As the drunken man staggered past the robed figure, he suddenly stopped and stared at the old man in confusion. He squinted his eyes trying to see the shadowy form in the flickering light of a torch burning on a nearby building (although if it had been midday with the sun shining brightly overhead, he would probably have had to do no less, he was so drunk). As he did this, the old man halted his slow pace and turned to look at the slob.
"What are you looking at? Don't you recognize me, fool?" He snapped in a voice much too strong for his great age. The drunken man's blurry vision suddenly came into focus and he saw the scowling visage. It was ancient, with a long white beard and dark eyes staring out from a leathery face. He wore a large hood pulled low, casting a shadow on an already dark face. Finally, the drunk's eyes came to rest on a silvery teardrop shaped pendant that hung around the old man's thin neck. He sobered instantly.
"Y-Yes, sir," he stuttered as soon as he could find his voice, "I'm s-sorry for b-bothering you sir." With that he turned and walked as quickly as he could away from the old man.
"Slovenly imbecile," the old man muttered to himself as the drunk hurried away. "People like that should be thrown in the dungeons." He continued his slow pace until he came in sight of his destination, a broken down old shack of a house on the edge of town. There was a single candle lit in the window, and as he approached, he picked up his pace, breaking into the closest to a run he could manage. He stopped short before the door and stared at it in horror. It had been beaten down and as he peered inside, he saw furniture overturned and a piece of parchment nailed to the inside of the door frame.
The old man reached out a shaking hand and ripped the parchment off of the nail. On it, scrawled with a piece of coal was a single, horrifying rune. Two parallel vertical lines with an eye shape on top of them. The old man quickly crumpled it up in disgust and threw it into a corner, scattering a family of cockroaches. He then turned and slowly eased his old body down onto the floor and leaned his back up against the wall. And wept softly.
Ronam wished he could close the tavern at night; he only got an average of four hours of sleep a night. But times were tough and he needed the money. He longed to be like some of the people who came into his bar; carefree and with plenty of money. Oh, well, he sighed to himself. He enjoyed his work most of the time. He loved being around people. He would always talk to everyone who came in, wanting to know all about them. He had met some very interesting people this way. One time, he had met a beautiful elven woman who came in asking for some wine. Ronam had been ashamed that all he had was the poor quality kind that they made there in town. The woman had stared at it intently, as if willing it to become something a little more flavorful. But finally, she smiled at Ronam and drank it without complaint.
Another time, he had met an old dwarf who told the most wonderful stories about fighting dragons and trolls and so forth. Apparently, he had killed a huge blue dragon a couple of months ago and he was traveling all over the continent, spreading the loot he had acquired from the dragon's hoard. As Ronam recalled, he had been an excellent tipper.
Maybe someone interesting will come in tomorrow, he thought as he leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, hoping to catch a few winks before one of the customers needed him. It wasn't one of the customers who ended up disturbing his slumber a few seconds later however, but a drunken man who came staggering through the door, slamming it so loudly that one of the patrons sleeping on the bar woke with a start. He staggered up to the bar and sat down on a wooden stool with a thud.
"Ale," the man panted weakly. It appeared he had been running. Ronam wondered what he had been running from, and just hoped it wasn't the city guard. The last thing he needed was trouble with the authorities. The man put his elbows on the table and put his head in his hands, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.
"Where you from?" Ronam asked as he stooped to fill a glass with ale from the tap under the bar, hoping the man had an interesting story. "I haven't seen you in here before." A few moments passed and the man started, looking up suddenly as if he had been woken from a dream.
"Huh?" He said dumbly.
"Where you from?" Ronam repeated.
"Kagaman," the man slurred, after thinking a second about the answer, "in the south . . . I think." Ronam finished filling the glass, and set it on the bar next to the man.
"You look like you've had some trouble. What's your name?"
