The Reluctant Shadow Mage “1st Edition”
The Reluctant Shadow Mage “1st Edition”
The forest drank in the last tendrils of twilight, its twisted branches like skeletal claws reaching for the fading light. Varek moved through the undergrowth, a shadow amongst shadows, yet his heart pounded a dissonant rhythm against the eerie silence. The scent of damp earth and rotting leaves was a familiar comfort – the village was near. Then came the discordant notes: the snap of a twig under a heavy boot, the rustle of poorly concealed armor. Humans. A raiding party, no doubt, lured by the desperate whispers of starving villagers seeking supplies from nearby settlements. Varek’s stomach twisted. Fear for his people mingled with a bitter satisfaction – these fools had walked blindly into a trap. He found them at the village edge – a handful of armored men, their torchlight casting flickering, monstrous shapes upon the trees. In the center of their haphazard circle stood a woman, a Shadow Mage elder, her frail form radiating defiance more potent than any spell. “Our stores are empty,” she rasped, her voice cracking with age and the strain of maintaining a protective ward around the meager huts. “Take what meager belongings we have and leave us in peace.” The leader, a scarred brute with greed glinting in his eyes, snorted. “Lies. Your kind hoards all manner of treasures, witch.
We’ll take those… and you for questioning.” The elder’s ward flared, a shimmering shell of midnight blue energy. It would hold them off only for so long. Varek crouched lower, his fingers dancing along the forest floor, weaving shadows from the meager moonlight and his draining life force. Each thread felt like a sliver of his soul being pulled away. He wouldn’t save them all. There was never enough power, never enough time. Yet, a familiar heat stirred beneath his exhaustion, a primal fury at those who would prey on the weak. They brought this upon themselves, the cynical voice in his head hissed. Let them suffer. But beneath that bitterness was another flicker, a stubborn ember of hope he hated and clung to in equal measure.
Maybe not today, not ever, but perhaps there was a world where humans and his kind could live not as predator and prey, but as something… different. The first tendrils of shadow snaked out from under his hands, silent as serpents. One brute, distracted by the elder’s glowing shield, never saw the unnatural darkness coiling around his feet. With a whispered word, Varek yanked. The man tumbled with a startled oath, opening a gap in their formation.
“Witchcraft!” another man barked, fear edging his voice. Perfect. Fear was the strongest weapon the villagers had, and he was its master puppeteer. A low gasp rippled through the hidden villagers. Varek could taste their terror seeping into the air, a miasma of desperation that fueled his power. Yet, beneath it, a spark of something else… recognition, perhaps, mixed with a dread different from that directed at the humans.
Varek rose from the undergrowth, not with a flourish, but with the weary resignation of a condemned man stepping onto the gallows. In the flickering torchlight, his skin must have seemed ghastly, his eyes twin pools of deepest night. "Leave this place," he commanded, his voice a rasping echo in the forest glade. "And never return." The human leader hesitated, his narrowed eyes flicking between Varek and the defiant elder. "A trick, to break our ranks. Don't falter, men!" But the seed of fear had been sown. One of the soldiers, younger, flinched as a particularly thick shadow writhed across the ground like a living thing. From behind her ward, the elder spoke, her voice trembling but clear. "Do not be deceived. He... he serves our interests tonight, but he is not one of us. He is darkness-given form!" A collective gasp from the hidden villagers underlined her words. Varek let his lips curl in a mirthless smile. So easy to turn them against their only chance of survival. They remembered the tales of Shadow Mages gone mad, consumed by their power, not the times he'd pulled them back from the brink of starvation or sickness.
The leader wavered. Greed warred with a superstitious terror Varek knew intimately. "Two witches are worse than one," he snarled, but his voice lacked conviction. "Fall back. We'll leave... for now." As the humans retreated, clumsy and hasty in their newfound fear, the elder's ward sputtered and died. She slumped, releasing a ragged sigh. From the darkened huts, villagers emerged – skeletal figures, eyes wide, some clutching crude weapons more for comfort than true defense.
Ebook: ISBN: 979-8-89302-020-5
Paperback: ISBN: 979-8-89302-018-2
Hardcover: ISBN: 979-8-89302-019-9
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