasts—it must have been a wizard’s companion!”
The troll had reached the side of the vessel and was staring in its general direction, shaking his fist. Several soldiers drew their swords and rushed toward him. He charged them.
But the wizard knew that trolls were known for their strength. It was probably impossible for any human being to kill one of these creatures. But the wizard also knew that the troll didn’t have a chance against so many soldiers armed with weapons.
So the wizard pulled out the staff that he’d taken from the king’s guard—he had not yet decided what to do with it. He held it high and began casting a spell.
His voice rang out in the distance, causing the troll to turn about and face him. At the same time, a ball of fire appeared above the troll’s head and exploded. The blast knocked several soldiers back, while the others scattered. A few arrows struck the troll in the chest and shoulders, but they hardly seemed to slow him down. His arms shot forward, swinging the sword in a downward arc.
The wizard ducked under the swing, but his staff snapped with the impact and flew across the deck, and fell into the water, still glowing with heat.
The wizard tried to cast another spell, but his lips were suddenly dry and his head felt light. He couldn’t concentrate…
Then someone grabbed him by the arm, spun him around, and threw him hard against a post.
A large man wearing the insignia of a captain stood before him, looking down at him with cold eyes. “What are ye doing?” he demanded in a harsh voice. “You’ve caused trouble enough!”
The wizard stared up at the giant and struggled to regain control of his senses. “I beg your pardon?”
But the giant only glared at him. Then he raised his club and swung it hard down at the wizard. The blow crushed the wizard’s ribs and smashed his head against the wooden post.
The wizard felt nothing—but he saw the entire world go dark.
***
The wizard awoke to a sharp pain in his stomach. He opened his eyes and squinted in the light—a lamp glowed nearby, illuminating the interior of a small room. The smell of blood was strong in the air. He saw that he lay on a cot and the wound in his side blazed in the light of the lantern.
The wizard sat up slowly, wincing as every movement sent new waves of pain through him. He noticed that he wore only a simple tunic and trousers. And that he had several scars on his arms.
He looked up and saw a young man dressed in similar clothes standing in the doorway. This one was older than he’d thought—perhaps twenty-five or so.
The young man stepped into the room and approached where the wizard lay. “Do you remember me?” asked the man. He held his hand out. “I am your son, Arutha. I’ve come to rescue you.”
“From what?” said the wizard, taking hold of his son’s hand and squeezing it tightly. “You’re dead. You died fighting at Sancere’s Pass.”
The wizard was surprised by how much the words hurt—his eyes filled with tears and he lowered his head.
But Arutha squeezed his hand even harder until the wizard realized there was something wrong. His hand was not warm—and his fingers were stiff and numb. “My… father…” whispered the wizard faintly.
Arutha looked at him curiously and then suddenly understood. The wizard’s skin had turned white, but his hands were blue. He had no pulse.
And his mouth was full of blood—so much that it seemed to spill out onto his chin.
The young man let go of his father’s hand and knelt beside the cot, putting his ear close to the wizard’s mouth. “No,” he muttered in horror. “Not my father—”
He touched the wizard’s lips with his tongue. Blood flowed down his throat and he spat it out in disgust. “I told you we should have stayed home in Ancilar.”
“Nonsense!” snarled Arutha. “I wouldn’t leave you if I could help it! What happened?”
“I can’t believe this…” said the wizard. “It was a wizard who killed me, wasn’t it? Or maybe it was that troll.” He closed his eyes in defeat. “I’m sorry…”
The young man shook his head sadly. “No,” he said. “I’m the one who came to fetch you.”
“I don’t understand. Where is everyone?”
Arutha hesitated, then said, “I’m here alone.”
The wizard turned to look at him again with renewed interest. “You?” he said incredulously. “Why?”
“There’s something strange happening in Elvritshalla.”
The wizard was shocked by the news. “Elvritshalla? But that’s miles away from Ancilar!”
“Yes, well, I didn’t exactly get very far…”
“How did you get here?”
“On an enchanted ship,” replied Arutha. “One of the royal caravans brought it from the palace.”
“An enchanted ship?” gasped the wizard. “What manner of magic is this?”
Arutha smiled. “That’s just a story. It’s really quite simple—my mother used her power over wind and fire to create the ship and fly it across the sea to me.”
The wizard nodded absently, still staring at his son. The expression in his eyes made Arutha realize something was terribly wrong. “Father—”
The wizard was struggling to rise to his feet. The effort took every ounce of his strength.
Arutha reached out and helped him up, but his father’s face went white once more when he looked at the younger man’s left arm. It was gone—no flesh remained. “Father!” he cried.
