Paul Bronson

In the land of Lexxenheim, on the outskirts of the capital, Lexhelkres, a series of wizard towers stood, overlooking the sprawling city. The most impressive of these was Keftaral, which was fifteen stories tall, with five minarets surrounding a domed peak where the Archmage resided. Word had reached the aristocracy and High Magician’s Council that people were experiencing troubling dreams in the villages to the northeast, and some had seemingly vanished in the night.

A tall woman entered the Archmage’s chamber, crossing a series of circles and symbols inscribed on the floor. Her deep cerulean robes were split below the midthigh to allow ease of movement. She carried a long cedar staff capped with a golden phoenix, a clear crystal clenched in its beak. A braided midnight ponytail spiralled down her back, and a brown burlap pack was slung across her shoulders. The wizard strode before a bearded man in purple and gold trimmed robes, who looked up from a brass gilded tome as she drew near. His crown resembled a snow topped mountain peak, and shelves of ice were perched above his bright eyes that defied his age.

‘I take it you’ve decided to capture him,’ the Archmage said, glancing over her travel garments.

‘Yes, Master Kymoto, the sorcerer Zimoden must be stopped, before he spreads his influence further across Lexxenheim. People have heard his name in their sleep, and my sister is currently working in outer Feifenfield, only miles from where people went missing. Are you sure I shouldn’t take the Platinum Guard with me?’

‘No, Varbella, there is no guarantee that even with their stalwart hearts they’d be able to resist the illusions and nightmares of that madman. You’re my best student and will take my place someday. Besides, we’ll make sure you have the proper arcane defences, do not worry.’ Varbella gave a small nod, and he smiled. ‘Let’s get you prepared.’

***

After travelling ninety miles from the city on a strong chestnut stallion, Varbella stopped at the edge of the Dream Master’s domain. A fortified tower of scintillating colours emerged ominously from a verdant cornfield, at least ten stories high—although not of the same grandeur as Keftaral. She hesitated as she approached the path leading to the tower, scanning for possible dangers. After dismounting, she tapped the back of her steed three times, and it turned into a miniature statuette, no more than three inches across, that she put into one of her many pockets.

‘I’m here to see your lord!’ she called, and after a few minutes, six bedraggled farmers strode forward, brandishing sickles and scythes. Their eyes were glazed over and they spoke incomprehensively.

‘Back! I don’t want to hurt you.’ Orange light blazed forth from the wizard’s left hand, and the farmers nearby stumbled back, confused. Then, as she raised her staff horizontally, it glowed a faint blue.

‘Darn, how many are there?’ she said to herself. Two dozen more farmers came up the path, but then a low hum resonated, and they looked toward the keep, then strode back into the field. A pressing sensation, like a hesitant finger on her forehead, reached out, then faded.  Mental defences are working I take it.

Varbella moved down the path with haste, occasionally looking into the grainfield or over her shoulder. As she got to the base of the keep, she saw an open drawbridge that spanned a moat filled with shining aquamarine water. After a few moments of inspection however, she noticed that the keep was made of dark grey stone, not the luminous colours she’d seen earlier, and the channel was devoid of water. There were rows of spikes in a ditch, some with impaled corpses, bones and remnants of armour scattered in the dirt.

‘Thanks for the true sight enchantment, Master,’ she whispered.

She took a breath, then crossed the drawbridge into a large chamber with a chandelier and impressive décor. She doubted that the condition of the room was what it seemed, and cobwebs and tarnished silverware came into focus as she concentrated. There was a broad winding staircase straight ahead, so she tightened her cuff strings before proceeding upwards.

One challenge down. Time to bring order to this madhouse.

The wizard traversed the first few levels, and although each had roughly the same sized central chamber within, the interiors varied from lounge room, library, laboratory and sleeping quarters. The fifth level appeared to be some kind of barracks, and four floating ruby-hued plate armour suits could be seen, although she couldn’t see into the side rooms from this angle. Upon approaching further up the stairs, Varbella suddenly felt the last step crackle, and detected the scent of an approaching storm. She jumped into the chamber proper, receiving only a minor tingle, thanks to her own elemental resistance spells.

Before Varbella could congratulate herself, the four suits of armour streaked towards her, with halberds and spears wielded with purpose. Six more surged forth from the side chambers, and she hoped that was it. A vortex of grey air apparated between them as she cried out in a forgotten tongue. The armoured menaces got within two yards of striking her before being stopped in their tracks, careering towards the vortex and crumpling in a screaming pile of metal.

