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II. The Frog and the Magus
Glenn paused beneath a tall and imposing oak, wiping his face with the edge of his cloak. The rain was coming harder and harder, and even his amphibian form had trouble withstanding the force of the water. Such a downpour had not come to the kingdom of Guardia in many years, and while Glenn supposed that the crops were thankful for the end of the long-lasting drought, the torrential storm was a deadly force of its own. Though the populace would not starve anymore, it was now likely they would all drown.
The evening sky arced with lightning, illuminating the glade. The great forest had long been purported to be haunted, but Glenn knew such stories were folly and superstition. He was the only dark spirit that frequented the forest – at least, he long had been. In years past it had been the home of the legendary Frog King and his subjects; after Glenn had found himself in the body of a giant frog, he had chosen the locale as a fitting place to hide from the eyes of a kingdom he knew would call him 'monster'. After a time, he had built his reputation for heroism and valor to the point where he was a monster no more – and then a new monster had taken up residence in the wood.
The Great Magus, as he had been known, was stuff of legend himself. Most knew him as a fearsome dark wizard who lorded over the army of magical creatures called Mystics. Many had lived through the Mystics' campaigns to conquer the land of Guardia, and many had heard tales of his cunning and power. Glenn, himself, had seen that power firsthand, first when he and his companion, Sir Cyrus, had fallen at Magus' hands, resulting in Cyrus' death and Glenn's transformation, and then again in the magical kingdom of Zeal in the far past, when Magus had become an unlikely ally and had even aided Glenn and his fellow heroes in saving the world. Magus, it turned out, was no more than the youth Janus, born of Zeal, who had been thrown into Time at a young age and then returned to undo the very evil he seemed to serve.
Following those battles, Glenn and Magus had returned here, to the Middle Ages, as the other heroes called the period, to live out their lives in relative peace. The world had been saved, the past altered, and the future secured. There was nothing else remaining to be done – or was there?
Glenn had not forgotten that it was Magus who was responsible for his transfiguration. While he had become accustomed to living as a human frog, and had even become quite a proficient warrior as he was, it was not the life he had wanted. Glenn had spared Magus' life twice now, and saved it from other threats countless times. It was time, he had decided, for Magus to pay him back.
It was for that reason that Glenn had left the castle of King Guardia, where he was an honored guest, to return to his former home in the woods and seek Magus out. It was Glenn, after all, who had given Magus his old home in the wood, having no more need of it himself, so he knew where he could find the sorcerer. He would enter Magus' lair, and either plead or duel with the wizard until he restored the frog warrior to his rightful human form.
There was a loud crack, and a jagged lightning struck the tree he had been sheltering under, jarring him from his thoughts. The frog warrior bounded backwards, out of harm's way, and back into the pounding rains. Setting his jaw in defiance, he closed his transparent inner eyelids to keep the water out. The ability was one of the few actual benefits of his form, allowing him to see without subjecting his eyes to irritating elements in the air – such as rain. He smiled as he realized that, if all went well, this would be one of the last times he used such abilities.
He pulled his cloak around him and bolted through the trees. He knew the way by heart, having lived so long amidst the same trees, although the rainclouds, long unfamiliar, obscured the way slightly in shadows. It was no great matter, however, to seek out Magus' lair; even if Glenn had never entered the wood in his life, he doubted he could have missed the black stone spire which now rose directly out of the center of the forest, above the treeline. Magus' new tower had risen seemingly overnight, over the underground dwelling in which Glenn had lived. Most attributed its construction to magic, citing it as proof that the Great Magus had indeed returned. Glenn was one of the few who knew that the superstitious theory was actually truth, for once.
A mist had set in among the trees with the opening of the clouds overhead, and even Glenn, with his formidable woodcraft, was finding it increasingly difficult to find his way. Trees that had been his only neighbors for the better part of a decade now looked foreign to him, each like the next. He wondered suddenly if he had made some wrong turn, whether he had gone past the tower on one side or another. The thought that he could have passed within yards of the place and never spied it through the mist was not a comforting one. He paused, his small, amphibian lungs out of breath.
