Curses on wizards and all their rotten spells! For four nights now I have tried to win my way into this guild, but always do I run afoul of these cursed sigils. They are everywhere, sometimes even accompanied by roses. I have found not a single door, window, nor crack left unguarded. By Morgulan’s Glory, this must end tonight. A warm wind has risen from the south and my storm grows more troublesome with each passing day. I am strong, but I do have my limits. It will be better to end this and let the storm do as it may. But I can do nothing, if I cannot get within!
Above me a light flickers on, arousing my curiousity. Upon moving closer I recognize the chamber and the wind witch, Jacindra, busy at her toils. She is bustling about with some papers and very hard at work. A solitary drop of sweat falls from her gleaming temple, and her trembling lips are a pale pink in shade. She is nervous about something. Me, I suppose, given her recent defiance.
Even now it is amazing that Jacindra showed such strength of will. When I approached this window last night, I never suspected that she might refuse me entry. But locked within this guild house, she felt safe and secure, beyond my reach. By my very asking for her aid, I exposed my weakness. From inside her haven she could mock my strength and I was powerless to strike back. That will change, however. Tonight, that will change.
I move in closer to peer inside the room. The etchings of the sigil on the rock glitters in the torchlight. It still shocks me that they warded every window; they must have worked day in and day out. If I could get closer, I could unmake the magic, but given the spell’s design, I would have to be near enough to set if off, and that would do me little good. My only chance to get inside is the old hag herself. Perhaps she has had time to reconsider her folly.
“Woman. Come and remove the sigil.”
The sorceress looks up, startled. She sees my face framed in the window and her countenance grows pale. Her hand clasps spasmodically at her quill and her jaw clenches like a fist. Slowly, it works its way into words. “I will not.”
“Woman. I command you. Let me in!”
“No.”
She is a sorceress, after all, and a fairly strong one. At this distance, with herself in a harbor of safety I cannot compel her. Curses, curses. I must get in.
“I can promise you a slow and painful death woman, or I can grant you eternal life.”
“My life means nothing if I give in to you. I will not sell myself into such abominable slavery. I may die, but I will die free!”
A sneer rolls across my features. “Very seldom do pretty words offer solace to the dying. In your case, that will be doubly true. I shall guarantee it.” I pull back from the window and duck from her view. There must be a way in, there must!
I sense a presence reaching out to me, a presence wracked by anguish and bitter pain. It is calling to me. Master. Help me, I am trapped by the sorceress Ambrisia’s spell. Tell me what I must do. The fool wizard! He is of no use to me like this, trapped and contained. I broke him too quickly; he has been found out and captured.
What is it you need, slave? An image comes to me. I see my troubled puppet clasped to a slab of stone with earthen hands of magic securing him to his bed. He is a vampire, but one newly formed; one without my insurpassable strength or my ageless guile. He is trapped and cannot break free. To make matters worse, he is being watched by a man with a silver sword and his room is filled with garlic. Curses on that foul plant! Its very image makes me ill.
An interesting dilemma, but one easily solved. Mist, you fool! Pass through the shackles in the form of mist.
Master. I don’t understand. What do you mean by ‘mist’? Help me, I am trapped. His pleas are desperate now, almost worshipful.
Next time I break a wizard, I will have to remember to leave some trace of self reliance. His mindless footlicking is repulsive. Become as mist. Change your shape and pass through your bonds. You are a vampire now. Use the power that I have given you.
Oh. The grasping thoughts recede from mind, but I still sense them in the distance. I begin to climb again, scowling as I move. My wizard’s pestering has reminded me of one avenue I have left unchecked; an avenue I have been avoiding until now.
I climb to a window not far from Jacindra’ room, but not close enough that I will be seen. It is shuttered from within, but the boards leave many gaps. Peering inside reveals nothing but emptiness.
I pause to concentrate.
There. The sigil throbs gently on the other side of the stone. My presence has alerted it and it is poised to explode. The wizards were wise to ward their walls with such weapons. Each and every one of them is set to go off the moment I pass through. I am not a wizard, but I do possess some knowledge of the arcane arts. It is only reasonable that the sigils would be set off by the corporeal presence of a creature; be it man, rat, wolf, bat or whatever. But what of the wind? What of mist? Will this spell detect me if I take such form?
In truth, I am uncertain. Up until now, I have been hesitant to take the risk. I still remember the pain the first sigil brought to me. It will be a worthless venture if I cripple myself entering the guild and alert all the guards to my presence. A worthless venture indeed!
I glance up at the clouds, toiling beneath my grip. This battle has gone on long enough. Whatever the cost, I must get inside.
Several moments later, as a cloud of white mist, I pour through the shutters. Beneath the cloud, tickled gently by its vapors, a pair of sigils flicker and glow, but do not unleash their power. There is no explosion, no fire, no roar; only the silent echo of my diabolical laugh. Within the chamber, I resume my shape. With a flick of my will I release the outside storm; it is no longer needed, and in the battle that is ahead I will need all my strength. Turning, I approach the door.
“Free or not, my dear Jacindra, you will still be dead.”
Drasmyr (Prequel: From the Ashes of Ruin) Page 72
