Songs of the Silver Wizard

COMPENDIUM

"Magic is indeed magical, but like other corporeal miraculous acts, no matter how long you wish it lasts, the end comes sooner than you hope."

They came upon the glade later than Thaddeus hoped. Already the moon was receding, soon to be replaced by the first bands of morning light. He’d need to move quickly to complete the necessary ritual. Otherwise, all would be lost. 

You fool. He should have been marching his host onwards to retake Rannia. 

Instead…You’re a fool twice over. 

Somewhere above, an owl hooted. Thaddeus gathered all the stones he could and set them in a circle on the shore of the small lake. The truth was it wasn’t too difficult of a ritual. Wizards, Witches, and Warlocks all danced around the stone circle below the full moon before descending into the water to summon the immense magical powers that flowed through earth and air. For those that had the eyes to see and the ears to hear, they’d see the echoes across all the quiet spaces that channel such power. 

He placed Antonia on the shore where gentle rippling waves teased her ever-cooling skin. 

“Forgive me for my sins,” Thaddeus whispered before slowly striding around the small circle he erected. The din of the forest quieted with each rotation, the beat of his heart increasing until it was the only sound that remained. One step after another after another, until he was moving at near enough a gallop. The silvery light of twilight similarly receded until all was deaf and dark, yet his feet remained true as the power of this holy place found purchase within Antonia. He did not know if it would be enough, such was the extent of the damage done to both her body and soul. 

He was nearing completion of his seventh circling when he first felt the flutter from deep within the woods. The nearest undergrowth parted, and he appeared, bloodstained tunic hanging limply off his thin pale body. 

“You are so very predictable, Wizard.” 

Four steps remained to bring Thaddeus again around the circle. Four short steps and the ritual would be complete. 

Gavrool was not foolish enough to allow him such time. 

The full weight of the world around him; the cawing of crows, the chirp of the grasshoppers, the rush of wind through leaf and water, flooded Thaddeus’s mind as he brought his sword to bear against the charging werewolf. With reverberating clang, his blade caught the edge of Gavrool’s jagged knife, then ducked a swipe from a half-transformed claw. 

“Give it up, wizard. This is all folly. I will give you both a swift, painless end.” The werewolf smiled, licking his long canines. 

Thaddeus dodged and blocked again, feet slipping ever so slightly on the mix of mud and dewy grass. He had been too slow and now all unraveled. He’d not summoned nearly enough magic to turn back the horde roiling within Antonia’s veins, nor had he refilled his own reserves. 

Thaddeus struck again, blade sliding through open air as Gavrool sidestepped the lunge. Well, if he was going to fail at all else, Thaddeus would ensure this werewolf breathed no more. 

“You’re getting old, Wizard. We ageless ones will inherit this world. My only regret is your dusty bones will never get to see what wonders we might mold.”

Thaddeus grunted. Gavrool swiped again, gaunt yellow eyes bright in the darkness. In Gavrool’s human form, Thaddeus might hope to match his ferocity and did so with parry after parry. Why had he not transformed? In that transfigured state, Thaddeus could never hope to match the furor Gavrool could muster…ahh. 

The smallest of smiles followed. 

Gavrool did not know that Thaddeus failed to complete the ritual. Two more strikes came and Thaddeus noted how cautious they were, slow developing combinations, trying to gauge his opponent’s power, or, more dangerously, delaying until reinforcements arrived. 

As quickly as it came, the satisfaction passed. It did not matter, not really. Thaddeus was a skilled warrior but eventually, assuredly, Gavrool would overwhelm him. He stepped into the attack, striking with an almost reckless combination that left his chest exposed but drew a thin line of blood from Gavrool’s torso. 

The werewolf let out a roar somewhere between beast and man and pressed his attack again, no breath left for insults. With each step and strike, the cords of muscle around Gavrool’s shoulders, around his forearms bulged and contorted. Even in the darkness, Thaddeus saw his skin greying. Hair erupted in patches across Gavrool’s back and neck. 

Blow after blow came quicker and quicker. Thaddeus slipped again as he dodged and parried, breath drawing in ragged gasps. Their duel carried them ever closer to the shore. Thaddeus lunged and suddenly the sky was above him, stars dancing in between drifting clouds. He didn’t feel his fall but Gavrool wasted no time in pressing his advantage. 

Frantic dodges. Cloth and skin forced to suffice where iron shields and gauntlets should have been. The end drew near, Thaddeus knew it. 

Fool. Such a fool. 

Who did he think he was to imagine standing against such hate? Such indifference? Such violence? He was little more than a second rate wizard with passable marks and training. 

Gavrool’s claws tightened around Thaddeus’s neck, scratching, crushing. Spittle lapped from the corners of the werewolf’s mouth. “Die wizard.” 

It’s an impossible truth that most endings are indeed disappointingly mundane. The greatest warrior succumbs to infection from the smallest of cuts. The greatest of swimmers drowns beneath the waves. The greatest of wizards fades into blackness as his breath is ripped from his lungs. Such weaknesses are the bane of mortal existence, of the mortal flesh. 

And yet, such is the hubris of that swimmer to believe they might conquer the waves. 

Werewolves, despite all their power, were not immune to such mortal hubris. Gavrool’s eyes, yellow in the moonlight, snapped wide. The silver blade tore through the flesh between Gavrool’s sternum and black heart before ripping upwards. Blood rained down and in due course Thaddeus’s robes were soaked through. 

The hulking body collapsed onto the wet grass. Antonia stood, shoulders heaving but otherwise unbowed. 

From the canopy above, an owl hooted. No other branches stirred, Gavrool thinking his supporters unworthy of the honor of accompanying him on this great final battle. 

“You should have left me.” 

“Maybe I should have…I…” Thaddeus trailed off. Through the branches, the darkness gave way to light. Morning had come, and he’d yet to replenish himself. 

A/N:

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