A Facet for the Gem by C. L. Murray

masses, trampling and beating all into submission.
    Morlen felt immobilized—Felkoth was taking over Korindelf. “Nottleforf!” he yelled over the rising clamor, “Nottleforf, what do we do?”
    But the wizard gave no reply, scanning between Felkoth’s army that closed in around them and the newly-taken relic in his hand, soon to be demanded by the one orchestrating this massacre. Facing Morlen again, he grabbed him tightly by the shoulder, holding out the Goldshard.
    “Morlen,” he said urgently, “you must take this.” Morlen kept still, and the wizard held the lustrous object closer while shouting, “Take it, Morlen! Felkoth is coming for it—you must keep it for yourself, away from him!”
    Rattled by Nottleforf’s command, Morlen shakily reached out and withdrew it from him, burying its jagged metal against his sweating palm.
    Nottleforf calmed after this, yet his voice became grave as he added a warning. “But Morlen, you must not use it, do you understand?” Too shocked to protest, Morlen nodded. “Good.” The wizard breathed a little more at ease. “Now I must get you out of here.”
    “But what about them?” Morlen panted, watching those around him trying in vain to flee.
    “My abilities are limited, Morlen,” Nottleforf grumbled, still clinging firmly to Morlen’s shoulder. “Our best hope is your departure, now!” They scurried toward the courtyard’s center, where the same soldier they had seen earlier charged at them on horseback, brandishing his sword. Quite unthreatened, Nottleforf raised his hand, and a flame shot from it into the man’s face, blasting him off his horse as he bellowed in agony.
    “Get on quickly!” Nottleforf ordered, and when Morlen mounted the fallen soldier’s steed, he paused as Felkoth emerged with the Dark Blade held high.
    Now the new king of Korindelf, Felkoth cut down all castle guards in his path and stomped to the spot where the Talking Tree had stood, to claim his prize. Finding both it and the tree already gone, he scowled, eyes darting madly about the chaotic scene before slowly tracking to Morlen, who sat ready to ride with the glittering object secure in his hand.
    “Men!” he blared. “The boy! The boy on the horse! Kill him!”
    Soldiers on all sides barreled toward Morlen with swords and bows raised. But as they came, Nottleforf squeezed his arm hard with one hand, placed his other on the horse, and the three lifted above the battle.
    Morlen’s head swam while summoned winds bore them out of the tumultuous courtyard and away from the city. Then a spark of hope flared as he caught brief glimpses of the Eaglemasters on a rapid course to Korindelf’s aid, though it would be long yet before they arrived.
    They rematerialized just outside the channel leading to Korindelf’s open gate, now manned by one of Felkoth’s contingents. After landing with a painful thud, still in the saddle, Morlen looked ahead in fear as thousands of savage creatures bounded toward them with fangs bared, their front ranks only a dozen yards away and closing.
    The shriekers lunged, pouncing as one gray wave, but Nottleforf stretched out his arms and thrust forth a wall of light that halted them in their tracks. Snapping viciously, the endless packs pushed harder as the barrier flickered more dimly against their advance, and the wizard groaned, a creaking dam to rushing waters.
    “Ride, Morlen!” he thundered. “You know where to go.” And Morlen looked due south, seeing the Forbidden Isle a few miles away.
    Not daring to hesitate, Morlen tucked the Goldshard deep inside his inner chest pocket, grabbed the horse’s reins, and kicked it into motion. With one last look at Nottleforf, he galloped off as the wizard called out a final command. “And Morlen, remember—Do not… use… the Goldshard!” His last words echoed like horn blasts, and Morlen sped out of harm’s way, with the Isle lying directly ahead.
    Tearing through an open field, he slowed and turned to