Lich Page 3

  A dark form flew past his head and Den lurched to one side. Just a bat, he chided his terror-addled mind. “I've got to get a grip on myself.” But even as he reassured himself, his fears tightened their grip. In the dark, in a place like this, every noise takes on the form of the most hideous beast one could imagine. Creatures you can see, like the goblins Den had encountered, were frightening. But when it's your imagination that creates the beast, the horror becomes worse than anything that had ever lived. He continued on, staying to the center of the path and keeping his eyes scanning the surroundings. As the moonlight began to shine from behind the clouds, Den felt his heart lighten as he saw a human form walking up an intersecting pathway. A companion would brighten the mood. He could now hear the footsteps of the person, and his heart soared with joy at finally being safe. Den made it to the intersection first and waited. Monsters, moments ago real, were suddenly banished. Unable to contain himself, Den called into the night, “Hello. Hello, good sir... um er mam?"

  The form paused for a moment, then continued forward. Common sense being lost with the prospect of a companion, Den justified the lack of response. "Can you hear me?" he asked as the silhouette got nearer. Den was now growing frustrated. Who do you think you are? he thought as the person came within ten strides.

  Then it dawned on him, Light. Den reached down and picked up a stone. He held out his hand and chanted the simple spell, and light burst forth from the small rock. As the glow fell on his companion, he found he was staring into the empty eye sockets of a skeleton. He turned to run, but the creature grabbed his shirt at the back. Waves of cold seemed to burn his flesh as he struggled to break free. Arms windmilling, the stone flew, forgotten, from his grip. "Let go of me!” he yelled, his voice strained with fear. But the feeling of cold remained, and so did Den.

  Suddenly, he heard a ripping sound and the cold lessened. This gave new energy to his struggle, and he pushed forward with even more strength. The ripping sound came again, and Den could feel he was making headway. With a final effort, he tore free. Feet sailing over the ground, he made a desperate dash for freedom. The landscape became a blur as he made for the cottage of Finnious, and safety. As he neared his home, he dared a look over his shoulder. He was safe. The trail was empty.

  Breathing hard, he slowed to a walk. Steam puffing from his mouth with each new exhale, a feeling of relief washed over him. He wanted nothing more than to enter the safety of the home of Finnious and the protection the old wizard would give.

  By the time he reached the building, his breathing had returned to normal, but he looked and felt like he had been through a war.

  When he opened the door, Den was bathed in warm light. The old cottage had never seemed so wonderful; its stale air was like sweet perfume. Even the clutter, scattered about the place, was like an old friend. Den could hear Finnious rummaging around in some of the boxes he'd stored in the back of his laboratory. The sound was like music. No skeleton would be bold enough to attack him with the old mage at his side.

  "Blast it!" yelled the old sorcerer, "Where is that useless staff?!” More rummaging sent sounds of breaking glass vibrating through the lab. "Blast!" he yelled again.

  “Master?" inquired Den. "I have something that's really important-“

  "In a moment, Den, my boy," cut in the mage. "First, help me find my staff."

  Den felt relief. Maybe the wizard already knows about the skeleton, he thought as he took up the search. He is probably searching for some powerful staff that will dispel the skeletal horror.

  More objects broke as the old mage tried to move a moldering basket. "Blast," the wizard barked under his breath. "That was my good enchanted hat," he said, holding up a high, pointed hat with a very wide brim. "I'll never get the smell of toad toes out of it."

  "Here it is!" cried Den, nearly dancing with excitement. He held the staff above his head, bashing it off several bunches of drying plants hanging from the rafters. Pollen and plant debris floating down from above, covering his head and shoulders. He rushed over to Finnious, spilling the contents of several containers along the way. "Is this the staff you’re looking for, master?" he asked.

  Den skidded to a halt in front of the old wizard, sliding the final foot on some creature’s spilled gizzard. The mage snatched the rod out of his student’s hands and forged off toward a shelf sagging under the weight of too many books and scrolls.

