Need for Magic
by Joseph Swope

EXCERPT

Chapter 1

Even after all these years, watching something suffer and die was still fascinating. The longer and slower the process, the more he could learn from it. The horse he’d bought at the border-town was near death. Its pain mattered no more to him than the grass crushed beneath the wagon wheels.

Despite the many hard miles traveled with nothing but a near-dead horse and a rickety wagon, his black garments showed no wear. His clothes were imbued with the spell Sospitix.

For someone of his power, imbuing the wagon with a similar spell could have been done rather easily. But, the wagon would soon prove unnecessary. If he succeeded in his task, he would fly far above the worn, wooden structure that had been his home for far too long. If he failed, he would be dead. Either way, the time of the wagon’s usefulness was nearing an end.

The slowly plodding horse, however, was an integral part to his plan. It wanted nothing more than to lie down and die. Only a variation of Sospitix mixed with Adfirmo kept the desiccated beast alive, albeit barely. The closer to death it marched, the more useful the horse would be.

Lord Sogoth’s black clothes made the heat of the sun his constant companion. No discomfort registered in his mind. The squeaking of the axles and the lurching of the brittle wheels were also easily ignored. All that mattered was the task to which he was driven.

The One Oath forced him towards it. It held him like an unbreakable chain and burdened him like a heavy yoke. In becoming a wizard, he, like all other wizards, swore with his mind, body, and soul that he would be relentless in his pursuit of knowledge. He could no more break the Oath than he could will his heart to stop.

With that thought, he propelled himself deeper into his mind. These long weeks on the road had given him the time to practice exercises he'd learned long ago.

The time drew near. The summit of the mountain stood less than a mile away. He did not need to sneak any more than a flea needed to hide from a wolf. Still, he threw Nascondersi over himself, the wagon and the horse. To a casual observer or a weak mind it would allow him to pass unnoticed.

Nascondersi muffled the sound of the iron-shod wheels as they found every stone and every hole on the sun beaten, rocky trail. He had long ago passed beyond the boundary of the maps that lay useless in the wagon. Humans could not live here now. He doubted if they ever had or ever could.

He breathed with a rhythm that helped him hone his mastery of magic and sorcery. A wizard who practiced both paths of power rarely survived long. Magic was by far the older, and in some cases, the easier method. With enough preparation, spells could be changed to meet almost any purpose. Spells, once unleashed, did not require further attention.

Though he would begin his attack with magic, his defense depended entirely upon sorcery. Sorcery was unlimited, at least in theory. That theory was soon to be tested. Sorcery’s only known constraint was the wizard’s ability to focus his will. Despite his arrogance, the wizard harbored doubts over his ability to keep his focus through the upcoming trial.

When the trail narrowed to the point where it could no longer accommodate the wagon, the man in black left it to the elements. He unhitched the horse that was little more than ribs and hair and prodded it onwards.

With each step, his heart seemed to pound louder in his chest. If the horse could sense the tension, it gave no sign. It was too far gone.

To the best of his ability, he moved himself and the horse with stealth. He ducked behind rocks and scurried forward. He, Lord Sogoth, was scurrying. Years ago, the very idea would have been laughable.

A small gravel path led up an increasingly steep slope. He was mere feet from the summit. The countless years of study had prepared him. The mountain stood as he predicted it would be. From his position, he could see the path level off onto a small plateau.

With a dry mouth and a beating heart, he snuck to the rim of the plateau. He crested it with a fear he had not felt in centuries. The legends, the stories the drawings he had pored over were accurate. Still, he could not believe his eyes.

The dragon lay curled upon a large pile of gravel. Its magnificent scales reflected the sun into colors he’d never imagined were possible. The horse, more dead than alive, did not react at all to the dragon’ presence.

With no warning, it stirred. In a graceful arc, it lifted its snakelike head and looked at the intruders as a cat would look at a mouse. The diamond shaped scales played in the sunlight and danced back and forth between red and gold. A rounded feature could not be found on the magnificent form. Every part of it, from teeth to tail, boasted a pointed weapon.

With a sudden shock, Sogoth realized he had not dropped Nascondersi. Yet, the dragon stared at him. Surprise was lost. It sensed his magic as he had sensed the dragon’s magic.

Without giving into fear, he leapt into action. He reached for the horse with a spell that he had never before cast. Since the neglected beast was nearly dead, its body was a vacuum devoid of a soul. Mumbling well-practiced words, he opened up the horse’s being and pointed Exolesco at the dragon.

Sogoth could feel the strength and vitality being sucked from the dragon to the horse. He did not know how many years were ripped from the dragon. The horse’s body exploded with the surge in life.

The sound of it hitting the rocky ground could not be heard over the dragon’s anguished howl.

Sogoth unleashed his next spell, Morsus. Long ago, wizards created it to discipline errant students. He, however, had changed it. What had been created to give the feeling of a blistered finger had been augmented over years of experimentation. Using countless subjects, he had transformed a simple blistered finger into the agony of being slowly boiling alive. To that, he’d added the crippling pain of labor, as well as, the shock of multiple fractures.

He threw it at the still howling dragon. The unearthly roar that shook his mind came as the result. With speed the man would not have thought possible, the dragon thrashed it body.

This was the test of sorcery. The muscular tail nearly slammed into him. It stopped mere inches from the man’s chest. The tail had met an incarnation of the man’s mind. Disciplined thoughts were formed into an invisible shield.

The shield was anchored to the front of Sogoth. It was not, however, anchored to the ground. Even as he flew through the air, Sogoth, purged all thoughts except that of his shield. His back, unprotected by the shield, skidded roughly along the rocky surface. Many years of practice allowed him to ignore what might be broken ribs as he rose to his feet.

To its credit, the dragon focused its spastic movements. It leapt upon the man with claws extended. The sight of such an onslaught would cause most men to curl up in terror. Lord Sogoth met the attack with renewed concentration. He focused every part of his considerable mind on the transparent wall two feet from his body.

The dragon landed on the wall. The clear shield did not break, but it and the man were driven back. The dragon worked through its pain and furiously clawed at the man in black.

Lord Sogoth closed his eyes and senses to everything but the shield. The slightest division in his concentration would allow the wicked claws to shred his flesh.

With the weight of the dragon’s bulk, the man was all but enveloped in a mountain of scales and muscle. The shield around his body was hammered into a transparent coffin.

The dragon inhaled deeply. Lord Sogoth knew what was coming. Flame poured from the dragon’s fanged mouth. His sorcerous shield could not stop light or heat. Had he not been prepared with a spell, he would have been reduced to ash and bone.

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