"Gefin," the drunk replied, leaning in close and whispering, as if not wanting anyone else to hear, "and I've seen a sight you wouldn't believe." Ronam leaned back against the wall again and crossed his burly arms, looking at the slob doubtfully. It was probably just a drunken hallucination the man had seen. "A mage," Gefin whispered so Ronam could barely hear, leaning even closer. Ronam could smell the liquor on his breath. "Of the Midnight Robes!"
Now Ronam really didn't believe him. The Midnight Robes were mages out of legend who wore dark navy blue robes and silver teardrop pendants around their necks. According to the legend they were masters of illusion and could kill simply by causing their victim to see his or her greatest fear. The illusion would be so real that the victim would die simply from fear of what they saw. These mages had once been close friends of the people, but they had reportedly grown too powerful and were banished from the land onto the island of Liuna by the gods. One had not been seen on Amuron for centuries. Ronam decided to humor the man.
"Really?" He asked as if he were speaking to a child telling him a tall tale.
"Yes," Gefin whimpered, "it was awful. His gaze pierced me like a sword, and his voice was like thunder."
"Thunder?" Ronam said in his most amazed voice. "Did he make you look upon your greatest fear?"
"Thankfully, no." Gefin said with a shudder. "I hurried away from him as quickly as I could." Their conversation had risen from a whisper, and one of the men seated at the table in the back, having heard the last few statements, got up and walked across the room to stand beside Gefin. He was tall, wearing a worn leather tunic, pants, and a sword strapped to his side.
"Whose voice was like thunder?" The man asked, sitting down on the stool to Gefin's right.
"A Mage of the Midnight Robes!" Gefin whispered fiercely, leaning so close that the man nearly swooned from the foul breath. The man coughed and moved his stool a little further away from the drunk.
"Oh, no." He said solemnly when he was able to breath again. "I was afraid of this. Please excuse me," he said to Ronam, "but I must leave immediately." He got up from his stool and took a few steps toward the door. "My associates will pay for my meal." he gestured to the two men sitting back at his table, turned, spoke a few hushed words to them, and hurried out the door.
Ronam considered this a moment and called to the barmaid, who was in the kitchen, frying bacon for any of the early risers who always came in at three or four o'clock.
"Merna! Keep an eye on things for a few minutes. I'll be back."
"Yes, sir!" Came the barely audible reply from the kitchen. Merna was new, just hired as the nighttime cook/waitress. She had not yet gotten to know Ronam or else her reply would have been much less formal.
"Wait!" he called to the man, after going out the door, slamming it so that the man who had fallen back asleep on the bar was again awoken with a start. The stranger was walking at a fast pace down the street, toward the center of town. He turned impatiently as Ronam came running up behind him.
"I assure you sir, I am quite honest. If I tell you my associates will pay for my meal, I mean it. Now, please, I must be on my way."
"No, it's not that." Ronam said quickly. "I just wanted to know what you are afraid of. Surely you didn't believe what that drunken slob said?"
"To tell you the truth, I did." The man said with a sigh. "But I don't have time to tell you of it at the moment." With that, he began to turn away, but suddenly stopped and turned back; an idea occurring to him. "Come with me," he said, "I'll tell you about it on the way. Besides, I could use someone else to back up my story."
"But-" Ronam glanced back at his tavern.
"Come on," the man said impatiently, "nothing disastrous will happen while you're gone."
What the hell? I could use a little excitement, and Merna can handle the bar for a little while anyway. Ronam thought as he looked away from his tavern and fell into step beside the stranger.
"Devrok?" Ronam asked, glancing at the man walking beside him.
"Yes, I'm not surprised you've never heard of it. It's a small town on the east coast, near Liuna."
"You're an awfully long way from home." Korolom was on the west coast of the continent of Amuron; hundreds of miles away from Liuna. Jaiman sighed.
