Realms of the Arcane a-5 Read online

  But Ka'Narlist merely smiled. "Notoriety? Perhaps not. But magic!"

  The wizard held up one of the black pearls. "The magic of the sea-elven wizards is nearly as potent as my own! Think upon this: what will I become when I possess a hundred of these? A thousand? When the stolen magic of a thousand thousand sea elves is woven into a single net of magic and power?" Again Ka'Narlist paused for an exultant smile. "With power such as that, the gods will come to me. Do not doubt: I will become a god indeed."

  Mbugua did not doubt.

  Once, many years ago, the dark god Ghaunadaur had done Ka'Narlist's bidding and wrested the wemic from his afterlife. The shaman had sensed then the strange partnership forming between wizard and god. If Ka'Narlist truly succeeded in stealing the magic of the sea elves, he might well possess magic enough to purchase his way onto the pantheon of his dark gods. It was not hard to believe: they were much akin, Ghaunadaur and Ka'Narlist. And then, what would become of them all? Ka'Narlist's experiments would continue. And Mbugua himself would be sentenced to witness it all. He was bound to the wizard by unbreakable ropes of magic: if Ka'Narlist attained godhood, immortality, it would amuse him to retain Mbugua's spirit in captivity throughout countless ages to come.

  Deeply concerned, and more frightened than he had been since the long-ago day of his capture, the wemic hastened to his cove. He had long known about Ka'Narlist's pearls, but he thought them to be nothing more than another vessel to hold the magical wealth that the wizard hoarded in such abundance. It had never occurred to Mbugua that Ka'Narlist intended to systematically plunder sea-elven magic. Such loss would gravely weaken the sea folk's defenses against the sahuagin horde, perhaps bring about their utter ruin.

  The prospects were appalling: the destruction of a wondrous elven people, the rise of the sahuagin to the rulership of the seas, the possibility that the evil that was Ka'Narlist might become immortal. At all costs, the dark elf's creatures must be stopped.

  At the edge of the shore, Mbugua roared out the signal that would bring the his sea-elven son from the waves.

  Malenti, the shaman had named him, after a legendary wemic fighter. So far, Malenti showed every promise of living up to his name. He had learned all that Mbugua had to teach him, and with astonishing speed: all the fighting styles known to the wemic, all the tactics taught to the sahuagin, even the ambush strategies perfected by the now-extinct kodingobolds. To accomplish what he must, Malenti would need them all!

  The sea elf came quickly to Mbugua's call, striding out onto the land to exchange a warrior's salute with the wemic. For once, Mbugua did not ponder the strangeness of the webbed hand that clasped his wrist: he measured with gratitude the strength in the elf's grip, and noted the battle-honed muscles that rippled beneath the green, mottled skin.

  "The sahuagin are already ravaging the sea," Malenti said without preamble. "They have slain a score of the merfolk, and laid siege to the sea-elven city just offshore! They have sworn to slay every elf who dwells within."

  "You must stop them!" implored Mbugua. "And if you cannot, at least stop them from returning to Ka'Narlist with their black pearls!" Quickly, he outlined the wizard's dire ambition.

  Too late, it occurred to him that such knowledge might be dangerous in the hands of one as ambitious as Malenti.

  "I have no use for stolen magic," Malenti said calmly, as if he divined the wemic's thoughts, "but you are right in saying that these pearls must be kept from Ka'Narlist! For if he becomes as powerful as he would like to be, how will I oust him and claim his kingdom as my own?"

  These callous words sent through Mbugua a shiver that started at the top of his spine and darted down the length of his leonine back. It was true that this was the very path he'd hoped Malenti's ambition might take; however, the ease with which the young sea elf spoke of his father's death was chilling.

  "You will stop the sahuagin?" pressed the wemic.

  Malenti nodded and turned away. His hand was already upon his dagger as he splashed into the sea, as if he could not wait to shed sahuagin blood.

  And thus it was, for many years to come. The sahuagin hordes returned to Ka'Narlist's keep with the dark of each moon, as they were pledged to do. But they brought with them not piles of dark pearls, but tales of fierce battles and ambush, and of a mighty sea-elven leader who had raised the sea folk against them.

