The Kingdom of Dreams (Chronicles of the Magi Book 2) Read online

  Chronicles of the Magi

  Book Two

  THE KINGDOM OF DREAMS

  by

  Dave Morris

  THE MAGI

  Now as at all times I can see in the mind's eye,

  In their stiff, painted clothes, the pale unsatisfied ones

  Appear and disappear in the blue depths of the sky

  With all their ancient faces like rain-beaten stones,

  And all their helms of silver hovering side by side,

  And all their eyes still fixed, hoping to find once more,

  Being by Calvary's turbulence unsatisfied,

  The uncontrollable mystery on the bestial floor.

  W. B. Yeats

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  “The Magi” by W B Yeats

  The story so far

  The Knight’s Quest

  In Dreams

  The Meteor

  The Questing Beast

  The World Serpent

  Dourhaven

  Augustus of Vantery

  On the Ice

  The Shores of Wyrd

  The Seer

  The Forest of Thorns

  The Palace of Dusk

  The King of Wyrd

  The Awakening

  Other books by Dave Morris

  A map of the world of Legend can be found here on the web.

  The story so far

  While travelling through the ice-locked country of Krarth in the land of Legend, Altor, a young warrior-monk, encounters a mortally wounded stranger who entrusts him with the jewelled pommel stone of the Sword of Life. This magical weapon is said to be the only thing that can overcome the Five Magi – ancient wizards who, banished from the earth, have transformed themselves into baleful comets in the night sky.

  But the pommel stone is soon lost and – along with Caelestis, a clever knave – Altor finds himself obliged to participate in a deadly contest to regain it. The pair succeed, but in doing so earn themselves the undying enmity of an Oriental warlock known as Icon the Ungodly.

  Their next step is to find the hilt of the Sword of Life. But now the Five Magi themselves are aware of their quest, and will use all their otherworldly power in an effort to prevent it. Altor and Caelestis will find that many terrible dangers lie in wait for them…

  One:

  The Knight’s Quest

  ‘I can’t believe what I’m hearing. What in heaven’s name were you thinking of?’

  ‘Keep your voice down,’ said Altor with a frown. ‘He’ll hear you.’

  They both turned to look at the old knight who sat in the corner of the inn beside the empty hearth. He bent over his bowl of soup, pretending not to notice the argument.

  Caelestis leaned closer. ‘I only stepped outside for a few moments,’ he said peevishly, ‘and I come back to find you’ve sworn us to some absurd quest. Have you forgotten that you’re a monk, not a knight of the Tamorian court?’

  Altor ignored his friend’s show of irritation. ‘As you very well know,’ he said, ‘I belong to a warrior order and we must take the same vows of chivalry that bind any knight. The old gentleman has a weighty problem—‘

  ‘Indeed, but why should it be up to us to solve it for him?’

  ‘Because he did not ask for our aid. He is too proud, being a true knight, and so the only honourable thing to do was to offer to help.’

  Caelestis gave him a wide-eyed look. ‘You call that chivalry? Helping people because they don’t ask for help? I think you are confusing honour with simple-mindedness, Altor!’

  At first Caelestis had tried to whisper, but as he got more excited his voice rose until the old knight could not ignore it. Clearing his throat, he beckoned them to his table.

  Altor bowed respectfully and sat down opposite him. Caelestis slid reluctantly onto the far end of the bench.

  The knight reached for the poker and with palsied hands stirred the cold embers in the grate. Under a crust of ash, the last glimmer of the previous evening’s fire showed as cracks of orange light. The knight huddled over the fire and looked back over his shoulder at Caelestis.

  ‘I know what you’re thinking. I’m a poor feeble old man right enough. But once I was young and healthy like you. Though old and broken now, I was a straight sapling in my youth. My waist was then as slender as my wheezing chest is now, and my chest then as broad as the paunch I presently wear. Age, that implacable foe, has not been kind to Varadax, knight of Lushon.’

