This is the original text of a short story I wrote for a creative writing course I took in the winter term of my Sophomore year at Oregon State. As I did not have this document in machine-readable form, I had to scan it in from a printed copy. In the process, I had to manually edit it for scanning errors and format. While I tried to minimize the number of discrepancies from the original version, I did make a couple of changes to content to correct some obvious typos. –Jim Seymour, 6 June 2004

The old man walked briskly through the crowded streets of the kingdom's capital city. His long, dark beard failed to show his true age, but his eyes showed intelligence that only a few possess. Ahead of him, the merchants haggled with their customers and with each other; the noise echoing between the buildings to where the man walked. In his right hand, he held a long oaken staff inlaid with gold and gems and set with a small, golden lion's head. People around him stared, but nobody moved. As he walked toward the noise ahead, the crowd around him grew quiet. He paid no attention and turned down a side street followed by hushed whispers and surprised looks. Had it been another day, he would have stopped or waved a greeting, yet today he had grave news to deliver and this occupied his mind more than any other topic.

As he walked, he thought and as he thought, he grew afraid. All around him was the great city of Backbone: alive for over 1,000 years and now perhaps on the verge of collapse. It has been said that all great empires eventually die from within, yet Backbone would be attacked. To the south, away from the sea and up the Wisewood river, an army lay in waiting. All the cities in the so-called “Wisewood Chain” had already fallen save Backbone and all had fallen to the same army in the space of only two weeks. The army belonged to the wizard called Sardul and it was only through his power that it existed. Without his leadership, it would disperse in a matter of hours. The old man thought of Sardul. He had met the wizard once and this thought frightened him. He looked around and wondered how many people would die because of Sardul's rage.

Ahead of him was the king's castle, the two huge, iron gates opened before him while a plump, armored guard bellowed out, “Edric! The king's magician arrives!” The old man grinned and nodded to the guard. Soon, two boys came out to greet him and ushered him inside the main building. He knew the route well as he had traveled it many times before, yet the king was stern about his rules and so he allowed himself to be escorted to the conference room.

The king himself was not young, yet not quite old. He was a proud man standing just a hair over six feet and with a full, brown beard covering his chin. Now, he wore a plain gray outfit. with a simple blue belt, yet soon he would don his armor and unsheathe his sword for the upcoming battle. His eyes lit up as his guest entered the room, “Edric! What news do you have to tell me? I just recently received your message and have waited anxiously. You seemed distressed. Why?”

Edric chose a chair at random and sat gesturing to the king to seat himself. Had it not been one of the most powerful magicians in the world that King Scardore talked to, he would have been offended. Instead, he sat. “I have learned much, lord,” Edric said, “Sardul. means to attack very soon. Perhaps as early as dawn.”

The king's face dropped, his eyes suddenly showed the weariness that had come from too little preparation for a too massive battle. “I barely have the reserves checked out in weaponry. Some of the citizens still do not know of the attack. How can we win against Sardul's army without more preparation?” The king's clenched fist tapped at the table.

“Remember, lord, that Bearly had no preparation. They were attacked by surprise. Scarcely had news reached Marsvan when they were attacked. It is only now, after Hookridge has fallen that Sardul pauses. We are lucky to have even this much time.”

The king dropped his eyes from Edric's. Looking directly at a powerful wizard tends to unnerve even the most powerful of kings. “Your wisdom is great, Edric. Have you any advice to offer? Have you seen what is to be?”

“I have seen.” Edric replied, “I have used my magic to see only the attack. I know not of the outcome nor any details of Sardul's plans.”

The king's face looked weary. He spoke now in a hushed voice, “Edric, I must know! Will Backbone fall?”

The wizard paused, his eyes calm with intelligence, “Foreseeing the future is a dangerous business. Once it has been seen, nothing you or I can do will stop what is to be. I dared look no further than the attack lest we be bound to an unwanted fate.”

King Scardore got up slowly. “Will you be able to help us?”

Edric grinned, “It is to you and your kingdom that my allegiance falls. I will help in our defense with all the power that I possess.”

“May the gods be with you, Edric.” The king saluted briefly, then left the room. Edric remained seated and thought to himself. There was much to be done at home, he finally decided, and now there is no time to waste. Edric got up from his chair and started down the hall. Soon, he stopped for he was tired of walking. Spreading his arms out, he slowly closed his eyes. Within seconds he had transformed into a large black raven. “Ah, much better!” he thought as he flew out an open window.

Fifteen miles up the Wisewood river to the south, the City of Hookridge lay burning. Around its perimeter, Sardul's army sat encamped while inside the walls in a building safe from the fires the wizard waited. The room was silent and the night dark. A distant blaze illuminated the room with ghostly, red shadows while Sardul thought of his victories. He was not pleased. Defeating the king was not his aim, nor was stealing the lands away from the landholders. These were merely the excuses he used to keep his army together. His army still was no match for the man he wished to defeat. Yet time would show his plan to be the superior. Edric would soon feel the bite of Sardul's power and would learn to regret his earlier mistakes.

