Matuma had heard the legends and tales concerning the fabled sorcerer Maal-Dweb for as long as he could remember. The people of his small jungle village still recoiled in fear and terror whenever the sorcerer's name was uttered around the fires at night. Matuma was a courageous though somewhat insolent youth of seventeen years and he greatly chafed at the superstitious obeisance given to the unseen wizard by his tribal brethren.

No one beneath Xiccarph's three suns had seen evidence of the ill-legended tyrant for several generations. This apparent absence instead of loosening the bonds of fear had instead caused the inhabitants of walled towns and jungle villages alike to become even more fettered to their belief in Maal-Dweb's omnipotent and malicious presence. In years past, the mage would periodically summon the fairest maidens in the land to traverse the causey of corundum and the porphyry stairs to reside within the cryptic walls of his mountain palace. No fearful maiden had ever returned from the sorcerous redoubt yet all who were summoned continued to obey lest their families and the people of their villages be subjected to a doom of falling fire or perhaps a more unwholesome fate.

Countless years had passed since any such summons had been issued by the Lord of Xiccarph. However, instead of delighting in this circumstance the varied peoples of Xiccarph became more fearful and had taken it upon themselves to institute the abhorred practice of human sacrifice, thinking it an appropriate response to the test which the strangely silent tyrant was surely requiring them to pass. Matuma was a headstrong youth and chafed under the rules and rituals that his tribal shaman had implemented to appease the silent sorcerer. Once, when bold enough to voice his disgust, Matuma was dragged to the outskirts of his village and severely beaten by a group of the shaman's devout followers. Matuma licked his wounds in silence but vowed to enter the walls of Maal-Dweb's impressive dwelling and put proof to his idea that the fabled mage had long since expired. The youth aroused no suspicion as only the foolish or mad would seriously contemplate such a course of action.

The bronze skinned youth patiently bided his time and made no more mention of his unpopular beliefs. However, he continued to make his plans and before too long the night of their fruition had come to pass. Matuma had chosen a night when all four of Xiccarph's diminutive moons lit the night sky. Waiting until everyone in the village slumbered he gathered his light but strong rope of woven root fiber, a stone grapple and his hunting knife. Silently leaving his village he headed for the ill-rumored bottomless swamp that his people avoided like some leperous visitor to their hut. It was told that this fen was a truly accursed place, shunned by even the slithering creatures that were abundant in all other areas near Matuma's village. To cross this place one must carefully tread along sedgy paths that connected several small islets until reaching more solid footing in the shelter of palm-tall rushes that were plentiful on the opposite shore. A viscous, black ooze was said to bubble, boil and await any soul careless enough to lose his footing while traversing the dangerous pathway.

Matuma kept walking and anticipating his approach to the treacherous fen but was confronted only by a fairly typical though exceedingly boggy marsh. He had traveled sufficient distance to determine that the expanse before him was the accursed swamp or what it had become. Thankfully the light from Xiccarph's moons allowed Matuma to find a path that would keep him reasonably dry. He walked only a few paces down the trail when a large serpent slithered from the water and onto the soggy path. The creature lazily turned its wedge shaped head toward Matuma and flicked out its tongue.

Matuma recalled the legends of the swamp and grimly smiled. "Shunned by all creatures," he muttered to himself.

Up to this point every tale he had heard concerning the swamp was untrue. There was no bubbling black ooze which perhaps accounted for the return of life to the reputedly desolate area. Still, there was a plethora of blood-sucking insects that were fortunately repelled by a foul smelling mixture of herbs and mud that Matuma had smeared over his body.

Matuma took several coils of rope from around his broad shoulders and forcefully swatted at the reptile blocking his way. The thick, sluggish creature sullenly re-entered the water and soon disappeared. Matuma carefully continued down the precarious trail, mindful of other potential obstacles that might be far less cooperative. His keen senses were attuned to danger but nothing lethal ventured forth to bar his passage. It was with renewed confidence that he made his way to the escalade that lead to Maal-Dweb's palace.