It was by sheer luck that at that moment he happened to look up and see the dark shape of a gargoyle staring down at him from a ledge above his head, which shortly disappeared into the mists itself. As his eyes moved over what he realized was the outer tower wall, more and more of the vague shapes appeared to him out of the mist. What he had nearly passed for simple forest shadows revealed themselves to be columns and walls, ledges and platforms. Sighing in relief, Glenn raised his face towards the distant spot above, where he could only assume that the top of the tower lay.
"Magus!" he called up. "Magus, it is I, Glenn!" There was no response. He wondered what he had expected, and took a step towards the door.
There was a flash of lightning, then, and in its illuminating flare he saw that the door at the base of the tower was ajar. He nevertheless placed his webbed hand over the knocker and smacked it several times over the wooden door; the sound echoed noisily off of the inside walls of the tower, but again there seemed no reply from within. After another moment's hesitation, Glenn proceeded through the open door and into the considerably drier interior.
The tower, he could see now, was cylindrical, a spiral staircase taking up the bulk of its space. The steps wound about a central column, stretching high into the darkened ceiling. Near the ground, torches flickered in alcoves, but, gazing upwards, Glenn surmised that either the alcoves grew farther apart as the stairs went up, or a large number of the intermittent beacons had gone out since they'd been lit.
"Magus?" he called again, with no more success than before. Shrugging, Glenn began to climb the stairs.
Around and around he went, his green hands gripping the narrow rail with unease. Through narrow slits he could see the forest outside, and he quickly rose far above the level of the ground. He had never truly realized how high the trees stretched, for he remained for a long while beneath the level of the canopy. In time, however, he surpassed even that level, giving him wonder as to just how far the stairway wound. He paused, then, his lungs once more burning, and thought of calling out again. His lack of breath and previous lack of results stopped him, however, and after a moment he continued to climb.
At long last, he reached a large, black door with a tiny red knob, into which a gold crest had been carved. Glenn recognized the crest immediately; it was the insignia of the ancient kingdom of Zeal, nearly 13,000 years old – a tribute to Magus' past. Glenn made a fist and knocked twice on the door. When once more there was no response, he turned the knob and the door swung wide, gasping as he took in the sight within.
The room had obviously been a study, although it looked as though a hurricane had exploded within it. Books and papers, tomes of magic, covered the floor, and in one corner, the remains of a shattered cauldron sat, soaking in the reddish substance they had housed. A scratched crystal ball sat on the floor near Glenn's foot. Along the far wall, there was a small fireplace over which there sat a mantle, although it had fallen at one end, spilling off an elaborate array of candles and charms. Fortunately, the candles had promptly gone out, and the room had not caught fire.
And in the center of the floor, apparently unconscious, lay Magus. His cape was bunched up around him, and at first glance, Glenn thought that it was soaked with blood. As he approached, however, and examined the body, he saw that it was merely the red liquid from the cauldron. From the looks of things, Magus had been in the midst of a massive incantation when whatever disaster that had befallen him had occurred.
For a few moments, Glenn paused, unsure of what to do. Then, sighing, he took off his cloak and hung it from a hook beside the door, and hefted Magus' body in his arms. The wizard's chest was swelling and falling with the telltale winds of life, making it clear that whatever had happened to him had failed to finish him off. Glenn deposited the body of his legendary rival and unlikely ally in a small cot that had been set up on one side of the room, and then set about picking up the papers and other debris.
When Magus came to, he could tell him all about what had happened, and then Glenn could make his request. He had certainly learned the virtue of patience in his adventures; countless times the urge to beg Magus to reverse his metamorphosis had weighed on his shoulders, and he had put it off, knowing that there were more important uses of the wizard's powers, such as fighting evil and saving the world. He could wait the hours until Magus recovered to ask what it was he had come to ask.
And to fight the sorcerer again, if need be.