  Dust flew as Finnious pulled down various tomes to examine. Harrumphing loudly, he searched the spines and contents of various volumes, creating an ever-expanding pile of the books he had selected.

  As time wore on, Den felt a growing urgency. "Why doesn't he hurry?" he wondered. "The skeleton could be anywhere by now." Goosebumps rose on his skin as he remembered the cold grasp of the undead being and the waves of negative energy chilling him to the bone.

  "This should do it," the mage trumpeted, pushing the books into a burlap bag. The edges of the books poked out at odd angles creating a chaotic looking sack.

  As Finnious was tying the bag with an odd scrap of twine, Den finally couldn't contain himself anymore. "Shouldn't we go after the skeleton now, master?" he asked in a jumbled rush of words, driven by urgency.

  Finnious looked at him agasp. "What are you talking about, my boy?" he asked, confused. "Skeletons?"

  "Isn't that why we were searching for the staff?" Den’s voice squeaked in frustration. "I saw a skeleton on my way home from town. It grabbed my shirt and almost got me."

  “Blast, boy! I don't know anything about any skeletons. Let me see your shirt.” While Finnious inspected the ripped garment, Den told of his encounter with the undead. The old wizard pulled up an edge of the tear and noticed the chapped skin where the skeletal hand had been near Den’s flesh. This confirmed the young man’s story.

  "Blast!" the mage muttered. "This complicates things,” he said, dropping the ragged end of cloth from Den’s shirt. Finnious turned and picked up the bag by its top, easily swinging the sack over his shoulder with practiced ease. "Follow me into the lab, Den, my boy,” the old mage muttered, already heading in that direction.

  Den fell in behind his master with a confused look on his face. The lab, located off the main room, was huge. Den had spent time in here recently, as it took many years for him to gain Finnious's trust enough to begin experimenting with the various aspects of alchemy. Scorch marks on some of the walls and the ceiling showed where some of the experiments had gotten away from him.

  “Now, where is that powder?" the aged wizard inquired while scratching his head with his free hand. Letting the sack of books drop to the ground, he set about sorting through the glass vials. Den could see his teacher’s face, distorted, in the oddly shaped containers, the curved surfaces stretching and warping his mentor's features.

  The vessels contained a wide assortment of powders and concoctions. A myriad of colors were represented, as well as odd textures. Many held liquids of varying colors.

  The glass tubes clinked together as they were pulled free of their racks, examined, and, with a frown or a harrumph of disappointment, replaced. This process went on for, what seemed to Den, an overly long span of time until his master finally stopped.

  “Ah-ha!" The old mage exclaimed while holding a small vial aloft. Its white, sand-like consistency looked most unimpressive.

  Finnious shuffled across the room and plopped down in a well-worn, overstuffed chair. Dust poofed into the air as the cushion protested his intrusion. "Gad!" the old mage spat, waving his hands before his face. His nose scrunched as if holding in a sneeze.

  "What are we going to do?" Den pleaded.

  "Hold on, my boy!” Finnious exclaimed, recovering from the dust explosion. "First things first. I am leaving for the land of Skagnar. Trouble is brewing there and an old friend of mine is in great need."

  "You can't run off now, master. You are in need here. That skeleton might not be alone. What are we going to do?"

  "There's another wizard here, and that will have to do." F
innious retorted.

  "Who?" asked Den, puzzled.

  “You, my boy. You."

  Den felt a cold chill as all the hairs on the back of his neck rose. “What?!" he mouthed, shock registering on his face. "You can't be serious! Master, I can't do something of this magnitude."

  “Blast, boy. Get ahold of yourself. You are much further along than you know. You doubt yourself, Den. Your doubt holds you back from doing wondrous things," Finnious soothed.

  "But I can't fight the undead master. I need time with the books."

  “Nonsense, Den. Books can only teach you so much,” Finnious chided. "You need to experience the world. That's our best teacher. You're hiding behind books because you doubt your abilities."