Yet two of the red suits managed to avoid the incantation by floating near the ceiling, then speared down at her. Varbella jumped to the side, dodging one, but the other caught her leg, tearing some fabric and knocking her to the ground. A flash of light emanated from her robes, signifying that protective enchantments had nullified most of the blow.

‘It’s not over yet,’ she said to herself, as she rolled to the banister at the edge of the stairs.

One suit slashing with a halberd, and another thrusting a spear came forward, but she held up a hand that deflected the first blow with a floating white shield, and she ducked back from the other. Then, she pulled some grey dust from her pocket and blew it towards the enemy. They flew back several yards into the vortex to crumple, like their counterparts.  

Varbella sighed and checked the level for any hidden surprises. Confident that there were none, she proceeded upward again. After passing another library, laboratory, and guest level, she saw two stone mastiff-like creatures with vicious fangs, claws and membranous wings, perched at the top of the eighth-story staircase. These were the size of oxen. 

‘Let’s see how you fair against my pets, witch,’ a disembodied voice called from above. 

‘Great. I hate gargoyles,’ she murmured to herself, recalling that they were one of the challenges in her wizard trials. 

The creatures were poised to pounce, so Varbella uttered some archaic words while rotating her hand in a clockwise motion. Lightning struck two points in quick succession, blasting the top of the banister on the left and at the foot of the stairs on the right. The gargoyles were struck, but seemed hardly affected by the elemental energy. It was only then she noted that these guardians took on an inky darkness, with red eyes beaming with malice. They leapt towards her—black comets of death. She barely managed to shift her position before being skewered at the edge of the landing below. 

Varbella lifted her staff forcefully, now glowing with a golden light, and struck out in a powerful arc. It clipped one of the shadow creatures on the wing, which dimmed slightly, but fought on. One struck at her with a claw that narrowly missed, while the other slashed with a forked tail that caught her shoulder. She didn’t experience physical damage, but a bitter cold pierced into her flesh and bones. She staggered momentarily, and then bludgeoned the first in its face, which became less distinct on impact. Varbella blocked a blow from the second, and thrust at its chest, knocking it back a few feet. The shadowy gargoyles continued to pounce and strike, and the wizard started to grow weary of dodging, parrying and countering. They were showing some signs of fading but still possessed dark intensity. 

‘Enough, foul creations!’ Varbella traced her fingers just under the phoenix of her staff, and the crystal shone with a sun-like brilliance.

Then, a pillar of golden radiance erupted that swallowed the gargoyles, and their forms rapidly dissolved into nothingness. The crystal glow on her staff faded, and she caught her breath for a few moments.  She poured a vial of amber liquid onto her shoulder and felt immediate relief.

It was clear that the eighth level was another library, and as she weaved behind walls of books, she caught a whiff of refined metal and caustic fumes in her nostrils. There she saw a tripod, with a ten-foot-long tube pointing at an open window, which resembled a telescope Varbella had seen at the Chronoastrological guild in the city. However, the narrow end of the tube was wrapped in a brass band, with a runic inscription for ‘night’. In line with this, a foot away was a floating black mass of energy, emitting baleful dark rays—the antithesis of the sun. This mass was the size of a fist and encased in a shimmering translucent globe. At an adjacent window was another device, this time ending in a silver band, with a mystic inscription for ‘control’. A glass cylinder was positioned on a stand nearby, and within were two floating silver spheres, which orbited each other, with a ruby light sparking between the two.

This answers most of my questions.

Shortly thereafter, she thought she heard some movement from the floor above, so traversed the next staircase more cautiously. As she neared the zenith, she saw a large candelabra lit with rose light, and then a well decorated chamber with a large table with an impressively sized map of Lexxenheim. There were also side tables, bookshelves, and various contraptions, but what caught her attention was a redolent floral scent.

‘Welcome, my lady, glad you could join me. Will you partake in some tea?’

A figure in crimson robes with white trim appeared, catching Varbella slightly off guard. He looked somewhat middle aged, with a pronounced widows peak, and hair greying at the temples. He pointed to a white teapot with black leaf motifs on a side table, with white cups and cushioned chairs on either end.

‘Hello, sorcerer, I’ll pass on the tea. I’m taking you in.’ The pot seemed antique, but well looked after.

‘Oh, such a feisty one, not a young maiden, but comely none the less. I think I’ll keep you—’

‘In your dreams—’

‘Haha, yes, you won’t resist my dreams. I am the Dream Master after all.’

