Necromancer
by
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CHAPTER ONE "It’s to be a boy." Bredon exclaimed smiling. "Bryce’s son will come tonight. There will be an heir to Glendaarin." He stirred the bubbling caldron again. The column of thick green smoke rose from the pot and hung in the air above him while he concentrated on the developing formation and whispered to himself. The tiniest glimpse of a crease appeared on his brow as he cocked his head to one side and watched the smoke hanging on the ceiling of his rooms. The cloud filtered out toward the stars from the small window in Glendaarin Castle’s north tower where the wizard Bredon practiced his art. The coolness of fall was well established in the old castle, the gentle evening breeze fluttered the hems of Bredon’s coarse woven, woolen robes. Resident castle wizard for eight years, Bredon stretched long arms up to the top shelf and brought down a green triangular jar. A sniff of the contents and he thoughtfully stroked the fullness of his black beard and stirred the bubbling caldron that had a place next to the fireplace. Dribbling a few grains of clear crystals into the hot liquid, he mumbled something inaudible under his breath, and stroked the clear, palm size, stone atop the six foot willow staff he seldom left in his rooms. As soon as the crystals breached the surface of the liquid, the boiling ceased and smoothed. In the blink of an eye, a flash of yellow smoke rose into the air and as quickly dissipated. Stark blue-gray eyes followed each ripple from the center of the caldron across the surface all the way to the shadowed black edge of the wrought iron pot. "Malvern? Why would I think of him? I haven’t seen him since he was dismissed from the wizard’s service for his treachery and incompetence. He brings nothing but trouble with him wherever he goes." A chill ran through his body, he rubbed his hands briskly together to warm them. A quick glance out the window into the night and his muscles refused to answer his demands. He studied the shadows of the trees on the other side of the meadow. A flash of light opened in the darkness. Larger than a lantern, yet much smaller than a torch, the flash shattered the darkness again. "He’s out there. Malvern brings trouble closer and closer to the castle." In the darkness of the woods surrounding Glendaarin castle all was quiet again. He shivered and stroked the full length of his chest long beard. The hair on the back of his neck prickled. Near the river, an unfamiliar glow filled the horizon. I see we have visitors in the forest tonight. They’re uninvited, and more likely than not, unwanted. He thought while he studied the treetops. Hoping it was no more than a muse or a dream, anything but the reality of intruders. There it was again. That small spark of brilliance, like reflections from the sun through the leaves on the trees. He took a deep breath. It was real. He listened to the stillness while even the crickets in the meadow ceased their playing. He sniffed the air. Wood smoke. Damp wood. Not the same as I burn here. He kept his eyes focused on the same place on the horizon. He studied the night air. It’s there. I know it’s there. I saw it. A moment later the fleck of light flashed and was gone. He watched his caldron. The ripples deepened across the surface. His every nerve was laid bare. There was a distinct shift in the aura around him. Tonight, everything will change. He closed his eyes and waved his hand over the stone atop his staff and said softly aloud. "Protect them."
So late in the year, the river, reduced to a mere trickle, flowed over the rocks and fell some thirty feet into the pool below. At the edge of the stream, three small perimeter campfires lit the encampment just enough to keep the lookouts from tripping over each other. Hidden from castle view, the ragged band of mercenaries stood around the dancing flames of the fires in the center of the camp rubbing their hands together against the chill air that belongs to the darkness. From the largest tent at the farthermost end of the camp, lantern light poured out through the open flaps into the otherwise darkened campsite. Inside the tent, three men stood around the table and studied the crude drawings on the opened scroll. "Lord Barton, how much longer must we wait? The men are getting restless. They’ve been standing around since midday." Captain Hollis Seger, Eldon’s trusted friend and confidant, led the band of mercenaries and brigands across the fields and valleys for Lord Eldon Barton, self-proclaimed master of Glendaarin. His dark brown hair showing the first signs of time, he brushed the strands of graying tendrils from his face as he studied the drawing of the castle. Once a captain in the King’s guard, his greedy nature had guided him to the solvency of the highest bidder for his talents. "I know, Captain." In front of the mirror, Lord Eldon Barton admired his flawless skin, the neatly trimmed mustache and the dark haunting eyes and eyebrows that appealed to Graymoor Castles’ servant women. Adjusting the soft tanned leather straps of his tunic, he smiled at his trim reflection and turned toward his captain of the guards. "When Malvern says it’s time, we’ll move. Not a moment before."