With the ease of a born climber, Matuma utilized his rope and stone grapple to ascend the treacherous route. Fortunately there were many adequate footholds for a skilled climber and the youth soon managed to gain a small buttress just below the final cliff. From this vantage he was able to achieve the fabled mesa with relative ease. From there, Matuma made his way into what had once been a garden of deadly and baneful foliage.

Matuma carefully crept through what was now a tangled mass of sickly vines and stunted bushes that frequently crumbled at his touch. These pathetic plants had only a semblance of life but an exceedingly unwholesome appearance. They were doubtless starved for the eldritch magic that had once caused them to profusely thrive and mutate. Many of the withering plants had scythe-like leaves that fell from diseased stalks with only the merest of touches. Matuma remained alert for danger but was confronted only by small ground-swelps that nested in the tangled gardens. They bared their sharp teeth and tittered angrily at the youth but were too skittish to attack.

Matuma, after what seemed an interminable distance, came to a rift in the vegetation. Stepping through the uneven gap he found himself a short distance from the dwelling of Maal-Dweb. The first feeling of dread entered his heart as he took note of the saffron lights that emanated from the sorcerer's windows. Matuma stared tensely at the lighted windows but steeled himself before thinking overlong on what they might signify. He took a deep breath and strode determinedly across the weedy lawn until reaching a cracked and broken marble path that bordered the foreboding palace. Matuma stopped a moment and saw fountains from which no liquid flowed. He thought this an encouraging sign and smiled. Surely none but a dead or feeble sorcerer would tolerate such squalid surroundings.

Matuma walked to a dark portico with many columns and almost stumbled over the bones of a large beast. It appeared to have been, judging from the remaining strands of matted hair, an enormous ape-like creature. Perhaps it was all that remained of the beasts that were rumored to patrol the grounds of Maal-Dweb. Matuma warily looked about then cautiously and silently crept between massive pillars, through a door and into a dimly illuminated hall that lay beyond.

Matuma, following an arrased wall, slowly walked, sniffing the foul odor of mold, rot and perhaps something more. Yellow flames burned low in tarnished copper lamps arrayed along the hall. Tattered hangings stirred uneasily in the faint breeze, giving a false appearance of life to the dank and empty passage. Near the far end of the hall through a double arras, Matuma peered into a strangely mirrored chamber. He emitted a short gasp at what he first thought to be a room of corpses or mummies. Instead he discovered this room to contain nothing but mould covered statuary, entirely in the form of women as best he could discern. They were sculpted in a variety of poses but the abundance of vegitinous matter with which they were overgrown made any appreciation of the artisan's skill an impossibility. Matuma briefly shuddered and was all too glad to proceed on his way.

Matuma spied a second double arras at the end of the bizarre chamber and knew he must enter if he was to fulfill his self-ordained mission. With great caution he peered into the room, dimly lit by one flickering censer. A second censer was present but no flame burned within. The flickering flame from the one burning censer made shadows leap and dance about the room causing the youth to involuntarily start. Beneath a frayed and drooping canopy was a large couch on which reposed a still and silent figure.

Having no doubt that the figure was Maal-Dweb, Matuma held his breath in check while hairs on the nape of his neck stood on end. He felt a cold trickle of sweat run down the dusty stubble of his cheeks. Remaining still, Matuma tightly gripped the hunting dagger on his belt, desperately trying to ascertain if the dreaded sorcerer was asleep, entranced or dead. the reclined figure's chest did not rise and fall with the action of breathing but Matuma knew this meant nothing when dealing with a practitioner of the dark arts.

