The Wizard

Sword of Doom

It was considered bad luck to kill a wizard. Melock the Wise had the reputation of being the greatest conjuror in the universe. At the time of his murder, he was traveling with his two sons, the younger being adopted. The ascetic old man led the way on callous bare feet.

Long white hair looped in a messy topknot gave off an air of Confucius. His spindly Fu Manchu added to a look adopted long ago in places far away. His actual age was measured in centuries, not decades. Under his meager robe was a body as fit as his youngest apprentice, save being a little rounder about the midsection. He had no trouble hauling a heavy pack.

Directly following Melock and easily able to see over his head was the tall, slender, and dapper, Redwing. His fine tailored clothing with black leather belt and boots seemed to indicate a wealth beyond his father. In his late fifties, his aquiline nose stood out across his smooth high cheekbones; angled brows and narrowed eyes in the style of his mother. Redwing was himself an addition from one of Melock's countless adventures.

Bringing up the rear was Mevner, twenty-seven and the junior of Melock's pupils. Of the three, he was the most like a man of his time. A scruffy beard outgrew short-cropped hair and he wore the canvas clothes and jackboots of a woodsman. A satchel slung across his fitted dusty barn jacket. 

Their hike followed the winding road along the canyon edge that led to the great rope bridge. Across the abyss, the Stone Mountains rose out of the valley. Behind them, the forest of Mevner's childhood swayed in the autumn breeze. 

The suspension bridge was strung up a hundred years ago by the miners of the mountains as a trade route. It was well crafted but shaky. The Charm of Telling placed on it warned travelers of their fate; if they were willing to listen. 

Melock stopped walking. Redwing took the lead and continued to the foot of the bridge. He quickly came to realize that the bridge told his father and the younger apprentice something completely different than it had told him. He could wait no longer. 

Melock reached back, placed five fingertips on Mevner's stubbly head, and kindly smiled. Then he turned his attention back to Redwing.

"This is not the way to your success, my son." 

Melock hardly got out the words before he fell to his knees with hands grasping his temples. Redwing stood legs bent, arms forward, hands gesturing mind-scrambling pressure to his father's head. Extreme focus and malicious intent crumpled his long face.

"I no longer need your guidance, old man."

Redwing raised his hand. High above Melock hung the Sword of Damocles. Its dark glowing blade reflected the setting sunlight. Redwing lowered his hand, bringing the sword down on the wizard.

For Mevner, it happened in helpless slow motion. Melock attempted to break through the mind-twisting curse. As Mevner moved to his master's side, they both looked up to see a dark magical sword suspended in thin air. It was a blade of pure energy, a power that manipulated matter and formed iron out of oxygen. As soon as the sword came into being, gravity pulled it to the earth. The double edges of the thick broadsword dropped through the top of Melock's skull pinning him to the ground.

"Nicholas, stop!" Mevner stepped between them. "What're you doing?!"

Redwing stood up straight, arms to his side. "You know what this is. Join me and become my apprentice. I see your potential... that father never did."

"I won't let you. I stand in your way." Mevner lifted his hands forming a translucent triangular shield that bent the light in front of him.

"Then you have chosen your fate."

Redwing raised both arms, pulled back his sleeves, and revealed the master's cursed gauntlets; stolen from a sealed trunk in his library. 

"Dim the vision." 

The minute Redwing said the words Mevner began to go blind.

"Knot the tongue." 

 Mevner's tongue twisted with gagging swollen pain.

"Wh-grphff-why!?" was the last thing he could say.

"Dizzy the soul." 

Mevner's inner ear began vibrating and he lost all balance. He dropped his forcefield and began an attempt at a counterspell.

"Invert knuckles." Redwing put his fingers together and cracked them.

The joints of Mevner's fingers bent in the opposite direction of normal. The pain was tremendous and the loss of his hands broke his concentration.

"Scoliosis." Redwing moved two fingers on his left hand making the shape of a Z and bent Mevner's back into thirds.

"Twisted mind ...and broken legs." 

Each of the three major bones of Mevner's legs broke simultaneously.

"Bent feet." Redwing folded flat fingers down making 90-degree angles with his hands.

Mevner was already on the ground, but when his feet bent in half the shock sent him into convulsions. He lay there crippled, shaking, and watching Redwing through burning eyes. 

Redwing enshrouded himself in darkness and stood over the master, who was somehow still alive and struggling in vain against the sword. Redwing encircled him with a red mist and began draining him. Redwing began to grow and shrink, glowing red himself, taking on mass and shedding it. Mevner had only read of the Vampire spell.

Melock the Wise, the wizard who traveled between universes, lost his powers and died. His body was reduced to a blackened and charred skeleton. Redwing reached down, unfastened the master's amulet, and placed it around his own neck. Then he turned to the other shuddering broken body at his feet.

"Mage Mevner Ozgold, I leave you to the wild."

Night fell and the young apprentice was alone with his doom.