Tevun-Krus #94 - 10th Anniversary Special

Wizard's Spawn - A Birthday Special by @elveloy

Wizard's Spawn

By elveloy

The Elders

"The magic is dying."

The old woman's softly spoken words sent a shiver of dread through her companions. The greybeard next to her hunched down into his cloak, as if he could protect himself from the cold truth. The silver-haired elf, oldest of them all, stared into the depths of the small fire she had conjured up only moments ago, reading the truth of the human woman's words in the very paleness of the flames.

The three eldest councillors of Aelith were meeting in the depths of the Great Forest, a good day's ride from the city of Fairhaven. The Scrying glade was a sacred place, normally used solely for midsummer rites, but this was an emergency. They needed somewhere safe from prying eyes and curious ears for this most crucial of meetings.

No one challenged her. The bitter truth was obvious to all of them, once it had been spoken aloud. And everyone knew exactly who was to blame.

"The King must marry and produce an heir, before it is too late. We can no longer afford this fastidious picking and choosing, this one too old, this one too young! It is beyond a joke!"

"We should never have let him choose for himself in the first place," muttered the greybeard. "We should have insisted on his alliance with Princess Iliana as soon as her father proposed it. What matter that she was ten years his senior? She was still fertile enough, the magic strong in her! And now it is too late," he continued sourly. "She is wed to the Vizier of Tempre. I hear they are expecting their second child."

"No use crying over that," reproved the old woman. "I'll wager there are still plenty of maidens ready and willing to become his queen. Surely one of them must be suitable?"

"We can no longer leave the decision in his hands," announced the elf firmly. "The magic has become dangerously low. If there is no heir by midsummer.... " her voiced trailed off.

"We must decide for him," finished the old woman. "He must marry. Before this month is out."

"What if he refuses, again?" demanded the greybeard.

"Then—you know as well as I do. We will have to seek the Challenger. We will have no choice."

The Wizard

Dafydd Wren woke at dawn, as he had done hundreds of times before, roused by the sound of birds stirring in the trees around his hut. But this time something was different.

Someone, or some creature, was calling him eastward, toward the rising sun. He felt the call, as if it was a thread attached to his very centre.

He frowned in annoyance. The timing was inconvenient, to say the least. The closing days of summer were a busy time in his garden, fruit and vegetables to preserve for winter, herbs to pick and dry while they were at their most potent. Not to mention the animals he cared for; an orphaned family of squirrels to raise, an injured fox to tend.

He tried ignoring the call as he went about his daily tasks—he was sure he would have more free time in a week or so—but by nightfall it was stronger than ever, relentless.

By the next morning it was like a hook in his heart. He couldn't ignore it any longer; he had to face the fact that he was needed elsewhere. Once he had resigned himself to the inevitable, it was a surprisingly quick task to pack and get ready. He was able to arrange for a young girl from the village to come and tend the animals, but the garden would have to fend for itself.