"Yes," he said softly, "I am. I've been traveling for months. But it was necessary." He paused a moment before continuing, as if gathering his thoughts. "It all started last winter. It had been a bad harvesting season. We had lost most of our crops to fires that had started from all the dry weather we'd been having. Needless to say, there was a severe shortage of food for the winter." He stopped walking a moment and looked around, trying to find his way on the dark streets. Finally, he seemed to make up his mind and turned left at the next cross street. "We had to do something or we were going to die of starvation by the time spring rolled around. So we began sending convoys north to Vecehn, hoping they had had better luck during harvesting season then we did. Fortunately, they had an abundance of food stored and were happy to share it with us. But, while we were there, we began hearing reports of people seeing strange blue robed figures roaming the streets at night. After listening to further descriptions of these strange figures, we began to piece together who they really were!" Jaiman paused here and looked at Ronam for effect. "Mages of the Midnight Robes!" Ronam still looked dubious.
"These people who reported seeing these mages," Ronam said slowly, "they weren't all drunks like that fellow back in the bar were they?"
"No, certainly not. And I assure you-" he stopped and thought for a second, "I'm sorry, I don't think I ever got your name?"
"Ronam"
"Ah, Ronam. Anyway, I assure you, Ronam, that what these people saw was completely accurate."
"How can you know that?"
"Because I saw one of these mages myself!" Jaiman stopped suddenly, looking up from his story telling and noticing his surroundings. They were no longer headed for the center of town, but were, in fact, near the edge of town; they could see the city walls as a dark shadow rising above the rooftops of the houses they passed on the right.
"Damn," Jaiman cursed, "I must have taken a wrong turn somewhere." He paused, remembering the last time they had turned a corner. "But . . . no . . . no that can't be. I was sure it was the right way! We even passed the same taverns a few minutes back-" He trailed off as his gaze fell on an old ramshackle house across the street. He began to cross the street hurriedly, his eyes locked on the old house. He couldn't be sure in the faint light of the just-risen moon but-
"The door's been beaten down," he called back to Ronam, who had just begun to cross the street himself, following in confusion after Jaiman. "and the furniture has all been overturned!"
"What-" Ronam said coming up behind him, still in confusion.
"Wait," Jaiman held up his hand to quiet him, "listen," the two men stood silently, ears turned to the beaten in door of the house.
"I don't think-" Ronam said after a few moments.
"Quiet!" Jaiman whispered fiercely. "There it is again." Ronam stood a few moments longer, and then he heard it. It was a faint moaning sound coming from within the house. It sounded like a woman. "C'mon," Jaiman said, motioning for Ronam to follow, "there's someone hurt in there."
Now this was exciting, Ronam thought as he followed Jaiman through the shattered door. At least ten cockroaches and a rat scurried away before him as he did so. Maybe tomorrow he would have a story or two to tell.
"It sounds like it's coming from in there." Jaiman said over his shoulder, pointing to a pitch black doorway lost in the shadows. Ronam nodded, and followed close behind, making his way through the maze of overturned stools and chairs. Jaiman stopped at the doorway, peering inside to try and see the source of the sound. "Is someone in there?" He called into the darkness.
"Yes," came a woman's voice, "please . . . help . . . me." She was obviously in pain.
"We need light." Jaiman said, turning back to Ronam, who immediately turned and made his way outside, retrieving a torch from the side of a building across the street.
"Here," he said, handing the torch to Jaiman after he had returned. Jaiman moved forward and plunged the torch into the darkness, illuminating the room. Ronam followed, taking a look around at the room. It was apparently a bedroom, since the only pieces of furniture were four straw mats laid in the corners of the small room. On one of them was the woman, and Ronam immediately saw the source of her pain. There was a large gash in her forehead and her leg was obviously broken from the way it was twisted.
"Please!" She gasped. Jaiman went to her and knelt to inspect her wounds. As he did so, there was a loud bang from behind him. He turned his head to see what it was and saw that the door had slammed shut. That's odd, he thought, and turned back to the woman. But there was no woman. She was gone. He stared at the empty straw mat.