Glenn paused beneath a tall and imposing oak, wiping his face with the edge of his cloak. The rain was coming harder and harder, and even his amphibian form had trouble withstanding the force of the water. Such a downpour had not come to the kingdom of Guardia in many years, and while Glenn supposed that the crops were thankful for the end of the long-lasting drought, the torrential storm was a deadly force of its own. Though the populace would not starve anymore, it was now likely they would all drown.
The evening sky arced with lightning, illuminating the glade. The great forest had long been purported to be haunted, but Glenn knew such stories were folly and superstition. He was the only dark spirit that frequented the forest – at least, he long had been. In years past it had been the home of the legendary Frog King and his subjects; after Glenn had found himself in the body of a giant frog, he had chosen the locale as a fitting place to hide from the eyes of a kingdom he knew would call him 'monster'. After a time, he had built his reputation for heroism and valor to the point where he was a monster no more – and then a new monster had taken up residence in the wood.
The Great Magus, as he had been known, was stuff of legend himself. Most knew him as a fearsome dark wizard who lorded over the army of magical creatures called Mystics. Many had lived through the Mystics' campaigns to conquer the land of Guardia, and many had heard tales of his cunning and power. Glenn, himself, had seen that power firsthand, first when he and his companion, Sir Cyrus, had fallen at Magus' hands, resulting in Cyrus' death and Glenn's transformation, and then again in the magical kingdom of Zeal in the far past, when Magus had become an unlikely ally and had even aided Glenn and his fellow heroes in saving the world. Magus, it turned out, was no more than the youth Janus, born of Zeal, who had been thrown into Time at a young age and then returned to undo the very evil he seemed to serve.
Following those battles, Glenn and Magus had returned here, to the Middle Ages, as the other heroes called the period, to live out their lives in relative peace. The world had been saved, the past altered, and the future secured. There was nothing else remaining to be done – or was there?
Glenn had not forgotten that it was Magus who was responsible for his transfiguration. While he had become accustomed to living as a human frog, and had even become quite a proficient warrior as he was, it was not the life he had wanted. Glenn had spared Magus' life twice now, and saved it from other threats countless times. It was time, he had decided, for Magus to pay him back.
It was for that reason that Glenn had left the castle of King Guardia, where he was an honored guest, to return to his former home in the woods and seek Magus out. It was Glenn, after all, who had given Magus his old home in the wood, having no more need of it himself, so he knew where he could find the sorcerer. He would enter Magus' lair, and either plead or duel with the wizard until he restored the frog warrior to his rightful human form.
There was a loud crack, and a jagged lightning struck the tree he had been sheltering under, jarring him from his thoughts. The frog warrior bounded backwards, out of harm's way, and back into the pounding rains. Setting his jaw in defiance, he closed his transparent inner eyelids to keep the water out. The ability was one of the few actual benefits of his form, allowing him to see without subjecting his eyes to irritating elements in the air – such as rain. He smiled as he realized that, if all went well, this would be one of the last times he used such abilities.
He pulled his cloak around him and bolted through the trees. He knew the way by heart, having lived so long amidst the same trees, although the rainclouds, long unfamiliar, obscured the way slightly in shadows. It was no great matter, however, to seek out Magus' lair; even if Glenn had never entered the wood in his life, he doubted he could have missed the black stone spire which now rose directly out of the center of the forest, above the treeline. Magus' new tower had risen seemingly overnight, over the underground dwelling in which Glenn had lived. Most attributed its construction to magic, citing it as proof that the Great Magus had indeed returned. Glenn was one of the few who knew that the superstitious theory was actually truth, for once.
A mist had set in among the trees with the opening of the clouds overhead, and even Glenn, with his formidable woodcraft, was finding it increasingly difficult to find his way. Trees that had been his only neighbors for the better part of a decade now looked foreign to him, each like the next. He wondered suddenly if he had made some wrong turn, whether he had gone past the tower on one side or another. The thought that he could have passed within yards of the place and never spied it through the mist was not a comforting one. He paused, his small, amphibian lungs out of breath.
