His hands and teeth clenched tightly as the silhouette at long last appeared against the starlit horizon.
"Canst thou not go faster?" he snapped at the man standing at the bow.
"This 'eres but a fishing boat, milord," the elderly captain said apologetically, "She won't go no quicker 'an this."
Erstam glared at the other, thinking to press the issue, but the weathered old eyes merely met his angered own with kind sympathy. With a deep breath, Erstam forced himself to calm: If what he had heard was indeed true, he told himself, it would make no difference if he arrived tonight or a thousand nights hence.
With a slight sigh, he returned to the starboard rail, clutching the damp wood tightly as the shadow ahead grew larger. Finally, as the captain and his two mates furled the small boat's single sail, Erstam could make out the large oaken dock in the faint moonlight. It was quickly bathed in pale white as Erstam's tall wooden staff burst forth magical light. The sailors thanked him, swearing under their breath of the lack of a lighthouse as they extracted large oars from the ship's hold. With a slight jolt, the ship came to rest. As the mates tied it in place, Erstam stepped up on the rail, jumping to the wood planks barely a foot below. Ignoring the shouted warnings of the sailors, he ran toward the city of his birth.
He barely noticed the crumbled remains of the lighthouse as he quickly passed, nor did his mind fully register the debris of the once mighty marble wall as he stepped over the piles of rubble. Only one thing mattered. At the north end of the desolate ruins, he stopped short as he beheld his goal.
Where there had once been his home now lay a pile of shattered oak planks and crumbled bricks. As his magic light bathed the charred remains, a glint of gold caught Erstam's tear filled eye. Climbing over the rubble, he bent down and began tossing chunks of rock aside, quickly finding the source -- a ring, wrapped around the finger of a lifeless hand. Now crying aloud, he desperately uncovered the whole of the body, finding its fine silk dress stained in blood, the once fair face marked with scars.
"Mother," he whispered. The only response was a forlorn wailing of wind. Softly crying, Erstam sat at the dead woman's side, whispering softly the stories she had once told at his bedside. As he spoke, the cold air began to stir. A low mist seemed to appear from nowhere, swirling around the still form before him. Suddenly, his heart skipped as he jumped up with a gasp, the mage slowly stepping back as the mist now formed itself into an unmistakable human form.
It was her! It had to be! The apparition seemed to reflect his mother's younger days, long before he had been born, but he could still recognize the distinct features, seemingly sculpted from the fog. Her kind eyes gazed into his, reflecting both sorrow and joy at seeing her boy had come home. Her mouth began to move, and though not a sound could be heard, Erstam knew she was telling of her pride in him, while also trying to warn him of the one path he she did not wish him to seek.
Before she was done, however, another light tore his attention away. Angrily turning on its source, he saw the captain of the fishing boat carrying a small torch toward him. When he turned back, his mother was gone.
"Just as I said, lad," the captain said softly as he approached, "I am so sorry; she were indeed a good woman."
With a heavy sigh, Erstam discovered that his frustration with the old man's interruption had quickly vanished. He was right, of course: There was nothing left. Nothing could be done about it either. Even if what he had seen had not been his imagination, there was nothing that could truly bring back his mother. Bending over the body one last time, he removed a small golden locket from around her neck.
"Family heirloom?" the man asked as Erstam stood again.
"I suppose," the mage quietly replied, "She said she would give it to me if I married, so that I could pass it on to my betrothed."
"Well," he said with a small smile, "Thou never knowest."
Erstam simply shook his head, "I doubt it. Mine studies are mine life." Then, reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his coinpurse, "For thy troubles..."
"Put them coins away, young mage," the other said, "Nothing I would not do fer another of mine hometown." With a start, the sailor then carefully turned to scan the area.
"What is it?" Erstam asked, again pocketing his purse.
"We must leave," he replied shakily, "According to ol' stories, those killed by Daemons will come back to haunt eternally. We do not want to be 'ere to find out if they art true."
Startled, Erstam looked back to where his mother lay. Perhaps the apparition had been real. He now closed his eyes, reaching out with his magical perceptions. His senses extending over the whole island, he could now feel a great disruption of natural forces surrounding each of the dead bodies. Their souls had not made the journey into the Ethereal Void. Instead, each of the dead were bound to their former body, and would each rise to forever guard the once proud city.
"I am afraid we should not even take the time for a decent burial, milord," the captain was now saying, "There may even be daemons still about!"
"Very well, let us leave this place," Erstam said, bringing his senses back into the natural.
The two then quickly walked back to the dock, eyes shifting as they both nervously watched the ruins for any signs of the undead. As Erstam climbed back into the boat, he allowed himself one last look over the fallen town. His despair now turned into anger, his mind now seeking some person or thing he could blame for this tragedy. Far to the northwest, he thought, there was a pompous man sitting on his new throne; the man who considered himself responsible for ending the Ages of Darkness.
What a pathetic man. The town had fallen due to its pride, or so the story first told to him by the old sailor went. Pride, as it happened, was the opposite of this 'glorious' new king's so-called Principles of Enlightenment, which he sought to impose upon the people of his new Britannia.
What would be next? Would more towns fall to this tyrant? Now filled with anger, Erstam envisioned himself storming into Castle Britannia, putting an end to this with his own bare hands. Such a vendetta would be foolish, however. If Lord British could have an entire town destroyed, one man, or even an army, could not hope to defeat him.
There was only one thing left, Erstam realized as the boat now set out to sea. As soon as news of this outrage reached the rest of the rebellion, he was sure they would follow his plan to leave this land and its tyrant behind. With another look in the direction of British's castle, Erstam hoped that someday, in this beast's new kingdom, there would be one who could stand up to the fool. He hoped it would be before he led the good people into a Fourth Age of Darkness.
What a truly pathetic man.
© 1998 Chris Edwards