  Den stood motionless. He couldn't respond.

  "For instance, what burned your back during your encounter with the skeleton?" he asked, trying to bring Den back to reality.

  Slowly, Den came around enough to reply. "I was burned by the cold of the negative plane, master."

  "You are correct, my young mage, but by just reading about it in a book, could you tell me how it felt? No! You needed to experience the event. The real world teaches you things that books can't."

  “But, at least, books don't burn you,” said Den under his breath.

  "They may not burn you," Finnious corrected, “but they won't teach you from your mistakes, either. Mistakes teach in a more in-depth way. They teach us our true limitations, not just our perceived ones."

  Den heaved a sigh as the old wizard left the comfort of the overstuffed chair and proceeded to his casting chamber.

  The casting chamber was a small, round room in comparison to the rest of the ones in Finnious's strange hut. It was almost empty. The walls were large, gray, stone block and the floor was the same. Wild, arcane symbols were drawn and painted on the walls and floor in a rainbow of different colors. The only objects inside were an old, worn wooden table and its accompanying chair.

  As the mage entered the room, he stopped occasionally and muttered some words or made some simple gestures. Den did the same right behind, allowing them both to pass unseen glyphs and other defensive spells. This was the room where they practiced new spells or cast dangerous magic.

  Finnious sat in the lone chair and immediately began casting a spell. Eyes closed in concentration, he silently mouthed words. For quite a while, Den stood, watching his mentor as the meditating mage was in the grasp of his magic. Then, suddenly, it was over.

  As the old mage's eyes blinked back to life he drew in a deep breath. "Blast!" he barked. "When it rains, it pours."

  "What is it, master?" Den urged.

  "I was hoping it was an isolated event, my boy. But it seems a necromancer named Marasmus has moved into the old tower to the north. The one near the old Elindill mine. I don't have time for this silliness!" Finnious spat. "You're going to have to deal with this, Den."

  Den's knees went weak. “But, master, I never-“

  "You're ready, Den," the mage assured his young apprentice. "I'll give you some powerful magic that will aid you in your task, and maybe you can recruit some help from town. Remember everything you've learned about the undead. It will keep you from joining them."

  "I still don't think I'm ready," Den whined.

  "Bah!" his master answered. "Necromancers aren't really powerful. The only thing to worry about is what he makes."

  "Take this," Finnious said, pushing the bag of powder in the young mage's hands. "It's called Anti-Magic Dust. The necromancer is probably using some type of device to control the undead. It's probably a small, onyx stone that will radiate a green-glowing magic. Use all the dust on it and it won’t bother us anymore."

  "How do you know this?" Den asked.

  “Because evil wizards tend to be gaudy, and if he intends to raise an army of undead, he'll need something to focus his energy through. Without a piece of onyx, he will only be able to control a few skeletons and, maybe, some zombies. It's nothing to worry about. Luckily, onyx is rare and is usually small. The smaller the stone, the less power it has."

  Den's stomach began to turn. The realization of his responsibility was beginning to sink in as reality. Gathering his resolve, he said, "I will do my best, master."

  "That will do just fine, Den. The dust will destroy the artifact and rid the necromancer of much of his power."

  Den accepted the bag containing the Anti-Magic Dust from the outstretched hand of Finnious. With his free hand, he pulled loose the drawstrings on the pouch, revealing the white, sand-like substance inside. With a sigh, he pulled the strings closed again and attached it to his belt. This hung beside the other pouches, which, along with the various pockets sewn into his shirt and breeches, held his spell components.

  Chapter 6

  This Wasn't In the Deal

  Skum awoke on the experiment table feeling cold. He had a gnawing hunger, but not for food. He could remember the night before; the panic he felt at learning his master had somehow cheated death and frustration at the same time, then the struggle. With all his magical powers, the goblin was no match for the necromancer-turned-lich.

