The Black Wizard's Spire by Daylan Ephitis (most popular ebook readers .txt) 📕

Narthak awoke in the musky darkness of the cold tent. A steady breeze of frosty wind blew on his face through a tear in one of the animal hides the tent was composed of. He shivered, then pulled the bear pelt he was covered with up to his neck. A faint glimmer of light could be seen through one of the tears in the tent’s sides; dawn was approaching. He threw the bear pelt off himself then sat up and let out a long, soundless yawn. Standing up in the chilly darkness, he slipped on his heavy steel plated boots then walked over to a small wooden table and lit a short wax candle on top of it. Light illuminated the small tent and he could now see frost lining the sides of it. He opened up a black chest near the table. Inside was a thick cuirass made of wolf pelts sewn together. Narthak slipped the cuirass overtop of his heavy cotton shirt then fastened it on.
He was a bulky man covered in muscle – built like a bear – he was over six feet tall and had a face as hard as stone. A curly brown beard covered half his face and a mangy, feral mane grazed his back. He had icy blue eyes and a moon-shaped scar on his cheek. When he spoke, it sounded like rolling thunder tearing through the night sky. Though, as strong and masculine as he was, he was very quiet and reserved and often kept to himself.
He was a part of the Mastodorian race. They were barbaric northerners who lived in the upper highlands of Mefala, organized in nomadic clans. It was said that long ago, back in the ages of myth, the Mastodorians could speak to the northern wolves through a special bond they shared, but those days were long past and all but forgotten. Each nomadic clan had one Elder appointed, this man acted as leader and spiritual guide of the clan. The Mastodorians rarely traded with peddlers and caravans. When they did, it was usually for weapons or armor.
Presently, Narthak picked up his iron claymore concealed in a leather scabbard from a small weapons rack near the table then strapped it to his person. He blew out the burning candle illuminating the enclosure then opened up the tent flap and headed outside.
The Mastodorians grew accustomed to wearing full arms and armor at all times, no matter what the occasion. The habit was formed long ago, during frequent wars with the southerners over land, among other things. Many times, the southerners would raid Mastodorian camps completely unprovoked, sometimes after months of peace. The Mastodorians finally decided it was better to be safe than sorry and made the decision to always be fully equipped, so they were always ready for battle. The only exception was when they slept. During the night, guards would watch over the encampments and those who slept, slept with a weapon close by.
Narthak was greeted with a brisk morning breeze that relentlessly nipped at his exposed face as he walked out into the cold. The snow under his boots was hard and packed, but the snow outside of the small encampment was soft powder, nearly two feet deep. The smell of fresh cooked meat and a wood burning fire passed through his nostrils and made his stomach grumble as he realized how hungry he was. He started to walk through the camp towards the central circle of tents surrounding the fire.
It wasn’t long before he arrived at the fire, a bright orange glow that contrasted with the never-ending white. Near the fire, he could see his clan’s Elder, Hathus; he acted as leader and spiritual guide of the clan. Hathus wore an even thicker cuirass than Narthak, though his was made of sturdy leather. He was very tall and had a long grey beard that went down to his breast. The symbol of the Elder was sewn into his cuirass; a wolf’s head inside a dark red circle. Presently, he was roasting a haunch of fresh wolf meat over the blazing fire.
“Morning, Narthak,” said Hathus gruffly, a thin smile touched the corners of his dry and cracked lips. Narthak did not know if it was one of happiness or worry.
“. . . Morning, Elder Hathus,” grumbled Narthak, still half asleep. He rubbed his hands against his closed eyes as if to flush the tiredness out of him. He grabbed a hot cut of wolf meat from beside the open fire then sat down on a rock beside Hathus. He sunk his teeth into the dry meat.
“Tomorrow we head west. That is where the stars take us,” stated Hathus. He stood up and pulled a haunch of meat out of the fire and placed it with the rest of the cooked meat to cool down. “It came to me in a vision last night – an evil, prophetic dream. In the dream, I saw a dark spire standing alone in a field of snow that was black as pitch. The spire itself was in disrepair, the black metal sheets that covered it were beginning to rust and decay. It was windowless and the only entrance was a tall wooden door, bolted and sealed. I walked through the black snow towards the tower. As I did this, I could hear whispers that were not in any language that exists today. They were directed at me, and got louder and louder as I approached the spire.
