A Magi's Shadow

There had once been five towers, but now only two existed, the one in Palanthas, and the one in the magical forest of Wayreth.

It was on the black spire that rose from the center of the city, that Jenin Creed's gaze was averted to now...

Jenin was one of the few magic users in the city. The presence of the Tower seemed to drive the people into hating those studying the magic arts, and so few followed this dangerous path, at least in the open .

Jenin was not originally from Palanthas. He was born in the plains of dust, his father a barbarian and his mother a white robed mage. It was believed that Jenin's mother was an Irda, a magical race of ogres born with magic in their blood. The woman mage had a choice to take the barbarian as a husband, but the Valin happened between them, and the marriage would not be stopped. If Jenin's mother was an Irda, this would explain the extraordinary powers which he possessed, but Jenin also had a bit of his father...

Jenin was a war magi.

Few war magi have ever walked on Krynn. Magius was a war magi, as was Rathar Shinare, head of the red robes, and now there was Jenin Creed. The difference between a magi and a war magi is their spells. All war magi spells are fully war oriented.

Jenin studied the arts in the open, and so some people had come to distrust him while others admired him...

Jenin stared precariously at the Dark Tower. He had once been in it, he dared to walk the dreaded Shoikan Grove, to speak with the master of the tower, Dalamar the Dark.

Jenin's thoughts were on the dark elf now. Dalamar had been the apprentice of Raistin Majere, the most powerful mage ever to have walked on Ansalon. Jenin had apprenticed under him, for a time, but only a short time at that. Life in the tower was not at all comfortable, with those evil specters roving wherever they pleased. Jenin had decided to leave and apprentice under Jenna, the daughter of Justarius, late head of the red robes. Jenin had soon grown past Jenna's expectations, and he was now more powerful then she.

Jenin started as he realized he had been drifting off. Pulling his robe closer around him, he turned from the patio and walked back into the mansion.

"Would you like me turn down your bed, my lord?" a servant asked him politely.

"No, that's all right. I think I'll take a short walk before I go to sleep." Jenin replied, yawning.

"As you wish. Call for me when you return, my lord."

"Yes, yes. Good night." Jenin replied, rapping his red robes around him with his belt with all of his pouches on it, containing his spell components. After accomplishing this, he left the room, descended the marble staircase, and made his way quietly outside.

Jenin walked briskly down the street, heading to his destination where he could sit and think. Coming around a corner, he headed straight for a white marble building with large green lawns stretched out before it, the Temple of Paladine.

Dedicated to the highest god of good, the Temple had been created many, many years ago under the jurisdiction of the cleric Elistan, Revered Son of Paladine. Revered Daughter Crysania now lead the church, and she led it wisely. She had been struck blind when she allowed Raistlin to enter the Abyss to challenge the Queen of Darkness, and the clerics could not heal her. The blindness had led her to see.

Walking briskly up the pathway to the Temple, Jenin stopped at his favorite bench, taking a seat on the cool marble. Suddenly a thud that shook the very ground rang out. Jumping to his feet, Jenin turned to the road. There stood a silver dragon...

"Jenin!" the dragon cried out in it's thunder like voice.

"Flame?" Jenin said questioningly. "Flame! What brings you to this side of the world?"

"Enough of formalities, we must be off." the dragon stated quickly.

"Off? Where? I'm still studying my arts, you know..."

"I said that was enough! Get on my back. Rathar Shinare wishes to speak with you."

The ride to the High Clerist Tower was quick on Flame's back. The mountains swished by in a blur of color, illuminated only by Solinari's light.

"Why is he at the High Clerist Tower?" Jenin demanded of Flame.

"You'll soon find out." the silver dragon replied coolly. "Ah, there it is." The dragon swooped down, landing gracefully in the cross shaped courtyard of the Tower. A knight walked out to greet them, helping Jenin down from Flame's back.

"Welcome to the High Clerist Tower. You must be Jenin Creed." the knight looked at Jenin, nodding slightly, his moustaches bobbing. "The...mage...wishes to speak with you."

