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NEW AUTHORS SHOWCASE
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12M P12 |
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The Quest of Erick Spellbinder – Sorcerer by Barry Wheeler |
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Synopsis Erick Spellbinder is a failed medieval sorcerer who escapes from the castle of Prince Jonathan the Unremarkable and sets out on a quest to restore his magical powers. Erick must find a way of travelling back into the memory of Time where he hopes to find the answer – an Abbot, a Wizard, a Noble Unicorn and Fate play important parts. On the way Erick tells his two travelling companions stories about how generations of Spellbinder sorcerers have dealt with dragons and giants, unicorns and dwarfs, fiery-demons and frost giants and more besides. But does Erick complete his quest? Well….
Part 1. A disappointing display of magic and a sorcerer becomes a fugitive. Storm clouds were gathering over Huntshire. A distant rainsquall was drawing a slate grey curtain across the horizon and as the wind rose the long grass pressed itself up against the wall of Castle Dart. It was an unimposing fortress, which had been neglected since it lost any strategic importance. It was typical of the type of castle given to an inconvenient wife or the least favoured son. The least favoured son in this case was Prince Jonathan the Unremarkable who sat astride his horse waiting impatiently for the drawbridge of Castle Dart to be lowered. He had just returned home after visiting his elder brother Prince Richard the Exceptional, who had a much bigger castle, a lot more money and was the best loved prince in the realm. Prince Jonathan was obliged by the terms of his father’s Will to spend the first day each month with his brother Prince Richard who was ‘without equal’, Prince Richard’s wife Princess Hilde was ‘without equal’ and together they had four children who were also ‘without equal’. For Prince Jonathan, the visits were a regular reminder, as if one was ever needed, that he had only inherited a small portion of his father’s estate. His share was a run down castle, a small amount of gold plate and the income from taxes squeezed out of villagers on the estate. Not much for the needs of an ambitious and covetous Prince. It was said behind his back, that although he only had a small part of his father’s goods he had a generous measure of his father’s disagreeable nature. The day, as always, left him feeling tired and irritable. He was certainly in no mood to be kept waiting. ‘What the devil is keeping the gatekeepers?’ the Prince bellowed, casting an anxious eye at the gathering clouds, ‘they’ll pay dear if I have to stay here much longer.’ The courtiers were becoming increasingly anxious dreading what would happen if he got really angry. Erick Spellbinder, Prince Jonathan’s resident sorcerer, tried to melt into the background fearing that his services might be called upon by the now enraged prince. Erick slipped thankfully in behind the Duke of Meavy whose great bulk and height seemed ideally suited for the purpose of concealment. But Prince Jonathan caught a glimpse of him when the duke suddenly bent forward to lay claim to a coin he had spotted on the ground. The prince, in a voice that sounded like it came from a man with very few options left to him, told Erick to use his powers to ‘lower the blasted drawbridge so that he could go into his blasted castle and go to blasted bed.’ Reluctantly, and with no great sign of confidence from the assembled courtiers who knew only too well that almost anything was about to happen, Erick prepared to perform his most powerful ‘drawbridge-lowering spell’. The one reserved for storming a castle to end a siege. With his dark blue cloak flapping around him, the faded mystic symbols just discernible and wearing his sorcerer’s pointed hat which sagged in the middle, Erick aimed his staff of power at the castle entrance and, in the ancient language of sorcerery, commanded its opening. As the ringing tones of his voice trailed away a tense hush fell over the courtiers that was only occasionally punctuated by nervous coughing and whispered odds of 50:1 against the spell working. Erick stood resolutely with his staff of power pointing unwaveringly in the direction of the closed drawbridge, the blue glow in the crystal of power got steadily brighter, hope welled momentarily in the hearts of the onlookers and then …. the light flickered and dimmed. There was a collective groan from the courtiers and a howl of frustration from Prince Jonathan. Things had not gone to plan…. the castle drawbridge was still securely closed and to add to Erick’s problems the water from the moat was spiralling into the air and heading off to some unknown destination beyond the walls of the castle. Once again the ancient art of sorcery lay face down in the dust. ‘Oh! dear,’ Erick sighed, as he tried to come to terms with yet another failed spell. He had only recently been responsible for turning the cook’s daughter into a wooden hat stand but then, as most people admitted, there were few places to hang cloaks in the castle. Erick’s lack of success was in no way due to his inexperience or lack of qualifications; he had been a fully registered sorcerer with The Grand and Mystic Council for nearly two hundred and seven years, longer even than his grandfather from whom he had inherited the ‘Spellbinder powers’. No, the problem lay with his sorcerer’s staff. Outwardly, the staff seemed perfectly serviceable; it stood a little taller than Erick and was made from knotty grimble wood with a carved brass claw at the top holding the blue Masrar crystal of power. But things were not quite as they seemed – the staff didn’t work properly anymore and it was Erick’s grandfather who was responsible. After he had retired as a sorcerer, and completely against the rules, Grandfather Hamar Spellbinder had sneaked off with Erick’s staff of power to have one last go at a ‘lesser flying spell’. He had never been able to get it quite right. On this occasion he managed quite a respectable height but it all came to a sudden end when he crash-landed on a rock-strewn hillside where the Masrar crystal of power had been cracked by the impact. From that fateful day forward, instead of glowing steadily during spell-casting the blue light from the crystal occasionally flickered making the outcome unpredictable. The crack worsened over the decades and Erick found life as a sorcerer increasingly difficult. So for the last one hundred and seventy-eight years Erick’s career with magic had not been without its …. well ‘problems’ would be putting it kindly but ‘calamities’ would be nearer the truth. As the infuriated Prince Jonathan swung his horse round and galloped threateningly towards Erick there came the welcome sound of clanking chains and the drawbridge fell noisily into position throwing up a cloud of dust as it did so. Prince Jonathan reined back his horse and looked first at the open gateway and then at Erick who was leaning on his staff seemingly little surprised that the power of the ‘drawbridge-lowering spell’ had finally prevailed over the stubborn old oak structure. Inwardly Erick was unsure how much was due to his own powers and how much was a helping hand from the ancient spirits. Neither was the case. The noise from the commotion outside had finally woken the gatekeepers who were sleeping off their ale and had hurriedly released the drawbridge delaying their escape only to alter the duty roster and remove any evidence that might identify them. They knew that no one in their right mind would knowingly upset Prince Jonathan the Unexceptional who had a reputation for devising the most bizarre and fiendish torments involving deep water, feathers, small rodents and large over ripe vegetables. Erick felt sure that he would hear no more about today’s events, but how wrong he was and not for the first time either! Prince Jonathan finally rode over the drawbridge into his castle noticing as he went how hollow it sounded now that Erick had emptied the moat. It had been a bad day, a very bad day, one of the worst, but he comforted himself by planning a special torment just for Erick and then arrange to get rid of him…. permanently! |