  ‘Wise words,’ responded Caelestis without much interest. ‘And here is a lesson for us all: be courteous to the elderly, for one day we too shall be old. Still—‘

  ‘Still,’ said Sir Varadax with sudden vehemence, ‘here I must sit to the end of my days, huddled by the hearth, and I curse the infirmities of old age because they prevent me from taking vengeance on my foe. And when I gulp the last of this world’s air, the thought that shall rankle my heart and burn in the ashes of my brain is that the Lady in Grey has not been punished for her unholy crimes!’

  Altor joined in. ‘Sir Varadax has already told me how this Lady in Grey brought about the death of his brother. She is a witch, Caelestis.’

  ‘A witch?’ cried Sir Varadax, flinging up his hands. ‘She is a demon in mortal guise! No earthly woman could be so lovely and yet nurture such evil in her breast. Nor was my brother her only victim—not by any means. She has caused the death of many blameless men across the years.’

  ‘It seems a trifle harsh to condemn the woman without hearing her own version of events,’ Caelestis ventured.

  Altor shook his head doggedly. ‘I spoke to the innkeeper. He confirmed Sir Varadax’s story. The Lady in Grey is well known in this region for her depravity and diabolic magic. Unfortunately, here in Krarth the authorities regard such behaviour as normal.’

  Varadax nodded. ‘As long as she restricts her victims to peasants, wanderers and foreigners like myself and my brother, she is free to do as she likes. It makes me seethe to think of the injustices she has perpetrated, all of them unpunished!’

  Caelestis could see the way things are going and he did not like it. ‘The only advice we can give you, sir knight, is this old adage: the best revenge is to live well. Now, my fiend and I should be moving on...’

  Even as he spoke, Caelestis knew it was too late. The flame of adventure was in Altor’s eyes. ‘Our duty is clear,’ said the young warrior-monk. ‘This demon woman will account for her misdeeds, and she will do so before the sun sets on another day. So I swear by almighty God and all His troops of angels!’

  ‘Well spoken, young sir,’ said the knight, overjoyed.

  Caelestis just groaned.

  Hoarfrost shimmered in the predawn light. Cobwebs of silvery lace covered the hedgerows. They passed a group of peasants beginning their hard day’s toil in the fields.

  Sir Varadax sat astride his horse, an aged but still powerful beast with a fierce glint in its eye. Caelestis and Altor, having left Kalugen’s Keep a few weeks before with barely twenty silver florins between them, were on foot.

  Good cheer had made Sir Varadax sprightly. He wore his armour sturdily despite his frail frame and for the last few miles, as casually as if he were riding to a fair rather than a deadly battle, he had been regaling them with stories of his youth.

  Impatience finally got the better of Caelestis. ‘We have a quest of our own, Sir Varadax. Did my friend tell you? We are gathering the scattered parts of a magic sword which—‘

  ‘Indeed, indeed,’ said Varadax, surveying the landscape loftily. ‘A worthy project, lad. No doubt the hardships you endure along the way will build strength of character...’

&n
bsp; Caelestis fell behind the horse, pulling Altor back by the arm. In an undertone he said: ‘We agree to help the old buzzard and now he treats us like his squires. Also, notice that he didn’t offer to help us in our quest. Frankly, I think his concept of chivalry is a bit one-sided.’

  Altor could not help smiling. ‘He’s waited years for this moment, Caelestis, so forgive him for his single-mindedness, can’t you? And as for our own quest, remember that virtue is its own reward.’

  ‘I suspect you were taught logic by a halfwit,’ said Caelestis grumpily. ‘Virtue will not provide me with new boots when these wear out, nor will it guide us to the next part of the Sword of Life.’

  ‘For that we don’t need virtue,’ said Altor in a tone which his friend found infuriating. ‘We have faith.’

  Sir Varadax had drawn up his horse. It snorted steam into the grey morning air. They caught up with him and saw, on the crest of the next hill, a tower whose walls were choked with ivy. It looked like a knot of shadow in the twilight.

  ‘The abode of the Lady in Grey,’ said Varadax. ‘Now the grim task is upon us, my young friends. May the soul of my brother witness our deed this day, and may the mother of God grant that our courage is strong.’