"Well, take me to him!" Jenin demanded, getting tired quickly. The knight gestured for Jenin to follow, and they headed off towards a large steel door, the symbols of the knights decorated on it.

"I'll wait here for you," Flame said, stretching and yawning irritably. Jenin nodded to the friendly dragon, and set off again after the knight.

The two entered the Tower, and began to ascend immediately. After about the second hundredth step, Jenin halted, gasping for breath. The long night had finally gotten to him.

Just then a figure in red robes with graying hair appeared next to him.

"Jenin, I'm surprised you didn't use your teleport spell to get to the top of the tower!"

"Rathar?" Jenin said quizzically. "Master. I didn't notice it was you. This night has gotten to me in more ways then one." Jenin arched his back, stretching his well toned muscles. "You called me here?"

"Yes, on a most urgent matter." the head of the read robes said gravely. "Here, let me help you to the top of the tower. And you knight? Well of course you wouldn't want assistance from a mage." With that, Rathar help Jenin by the arm, whispered a word in the spidery tongue of magic, and the ground swirled away beneath their feet. It once again became firm as they stood in the top of the Tower of the High Clerist.

"Jenin," Rathar said, "this is Sir Gavlin, Lord Knight of the Rose." The middle aged man nodded to Jenin.

"Nice to meet you." Jenin said, plopping down in a high backed chair sitting around the table in the center of the circle shaped room.

"I take it Lord Shinare has not spoken to you of the grave tidings we have received?"

"No, he has not. So if you would, I'd like to hear them now, before I drift off into sleep." Jenin stated irritably.

"Of course, sir mage," Gavlin said, turning his back to him and staring out the glass window to the mountains to the sides. "This matter would not concern you, if your heritage was not involved."

"What are you talking about?" Jenin said, standing, now fully awake and alert.

"Your mother." Rathar stated flatly, pulling his staff, a duplicate of the Staff of Magius, closer to him. "Your mother is being held in Dargaard Keep. Under the supervision of Lord Soth."

"The death knight?" Jenin cried. "But he hasn't meddled in Ansalon's plans for years now."

"He plans to take the Tower of the High Clerist." Gavlin said bluntly, "With your mothers help."

"She would never do such a thing!" Jenin yelled, running over to the Knight of the Rose, "She is dead anyway. Chaos killed all of the Irda months ago."

"She lives," Rathar whispered. "I do not know, but by some magical force, she lives." he turned his eyes to Jenin, "The reason I have come here is because," he faltered, cleared his throat and started once more, "I am here because she is my grandmother."

"What?" Jenin questioned. "That's crazy, you know it is!"

"Irda live long lives." Rathar stated. "It is under all situations, possible." Jenin looked about, his brow furrowed. Finally he came to a conclusion.

"I still don't believe you, not a word, but I'll go with you anyway." he looked to Rathar. "What next?"

The High Clerist Tower dwindled in the distance as Jenin, Rathar, and Lord Gavlin rode atop silver dragons. Rathar and Jenin rode on top of Flame, a close friend of Rathar, they fought in the War of the Lance together, and Lord Gavlin flew atop a gold dragon by the name of Fireblast. Sir Gavlin had gone into battle on this very mount several times. Gavlin's Dragonlance was posted on the dragon, as to take out the undead dragon of Lord Soth.

Only once had this happened before, a Knight fighting along side mages, but for the sake of Ansalon, this had to be done.

Flame and Fireblast soared gracefully, heading east for Dargaard Keep, and Lord Soth.

The parties plan was to attack Dargaard quickly, stealing away the Irda woman, and thus extinguishing Lord Soth's lust for the control of the Tower. Lord Soth's motive on this battle was to have the Irda woman as his own, as Highlord Kitiara had been his.

The two dragons swooped down, their wings moving silently through the air. Coming out of the bank of clouds, their lay before them the crumbling ruins of Dargaard Keep.