  Malenti, he was called. Malenti, the Sahuagin Scourge.

  As Mbugua listened to the stories told of his sea-elven son, he struggled to keep his swelling pride from his face. Ka'Narlist, however, was not so stoic.

  "A thousand spears and my highest favor to the sahuagin who brings me this Malenti!" vowed the furious wizard as the latest moon-dark ceremony drew to a close. "Bring him in alive, and I will match the reward with a thousand tridents!"

  For such a treasure, any sahuagin would cheerfully slay his nearest kin. The monsters took to the sea with renewed ferocity, each determined to win the promised reward, and the regard of their lord.

  Even so, nearly three years passed before the sahuagin finally captured their nemesis. They dragged Malenti to Ka'Narlist Keep, entangled in nets and bleeding from a score of small malicious wounds, into the great hall to await the judgment of their lord.

  Despite the seeming gravity of the situation, Mbu-gua's heart was light as he made his way into the hall in response to the wizard's summons. By all reports, Malenti had amassed an enormous army of sea folk. Surely the army was gathered at shore's edge even now, awaiting only Malenti's command to strike. Time and again had the sea elves overcome the sahuagin fighters: the wemic was confident that they would do so again, and that, at long last, Ka'Narlist's brutal reign of magic and misery would end.

  When the hall was full and the clacking speech of the excited sahuagin had subsided into a few scattered clicks, the wizard made his appearance. In a magically enhanced voice, he recited the charges against Malenti, then granted him the right to speak before sentence was carried out.

  "Take away the nets," Malenti demanded boldly. "When I stand before you, when I look into your face, then will I speak."

  With a cruel smile, the wizard lifted his hands. Lines of flame leapt from his fingers and singed away the entangling nets-doing no little damage to the prisoner in the process.

  Bereft of much of his hair, his skin much reddened and blistered, and his blackened garments hanging in tatters, Malenti nonetheless rose proudly to his feet and faced down the powerful wizard.

  "At last we meet… Father," he said in a ringing voice that carried to every corner of the great hall. He paused, obviously enjoying the stunned expression on Ka'Narlist's face and the hushed expectation of the sahuagin throng.

  "Oh yes, I am the first of your sahuagin children, the one you discarded when you found my appearance unpleasing. I am Malenti, the Sahuagin Scourge. The sahuagin scourge," he emphasized, "for such I am indeed. Though I did not have the advantages of training and weaponry that you lavished upon these others, I have done what I could." He paused, lifting his arms as if to invite the wizard's inspection.

  The wemic tensed, certain that the signal to attack would come at any moment. Moments passed, and it did not. It occurred to Mbugua that the wizard was studying Malenti closely, and that the wizard did not seemed at all displeased by what he saw.

  The sea elf shrugged off the remnants of his charred shirt, revealing a hauberk of incredibly delicate chain mail into which were woven thousands of small black pearls. Mbugua's shaman senses caught the fragile, silent song of captured magic; with horror he realized that each pearl contained the stolen magic of a sea elf.

  But Malenti cannot use the magic, Mbugua thought, suddenly frightened that his protege might attack-and fail. He has not the gift for it, nor has he been trained! What does he presume to do?

  As if he heard the question, Malenti turned to gaze directly into the wemic's golden eyes. "You taught me well," he said mockingly. "And now I turn your own truth back against you: the deepest secrets of life are not in th
e blood, but in the spirit. Blood-bonds are powerful indeed, but spirit easily wins over blood!"

  Ka'Narlist's eyes kindled with crimson flame as he realized Mbugua's part in this. He rounded on the treacherous wemic. "You were to destroy that first sahuagin!" he thundered.

  "You will come to rejoice that he did not," Malenti said coldly. He deftly pulled the net of magic over his head and brandished it. "These are the pearls I claimed from your servants over the years, as well as many hundreds more that I gathered myself. I am sahuagin," he said again, his eyes daring those assembled before him to dispute that fact. "I hate the sea elves as much as any of you. But they trusted me, and they died all the more easily for it."