  ‘Amen to that,’ said Altor grimly. He loosened his sword in its scabbard so that he could draw it instantly when needed.

  They approached the tower in silence. Dusty skulls lay either side of the open portcullis. Varadax dismounted and tethered his steed to a rusted iron ring set in the tower wall.

  All three looked at each other. By tacit agreement, Altor advanced first into the gateway. The other two followed cautiously, treading with great stealth up a flight of stairs that wound up into the cold heart of the tower.

  At the top they entered a low chamber. It was still filled with gloom, dark and chill as an ocean bed, for the sun had not yet risen to shine through the narrow windows. As their eyes became accustomed to the dim light they suddenly realized there was a tall woman standing at the end of the room. She seemed to appear all in a rush, as though the shadows had clotted together in human shape. Her hair was a blaze of icy whiteness and her skin, even though she had the features of a young woman, looked grey and lifeless in the gloom.

  She turned her gaze on them—a thrilling stare. The same look that a hawk gives its prey.

  ‘Dread damsel,’ said Varadax, speaking loudly to hide the nervousness in his voice, ‘monster without heart, we’ve come to cleanse the world of you.’

  Her smile guttered like a candle flame, a brief gleam swiftly replaced by a dark-lipped scowl. ‘Bold words, but I see only a decrepit old man and two milky striplings. If you see me shake, it’s not from fear.’

  There was a steely sigh. Altor had drawn his sword. In the half-light it shone like an icicle in the sun.

  ‘Madam,’ said Caelestis, ‘this old gentleman has made some serious allegations against you and neither he nor my friend are in much of a mood to listen to veiled threats. But what can be gained by brute violence or tainting the air with sorcery? Surely it would be more sensible if we were all to sit down and discuss this...’

  The Lady in Grey made a sound. It was a little like a laugh—but only a little. ‘You’ve a tongue worth pickling, boy. I’ll be sure to find a jar worthy of such contents.’

  Sir Varadax took a stride forward, his own sword in his hand. He had been the first to sense the sudden change in the sorceress’s tone that warned of impending action. Even so, he was not quick enough. The Lady spoke a word that twisted the shadows around her. Varadax gave a sharp cry of pain and was flung back as though a mule had kicked him in the chest. He landed heavily on the flagstones beside the other two. There he lay a moment, then slowly got to his feet.

  The Lady in Grey seemed mildly surprised. ‘I call that spell my ‘Unseen Lance’. It is rare for a foe to rise after being struck down by it.’

  Varadax shook his head groggily. ‘I’m driven by thirty years of hatred, witch. All your spells couldn’t keep me from my vengeance now.’

  Altor stepped forward beside him, followed a second later by Caelestis who, at last, reluctantly drew his own sword.

  ‘Lady,’ said Altor, ‘although a novice I am empowered to hear your confession. I advise you to make your peace with God now, for we have all three sworn an oath to send you this day back to your infernal master in Hell.’

  ‘Actually,’ said Caelestis, ‘I didn’t make the oath myself, but I am forced to agree with the general sentiment.’

  The Lady tossed her head disdainfully. ‘A monk, a knave and an old man—you think I count you more than spittle in the dust? I have other spells and other servitors, and more than enough ways to—‘

  The first pink rays of the sun washed the room. As the light touched her, the Lady in Grey fell silent. She stood rigid as though turned to stone.

  ‘She is frozen by the daybreak!’ cried Varadax triumphantly. ‘We must seize our chance and slay her now.’

  He leaped forward, sword upraised, but he was mistaken in thinking the Lady powerless. Her luminous eyes flashed, cold white pebbles in the red glow of dawn. Varadax felt the floor shift beneath his feet and, staring down in horror, saw tendrils reaching up out of the flagstones. They whipped around his legs, encircled his chest and neck, pulled tight around his wrists. In seconds he was caught fast in the grip of granite-hard coils.

  ‘I’m trapped!’ he gasped as the tendrils tightened on his throat.

