Anthology - The Search For Magic

Damp and gloom greeted the draconian as he stepped onto the soft, drenched soil. He had chosen the most stable patch of ground for his tent, but still the moisture tended to seep everywhere. Not for the first time Brudas wondered what fascination a dragon could have with such a muddy, bug-infested quagmire.

With great care, the two wended their way through the hazy marsh into the heart of what had once been a thriving city. Although Sable had transformed much of her domain into swampland, Krolus had been destroyed in the Great Cataclysm centuries before. As happened with so many other cities, the people who lived here had been caught entirely offguard. In the veritable blink of an eye, their proud city had been swallowed up by the cracked earth and shifting wetlands. In the years since, the swamp had only encroached further on the ruins. Sable herself could not have created a more nightmarish place.

The spiraled tip of a watchtower jutted out of the brackish water to their left. A pair of long, emerald serpents crawled over the tiled roof of a stone building- possibly an inn once. Brudas’s gaze fell upon a statue of some human warrior, its head gone, with great cracks along its body. An arachnid as large as the Bozak’s hand had spun a web between the body and an upraised arm.

Although it was midday, the sulfur-ridden haze made it seem more like twilight. A dim glow up ahead marked one of the oil lamps that Brudas had commanded the Baaz to spread over the vague path leading to their latest digging site. Searching for dry wood in this soggy domain would have been fruitless and so the Bozak had commandeered numerous oil lamps for their journey. However, their supply of oil had already dwindled drastically, and Brudas suspected they had three days’ of lamplight left-at best. Not good, considering how little the expedition had to show for its efforts so far. If Drek’s latest find did not pan out…

Rubble from a massive, broken arch forced them to take a more circuitous route to their destination, but Brudas held his impatience in check. Drek would not have disturbed him without a good reason. The Baaz knew the penalty for that.

Brudas’s clawed feet sank an inch or two into the ground with every step. Nothing remained dry long here. Those buildings and structures that had not sunk entirely into the swamp were covered with mold and moss. Even though many of the citizenry had failed to escape- as evidenced by die skulls lying amid the grass-those who had some link to magic evidently had been luckier than most. The treasure trove of relics that the Bozak had hoped to find had so far proved nonexistent.

Sable would not like that. More importantly, Brudas did not like that.

One of the most intact structures was, of all things, a temple of Mishakal, the goddess of healing. As they approached on what had once been the main thoroughfare of the city, Brudas noted that the temple now listed to one side even more than on the first day he had glimpsed it. Some of the columns had begun to crack. Too soon this monument to a departed goddess would join so much else under the water and mud of the black dragon’s domain.

Who was to say that, long ago, some relic had not made its way into the temple, perhaps brought there by a pious follower who feared the sinister ways of magic and sought to keep at least one artifact out of the ambitious hands of the old wizards? Some of those magical artifacts might still remain within…

Yet, Drek led him past the temple, where the three Baaz were supposed to be digging, heading instead to the far quarter of Krolus that had suffered the worst destruction.

“You were supposed to finish exploring the temple!” Brudas snapped.

Drek looked even more miserable than usual. “Found nothing there, Brudasss!” he replied, forgetting to call the Bozak by his title. “We gave up yesssterday.”

Yesterday? And no one had informed him? The slim draconian opened his mouth to berate his underling-only to pause as the pair came to where the palace of the local ruler had once stood.

Once, this had been a fairly elegant abode that had towered over most of Krolus. The Cataclysm, however, seemed to have taken special interest in wreaking havoc on the building, for not only had a good portion of it disappeared beneath the swamp, but over time, rising water and vegetation had conquered the rest of the structure. Fearsome trees with sickly-green vines covered the interior. On all sides, the walls had crumbled or caved in.

Suspicious, Brudas halted. He knew that the Baaz hated their leader nearly as much as they feared him. Had their days in this monstrous ruin caused them to revolt? Did they hope to do away with him?

“Where are we going? Where is this supposed artifact, Drek?”

The lowly Baaz paused, gasping for breath. “You know how we could not find any way into the palace? Any way to reach the lower depthsss? There isss one!”

“Impossible! I led the search myself. Who found it?”

Drek had the audacity to look proud. “I did, Massster Brudasss!”

“Did you now? And how did you manage that?” To think that a Baaz could do what a Bozak could not…

Now the other draconian looked rather embarrassed. “I fell into it, mossst high one.”

Brudas laughed, despite himself. Yes, trust Drek to fall into a secret entrance. How else could this particularly useless creature succeed where more intelligent life failed? The laughter died as the Bozak considered the potential of what Drek had discovered. Surely the palace, of all places, held something.

“Lead me there-quickly!”

Drek did so, guiding Brudas along a path that circled widely until it brought them around to the back of the ruin, where a mountainous slab of wall rose at a precarious angle just above the water. Its dark but dry interior showed steps leading downward like a shaft. Small wonder that Brudas had not seen it earlier. Mud and swamp grass surrounded it on all sides.

“Hunnh,” the Bozak grunted. “Where are the others?”

“Below. Digging.”

“How deep does it descend?” Dare he hope?

Drek shrugged. “Four levelsss, four and a half if you count our digging.”

Better and better. “Lead on.” After a pause, “Good work, Drek.”

The Baaz beamed at this rare compliment. He leaped down the steps of the passage, but Brudas followed more carefully. The entrance just barely allowed him to use his staff, and the angle of the passage required the Bozak to grip one wall with his free hand.

The stench of rotting vegetation and other dead matter assailed his senses, but Brudas did not care. As his eyes became accustomed to the near dark, he noted the cracks in the walls, the moisture all around. Not the safest place.

After an eternity of a journey, Drek at last brought him to his prize. The other two Baaz, Molgar and Gruun, stood knee-deep in swampy water, trying their best to dig a stone doorway out from the mud and muck. They stepped aside when they saw their superior. Above them, a single oil lamp made visible not only their efforts, but the curious symbol on the door.

Although the swamp had tried its best, the colors of the three intertwined spheres carved into the door were still evident. White, red, and black-the signs of the old moons, the moons of magic. A nostalgic emotion rippled through the Bozak as he reached to touch the spheres, feeling their solidity. Even the fact that he was ankle deep in mud did nothing to dampen Brudas’s excitement. Yes, Drek had found a prize, indeed.

“Don’t just stand there, you dolts!” he snapped at the Baaz. “Finish digging the door free!”

Under his baleful gaze they performed the remainder of the task. The moment they finished, Brudas reached for the handle and tugged.

Nothing happened. He inspected the handle, saw that some lock mechanism kept him from whatever was inside. The Bozak, though, would not be defeated. Ordering the others back, the draconian raised his staff.