Outside, his army rested. A few polished or sharpened their swords while others slept or ate. Their secret to victory had not been numbers, nor skill in combat (both of which they have in abundance), but in their appearance. Not one of the ten thousand was human and they used this difference to great advantage. Created millennia ago by an evil god in jest of the elves, these creatures have since lived their lives away from men. They are called by many names: Goblins, Hobgoblins, but most commonly: Orcs. They stand usually six feet tall and most delight in killing anything that offends them - including each other. Thus, their threat to man has been small until now. With Sardul at their helm, they were united and meant to crush man and rule the world.

Back in his castle on the south-east edge of the city, Edric prepared. His castle, he feared, would be a main target of Sardul's assault and he gambled that Sardul's magic would be used on the city's reinforcements rather than his. Thus, he dismissed his guards and servants and sent them into the city to do any help they could there. As for himself, he locked his tower from the inside and set up shop in the highest room overlooking the city's front gates. From here, he could consult his magic to help him prepare. There was a spell he had learned from Elsa, the high mage of the elves that correctly foretold the answer to a question by setting up a communication with the gods. It serves its purpose in times of crisis but to disturb omniscience too frequently can only have disastrous results.

This time, Edric learned only more confusion: that neither Sardul nor Sardul's army would attack his castle. This puzzled him. Had Sardul forgotten him? Did he expect Backbone's chief wizard to flee in terror? Or did he have other plans? Edric thought back: years, decades, over a century ago it had happened. Back when he was a young man under the tutelage of Elsa was when he committed his last great sin: to use his magic to harm others. There was a time when the two were associates. Their ideals differed too greatly for a friendship so Edric was content to acknowledge Sardul as a mentor. Shortly after Edric earned the title of wizard from Elsa was when he learned the truth of Sardul: For two centuries Sardul had exhausted enormous quantities of energy to retain his youth - energy that Edric thought could be better used on others. It so incensed him that he tried a powerful spell to destroy Sardul's age protections and return him to the state of a normal 200-year- old: dead. However, Sardul was more powerful than Edric expected and the attempt failed. Sardul then made his great mistake: he tried to rob Edric of his power (a crime considered worse than murder among magicians) and was banished from society. Now over one hundred years later, Edric himself has relied on his magic to remain alive and only now regrets his earlier actions.

Far to the south lies a small mountain with an enormous cave near the top. For years, that cave has been silent and what lies within has not shown itself to any but Sardul. Now, Sardul sat alone in Hookridge one hundred miles away and uttered a name: “Kragnor.” In the cave, a voice echoed, “Kragnor…Kragnor…” From the depths of the cavern came a low rumble. The beast from the cave awoke. First one head, and then the other. Its huge, black leathery wings unfolded and it inhaled deeply making a deafening growling noise which reverberated through the caves. Kragnor, the dragon, awoke. He was being summoned.

“It is done,” Sardul said to himself, “My plan at last is begun.” He turned and strode out the door. A large, armored orc-mongrel approached and asked, “Is the word given, lord?”

Sardul stopped and looked down at the half-arc. “The word is given,” he replied. Immediately, the man ran out to me encampments shouting, “Prepare to ride! The word is given!” Within two minutes the news had spread and ten thousand orcs began to march.

The citizens of Backbone snapped into awareness when the army finally arrived. It was after nightfall, yet very few people had the peace of mind to sleep. Edric sat alone in his tower and surveyed the approaching army. Sadness filled his eyes when he noted their size compared to the armies of Backbone. Edric raised his arms and became an enormous black eagle and flew out the open tower window. Something caught his eye as he flew out past his courtyard toward the advancing army. A small flash of red light off in the distance; almost as if it came from the mountains. Edric turned to get a better look but could see very little in the darkness. He glanced up as he flew over the city wall and noticed a small crescent moon just setting behind the long dead glow of sunset. “Sardul has planned his attack well,” he thought as he pulled in his wings for a dive. Swooping low over the first wave of arcs, Edric spread his wings wide and let out a loud screech. two dozen orcs collapsed asleep.

To the south, he saw another bright flash of red, yet this time it was much closer and accompanying it was a low noise as of a great rushing of air. Edric turned and suddenly realized what it was: a dragon. Its path was straight, yet did not parallel that of the army's. Instead it headed toward Edric's castle.

