Throughout the night they drew closer to Sorcerer’s Isle. Near dawn the first of the cracking sounds that accompanied the energy displays could be heard. By the time the day watch was to be roused, no man on the ship was asleep.
Word of their destination had circulated through the crew, though Erik had told no one what Calis had told him. Sorcerer’s Isle, home to the legendary Black Sorcerer. Some called him Macros, while others said his name was a Tsurani one, and still others said he was the King of Dark Magic. No one knew the truth, Erik decided, but everyone who spoke knew of someone who knew someone who had talked to another who had barely survived a visit to the island.
Terrible stories of mayhem and horrors so vile that death was the least of them were passed around between sundown and dawn, so by the time Erik and his companions came up on deck, the mood of the ship was fearful.
Erik almost exclaimed at the sight that greeted him. An island lay off the starboard bow, large enough that it would take hours to sail around, and dominated by a high wall of cliffs. Atop the highest point of that cliff face, a black castle—a malignant-looking thing of four towers and stone walls—rose high against the sky. It sat atop a massive stone chimney, an upthrust finger of land, separated from the rest of the island by tidal action, which had cut a cleft as impassable as any moat. A drawbridge could be lowered to cross the cleft, but it was presently raised.
The castle was the source of the terrible arcs of energy, silver flashes that rose high into the sky, vanishing in the clouds, accompanied by a sizzling whine that hurt the ears.
Blue lights shone from a high tower window overlooking the ocean, and Erik thought he detected movement upon the walls. “Von Darkmoor!” Robert de Loungville’s voice brought the young smith out of his revery.
“Sergeant?” said Erik.
“You, Biggo, Jadow, and Jerome will come with Calis and me. Get the longboat over the side.”
Erik and the others named, aided by four experienced sailors, got the longboat off the davits and over the side in quick order. Calis came up on deck and without a word to anyone scampered down the ladder to the boat. De Loungville and two sailors came next, then Erik led the designated prisoners.
As Erik reached the rail, he was handed a sword and scabbard and a shield by Corporal Foster. He slung the baldric over his shoulder, secured the shield to his back, and went down the ladder. This was the first time he had been handed a weapon when it wasn’t a training exercise, and it made him nervous.
The boat pushed away from the ship and headed toward a small beach that swept away from the rocky pinnacle upon which the castle rested. The sailors were experienced, and Erik and Biggo were strong, so the boat made quick time getting in to shore.
When they landed, Calis said, “Keep alert. You never know what to expect here.”
Robert de Loungville nodded, a wry smile on his face. “That’s the gods’ awful truth.”
Suddenly a figure reared up out of the bushes near the top of an overlooking ridge, beside a small path that led up from the beach. The creature was easily ten or eleven feet tall, clothed in black and waving long arms within huge sleeves. A spectral voice issued from within a giant cowl, hiding the creature’s face. “Despair! All who trespass upon the Black One’s island are doomed! Flee now, or be destroyed in agony!”
Erik felt the hairs rise on his neck and arms. Biggo made a sign warding off evil, while Jadow and Jerome both drew their swords and crouched low.
Calis stood motionless, while Robert de Loungville pointed a thumb at the creature with a backwards wave of his hand. “I think he means it,” he said with a grin.
Facing the advancing creature, de Loungville said, “Why don’t you come on down here, me darling, and I’ll give you a big wet kiss.”
Erik’s eyebrows shot up, and Calis smiled at his friend. The creature tilted, as if the brashness of de Loungville’s words caused it to lose its balance; then Erik was astonished to see it collapse.
He saw long wooden sticks fall within the hooded robe, and a small man emerged from inside the folds of black cloth. He was a bandy-legged fellow, obviously an Isalani from his appearance, and he wore a tattered robe of orange cloth, slashed at the knees and sleeves. “Bobby?” he said. Then his face split in a grin and he let out a yelp of pure joy. “Calis!” He raced down to the sand and almost leaped into de Loungville’s arms. Erik thought the two men daft as they slapped each other on the back.
Calis embraced the little man. “That’s quite a show you have going there, Nakor.”