Songs of the Silver Wizard

“It is a wizard’s duty to be the armor of those who cannot wear it.”

The thought struck Thaddeus as his staff of fine white birch whirled around his head. A wall of fire raced down the walls of the stone tower and incinerated the approaching siege tower full of Gothinians. Bodies tumbled twenty feet as the tower became a bonfire. The wizard found it comical that this was the moment the words of his late master bubbled to the forefront of his notedly extraordinary mind. Coddgery old kook.

This particular brand of ruffians had spent the last two months as a rose thorn in Thaddeus’s side. The Gothinians, in a general academic sense, were a fine lot–particularly great at raising hunting dogs, but this host…well. Othoritrix is a nasty one; makes Headmaster Sefodarus look like a right lovely Opa. Another swirl of his staff followed, and lightning raced out along the fields before the gatehouse. No screams followed from below, but the accompanying scent he knew all too well. Thaddeus smiled.

An arrow flew through the air and pierced right through the wizard’s fleshy forearm. Yellow Bastards. Thaddeus chased away the pain and pulled the arrow out before slamming a ward over the gatehouse to deter any further naughtiness. The yeoman archer nearby stared wide-eyed, the lion crest of Rannia emblazoned on his leather armor. Thaddeus smiled at him softly–it was best not to scare the little babes.

The Gothinian host broke beneath the high walls. Cheers from the ramparts chased them back into the woods, and bells rang out across the cozy village of Rannia. Thaddeus eyed the forest Othoritrix’s brood scattered into along with the mountain holds dotting the horizon in somber thought.

They’ll be back.

“Here, wizard!” the yeoman said, offering a wineskin. Good Sir, I took an arrow through the arm. You're fortunate I'm the greatest wizard still alive.

“Well received, friend, and good shooting! But a Wizard's work is never done, and I must be off,” he said, hoping he would never have to rely on the man. Thaddeus found self-reliance to be the ward.

By the time he reached the council house, red dirt caked the fringes of his silver robe. He entered the ornate wood and stone hall without ceremony. From their high benches, the councilors of Rannia heaped laural after laural upon him as he strutted to the audience circle.

“Hero!”

“A true knight of the golden age!”

Only after the one at their center raised his arm did the chamber silence. Twenty of them sat lording over the wizard. None of these faces fought beside him upon the ramparts despite at least half of them being of prime age, he noted. The man spoke through his jowls, and Thaddeus decided he was comely once when he had half a mind to care and half as many servants to prepare his feasts. His gold cloak shimmered as he jostled upon his wooden seat. What was his name again? Mantius? Mandius? Manticore maybe? Thaddeus chuckled at the thought, drawing stern stares from some of the younger councilors.

Manticore, as Thaddeus certainly would now remember him, continued, “Wizard, you have done well. This council thanks you for your service. Pursuant to our agreement, you may now name your prize. Gold, men, woman, castles–whatever you ask is yours.”

Thaddeus smiled, “a sword with a silver edge and a fast horse. That’ll be all.”

Silence echoed around the chamber at the odd request. Manticore stared at the wizard cautiously, fearing a ruse.

“What is this sorcery? The might of the wealthiest city on the Retian peninsula is at your fingertips, and that is all you request? Are you daft, wizard? I didn’t know we hired a dimwit.”

Careful now, silver tongue. My list has room for more names. He waited, and once the silence was absolute, Thaddeus spoke, “Once, I was told to be the armor of those who who were too fat for it…or something along those lines. I would much prefer to be a sword. You see, fair and brave council, I love smiting evil men.”

Thaddeus the Silver Wizard said no more. The council sat stammering. With a twirl of his dirt-caked cloak, he left the chamber without another word. Outside, the celebration bells chimed. Thaddeus had his fill of paunchy men; it was time to do what he did best.

Othoritirx, the hour of your demise comes. Do you hear those bells tolling? Does your spine tingle as you realize they’re for you, brother?

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N:

Been in an odd spot inspiration-wise and figured I'd get back to my roots.

If you've enjoyed this, please leave a like and an insight below. If you really enjoyed this, tips to fuel my coffee addiction are always appreciated. All formatting is designed for desktops. All my works can be found below: