The Mage Lord

By Matthew S. Hart

The story begins sometime after the kingdom of Notharedis has once again found peace. The villain Elligius is dead and Lady Gwynknell, the heir to the throne, has been blessed with the birth of her first child. The kingdom's future seems suddenly much brighter, but there is another with thoughts of avenging her master's death who will not be stopped. But as with all tales, this one is fraught with twists and turns no one expects. The beautiful lycan beast named Nox is blessed with a chance to discover a past she never knew existed, and with her company of witches, they set off on a benign quest. Their adventure soon draws the attention of the powerful Mage Lord who, spurred by his lust for ever greater power, devises a plan to have it. War, murder, and manipulation; nothing and no one will stand in his way. And as the final few secrets are revealed and untold power seems within the Mage Lord's grasp, the only question remains who must live and who must die?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Matthew S. Hart
• Release date: Feb 27, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463820704

Matthew S. Hart

Matthew Hart was born in Silver Spring in 1967. His first novel, The Thorn Witch is the first story in a series called The Tales of Grieveknot, with the second story to debut some time in late 2019.

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THE MAGE LORD

The Tales of Grieveknot

Matthew S. Hart

Published by Matthew Hart at Smashwords

Copyright 2020 Matthew S. Hart

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment alone, and may not be re-sold or shared without the purchase of an additional copy through Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author and for ensuring the possibility of future additions to The Tales of Grieveknot.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

About the Author

Connect with Me

Chapter 1

In the turbulent years during the fall of Valia, the empire kept a tenuous hold on its more distant colonies until like ripened fruit on an untended vine, they were lost. Viticarn was one such colony, a mountainous land rich in amber, gold, salt, and the rarest of all gems, Avaramethyst. Free to do as they pleased, the warlords of Viticarn fought one another for dominance over the mines and the nearby port of Aconae. Bloody skirmishes continued unabated until one lord was wise enough to entice the clan of Lycaon into the battle. With their help, Lord Pannon was able to win a decisive victory and seize the east. But his victory came with a price: He swore to respect Lycaon’s border and close the mines.

Lord Pannon’s success meant he could concentrate on fortifying his realm in the east while the other warlords battled one another in the west. Pannon’s stronghold, the old Helite fortress of Heritagian, sat on a high windswept slope overlooking Aconae where not one sail or foot approached without his knowing. Until that moonless night when from the foot of his bed crept a menace no one could have forseen. In an instant, Lord Pannon’s life was gone and soon after, his fortress captured.

Standing in Heritagian’s forecourt, the new owner, Lord Megkivan, breathed in the crisp air with satisfaction. In the flickering torch light he saw the bodies of men, Lord Pannon’s garrison, strewn across the courtyard like so many fallen leaves. From the opposite gate stepped one of Megkivan’s assassins, a creature of beastly proportions with a face grotesque by any standard. But as the assassin approached, he assumed a less menacing and more human form, and by the time he knelt before his master, he seemed no different than any other man.

Pannon is dead, my lord, said the assassin, bowing his head.

You’ve done well, Mardagyl, said Megkivan. He patted his obedient servant upon the head, saying, Have the others gather up these bodies, waste no time in burying them.

Understanding, Mardagyl and the other warrior assassins collected the hundreds of dead and carried them the short distance outside to the cliff where they were quietly tossed to the sea below. And when all was nearly done, Mardagyl returned to his master, saying, My lord, there are Vanshi upon our doorstep.

How many?

A small patrol perhaps, watching from the forest edge.

Do we still have Pannon’s body? Mardagyl nodded. Good. Take it to the forest and leave it for them to find. Perhaps it will strike fear in our enemy and give us more time to build our defenses.

Weeks later Megkivan felt his men were ready. He had them gathered onto the broad hill overlooking the bay. There, the men along with his assassin warriors, the Mardash, stood at attention.

You have done well in serving me these past few years, Megkivan boldly declared. And now that the end is within sight, let us be like the falcon and in one fell swoop, crush the Vanshi. To the cave! To Lycaon!

The men roared a cheer, knowing that once the Vanshi were defeated, the mines would be theirs for the taking. Indeed Lord Megkivan had sworn a claim to each, enough to entice any man to risk his life against such an enemy. But the men were no fools. They knew the strength and cunning of the enemy, for Megkivan’s Mardash were of the same ilk as the Vanshi. They knew many would die but they also knew that most would survive, and with the riches from the mines the survivors would be as rich as any noble palatyn.

The march began. The men, led by the proud and fearsome Mardagyl, sifted into the mountain pass and followed an abandoned road into the forest. After nearly a league, they reached the entrance to the canyon. Mardagyl then sent the men ahead in waves, a hundred at a time. They moved slowly and quietly, shoulder to shoulder, each bearing a silver-tipped pike. To protect the men from ambush, Mardagyl sent the rest of his warriors climbing up and onto the canyon rim.

Though the men had yet to see the enemy, they were nonetheless shaken by the din of growls and howls echoing from the distant cave. They hesitated with pikes ready, their hands trembling. Suddenly one of the Vanshi fell from the canyon rim and the men scattered. They watched in horror as the creature, a lycan, writhed in pain, hissing and gnashing its teeth. It had been injured by Mardagyl and two other Mardash who stood watching from above.

Don’t just stare! shouted Mardagyl. Kill it!

The men surrounded the monster and began ruthlessly stabbing it with their pikes, but its hide was tough and despite the efforts of nearly twenty men, it took some time to kill it. When at last it ceased to move, the men looked down upon the lycan with awe, one even daring to crouch beside the creature and admire its amber eyes, sparkling with life even in death. When the man looked up, he gasped in horror, finding himself staring into another pair of amber eyes.

Having leapt down from the canyon rim, Mardagyl scowled at the men and said, Do not be fooled, for sometimes a lycan will feign death if only for another chance to kill.

No sooner had Mardagyl spoken than the Vanshi rushed out from the cave to attack. The vicious, snarling beasts bounded into the canyon with lightning speed, quickly overwhelming the men. Despite help from Mardagyl and his Mardash, a bloodbath ensued. A hundred men were ruthlessly butchered in only moments and then a hundred more until the rest of the men panicked in retreat. Before they could escape the canyon, nearly three-hundred of Lord Megkivan’s men were dead and many more were injured.

As Lord Megkivan welcomed his defeated army back to Heritagian, he said to Mardagyl in a quiet voice, Separate the injured and dismiss the others to town. When night comes, do what you must. We cannot risk the spread of the lycans’ disease.

Mardagyl nodded, and that night as the injured rested in their barracks, he and the other Mardash carried out Lord Megkivan’s orders, murdering the men and dumping their bodies over the cliff.

Solemn were the days and weeks which followed and the survivors grew increasingly anxious. They knew the lycans believed their strength was tied to the moon, and that their greatest strength was during a full moon when their god Ayesh looked down upon them with full favor. That moon was but a few nights away, and the men dreaded the attack they knew was bound to come.

And as if the fear of an attack was not enough, the men felt a shaking in the ground beneath their feet. A deep rumble echoed out from the distant mountains to the north as one of its many giants awakened. For days the ground shuddered and the morning sky took on a strange tint, unnerving the men. They called it a bad omen, but as Lord Megkivan stood in the port one morning, the smell of smoke and ash in the air, he was struck with an idea.

He went to one of the town’s stores and found inside many bundles of torches and amphorae filled with resin and pine pitch, all destined for the markets in the west. Megkivan, however, had other plans for them. He ordered the stock of pitch put onto carts and delivered up the long hill and scattered along the forest edge.

That evening he gathered the men onto the port’s wide wharf where the air was filled with the deafening roar of waves upon the gravel shore. They watched with dread as Megkivan went to stand before them, the lamps rocking in the wind and casting him in an eerie light. Standing before an angry, moonlit sea with his cloak whipping wildy in the wind, to the men he appeared as the sea wraith, Nosmari, stealer of souls. He spoke, and though most of his words were lost on the wind, the men’s worst fears came to fruition: Megkivan was sending them on yet another attack.

As he spoke, the men whispered to one another, worried of how many might die this time. More so, they remembered the story of their injured brothers who were said to have lost their minds before leaping from the cliffs and to their deaths. At least that was the story Megkivan and his Mardash had told, and whether or not it was true, those men were dead. And to those who were now faced with the same fate, no amount of treasure seemed enough.

Well aware of their apprehension, Lord Megkivan kicked over a pot of oozing pitch and put a torch to it. Driven by the wind, the flames crawled along the wharf. Like the fiery tentacles of some serpent of hell they spread out in front of Megkivan. This is how we shall vanquish our foe! he shouted over the wind. Not with pike but with pitch!

The men stared in awe at their leader. To them he was indeed Nosmari, but the souls he sought were not theirs. As he explained how they would light the forest into an inferno and destroy their enemy, the men’s courage returned. Rather than death, they again imagined lives of luxury, and anxious to make those dreams come true, they rose up in cheer and prepared to ascend the hill.

Bearing torches, the men went to the forest edge, found the amphorae, and began lighting the pitch. Aided by the strong winds, the flames quickly spread, racing up the slopes and into the valleys, consuming every bit of dry wood before the intense heat of the fire caused even the most venerable of Lycaon’s trees to ignite. Everything seemed to burn, turning the lands to the north into a glowing world of smoke and blowing cinder from which it seemed nothing could escape.