When Jenin had taken the Test, as all mages must do so, he had visited Dargaard Keep and had fought the famed Lord Soth. Powerful as he might been in the illusion created by the wizard conclave, Lord Soth would be much more powerful in person, and Jenin knew this. Hopefully they would not even have to fight Lord Soth, but would make it out alive and unscathed.

The two dragons came closer to the ruins-now for the dragon. A firedragon, brother to the undead skeletal dragons, flew from the ruins, using the air currents to it's advantage as it floated up.

The undead dragon was powerful, but would be no match for the two good dragons, and Gavlin's Dragonlance.

The dragon swept at them, Flame fleeing to one side, letting Fireblast do her work. The firedragon began casting a spell of darkness, but from a word of Fireblast, the magic fell apart in the evil dragon's hands. Confused, the firedragon was not prepared for the attack from behind. Flame's talons ripped at the firedragon's flesh, ripping scales, tendons, and muscles. The dragon writhed in agony, trying to escape as Flame pushed it to it's doom on the tip of Sir Gavlin's Dragonlance.

The firedragon became impaled on the tip of the Lance, and was soon pushed off as Flameburst cast a disintegration spell. So much for Soth's dragon.

The two dragons landed, grit flying through the cool night air, in front of the ruins of Dargaard Keep. Dismounting, Lord Gavlin removed his weapons from the saddle of Fireblast. Among his many weapons was a magical long sword, equal to the one of the Brightblade family, two crossbows, a long sword, and an assortment of other war weapons.

Jenin slid down Flame's silvery hide, his weapons being his spell components, and a short sword, able to be used by war mages.

Rathar Shinare slid off, his weapons being his components and his staff, The Staff of Shinare, duplicate of The Staff of Magius.

Together, the three jogged to the crumbling gateway, leading into the cursed ruins.

"Shirak," Rathar whispered, and the globe atop his staff, grasped by the silver dragon claw, burst into light. The eerie soft light illuminated the ruined corridor, giving a ghastly glow to the torch less sconces placed along the walls.

"Now, we find my mother." Jenin stated softly, reaching into a pouch. Mixing sulfur and bat dung together, the magic words on his lips, he set down the hallway, the two others following closely behind.

They soon came to a crossroads in the corridor. Jenin looked this way and that, not knowing where to go.

"Trust your instincts, mage." Lord Gavlin said, looking around instinctively, his magical blade raised high, giving off it's own light. "She is your mother, after all."

Jenin closed his eyes, trying to feel his mothers presence in the dark ruins...

"This way." he said coolly, turning to the right. His heavy footfalls were alone, the others had dispersed. Turning, he stared around hurriedly, the light was gone...

"Rathar!" he screamed in sudden despair. I mocking voice laughed behind him, it's laughter echoing quickly in the dark hallway.

"Your friends won't find you now..." the voice replied in a piercing whisper. "Now you will serve my god, Chemosh, in the realms of the dead!"

Jenin turned, the words to the spell upon his lips once more. The swift clatter of iron shod feet was coming closer. Jenin raised his voice in the spidery language of magic, lifting the spell components before him. The clatter came closer-the hallway burst into light, a ball of flame extending from Jenin's hand.

The skeletal warrior burst into flame, falling to the ground. He lifted his skull of a head, it's evil grin emphasized by the flame surrounding it. The warrior fell to the ground, his head rolling off, the room plunged once more into darkness.

Jenin breathed a sigh of relief. Needing light once more, he spoke a word of magic, and a small globe of light appeared next to him, providing illumination.

Jenin cried out once more, "Rathar!"

You will meet with us soon enough. Descend the corridor, we'll deal with Soth's minions.

Jenin waited until Rathar's voice subsided. He then followed his instructions, and continued swiftly down the corridor, taking a piece of foxfire from a pouch, and holding it tightly.

He soon came to a door, on it were engraved the symbol of the rose, blackened by the fires of the cataclysm, hundreds of years ago. Lord Soth, Knight of the Black Rose, this was his symbol.

