Ordinary Joe and the Mark of Four
Chapter Twenty One

On his arrival in the Wastelands, with nothing to light the swampland except the stuttering flash of Majia and the thin moonlight breaking the clouds, the swampland looked bleak and cruel, but in the morning’s pale light it looked like death itself. Kozane hated every foul molecule of the place. He hated the stench rising from the tainted water and the freezing winds biting into his flesh, but most of all he hated the Majia. Across Antigol the power he worshipped was a graceful, beautiful force but here it ran untamed, dangerous and corrupt. He could not tolerate disorder and every erratic snarl of energy set his teeth on edge.

The Wastelands were a haven for the realm’s scum and villainy but none were as lawless as the outcast standing before him; Beil Flint, the self-named Scavenger King. Kozane fought to keep his distaste hidden.

Avarat ordered him here, somehow knowing Elvan Caldor, Hatriila’s former King, had travelled to the mines after meeting the elder witch, Matrekku. The boy would meet him as the prophecy foresaw and Kozane’s orders were to capture him before the meeting could take place. He had not asked how Avarat gained such knowledge but standing in the biting winds, it played on his mind. Most likely Flint provided the information, on the promise of profit. There would be no profit if Kozane had his way. Beil Flint and his outcasts had no role to play in Antigol’s future and they and their vile homeland would be wiped from the map. The Wastelands would be cleansed.

Dragons screeched overhead and made his skin twitch. The entrance to the Dead Mines moaned, a low, eerie echo from the depths and Kozane shivered. Why had Avarat remained in Hatriila? Surely he wanted to capture the child himself. According to Flint the boy was gravely ill and might die before he was found. Might even be dead already. If so the Majiak could be lost forever. Perhaps Avarat feared the volatile Majia of the Wastelands. The Majiak withered him away to a walking corpse and he spent each day hidden in the palace, refusing to return to Groll where his ailments might better be treated.

Kozane wished he was away from the place, but the Council instructed him to follow Avarat’s orders. Their intentions were unclear. Did they think Avarat would still bend to their rule once he held the four? Kozane’s place at the Prince’s side convinced him of one thing; Avarat would bow to no-one. He would not rest until the Earth was destroyed and Antigol fell under his heel. Surely the council would act before he took the world from them. He sighed. The miserable surroundings were clouding his judgement, that was all. The council’s motives were not to be questioned. He cheered at the prospect of capturing Maven. His enemy was wounded and though Flint insisted the Mire Lord had taken them all, he knew the Warlock was still alive. He felt it. The Wastelands could be tolerated if they delivered the traitor to him.

Overhead a dragon rider blew his horn. The milling army turned as one, looking up to the edge of the swamp above which the dragon circled. At the crest of the valley two figures appeared.

Kozane pushed Flint to one side, eyes glittering. Maven, at last. The warlock stepped from the thinning mist, one hand held up in surrender, the other helping a child staggering in the dirt beside him. Kozane’s eyes thinned suspiciously. What game was this? The restless army looked to their leader eagerly.

“Wait!” Kozane bellowed, pushing through the soldiers. Maven would never give himself up easily, there was some trickery afoot. He was actually smiling. He lifted the weak boy’s hand and his voice echoed through the valley,

“This is the chosen one, the bearer of four!” He waited for the information to sink in, though most of Kozane’s forces laughed at the sight the frail, sickly child. “You know he holds the Majiak! Let us pass!” The laughter came again, louder this time, and Kozane waved them silent, looking annoyed. Was this the best the fool could do? Hope to scare them away with empty threats. He curled his lip in disgust.

“There will be no bargain traitor,” he said, “The boy will be taken to Lord Avarat and you will face the Council to answer for your treason.” The army roared its approval but Kozane held them back, suspicious of the Warlock’s actions. Hadn’t Flint mentioned a fighter; some child who bested him, and another boy? Had the Mire Lord taken them?

“What need will Avarat have for you once he controls the four ?” Maven shouted, “Or your precious council? The prophecy names the bearer of four as the destroyer of worlds. You serve a madman bent on annihilating all of Antigol.” The laughter was thinner this time, but Kozane remained unstirred by his enemy’s words.

“What is written will come to pass,” he said, “You know the laws of the Council of Twelve. We follow pathways already set. Avarat will claim the four. It is written. Beyond that none can say with certainty what will come to pass.” Maven turned to the treacherous Scavenger King by Kozane’s side,

“What place will there be in the new Kingdom for you and your kind? The Council despises the wastelands; it is the one place they cannot control the Majia.” Flint smiled his crocodile smile,

“This is no home to us Warlock. Do you think we enjoy scavenging for food and warmth in this cesspit while the citizens of Antigol feast on white meats and sleep in soft, safe beds. Let the Council destroy it. I will help them light the fires.”

“Enough talk,” Kozane said and turned to his men, “Take the boy alive. The other, do as you can.” Maven grabbed the arm of his sickly companion and dragged him back towards the swamp,

“Run Joe!” he screamed. The army broke into pursuit, though none quicker than Kozane himself, eyes burning with fierce determination. Maven would not escape him this time.