For weeks afterward, the distant mountains continued to smolder, the sting of smoke remaining in the air even as far south as Heritagian. During an expedition to the Vanshi cave, it became clear that many lycans had died, perhaps hundreds, mostly the very young and very old. It seemed they had waited too long to leave, and having become trapped by the smoke and flames, they tried to exit through a rear tunnel only to die in the desperate crush of bodies.

Good riddance, remarked the boldest of the expedition’s men.

Perhaps we should search the tunnel for survivors, suggested another.

And press our luck?

Listen! Do you hear that? Voices.

The men stood, quietly listening, the only sound the flicker of their torches, until...!"

From somewhere deep within the passage a voice called out for help, and then several others.

Do you remember a group of us were lost during the fire? asked someone in the group. Perhaps they escaped here.

The boldest scoffed, Or perhaps this is a Vanshi trap meant to lure us to our deaths.

I’m going, said the other man, daring to climb over the lycan bodies and into the tunnel. The rest of you cowards can wait here.

Despite their apprehension, the others joined in the search, but the boldest of them remained behind. He was certain they were walking into a trap and expected at any moment to hear the screams of his comrades. But the longer the others were away, the more he worried of being wrong, of being called a coward. Determined to preserve his reputation, he began poking and prodding the bodies at his feet, stepping over them and wondering if at least one or two might be feigning death. As it was, they were all dead, but as he turned to join the others in the tunnel, he saw their lights. They were already returning.

This way! It is safe! he shouted, poking one of the bodies with his torch. I’ve made certain they’re all dead.

As the others joined him, one said, You’re still a coward.

I’m no fool like the rest of you, he said gritting his teeth.

Lord Megkivan will be pleased to know, even without your help, we’ve found most of the missing.

The bold one waved his torch threateningly, warning, If you are wise, you’ll not disparage me before Lord Megkivan.

Disparage? The man kicked one of the bodies and said, Someone had to stay behind and make certain they were all dead.

The others hid their smiles.

Let’s get back, stated the bold one. We don’t want to be caught out here in the night.

When the expedition arrived in Heritagian, they were greeted by Megkivan.

We found six of the missing, my lord, said one with a broad smile.

Good. Where are they?

The six men stepped forward, all smiling but seeming a bit nervous. It was enough to draw Megkivan’s suspicion. Strip off your shirts! When they hesitated, he glanced to Mardagyl and the other Mardash standing nearby. The lycans tore off the men’s shirts, revealing a set of puncture wounds on each of their left shoulders. Megkivan demanded an explanation, but when none of them would speak, he pointed at one. Kill him.

Mardagyl bit the man’s throat, killing him almost instantly. The man fell to the ground and the remaining five huddled together in terror, pleading for their lives. Again Megkivan demanded to know how they had received the marks. The men fell to their knees crying out for mercy, but they would receive none. Kill another.

Mardagyl looked over his potential victims, seeming to relish in their terror. Suddenly with his bear-like claws, he snatched one up from the groud and bit him. Blood spattered onto the remaining men before Mardagyl released him. He fell before the other men, gagging and gasping before dying with a terrible wheeze.

So horrified was one of the remaining men that he tried to escape, but Mardagyl quickly apprehended him. The man struggled in vain, crying out, Wait, wait! I’ll speak! Just let me live.

Lord Megkivan stepped over to the man who Mardagyl clutched about the neck more or less like a helpless kitten. Tell me how you managed to live, said Megkivan.

His voice trembling, the man answered, We were taken to the cave. It was dark. We could see nothing, but all around we could hear them; their hissing and growling. There must have been hundreds, if not thousands, and we thought they would rip us to pieces. But then we heard one speak who claimed to be their leader. He said his name was Gumushar.

And what did this Gumushar say?

He said he would let us live if we promised obedience.

Let me guess that promise has something to do with the mark upon your shoulder. How did you receive it?

It was dark, my lord.

It is certainly no bite from a lycan.

No, my lord! the man exclaimed, his voice cracking with fear. He said the mark would protect us with a scar, and that if ever we traveled through the land of Lycaon, no harm would come to us.

So you’ve chosen to serve another lord over me?

It was that or death, my lord.

Megkivan looked into Mardagyl’s eyes and the beast sunk his fangs into the man’s throat, killing him instantly. We are finished here, said Megkivan. Kill the others.

The last three men scrambled to get away but had no chance. The other men cringed, some covering their ears to stifle the screams of the three as they were ruthlessly murdered. When it was over, Megkivan looked to the rest of his men and said, Let these six be a lesson to never surrender your oath. And to Mardagyl he said, Deliver the dead to the cave of their master where perhaps the stench of their rotting corpses will reach the nose of the one who betrayed them.

After Mardagyl left with the six bodies, Megkivan turned his attention back to his men. How many went missing?

One of the men offered an answer. Ten, my lord.