“By the time I arrived at the tower’s door, the whispers were pulsating through my head, pounding at my temples, an incoherent rumble trying to burst out of my skull. I reached for the door, struggling to stay conscious, fighting the agonizing beating through my head. I touched the lock on the door, instantly the lock transformed into a blood red serpent that slithered away into the field of black snow. As the serpent slithered away, the tormenting rumble of whispers suddenly stopped. I stood for a long moment in dead silence, then I looked up. The door was open. I was about to enter, but cold, unseen hands wrapped around my sides and yanked me away from the door. I fell back and the deep, black snow engulfed me. I struggled out of the ominous powder as quickly as I could, for I sensed the evil within it. As soon as I emerged from it, I was pushed back down again, deeper this time. I managed to climb out of the black snow, but was pushed back into it again by the cold, nimble hands. A feeling of hopelessness swept over me as I became submerged. I gave up all hope of ever escaping. Some time later, still in the snow, I felt warm and safe, like an infant in the security of his mother’s arms. All of my cares were gone, I found inner peace.
“After what seemed like eons buried deep in the snow, the invisible hands wrapped around me with a cold, loving embrace and pulled me back up to the surface. I felt like a nursing babe deprived of his mother’s milk. Child-like tears poured out of my eyes, I wanted to be back, buried deep within the black snow once again more than anything else in the world. I looked around, the spire was now ablaze and the snow was blood-red. I wept like an infant, feeling deep sorrow as the tower burned. I wanted to save the tower any way I could; I was afraid that if it fell, it would take my life with its own.
“I rushed towards it, ready to try anything to save it. I looked at it again in my mad rush, studying harder this time; I saw that the tower was not being damaged by the inferno, but rather, being strengthened by it. The rust disappeared, the metal became thicker and stronger, and it grew a good three stories. I stopped dead in my tracks and dropped to my knees, now feeling and even more intense fear than before. I could feel the presence of the hands behind me now. They wrapped around my neck and a voice whispered in my ear. It told me in a soothing voice to bring the clan east. It told me that safety lay there . . . riches and safety. Its dark charm almost worked on me, but I detected the wickedness in its loving voice. ‘Wizard, begone! I reject you and your evil ways!’ I shouted. The clammy hands unwrapped from around my neck and a shrill, wicked shriek rang through the whole scene. I woke up immediately afterwards, screaming in terror, cold sweat dripping from my brow.
“That is why we must leave tomorrow morning. Today is enough time for us to get packed and ready for departure.” Hathus finished with a long sigh.
Narthak was so focused on Hathus that he did not take notice to the crowd of people surrounding them – almost the whole clan – listening to Hathus’s tale.
“This is surely a wicked dream. ‘Tis a bad omen to stay here, you are right. West is a good idea, especially if the demons of your dreams told you to walk east. Are you sure that was all? Do you remember any more?” asked Narthak intently.
“I believe that is all that they wanted me to remember, Narthak. It doesn’t matter, I’ve seen enough to last two lifetimes We go west tomorrow.” As Hathus stood up then walked towards his tent, there was a steady murmuring of worry amongst the crowd.
Narthak looked worried. Hathus had never acted this way before; he had had visions before, but none like this. He looked around; the rest of the clan was steadily murmuring amongst themselves as they all went their separate ways. A rough hand fell down on his shoulder and he turned around, somewhat startled.
“The stench of evil is strong around us, even today. . . . I can feel it all around us,” said a short, dwarf-like man with a pudgy face and long beard. Henrik was his name. He wore a horned helmet and chain mail armor.
Henrik was a good man, though he always seemed to be sensing some sort of danger, whether it be a horde of non-existent trolls hiding in a nearby ice cave, or a cult of witches waiting to kidnap the clan’s children and use them for ritual sacrifice. Most of the clan took to disregarding most things he said, and some were humored by it, though Henrik was always serious about every accusation he made. Narthak usually took to politely disagreeing with Henrik rather than insulting him.
“Don’t worry about it, Henrik. If evil was this close to camp then I’m sure we would be marching west this very moment. Trust Hathus, he is our leader, after all,” replied Narthak as he brushed Henrik’s hand off his shoulder.
“I don’t know, Narthak. I can sense it all around us. Keep your eyes sharp, and your wits sharper,” whispered Henrik. He limped away, still healing from a bad wolf bite he suffered some time ago.
Narthak walked through the small crowd, packed snow crunching under his boots. A few of the clan members approached him and