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At the bottom of the carved stone steps, Bryce stood with his shield high and his sword in hand. He waited until Eldon’s oversized silhouette filled the open doorway before he spoke. "Barton. I knew it would be you. You’ve come for me?" "I’ve come to reclaim that which is mine." Eldon laughed. "For you? No. You may leave alive, if that is your wish. As for Glendaarin Castle, I reclaim my birthright." "Your grandfather lost the Barton rights when he was tried and convicted of treason. You weren’t even born here. Glendaarin was never your home." Bryce knew that Eldon had always refused to accept his grandfather’s banishment and untimely death. Built by the Barton’s, Eldon believed it still belonged to them. Over the three generations of living in the castle, the Gauche’s had become as much a part of the land as the ancient oaks along the river. "I’ve come to take back what rightfully belongs to the Barton dynasty." His sword clanged against Bryce’s shield with a force that pushed Bryce down on one knee. "This castle is mine!" Recovering his footing, Bryce returned the attack blow for blow. "The King granted these lands to my grandfather for his loyalty to the crown. You have no claim here." Awake for more than thirty hours with Lauren, Bryce tired quickly and stumbled across the stone floor. Breathless, words came hard passed his lips. "These lands will never belong to you." "The King? He’ll never know. The castle is too far from court to warrant his attention. He can’t remember what he did yesterday, much less what his father did more than sixty years ago. You'll not leave this room alive. I’m taking back what has always been rightfully mine." His sword held above his head, Eldon came down with all his power. Bryce fell backward and quickly recouping his balance stepped into the next parry. Strike after strike pounding against his shield, Bryce backed Eldon into the west corner of the great hall. Eldon’s boisterous laughter filled the emptiness of the early morning hours. Chills surged through Bryce. He knew this was his last effort, the final fight of his life. His small army could never hope to stave off the multitude of mercenaries attacking them. He gathered his remaining strength, held his sword ready and lunged. Side-stepping his opponent, Eldon laughed. "You’re no match for me. You never were. Yield, and I’ll see that you die quickly." "Never! Glendaarin belongs to the family Gauche’." Bryce swung his sword against Eldon’s expert defenses. His loyalty to his daily exercise routine gave Bryce the agility to stay away from his attacker, though exhaustion zapped his power to take him. Swatting Bryce’s backside and shoving him aside with the broadside of his sword, as an instructor does with an inept student, Eldon stepped too quickly forward and took the point of Bryce’s upraised sword across his face. An ear-shattering scream from the big man’s lips gave Bryce the time to step out of his reach. He surveyed the damage. From his forehead through his cheekbone, blood ran down Eldon’s face and onto his breastplate. "You’ll pay for this." He wiped down his face with the back of his hand and flung droplets of blood onto the floor. His vision blurred, Eldon swung wildly. Blow after blow he pounded against his weakening opponent. "I may pay for your stupidity with my life, but not my soul." Bryce remembered his training instructors repeating time and again, "Anger makes costly mistakes." He forced a laugh as he stared into Eldon’s bloody face. "Looks like you’re not a pretty boy anymore?" Eldon brought his sword up under the edge of Bryce’s shield tearing it from his hand and sending it clanging against the floor. Unprotected, Bryce jumped backward and flipped the point of his sword at Eldon’s face. He touted, "Don’t think your wife will like my improvements?" He bold laughter and unbridles arrogance set Eldon on his guard. Running at him, with the force of a wounded bull, Eldon tackled Bryce and took him to the floor. Their swords flew out of their hands and their reach. "That’s something you’ll never know." Arms and legs tangled together, they rolled over each other across the floor toward the fireplace. Wide enough for a man to lie down in, and tall enough for him to stand in, glowing embers filled the stone and mortar fireplace. Rolling away from Bryce’s grasp, Eldon’s head came to rest on the cornerstone of the hearth with a dull thud. He shook away the pain and swung blindly at Bryce who easily dodged the blow.
About the Author
Born in Long Beach, California, on the leading edge of the post-WWII baby boom, as was the custom of the time, I went from high school to marriage and family. At the end of this bow to convention, I spent three years in Washington state before returning to Southern California – my present home. I used the Washington recovery period to resume my education, racking up two years of business-related courses between college and business school attendance. I have been taking writing, editing, proofreading and composition courses at the college level for the last ten years, and raising part of the second generation of my family. Although I have been writing off and on since high school, I began pursuing it seriously more than a decade ago. My preference for writing late at night has, usually, meshed well with my "day job" as a department secretary. I've been a member of the Romance Writers of America and the National Writers Association (nine years). I like to read action, historical adventure, sci-fi and fantasy, and all fiction that’s entertaining, when there's time. I write what I like to read. The romance and splendor of conjuring magic, chanting spells, and believing in charms, whether real or imagined, is still by far the most exciting time one spends in the delightful solitary dreams of innocence.