The Book of Warlock

The Book of Warlock. 19. No good deed goes unpunished.

The gathered goblins out in the churned, muddied fields below their citadel were concerned to say the least upon the rumbling and shaking that occurred as blue light lit up the snow dusted mountain that they called home. They watched helplessly as their ancient walls crumbled.

When the fanged flying ponies had scattered them from within the streets and alleyways and central square of the mountainside fortress, the rat's soldiers had finally taken the hint that they were not welcome here, that the rat's battle for Everdwell was lost, and that there were no repercussions now for refusing to fight. They had all fled in a mass exodus back to the safety of their far-off homelands.

This had been a promising sign for the goblins that today's terrible events were now coming to an end, that the mysterious grey magician who had been cheered on and encouraged as he rode in to dispatch the rat, would be aiding the goblins and making everything right again.

Instead, he had blasted their home to bits!

Their Royal family was still up there somewhere, in all the dust and debris, along with the Royal Guards. If they perished it would be a complete disaster. Not only would the goblin citizens need to rebuild their dwellings, but also instate a new ruling family and appoint fresh advisors and counsel.

Everdwell may never fully recover.

With wails and grumbles at the loss of their beautiful city all they could do was wait here, surrounded by debris of battle and abandoned war machines, and let sorcerous events unfold before them.

Luci reached out with a trembling hand towards the lizard that lay bleeding in front of her. Her heart thumped loudly in her ears as the fountain above them bubbled gently, a serene corner full of tranquility compared to the bedlam going on elsewhere.

The tang of blood was in her wide aardvarkian nostrils. Hemlock's skull had been soundly fractured and dark crimson liquid pooled around his still, slumped form.

Use your spark, Anar had commanded. Doubt furrowed her brow beneath her sweat covered fringe. What exactly did he mean? That she had some natural magical powers? There had been a jolt, hadn't there? When she had touched him, feeling his Sceptre wound. He'd alluded to a spark before, but she hadn't understood. Magic needed belief. If she did have a touch of untamed natural magic within her, no matter how far-fetched a concept that could be, it would require absolute belief on her part to work. How could she believe in something that she wasn't certain was even there to begin with?

The pale stone surrounding them in every direction split in pieces, cracks appearing on every wall and floor, the foundation of the citadel crumbling with Anar's power as he bombarded the rat with everything he had.

Luci closed her eyes, the pressure being almost too much. If she couldn't do this, then Hemlock was dead. Anar believed in her. Now she had to believe in herself. This was tougher than any mage exam back at the polytechnic. This was no gentle afternoon spent at a desk under a softly ticking clock with a piece of paper to fill out, displaying her written knowledge of Power and its uses and limitations; no, this was healing in the middle of a cataclysm using a form of magic she had only just recently had any sort of dealings with!

Her fingers pressed against the cool scales of the reptid officer. There was no pulse. No life. He had slipped away while she had been hesitating.

Anar had called him Hemmy. This was one of Anar's very few friends. And she had let him die.

With shaking shoulders and a half sob half groan, Luci pressed her flattened palm out against Hemlock's chest and pushed her mind out as deeply as she could, screaming her inner thoughts to the void: "I am a Licensed Laymage from the Council of Sorcerer's and I WILL HEAL YOU!"