  Altor had also launched himself across the room. Caelestis shouted a warning. Altor glanced down to see more tendrils oozing out of the floor by his feet. He hacked them away before they could harden.

  ‘She can still cast her spells!’ said Caelestis.

  Altor saw it was true. Although she was held motionless by the sun’s rays, the Lady’s eyes still roved around the chamber. The touch of her gaze was palpable—the creep of spiders’ legs across bare skin.

  Her voice whispered at the back of their minds. It was a horrible sensation, like hearing a quiet voice speak from under the bed when you think you lie alone in your room. ‘Did you think I would be so easy to overcome?’ the voice said. ‘Depart my tower at once and I shall permit you to live. Refuse, and all the forces of the netherworld will be unleashed against you.’

  Caelestis was prepared to talk it over. ‘All three of us?’ he asked aloud.

  ‘No—you striplings only.’ The silent voice hissed inside their skulls. ‘Varadax has vexed me once too often. Now he’ll abide here among the remains of my earlier victims.’

  Altor lifted his sword and began to advance towards her. ‘Out of the question.’

  Her eyes flashed with anger. ‘So be it.’

  The growing daylight had illuminated two armoured figures standing against the rear wall. Now, galvanized to sudden life, they hefted their spears and moved forwards with clanking footsteps across the room.

  Altor saw he could not reach the Lady in Grey before the armoured figures intercepted him. They strode closer. Something about the scrutiny of those dark visors chilled Altor’s blood. Then he realized—the ponderous movements, the doomful aura, the hollow death-knell clang that rang out with each step... It was not living men he faced, but ghosts encased in ancient armour! He fell back in a defensive stance and was relieved when Caelestis appeared at his side.

  The nearest suit of armour drove its spear towards Altor’s throat. Caelestis started to say something, but his words were drowned out by the clash of metal on metal as Altor parried with his silver sword. Sparks leapt, blazing stars in the soft dawn light. Outside, incongruously, birds had begun singing. In the tower room, the only sounds were the clank and grind of metal and the young adventurers’ desperate intakes of breath.

  Caelestis jumped to avoid a low thrust, then ducked as his adversary swung the spear butt around towards his head. Agile as he was, he could not avoid these attacks forever. Altor with his sturdy magic sword at least had the choice of parrying the spear strikes, but he wasn’t tireless either. Sl
owly they were forced back towards the wall. Once they were trapped there with no room to manoeuvre, it would all be over.

  ‘Can’t you exorcize these things? Get rid of the ghosts inside somehow?’ panted Caelestis, barely weaving aside in time to avoid a slicing attack that would have laid open his guts.

  ‘I never got as far as the exorcism lessons, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Some monk you’ll make, then,’ snorted Caelestis. He stopped retreating; the parapet of the window was against his back.

  Altor drove the point of his sword against his opponent’s blank metal face. The metal tore open with a tortured screech, leaving an open gash into the hollow interior of the suit, but to no avail. The armoured figure drew back its spear, then thrust with supernatural strength directly towards Altor’s heart.

  Two:

  In Dreams

  Off-balance after his lunge at the armour’s visor, Altor saw no chance to avoid the lethal spear-tip. But just an instant before it struck he was shoved to one side. The spear passed between him and Caelestis. Sparks and chips of masonry flew as its blade snapped against the wall.

  Caelestis somersaulted over his friend and was on his feet instantly. Altor rolled over in time to see the armoured suit turn, stabbing down at him with the butt of the spear. He slashed his sword across and was gratified to see the wooden haft of the spear shatter in his foe’s hands.

  The suit of armour reeled with the momentum of its attack, teetering above him, and for a moment Altor thought it was going to fall and squash him, but by some miracle it stayed upright. The other began to lumber around, lowering its own spear to skewer him where he lay. Altor scrambled to his feet. ‘If you’ve got a plan in mind,’ he said, ‘now’s the time for it.’

  Caelestis shook his head. ‘I can’t think of anything clever. Still, what the hell...’