Pushing the door slightly, it swung open. The sound of swords clanging, and the chanting of spells rang out from the bottom of the corridor. Jenin ran to the door at the end of the corridor, wherein, chaos reigned supreme.

On one side of the room, the injured Lord Gavlin was battling against three skeletal warriors at once. Next to him stood Rathar Shinare, his staff grasped tightly in his hand. Balls of flame, lightning, and an assortment of other fantastic spells sprang forth rhythmically as he battle a throng of banshees. But the thing that caught Jenin's eye was a throne at the end of the hall, on which sat Lord Soth, Knight of the Black Rose. His orange flickering eyes watched the battle closely, almost studying the offenders moves-maybe even laughing at them...

Jenin cried out to Rathar, who gave him no recognition but continued destroying the banshees. Jenin started as two skeletal warriors sprang out at him, their black blades flashing.

Jenin raised his hands, spoke a word in magic, and ten flaming arrows pierced one of the skeletal warriors armor, turning him to dust.

The other lunged at Jenin, who jumped to one side knocking the warrior to the floor. Drawing his blade, which began to glow with a dull light, he decapitated the warrior, his head rolling across the dark marble floor.

Turning once more, Jenin saw Gavlin chop down two warriors at once, getting his ancestral armor scarred in the process. Gavlin turned to him, yelling.

"Your mother!" he cried. "There!" he pointed across the room, at Lord Soth. Jenin finally noticed the white robed woman chained in front of Soth.

The woman had bluish skin, as do all Irda, and long black hair which fell down to her waist. The robes were torn at her legs, wounds bleeding freely. Jenin felt a strange sensation as he looked at her. Perhaps this was his mother...

Lord Soth's eyes were upon him.

Jenin stared into those mocking flame eyes. Soth stood, took his gaze off of Jenin and turned to his mother, pointing his finger...

"Die." he whispered. This was all the death needed to say. Jenin's mother withered and died, her life blood spilling across the floor.

"No!" Jenin screamed, charging at the death knight. Soth picked up Jenin, and through him at the glass window. Jenin felt the glass give way, and the shards stabbing into his skin painfully, ripping his robes. He then felt himself falling, falling. He saw the ground rushing up at him, and the wind was blown out of his body as he hit the hard ground. The first thought that came to mind was, "Well at least I'm not impaled on one of the spires."

After a long rest, Jenin stood, painfully, his wounds pouring all over his robes, turning them crimson. He looked up, two stories, to where Lord Soth stood, glaring at him...he raised his hand...pointing at Jenin.

Jenin stood, calling upon the magic, calling upon the power of the red moon Lunitari, calling upon power within himself that he did not know even existed. Lord Soth had killed his mother, and his friends within the Keep by now. Revenge would be his...

Raising his hand to the sky, lightning flashed from his fingertips, striking the clouds above, and they answered...

Magical lighting flashed around him, struck the keep, struck Soth. Raising his hands, lightning sizzled in a swirl of motion around him. The keep fell, Soth himself destroyed, Jenin stood in the smoldering remains of the keep.

Revenge was his.

Looking down at his innumerable wounds, he watched as his blood red robes turned dark, too dark...his robes changed to black...

"No!" Jenin yelled, falling to his knees, sobbing. Raising his head, he was no longer in the keep, but in the Tower of the High Clerist. Rathar and Lord Gavlin stood before him...

The explanation had been complex, Rathar himself explained it. The whole thing had been an illusion, to convince Jenin of his dark side, his shadow, and what would happen if he gave into hatred.

Ever since they had left the Tower, it had been fake.

"But what about my mother?" Jenin asked. Rathar explained saying his mother was most likely dead, and it would be almost impossible for Jenin's mother to be his grandmother.

In conclusion, Rathar asked Jenin to come to the Tower of High Sorcery in Wayreth, to help him further the cause of neutrality. Jenin agreed whole heartily, saying that he would do anything to help find, and destroy the shadow that existed within himself. The shadow that all Magi possess...

This story is owned by Marc Dotson.   It may not be used without his permission.