"Greetings," came a strong voice from the side of the room. Jaiman and Ronam both looked up to see an old man dressed in thick navy blue robes standing before them. "Please excuse my abrupt entrance, but it was necessary in order to speak with you." Ronam stood a moment, entranced, but Jaiman immediately lunged for the door. "You won't be able to get out," the old man said as Jaiman reached the door and discovered that he spoke the truth. "Besides, I'm not going to harm you. I only wish to speak."
"Why would a mage of the Midnight Robes wish to speak with us?" Jaiman snarled at the old man, his voice dripping with venom.
"Check your tongue, sir," he snapped, "you would be wise to listen to me."
"Would I, well-"
"Jaiman! Hear him out. I don't think he's our enemy." Jaiman fumed a moment, hatred in his eyes, and looked back to the old man.
"Listen to your friend there, Jaiman," he said, "I am not your enemy. Far from it. I'm here to save you from your real enemy."
"What enemy could you save us from?"
"An enemy more dangerous than you can imagine!" He said quietly. "An army is upon you and you don't even know it!"
"What army?" Jaiman said incredulously, "there is no army here!" The old mage sighed, looking suddenly tired.
"Did you not listen, fool? Of course you think there's no army here! I just told you you don't know it's here!"
"But how could there be an army here without our knowing it?"
"You misunderstand. There is no army here in this city. There is one sailing here from another continent. By tomorrow morning they will sail into your harbor and that will be the end of your peaceful little town!"
"Another continent! What other continent?" The old mage only stared at him, tired of arguing with him. "Okay," Jaiman said more calmly. "Let's assume for a second that there is another continent and that there is an army that will be landing in our harbor tomorrow morning. Why wait 'til now to tell us? What possible defenses could we erect against an army by morning?"
"I don't expect you to erect any defenses." The old man said after a short silence, apparently deciding that Jaiman had grown reasonable enough to speak to again. "I simply offer you the assistance of the Mages of the Midnight Robes. With our illusionary powers we could create defenses enough to stop an army twice this size."
"How could an illusion stop an entire army?"
"Oh, I assure you that as long as the viewer of the illusion believes it is real, then it is quite real." Jaiman considered this for a moment.
"All right," he said finally, "I'll give you a chance. I'll take you to see the Baron of Korolom. We'll see what he says. I was just headed there anyway." He started to turn away, but stopped. "Speaking of which, how did we get here in the first place?" he asked, "I was sure I was headed toward the center of town. We even passed the same buildings!"
"I haven't a clue." The old mage said with a wry smile as he made a small motion with his hand, causing the door to creak open. Jaiman glanced at him dubiously before turning and going through the opened door. The old man and Ronam followed after.
"Hey, by the way," Ronam said to the old man as they made their way through the overturned furniture, "you didn't happen to pass a drunk man on the street a little while ago did you?"
The old mage, who revealed his name as Zauquil, related his story to the Baron, with a little support from Jaiman and Ronam. He told them that he was the head of the Midnight Council, which was the ruling body of the Midnight Robes and explained that the Mages of the Midnight Robes had been living in isolation on the island of Liuna for two hundred and thirty-two years; ever since they had been banished from Amuron by the gods. He went on to say that about two months ago, a lower level mage had discovered through means of a scrying device that there was a group of eight transport vessels making an ocean crossing from another continent, headed in the direction of Amuron. The mages had later found out more details, including the fact that these ships were planning to land in Korolom, spreading east in conquest across Amuron.
After discovering this, they had held a rather lengthy Midnight Council and finally decided to send a group of fifty of their most powerful mages across Amuron here to Korolom, with the intent of assisting the town in halting the advance of these armies before they could spread across the continent.