  The elflike sahuagin lifted the web of pearls high. "This is my tribute to the great Ka'Narlist, the first tribute of many! Release me to the sea, and I will continue to slay sea elves for as long as I live." He shook the halberd so that the black pearls glistened.

  Ka'Narlist smiled faintly, knowingly, as he regarded the son of his spirit. "And what do you desire for yourself, in exchange for this tribute you offer?"

  "Only that which is my due: a high position of power among the sahuagin armies, a large share of the wealth of the seas, and the utter destruction of the sea elves! I already know what you desire, and it is in my best interest to see that you achieve it." He added softly, so that his words carried only to the dark-elven wizard-and the stunned wemic who sat at his side, "I would like to be known as the firstborn son of a god!"

  "The bargain is made," Ka'Narlist began, but Malenti cut him off with an upraised hand.

  "I want one thing more: the life of the wemic who betrayed you. Oh, I do not wish merely to slay him! As the proud Mbugua has taught me, it is the spirit that whispers the secrets of life! Imprison his in one of these pearls, and I will wear it until the day I die. And forever after, let his spirit roar his songs and his stories out over the waves, that what has been done in this place will be remembered for as long as people listen to the voices of the sea!"

  With a heavy heart, Mbugua heard his sentence proclaimed by his blood-son, and confirmed by the dark elf whom he had hoped to overthrow. As Ka'Narlist chanted words of magic and the treacherous Malenti drew his dagger across Mbugua's throat, the wemic prayed with silent fervor that someone, someday, would understand that a wemic's voice was trapped amid the sounds of the waves and the winds, and would find a way to sing his spirit away to its final rest.

  Thus did the sahuagin come into being. And thus it was, from that day to this, that the sahuagin from time to time bear young that resemble sea elves in all things but their rapacious nature. These are called "malenti," after their forefather. Sometimes such young are reared and trained to live among the sea elves as sahuagin spies; more commonly they are slain at birth. The sahuagin have learned that this is prudent-the malenti are considered dangerous even by their vicious kindred, for in them, the spirit of Ka'Narlist lives on.

  As for Mbugua, some say that his spirit was released to its reward many long centuries past. And yet it is also said that on a stormy night, one can still hear a wemic's roar of despair among the many voices of the sea.

  And so, my elven captor, you have the story, as it was passed to me by my grandsire, who had it from his.

  Why would the lion-folk tell such a tale, you ask? Perhaps because the elves will not. Yes, there is danger in speaking of such magic. It is true that for every wise wemic who hears the warning in this tale, there will be a fool who sees in it the glittering lure of a dragon's hoard. So regard it as myth, if such pleases you. And indeed, it may well be this story was not built upon the solid stone of fact.

  But remember this, elf, and write it upon your scroll: oftentimes there is far more truth to be found in legend than in history.

  Bread Storm Rising

  Tom Dupree

  "A vacation?"

  The scowl on the mage's wizened face looked even craggier than usual, and Wiglaf Evertongue nearly lost his nerve then and there. Perhaps it was the legacy of his family name that urged him onward, for Wiglaf had spent much of his boyhood outracing his brain with his mouth. But there it was, the word was out, and nothing could be done but to follow where it led. He began to draw breath, but his mentor went on.

  "Young Evertongue, you are supposed to be studying the magical arts. No, more: you are privileged to learn the mageways. This is not some cozy craft hall where we wash our grime away and lock up once darkness falls. Magic is not something we do; it is something we are. I thought you had agreed to absolute commitment when you began your training, and now I am made to believe that you wish to prance off on a holiday?"

  "Maybe Vacation' was the wrong word, sir." Wiglaf shuffled his feet and fussed with an imaginary dirt-spot on his robe. "It's just… it's been more than a year since I left Calimport, and I only need a short while to go back home, and I know my family would want to see what's become of me, and it's not like I haven't worked hard these past months, haven't I, Master Fenzig? Haven't I?"