‘More like nightmare, Zimoden.’ Varbella circled her thumb and pointer finger, and two disks of green energy flew rapidly toward the sorcerer. His hands and feet became bound in shining green manacles, and a wry smile crossed his face.

‘How was the tea?’

‘What are you talking about? I’m taking you—’

Varbella was suddenly sitting in a chair and sipping from a white cup, with the floral and somewhat citrusy flavour of jasmine tea on her lips. Then she was standing again, facing the man in the crimson robes, in what she assumed was the present.

‘Ahh, so refreshing. Only the finest for my special guests.’

The wizard’s lip dropped, and eyebrow raised. ‘How—?’

‘Now, while you may be adept at elemental and illumination magic, I’m a master of the mind, dream-craft and illusion. As soon as you looked at the teapot, I found my way in.’

Varbella’s eyes blurred, and she was back in the chair, tea steaming in front of her. Then she was in a floating landscape of coloured buildings, fluffy clouds of various hues, and floating furniture. She was sitting on a luxurious bed with a white bearskin blanket, and the Dream Master was seated on a gold throne that hovered over white clouds—he looked twenty years younger, with thick brown hair and an athletic form.  Winged sprites came forth offering fresh fruit, muscular, bull-headed humanoids offered trays of succulent meat and scantily clad maidens carried jugs of spiced wine. 

‘Enjoy the feast. The food is exquisite, and the wine—’

‘I refuse. I’ll get out of here, and you’ll pay for this madness.’

‘Oh, please, you can’t fight me in my own domain. Your magic will diminish over time, impressive it may be, but my power only grows stronger here. Which reminds me, would you like to play with my pets again?’

Two shadowy gargoyles burst through a cloud beside the sorcerer’s throne. Yet, these were much larger than in the tower—the size of trade wagons.

Shit, I need to buy some time. Maybe there is some trick to this place.

‘How did the tea affect me? I’m warded against poisons.’

‘Oh, my dear, it wasn’t poison, just a special relaxing blend of exotic tea. And you did seem so weary from your arduous journey.’ A fiendish grin beamed from his face as he took a swig of wine and nibbled on some grapes. ‘And to think that the Archmage’s protégé could be defeated by tea from my favourite teapot.’

The teapot. That’s it.

Varbella concentrated and felt her mind slipping into the other world—the real world. She could just feel her body. Before she felt an inevitable tug back, she swiped out with her hand, tipping hot tea onto the table—and her fingers. The feeling snapped her back to her senses, and she got to her feet. 

The Dream Master, who was now seated opposite her, looked up, at first bleary eyed, then aghast. ‘My teap—’

Before he could utter another word, a green disk spun unerringly towards his mouth, followed by several more that pinned him completely.

‘I should have shut you up straight away.’

Varbella proceeded to inspect the room and found a curved glass wall that connected to the edge of the tower. Within was a cushioned chair, two pipes emerging from the floor, and a leather headpiece with coloured crystals—these crystals hummed faintly, so she was careful to only touch the leather. She stowed away the headpiece then, taking a better look at the map on the table, saw miniature telescopes positioned at a central point, marked with a wooden tower, then dotted straight lines leading to circular lines surrounding farmland—including greater Feifenfield. There were fainter dotted lines leading to more distant areas, with the city of Lexhelkres, too, enveloped. She tipped the miniature tower over, watched the former Dream Master’s eyes twitch furiously, and smiled.

She then went back to the side table, righted the upturned teapot, and wrapped it in a scarf from her travel pack. Zimoden groaned in response.

‘Oh, and I will look after this for you.’

Varbella touched a bracelet on her left wrist with her index finger twice, and a floating translucent image of Master Kymoto appeared.

After surveying the room he said, ‘Impeccably done. It seems everything has reached a satisfying conclusion.’

Just then a droning sound, like a hive of bees, emanated from a wall behind the map table. As Varbella prepared for trouble, the sound ceased, and the wall faded from view, revealing a staircase leading upwards. She paused as a bedraggled figure half ran, half stumbled down the steps into her arms. The figure had long hair and was almost as tall as the wizard. She looked surprisingly similar, except had brown hair and a slightly rounder face.

‘It has now,’ Varbella replied, returning the embrace of her sister.

---

Paul Bronson is a full-time lecturer at Victoria University, Australia, who teaches and coordinates Writing (creative writing and professional writing) and Communication Studies. He particularly appreciates fantasy and science fiction, as well as roleplaying games, that he’s played and hosted for many years.  He encourages students to engage their creativity and experiment with different genres and styles of writing.  In his free time, he enjoys writing short stories, poems, and RPGs.

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