Once in town, Zauquil had set up a meeting with the only person who would have anything to do with him; an elf who, due to his long life span, had been around before the mages had been banished. He had actually been quite close with the Midnight Robes at that time and had been opposed to their banishment. So he had been happy to help when he had been contacted by Zauquil and they had arranged to meet in an old abandoned house on the edge of town.
But when Zauquil had arrived for the meeting no more than two hours earlier, he had found the house ransacked, and the elf gone. And nailed to the inside of the door frame he had found a piece of parchment. On that parchment was a singe rune which had been drawn with a piece of coal.
"This is it," he said, withdrawing a crumpled up piece of parchment from a hidden pocket in his navy robes and smoothing it out on the oak table. He smeared he black lines of the rune as he did so, but they could still make it out. Two parallel vertical lines with an eye shape centered on top of them. "That's the mark of the illusionists. It was undoubtedly left by Delvin, who is a powerful member of the Midnight Council and the only one who disputes my leadership of the Midnight Robes. He and his followers were the ones who opposed the idea of coming to warn you of the invading armies. He believes we should stay on Liuna and watch as the entire continent of Amuron is enslaved."
"Enslaved!" The Baron huffed. "Surely you do not imply that we are so weak as to be enslaved by an army small enough to fit onto eight ships!"
"Certainly not, Baron," Zauquil said quickly, bowing his head slightly, "but this small army is only a spearhead. There will be more coming after them. Many more. We must work together in order to stop them."
"But what about this Delvin?"
"Ah, yes, Delvin. He may be a thorn in our side yet, but we can only hope that he doesn't cause any more trouble. By kidnapping my elf friend, he was attempting to prevent me from being able to set up an alliance with you in time. But, as luck would have it I was able to meet up with these two," he gestured to Jaiman and Ronam, "so that part of his plan has failed."
After Zauquil finished relating his story, Jaiman told them all how he had come to be here in Korolom so far from his home. He told them all what he had told Ronam and went on to say that after he had seen the mage in Vecehn, he had gathered his two companions that he had left in Ronam's bar and they had set out across Amuron, following the trail of Zauquil and his forty-nine mages to Korolom.
"I had intended to warn you of the mages' presence, Baron," Jaiman said, "I had considered them a threat. It seems ironic that they were not the threat but rather here to warn you of the real threat." There was a short silence after Jaiman stopped speaking.
"And so," Zauquil said, breaking the silence, "I officially extend an offer of assistance from the Mages of the Midnight Robes."
"Under the circumstances I suppose I will have to accept your offer."
"Very good. Then we should get started-" he stopped mid-sentence as they all heard a scream in the distance. It was coming from the direction of the harbor.
Zauquil got up from
his uncomfortable chair as quickly as his old body would let
him, hurrying to
the window. He shoved aside the frilly white
lace curtains and looked out over the rooftops of the
surrounding houses, toward the harbor. In the faint light of
the first few rays of dawn, he could barely make out the masts
of eight large ships. "Damnit!" He swore. "They're not
supposed to be here yet! We haven't had time to prepare!"
"I thought you knew when they were supposed to arrive!" the Baron said fearfully.
"We did! I don't understand!" the old mage said, coming back to the oak conference table. "Well, no time to dwell on it now. Come along. I'll gather the rest of the Midnight Robes. Maybe we can do something!" With that he hurried out the door, leaving Jaiman, Ronam, and the Baron scrambling out of their chairs to follow.
It was really a clever plot, Bade thought as he glanced at Belvin standing beside him. It was a plot that would not only put Belvin in power, but also put him in control of the entire continent of Amuron. Two months back, Belvin had gone to Zauquil, telling him that an army had been discovered heading for the city of Korolom. He knew that the sentimental old man would insist on going to help the doomed people of Korolom, and that's exactly what he had done.