Edric realized that if the dragon arrived to find nobody home he could attack the city in search of the wizard. Already one tragedy had befallen Backbone because of Edric's mistakes, he was not going to let another get past. Edric flew as fast as he could back to his castle. He arrived only seconds before the dragon did and in the light from the dragon's breath, he saw two heads. “Kragnor!” he said aloud as he changed his shape back to normal. The dragon swooped low over his castle yard almost level with Edric's tower window. Both heads scanned for life as it passed until finally one head fixed on the wizard. Kragnor turned around for another pass - this time with intent to kill. Edric raised his hands and held his oak staff but as the dragon passed. He heard the nauseating double inhale and smelled the hot breath as flames leapt from Kragnor's mouth and danced around the room of the tower. Simultaneously, Edric swung his staff hard and pointed the tip toward Kragnor. A pale green beam shot out and struck the dragon in its left head. The stone walls vibrated with the sound of the dragon's scream.

From deep within, an emotion welled up in Edric. For over a century, he had vowed to quiet it, but now Edric felt he had to express it. Edric hated the dragon and intended to use as much of his power as is necessary to defeat it. The dragon turned again to make another run, blood glistened on his left head where the skin was torn and one huge eye had been removed. Edric gripped his staff clumsily as the dragon swept past. Another burst of flames swept past him as he flung the staff at the dragon's main body. Edric collapsed from the heat this time and noticed that the room was afire. His arms shook from the pain but he stretched them out and slowly closed his eyes as the wooden floor below him gave way. Before he hit, though, he had become a small black bird and shot out of the open window above him.

Outside, Kragnor still flew and had turned wide over the city to attack once again. It failed to notice the tiny black bird disappear into the night for as it approached it noticed that a long oaken staff had planted itself in its abdomen. “A minor inconvenience,” it thought, until the staff glowed blue and began to freeze the flesh around the wound. Kragnor just then noticed a small, blue bird circling above his right head. The dragon inhaled deeply, but crashed full speed into the tower where Edric had been. The stone structure gave way easier than did the dragon's flesh, yet in the end Kragnor lay helpless in Edric's courtyard with two broken wings and one broken neck. The oaken staff lay broken next to the dragon's good head.

Edric felt weak. He flew in a daze over the city walls until he remembered the battle below. From the south a voice whispered to him, “Edric, you are tired, the battle is lost, why not surrender now?” It was a futile gesture for at that moment Edric felt renewed energy and a solid hatred for Sardul swell up in his soul. He dove toward the whisper and transformed into a huge, black hawk. Sardul's plan became apparent now and Edric felt sick.

Ten thousand orcs were no match for a city the size of Backbone as long as that city had a wizard on its side. Edric had sworn a vow before the high mage Elsa that he would never lash out with his magic to cause harm to others. Now, he regretted that vow and realized that Sardu1 had counted on his pledge to Elsa in the formulation of his plan. But Kragnor had been defeated. Edric had lashed out and had won - a thought that never entered into Sardul's mind. Now, Edric could lash out again. This time, however, he would not fail.

Sardul had not been watching as Kragnor fell. Instead, he was intent on the main battle. His first wave had weakened the main line defenses enough so that Sardul could destroy them completely. He waved his hand and a section of the wall collapsed. He waved the other hand and the city gates were flung open. Thousands of orcs began rushing into the city just as Sardul sensed a small black bird flying dazed over the battle. He glanced at Edric's castle and saw the glow of red from the courtyard and his heart leapt. Pointing his finger at the bird he whispered a message. Immediately, it turned and dove toward his encampment. Sardul froze. Edric's power still remained, yet it was weak. Sardul relaxed as an enormous black hawk sailed in to attack.

As Edric fluttered his wings to land, Sardul held both hands together, fingers outstretched and cursed in an archaic tongue. A bolt of fire leapt from his fingers and struck Edric hard. He returned to human form flat on his back with his clothing singed. As he awoke, Sardul stood over him with, his arms outstretched, and his eyes closed. Sardul's robes glistened with white light while Edric felt his heart slow. Sardul was trying to rob him of his power. His lungs burned, yet with his last breath, he cried out, “Our times have come Sardul. You may rob my power if you must, but my soul will remain intact.” Sardul's eyes flashed open and he looked down with an expression of shock. Edric's body slowly died while his soul crept up into Sardul's eyes on a bridge created by Sardul's own magic. Sardul collapsed next to Edric's body.

In the remaining hours of the night, the orc army fought hard in the streets of the capital city, yet the soldiers and citizens under King Scardore had felt a surge of power in themselves and fought valiantly. By dawn, all of the orcs had fled or been slain and the city was triumphant. Across the fields, however, outside the city walls lay the body of Edric. Next to it, Sardul lay sleeping. When he awoke he smiled and slowly got to his feet. Around him lay a ruined encampment and dozens of dead orcs and half-orcs. Two armed humans approached with swords drawn. He stretched out his arms and spoke, “Have no fear, friends. I am Edric, the King's magician.” He did not lie.

–Jim Seymour, 10 Feb 1983

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