  "Your crude imitation of a puppy is noted, Wiglaf," the mage's voice sliced as he knotted his hands behind his back and turned away. "I remind you that it was your own choice that brought you here. It was you who asked for my guidance and instruction. You understood the sacrifices I would demand. Furthermore, as you well know, I have kept your family apprised of your progress, modest though it has been. Your request is baseless and without merit." He gazed for a moment at the cluttered studio where the two had toiled together for so long that he had to strain to remember another condition. Then he turned back to face his pupil. Wiglaf was still studying the wood grain on the floor. "However… you may go."

  "I… what?" Wiglaf squeaked joyfully.

  "Even ancient ones like me can yet remember what it felt like to relinquish the past in service to a greater goal. There is more than one kind of calling, Wiglaf. Go and answer yours. I give you one week in Calimport. And I give you… this." He laid a heavy, bronze-clasped book in the student's hands. "Call it your homework assignment. We can still be productive, even when we rest. And I want the verbal components of three new spells recited to me without error in one week's time."

  Wiglaf's newly minted euphoria melted slightly.

  "And just to make sure you practice while you're gone, I'm going to send a companion with you." The mage made a quick movement with his hands, then cupped them in front of his mouth and whispered a word that Wiglaf couldn't hear. And a few minutes later, while Wiglaf was packing the last of his travel items, an amazon appeared.

  Taller than Wiglaf by two full hands, the blonde, tanned warrior filled the doorway of the magician's studio as fully as she filled the most pleasant dreams of almost every man who looked upon her. A battle-beaten broadsword draped her magnificent frame and crossed luxurious thighs below the line of her brown leather skirt, toward long, lithe, athletic legs that looked as if they were equally able to pirouette or to kick in the face of an enemy.

  "Oh, it's you, Sasha," said Wiglaf.

  "You called, Master Fenzig?" the vision inquired in a soft but authoritative voice.

  "Yes, please escort this whelp to Calimport and try to keep the inevitable trouble to a minimum."

  "Come on, magic man." Sasha smiled at Wiglaf, revealing a set of perfect white teeth that handsomely completed the dazzling picture. "Let's see if you can put one foot in front of the other without falling down."

  Their trip was brief and pleasant, combining the soft serenity of sandy plains and the occasional wooded glade with the bracing salt air and rhythmic pounding of the nearby seashore. Wiglaf felt as if he had been imprisoned forever and now finally set free. He didn't even mind Sasha's presence, for to hazard the journey alone would be to invite the perils of another kind of company. Not that any small-time cutpurses along the way would find anything of value on Wiglaf's wiry frame-these brigands could hardly read a trespassing notice, much less a spellbook-but Wiglaf had heard that their disappointment could often manifest itself in actions yielding bodily
harm. He would have made the trip anyway, counting on luck and an inventive tongue as his only assets, but Sasha was admittedly a more effective deterrent. No thief could ever mistake her for a cringing female; only the dimmest among them could fail to realize there were far easier ways to make a living than to oppose this woman.

  In the rare moments when Sasha did relax, however, she indulged herself in her favorite recreation: teasing Wiglaf. She had been part of a confidence team under Fenzig's secret instruction, which last year had imparted Wiglaf's first lesson: magical power was the result of study and labor, not a jackpot won instantly. He had fallen for it like a stone and made a fool of himself in front of crowds of people, and Sasha meant to make sure the lesson was well learned. Wiglaf flattered himself that Sasha thought him cute, for her stream of torment was never meanspirited, even though she pursued it with relish. Yet, despite her taunts, somehow Sasha's delightful smile always wound up producing its twin on Wiglaf's own face.

  "So, magic man, what great feats have you learned lately? Plague of bunions? Oatmeal levitation? Speak with lint?"

  "I've been working night and day to prove that the wand is mightier than the sword. You can ask Fenzig."

  "I don't have to," Sasha replied. "The look on his face tells me everything."

  "That expression hasn't changed since the day I got here. He wouldn't know a joke if it lifted up his robe."

  "He deals with a joke all day long. And now I've got the duty."

  "Laugh all you want, milady muscles. One of these days, you'll be getting free ale when you tell people you knew the great mage Wiglaf Evertongue."

  "Hey, I do already."

  Wiglaf brightened.

  "I can make a tavern crowd spit ale out of their noses by telling about you."