But there was no army. There were no ships headed for Amuron, and Bade seriously doubted that anyone on any other continent even knew that Amuron existed. The "ships" and the men that were now piling off of them into the harbor of Korolom were no more than illusions created by the mages that were now gathered before Bade. But Zauquil and his followers believed they were real. The people of Korolom believed they were real. And so to them, they were real. By nightfall Zauquil and most of his followers would most likely be dead, and these illusional soldiers would be in control of Korolom.
But recently, the more Bade thought about it, the more he was opposed to all of this. He actually liked Zauquil, and the thought of Belvin in power made him shudder. Belvin was power hungry, and cared nothing for the welfare of the Midnight Robes. The only reason Bade had been a part of this conspiracy in the first place was because he was Belvin's apprentice. He hadn't even wanted to be Belvin's apprentice. He had originally wanted Zauquil to be his mentor, but the old man was too busy with other things and had no time for an apprentice.
So Belvin had taken him under his wing and now here he was, part of a conspiracy that would likely be the death of the one man he truly admired. It has to be stopped! He thought, turning to Belvin.
"Master, would you be so kind as to allow me to go into Korolom so that I may witness the destruction of the one man who opposes you?" He had become very good at lying to Belvin. The man peered at him from under his navy blue hood. Then he smiled.
"Certainly, Bade. But hurry back. I may need you."
"Yes, master." He bowed, then turned and made his way through the misty forest toward the city.
Suddenly, Zauquil stopped chanting.
"Why'd you stop?" Ronam asked.
"I am done with the spell." Ronam glanced around quickly. He didn't see any soldiers.
"But-"
"You will not see the soldiers, Ronam." Zauquil explained. "You know they are only an illusion and so you cannot see them."
"But the men from the ships can see them?"
"Yes." As Ronam watched, a group of ten or twelve of the men from the ships came running down the street towards them. Instinctively, Ronam sunk back a little further into the shadows. But, suddenly, they all stopped and began sword fighting seemingly with nothing. It was a very strange sight. "There," Zauquil said, pointing to the sword fighting men, "they battle my illusionary soldiers now."
After a few moments, someone yelled something from the other end of the street. Zauquil turned to see who it was, exposing himself slightly out of the shadows of the alley. As he did, Ronam saw one of the fighting men break away from the melee and pull out a bow, leveling it at Zauquil.
"Zauquil!" Ronam cried. The old mage began to turn, but it was too late. The arrow hit him squarely in the chest. He fell to his knees, clutching at the still quivering arrow shaft. "Zauquil!" Ronam said again.
"Tell them . . . not . . . to . . . give up." the old man gasped, and toppled to the ground, his eyes closing forever. Ronam stared at the sight in horror. Blood stained the navy blue robes, turning them black.
"Zauquil!" Cried a voice from down the street., echoing Ronam's previous cries. The voice came from a young mage running down the street towards them, his robes fluttering behind him. "Zauquil," he said again more quietly as he came up beside Ronam and knelt beside the old man's body. Bade felt tears coming to his eyes, but before he could mourn for Zauquil he had to do what he had come to do.
"Go tell the rest of he mages," he said, turning his head to look at Ronam, "these men, these ships, they're all illusions. Tell the entire town. Then they can't hurt anyone else." That said, Bade turned his gaze back to Zauquil and let the tears come. The great illusionist had been killed by an illusion.
"Illusions," Ronam said, "but that means-" he peered around the corner. All the men were gone.
"Hello, Merna." He said quietly.
"Sir! I was afraid you'd been killed!"
"No, I'm fine. Do you have breakfast ready?"
"Yes, sir. I just finished." As she said this, a man came in and sat down at a table near the door. Merna immediately went to see what he wanted to order. Ronam walked behind the bar and watched as the man ordered two eggs and a stack of pancakes. Suddenly, a feeling of serenity came over him, and he had never before been more content with his life. He didn't want to adventure anymore. He liked things just the way they were.
Another customer came in and sat down at the bar.
"Ale," he said. Ronam stooped under the bar to fill a glass. And he smiled.
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