Then find the other four. Go!

The men quickly left to search the port and surrounding countryside, but as day drifted into night with no sign of the men, it was assumed they were dead. The men returned to Aconae and reveled in their victory over the Vanshi. The forest would regrow but hopefully their foe was gone for good, perhaps to remain into the cold evergreen forests of the far north. But as a full moon rose over the distant cliffs in the east, a painful cry arose, and then another. Alarmed, the men ran out from the various taverns and brothels with swords drawn. It took some time to realize, but the four lost men had indeed arrived to wreak havoc, already killing the gatekeeper and both sentries before scattering into the side streets to continue their carnage.

They’ve come, said Megkivan, hearing the commotion from his quarters at Heritagian. He had been expecting an attack, but not on Aconae. He rushed to the wall and peered down to the port with Mardagyl. What do you see? he asked his keen-eyed servant.

No army of lycans, my lord, but I’ve sent a warrior to find the truth. Here he comes now.

The lycan bounded up the nearly two mile slope as if he wore wings, arriving with the news of the four men.

Let the men handle them, said Megkivan. We must prepare our own defense.

Later that evening, many of Aconae’s inhabitants came up along with Megkivan’s soldiers seeking refuge at Heritagian, but Megkivan refused them. Curse you, Megkivan! one of them shouted.

Megkivan replied, Step aside, lest I set my Mardash upon thee.

The great door opened and Megkivan’s men entered, leaving the rest outside. Just as the door was bolted shut, a chorus of ghostly howls echoed out from the scorched hills. Those outside the fortress panicked. Some beat upon the door while others began running back down to Aconae. Others decided to take their chances on the long road west to Viticarn, praying they would survive the two day journey.

How many do you think will come? Megkivan asked Mardagyl.

The lycan warrior shrugged. Hundreds, mayhap thousands, my lord.

Will we be able to defend this place?

I promise every last one of us will give his life.

If the peril facing us was not so great, I would find comfort in such a promise, Mardagyl.

I would suggest you wait with Hokabaz in your quarters, my lord. If it seems we cannot win the fight, there are two horses waiting in the forest.

Lord Megkivan patted his loyal servant upon the shoulder, and before walking away, he breathed in the crisp night air and said, We will win. I feel it in the air.

Hours later when the moon was nearly overhead, the Vanshi’s eerie howl reached a crescendo. From the dust and ash of a burned out forest, the black menace raced out across the open fields toward Heritagian. Like an angry swarm of ants they came. From the fortress’s walls the men fired their arrows down upon them. Some fell, but only some. Growling and hissing, the first wave leapt upon the north wall and with their powerful claws, quickly ascended to the top. There they came face to face with the defenders’ silver-tipped pikes. The Mardash joined the fight, driving many of the attackers from the wall, but not enough. In a matter of moments, Heritagian’s defenses were overwhelmed. The fortress fell to the enemy.

Sometime before dawn, just as the moon set in the west, Heritagian’s massive door was unbolted and its new owner, the fearsome Gumushar, stepped into the forecourt. The captives, including a dozen Mardash, were forced to their knees with hands bound. Gumushar went to stand before them. He paused, glanced up to the empty walls, and sniffed the air for danger. Sensing none, he shape-shifted into his human form, and in a deep voice sounding more like a growl, he asked the captive Mardash, Where is your master? When they would not answer, he went to stand before one in particular. He knelt and peered into the beast’s eyes, grinning as he said, Megkivan has trained his Mardash well, too well in fact, for their obedience has betrayed you as their leader. Tell me, what is your name?

Mardagyl.

You will take me to your master, Mardagyl.

Mardagyl growled. It was enough to incite Gumushar into smacking him.

Bring the insolent dog, said Gumushar to one of his Vanshi. The rest of you wait here.

The three crossed the forecourt into the main compound and waited as one of Gumushar’s warriors rushed over from a long building with a rather ornate pedimented main doorway. He bowed and said to Gumushar, We have searched the entire building, but there is one room we’ve yet to enter. The stench of amberbalm is too great.

Then we have found him. Without warning, Gumushar plunged a dagger into Mardagyl’s neck and Megkivan’s best Mardash warrior fell dead, instantly. He wiped the blood from the black blade and as he headed toward the building, he said to the other Vanshi warrior. Kill the others. Kill them all.

Gumushar entered the building and ascended a set of steps with some of his Vanshi. He peered through a broken door into a luxuriously appointed room until he was driven back by the dizzying effects of the amberbalm. It did indeed appear to be Megkivan’s private quarters, but where was the warlord? Gumushar would have his answer when a tunnel entrance was found out near the cliffs and the scent of horses in the not-so-distant forest. Megkivan was trying to reach the safety of Viticarn.

Do we destroy the city? asked one of the Vanshi warriors.

Gumushar