It was by sheer luck that at that moment he happened to look up and see the dark shape of a gargoyle staring down at him from a ledge above his head, which shortly disappeared into the mists itself. As his eyes moved over what he realized was the outer tower wall, more and more of the vague shapes appeared to him out of the mist. What he had nearly passed for simple forest shadows revealed themselves to be columns and walls, ledges and platforms. Sighing in relief, Glenn raised his face towards the distant spot above, where he could only assume that the top of the tower lay.
"Magus!" he called up. "Magus, it is I, Glenn!" There was no response. He wondered what he had expected, and took a step towards the door.
There was a flash of lightning, then, and in its illuminating flare he saw that the door at the base of the tower was ajar. He nevertheless placed his webbed hand over the knocker and smacked it several times over the wooden door; the sound echoed noisily off of the inside walls of the tower, but again there seemed no reply from within. After another moment's hesitation, Glenn proceeded through the open door and into the considerably drier interior.
The tower, he could see now, was cylindrical, a spiral staircase taking up the bulk of its space. The steps wound about a central column, stretching high into the darkened ceiling. Near the ground, torches flickered in alcoves, but, gazing upwards, Glenn surmised that either the alcoves grew farther apart as the stairs went up, or a large number of the intermittent beacons had gone out since they'd been lit.
"Magus?" he called again, with no more success than before. Shrugging, Glenn began to climb the stairs.
Around and around he went, his green hands gripping the narrow rail with unease. Through narrow slits he could see the forest outside, and he quickly rose far above the level of the ground. He had never truly realized how high the trees stretched, for he remained for a long while beneath the level of the canopy. In time, however, he surpassed even that level, giving him wonder as to just how far the stairway wound. He paused, then, his lungs once more burning, and thought of calling out again. His lack of breath and previous lack of results stopped him, however, and after a moment he continued to climb.
At long last, he reached a large, black door with a tiny red knob, into which a gold crest had been carved. Glenn recognized the crest immediately; it was the insignia of the ancient kingdom of Zeal, nearly 13,000 years old – a tribute to Magus' past. Glenn made a fist and knocked twice on the door. When once more there was no response, he turned the knob and the door swung wide, gasping as he took in the sight within.
The room had obviously been a study, although it looked as though a hurricane had exploded within it. Books and papers, tomes of magic, covered the floor, and in one corner, the remains of a shattered cauldron sat, soaking in the reddish substance they had housed. A scratched crystal ball sat on the floor near Glenn's foot. Along the far wall, there was a small fireplace over which there sat a mantle, although it had fallen at one end, spilling off an elaborate array of candles and charms. Fortunately, the candles had promptly gone out, and the room had not caught fire.
And in the center of the floor, apparently unconscious, lay Magus. His cape was bunched up around him, and at first glance, Glenn thought that it was soaked with blood. As he approached, however, and examined the body, he saw that it was merely the red liquid from the cauldron. From the looks of things, Magus had been in the midst of a massive incantation when whatever disaster that had befallen him had occurred.
For a few moments, Glenn paused, unsure of what to do. Then, sighing, he took off his cloak and hung it from a hook beside the door, and hefted Magus' body in his arms. The wizard's chest was swelling and falling with the telltale winds of life, making it clear that whatever had happened to him had failed to finish him off. Glenn deposited the body of his legendary rival and unlikely ally in a small cot that had been set up on one side of the room, and then set about picking up the papers and other debris.
When Magus came to, he could tell him all about what had happened, and then Glenn could make his request. He had certainly learned the virtue of patience in his adventures; countless times the urge to beg Magus to reverse his metamorphosis had weighed on his shoulders, and he had put it off, knowing that there were more important uses of the wizard's powers, such as fighting evil and saving the world. He could wait the hours until Magus recovered to ask what it was he had come to ask.
And to fight the sorcerer again, if need be.