The censer's flickering light seemed to reveal a polished and highly reflective mask upon the mage's face. Matuma silently inhaled and gathered his courage in preparation for what he knew must be done. The moment was at hand and Matuma forcefully strode across the room until arriving before the reclining figure of Maal-Dweb. The youth saw his face reflected in the sorcerer's mask and was angered by the look of fear that he recognized on his visage. Before considering further, Matuma quickly extended one muscular arm and grasped the metallic mask with one hand while simultaneously plunging his knife downward into the sorcerer's breast with his other hand. He was stunned to find a leering skull beneath the strange facial covering and surprised to discover that his knife had missed anything solid and was now buried to the hilt in the rotting couch on which the bones of Maal-Dweb reposed.

"The foolish shamans have been sacrificing virgins to a pile of bones" said Matuma with a mixture of both contempt and relief.

Matuma, now more at ease, surveyed the ruined hangings and once opulent furnishings of Maal-Dweb. Around the chamber stood the fabled metal servitors of the dead wizard, their once gleaming surfaces and burnished swords now covered with rust and decay. These programmed automatons were now as still and silent as the sorcerous bones of their master. The young hunter walked leisurely around the chamber, no longer feeling that there was anything present to fear. He intently studied the rusting automatons, amazed that the legends had been reasonably accurate in their description.

Matuma suddenly emitted a growling war-cry and with his knife struck the metallic scythe held by the automaton that stood before him. The rusting weapon broke, leaving only a jagged and rusty piece of blade extending from the servitor. Matuma laughed and cavorted around the chamber feeling somewhat giddy now that his victory was achieved. "Wait . .." he said to himself. "I must have proof of this night if I am to convince my people of what I have done."

Matuma returned to the couch on which the bones of Maal-Dweb remained. He now noticed a chain of gold to which was attached a large emerald amulet. The youth had overlooked it before due to the erratic light of the chamber coupled with the fact that it had dropped into the sorcerer's chest cavity. Matuma reached in and withdrew the object from where it rested. Backing away from the couch, he stopped and held the large jewel aloft to better observe its quality in the flickering light. Suddenly the chamber of Maal-Dweb thundered with a voice of authority and danger.

"Doom to all who enter unbidden!," echoed the words, strange in their pitch and timbre.

Matuma's heart almost stopped at this unexpected turn of events. He was immediately stricken with panic yet remained immobile, unsure of how to proceed. The voice rang out a second and third time in rapid succession and Matuma's instinct for self-preservation overrode his fear. Clutching the emerald amulet in one hand and his knife in the other, he pivoted his body to flee the chamber. Unfortunately Matuma's right foot slipped on the metallic mask of Maal-Dweb that had been carelessly cast onto the floor, causing the youth to lose his balance. In attempting to right himself Matuma leapt backwards and impaled himself on the jagged, rusting remnants of the metallic servitor's weapon that he had broken earlier in his celebration of triumph. In stunned disbelief Matuma extricated himself from the blade, screaming in agony as the rusting metal cut and tore his vital organs. Collapsing in pain, he dragged himself along the chamber's floor until able to prop his dying form against the couch on which Maal-Dweb's bones now rested. No longer able to rise, the young warrior gazed in horror at the crimson liquid that now pooled around him.

Maal-Dweb's mechanical speaking device, programmed years earlier to randomly engage at such times as when the sorcerer was absent, continued its loud, mocking cacophony.

"Doom to all who enter unbidden!"

"Doom to all who enter . . ."

"Doom to all . . ."

"Doom . . ."

Doom was indeed the fate that befell a courageous, but headstrong jungle youth name Matuma. He never returned to his superstitious ridden village and his absence was thought to be the result of his wounded pride. Most believed he left the village to escape the ridicule and scorn that he endured as a result of his foolish and misguided beliefs concerning the existence of Maal-Dweb. The wise shaman of Matuma's jungle village continued to lead his followers in the bloody rites and practices to pacify the tyrant sorcerer. It was considered a practical and intelligent matter as Maal-Dweb never again left his mountain redoubt to plague the people of Xiccarph.

© 1999 Ron Shiflet

First Appearance: The Sorcerer's Apprentices

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