Read Online The Mage's Tale by Jonathan Moeller - Free Book Online Page B

She screamed and threw out her hands.
    And the ground beneath the armored boots of the dvargir rippled and threw them down like toys. Two of the dvargir struck the ground with enough force that Morigna heard their skulls crack. The others were stunned, but climbed back to their feet, watching her warily. 
    Morigna tried to rise, and found that she could not. Her limbs felt like water. 
    The remaining dvargir spoke for a moment in their own language, and then walked toward her. They would take her, and they would kill her as they had killed her mother and father…
    Then she felt more of the strange power that had killed the two dvargir.
    White light exploded, and a blast of hot air washed over Morigna. When the light cleared, the dvargir had been thrown to the ground. A blanket of sizzling white mist washed over them, and the dvargir screamed as the mist ate into them, smoke rising from their burning flesh. 
    The dvargir shuddered a few times and then went still.
    After a moment Morigna felt strong enough to get to her feet, and she saw the old man.
    He looked at least a century old, thin as a scarecrow and tough as old leather. Wispy white hair encircled his head and jaw and chin. He wore ragged, patchwork clothing and scuffed boots, and his right leg dragged a bit as he moved. His eyes were watery and bloodshot and blue, yet narrowed and hard as they looked at the dead dvargir.
    “Idiots,” muttered the old man.
    “Who…who are you?” said Morigna.
    The old man’s blue eyes shifted to her. He did not seem surprised. “You do not know?”
    “You’re an old man,” said Morigna. “But you killed those dvargir.” 
    “How astute,” he said. “But just as well. Most of the freeholders call me just that.” He smiled behind his wispy beard. “The Old Man.” 
    Morigna shivered. She had heard Litavis and Maria discuss the Old Man. They said he was a crazy wizard who lived alone in the hills, casting spells of dark magic. He kept to himself and did not meddle in the affairs of others, but no one in their right minds drew his attention. Litavis had always kept well away from the Old Man’s hill.
    Morigna responded to this news by bursting into tears.
    “Damn it,” muttered the Old Man. “That will be annoying. Still.” He looked at the dead dvargir. “I had my doubts…but you are exactly what I require. What is your name?”
    “Morigna,” she said through the tears. “My mother and father…the dvargir killed them.”
    “As I expected,” said the Old Man. “Those two dvargir you slew. Do you know how you killed them?” 
    Morigna shook her head, still weeping.
    “You have magic, child,” said the Old Man. “The ability to draw upon the magic of this world and use it. It was once a rare ability among humans, but it has become more common as our kindred acclimated to this world.” 
    Morigna blinked, unable to process the strange words. Too much had happened, and she could not stop weeping.
    “Would you like to learn to use magic, Morigna?” said the Old Man, smiling a cold smile.
    She kept crying.
    He sighed. “Well, I suppose this shall take some time. Still, if you want something done right, do it yourself.”
    He picked Morigna up and carried her away.
    Morigna kept crying, and finally cried herself to sleep.

    ###

    She did not speak for another three weeks.
    The Old Man lived in a cottage a few days’ journey to the south, on a hilltop with a view of the nearby marshes. Maria had always kept their cottage neat and tidy, but the Old Man lived in dusty, cluttered, malodorous disarray. He gave her a cot in the corner, and ignored her crying. Every day he put out a plate of food for her, and eventually she grew hungry enough to eat. 
    She cried at night. After a few days the Old Man told her to stop. When she didn’t, he hit her across the face until she stopped. A few days later she started again, and he sighed in annoyance and cast a spell that made her fall asleep for two days. She was