The wizard looked at the stump and his eyes rolled upward. He began to tremble, then he fell forward.
Arutha caught him by the shoulder and held him up. The wizard’s head lolled about like a rag doll’s.
A sudden silence descended on the room.
Arutha looked back and forth between the wizard’s body and his own arm, which hung limply at his side. He tried to lift his other arm, but he found that he had no strength for it. His fingers felt as if they were frozen.
Suddenly, a voice rang out, “Who dares enter the lair of the great wizard Kothlaric?”
Both father and son spun around. A figure stood at the door, clad in a hooded black robe and carrying a long staff of ebony. “Who goes there?”
Arutha’s hand shot to the hilt of his sword but found nothing. No sword—no shield, either. He dropped the wizard’s lifeless body to the floor. Then he lifted the wizard’s robes, revealing a leather vest with many pockets. There, inside a small pocket, lay a rapier. Arutha grasped it in his hand and drew it.
“I’ll show you who goes where,” he shouted. “Come out and face me like a man.”
The intruder’s lips twitched in amusement, but the voice was neither that of a man nor any human creature he had ever heard before. “Very brave, young sir. Very foolish.”
Arutha stepped into the room, trying to hide his weakness.
The man moved with startling swiftness. He was tall and slender, dressed all in black save for a single bright blue scarf wrapped around his neck. He raised his staff, then swung it down hard, slamming Arutha in the chest. “Young Arutha!” he said mockingly.
A moment later he felt the blow himself—but only slightly and without real effect. He staggered backward, then recovered quickly and thrust his rapier at the intruder, but the man’s staff blocked the stroke.
They circled each other warily.
The intruder spoke again. “You have come to the lair of the wizard Kothlaric, young sir. How did you know that?”
Arutha ignored the question, focusing instead on his opponent. He knew that the stranger was not a mortal man or even some strange being like a troll or a giant. The wizard’s powers extended far beyond anything Arutha had imagined.
That was evident in the way the man moved—with speed and agility. And that stuff! Arutha realized that he was fighting against sorcery—not against the physical strength of a man, but against the power of a god.
He remembered what the wizard had said in the hall. This must be the Archdemon—the Archdemon Kothlaric. If this was indeed his master, then he was not a man. Not even a human shape was known to possess such speed and power.
It was clear that this sorcerer would kill Arutha in a heartbeat, even should the prince defeat him. He knew it—yet somehow his will held firm and he continued to fight.
The Archdemon struck again, striking Arutha’s blade aside. The weapon snapped like a twig, and Arutha found himself holding nothing but air.
He tried to catch his balance but was suddenly dizzy. His attacker came at him with his staff, but Arutha saw no way to avoid the attack. Then his enemy stepped back and laughed aloud, shaking his head.
Arutha staggered back, unable to think of a reply. The Archdemon’s staff lashed out again, knocking his sword from his grasp. Arutha could see no way to get past that staff’s speed and power, nor any hope of defeating the Archdemon.
Then the Archdemon raised both arms and sudden darkness surrounded him. It was a cloud that swirled about the intruder’s form and seemed to envelop his whole body. For a brief instant, everything was dark and cold, as if night had come in midsummer’s day. The Archdemon’s staff vanished altogether.
Arutha tried to move but found his strength gone. His knees gave way, and he sank to his knees. A faint light returned to the room, though his eyes refused to open. All he could hear were distant voices. He heard a low voice speaking, but it sounded as if someone whispered to him from very close by—as if the sorcerer was talking to him from within his mind.
“So you’ve come to the lair of my master, Prince Arutha.”
“Yes—and I will die here.”
“Not if I can help it.”
There was a loud crack, and Arutha saw something glowing, a ball of fire that danced and played before him. But then the Archdemon struck down the fiery thing with his staff and it disappeared, leaving the prince feeling colder than he had ever felt in his life.
Then he felt a sharp pain in his side and knew the Archdemon had stabbed him in the heart. “No!” he cried out involuntarily, but the words were not meant for anyone nearby. In fact, they weren’t meant to be spoken out loud at all. They were merely a murmur that escaped his lips.
The Archdemon stood above him, smiling broadly.
Arutha looked up through his tears and met those eyes of blue fire once more.
“My name is Kothlaric,” the Archdemon said, still smiling. “And you are mine, young prince. You are the son of King James and Lady Isabella and rightful heir to their lands, to their crowns, to their kingdoms, and to all the world.”
Arutha struggled for breath.
“But you have another destiny, Arutha.” Kothlaric raised his staff and brought it down hard against the prince’s back.
The End