  As he rose to his elbow, Skum noticed something odd about how he moved. A strange stiffness made his arms feel slow and less responsive than he had ever felt before. Maybe it was from lying on the cold experiment table. That's it, he thought. The chill is from the table he had lain on without some type of blanket to cover himself.

  He raised the rest of the way into a sitting position and swung his legs off the edge of the table. After dropping to the floor, he began moving about the room, swinging his arms briskly in order to loosen his resistant joints. The motions went without the desired effects. "What's wrong with me," he muttered.

  Continuing around the room, he noticed a large mirror. Approaching it, his mouth gaped in horror. "What did he do to me?" he asked as his full image filled the glass.

  Skum's reflection was that of a corpse. His skin was pale, even for a goblin, and it lacked its slimy, protective coating. He grabbed his wrist and pinched a large hunk of skin, but felt nothing. At once, he realized that the old mage had transformed him into one of the undead. As the full impact of his discovery dawned on him, he frantically looked for a way to end this nightmare. His eyes eventually falling on a window, Skum ran as fast as he could and dove through the glass.

  Shards, bursting outward, seemed to sparkle as they fell beside the distraught goblin. Reflecting light as they tumbled through the air, some cast a dim reflection of his ghastly condition. Time seemed to slow as he hurtled erratically toward the moat below. Then, the solid smack as the surface water exploded, slowing his fall, but he continued to sink. As he settled on the bottom of the moat, Skum awaited death. His master had made him into a monster, a hideous horror like the other dead things that wandered the tower. He would rather die than remain as one of them. The goblin lay in the muck, kelp swirling around him as he watched the shards of glass slowly descend upon him through the algae-darkened water. Any moment now, he thought as he awaited his watery end.

  Minutes passed and he still didn't feel the lack of oxygen. Tens of minutes, an hour, and he still felt no need for air. Tiny fish began creeping close enough to take quick nips at his exposed flesh, most of which went unnoticed.

  It slowly dawned on Skum that this was not going to be the way to destroy himself. His fists clenched in anger as he sat up, scattering all the fish that were dining on his corpse. Bubbles trickled all around his lifeless body as he changed position, releasing trapped air which floated upward. Standing, his feet kicked up a large cloud of debris, obscuring his sight.

  Skum was just starting to step forward when he felt a strong compulsion to return to the tower and go to Marasmus's audience chamber. He couldn't tell why he felt this, but he knew he could not resist it. His body jerked in the direction of the tower doors and he made his way through the moat, walking along its bottom.

  Kelp wrapped around his stiff legs, but his magically augmented strength en
abled him to walk as though he was unimpeded. The leafy undergrowth clinging to his legs was ripped from the ground.

  As he emerged from the water, Skum felt no need to gasp for a breath. Although it had not totally dawned on him, he was beginning to realize that he was dead. He now understood why some of the undead he had seen around the tower seemed to keep some of the idiosyncrasies they had when they were living.

  His sopping wet clothes clung tightly to his body as he trudged out of the moat and toward the drawbridge that led to the front door. Water streamed from his garments, forming a wet trail as evidence of Skum's passage. His feet slapped loudly as he left the bridge and entered the quiet of the entryway.

  Silently cursing himself for ever taking the job and working for the necromancer, Skum continued to be pulled toward the audience chamber and his master. As he entered the room, he couldn't help but notice the look of satisfaction on the face of Marasmus. He nearly glowed at the sight of his new creation.

  "Not feeling yourself today, Skum, old boy?" he sneered. A wide smile crept across his sunken, dead face as he turned to replace the book he had been reading on the shelves which lined the wall behind his chair. "It's truly amazing how much you can do when you don't need to sleep anymore."

  The mere sight of Marasmus repelled Skum. As the necromancer slowly assumed the form of a lich, it was growing in power. What formerly had been a doddering old man, was now a powerful undead creature.

  The goblin gathered his courage and lurched at the demented lich with his hands outstretched, as if to grab the magic-user and wrench his neck. Inches before he made contact, his whole body froze.