Taking the torn tunic, Azrael twisted it above the stump as tightly as he could. He tore some more of the shirt up to make another layer in case the first one wasn't enough. The man still appeared to be breathing. Lastly, he covered the stains of blood on the ground with mud. Azrael lifted him and carried him back to the cage. It took him a few minutes to place the man back inside. The girl stared blankly at the stump that was the man's leg.
"I had to do it," said Azrael. He knew she wouldn't understand.
"He'll be asleep for some time. Maybe through the night. He'll be better when he wakes up," said Azrael, consoling her.
She appeared to not have heard. Azrael reached in and held her arm. She turned to look at him, her expression showing only fear and concern for the man lying on the floor of the cage.
"Is he your father?" asked Azrael.
She shook her head.
"His name is Olaf," she said through tears.
Olaf, thought Azrael.
"Look at me. I had to do it. He'll be fine when he wakes up."
If he wakes up, thought Azrael
"Meanwhile, cover his leg. Don't let them see it," he said, tossing her what remained of Olaf's shirt.
She gave a weak nod and turned to Olaf again. Azrael pulled the chain back through the bars and locked it up with the key.
The nomad was still asleep. Azrael replaced the key in his shirt and dragged him a little closer to the cage, making him lean against it. Most likely they would think he had just dozed off. The guard might be confused once he wakes up, but seeing as no one escaped and nothing was stolen, he would most likely write it off as a dream.
Azrael noticed that he was soaked in sweat. The sun would be up in another two hours. He went back to his place and lay down.
He had no idea what the morning would bring. But right now, he only hoped that Olaf would live. He didn't know long the man would sleep. He only needed to wake up and he would be fine.
Azrael felt his heart beating.
He lifted up his right hand and looked at it. The hand was stained with thick blood. But even through the blood, he could feel the strong fragrance of his herbs.
The most terrifying thing he had felt this night had been the voices. He knew now that it wasn't inside his head. Olaf had done something. It was he who was the source of the voices.
But even for a moment, to think that the voices had returned...
He held his palm to his face and took a deep breath. The crushed leaves sticking to his hand filled his nostrils with a familiar smell. He felt his eyes grow heavy and felt himself sink into the ground. All his worries were momentarily gone. There was only blackness.
Chapter 37
Both Gawain and Rhaen had anticipated that it would take two months or more before Lorian would master the weaker essences and move to the larger more complicated ones.
Yet it seemed that they were both wrong. Again.
Lorian never ceased to amaze, thought Gawain. He had found a truly novel way to speed past the earlier phases. Gawain did not know the specifics of how Lorian had arrived at the solution, but that did not make it any less amazing. In the three thousand years of Norvind, very few had suspected such a thing, let alone act on it.
The pain that one endured while calling essences was thought to have been incurable. Yet Lorian had found that a strict physical regimen counteracted the pain of the exercises with the Lumen.
The worlds of magic and physical prowess were at the opposite ends on any spectrum. Brain opposed to brawn. They were very rarely found together. Furthermore, many of the mages who had begun studying the Lumen were already older. Although retaining their youth with magic, they did not have the same energy as the naturally young ones to even think about conditioning themselves physically while working with magic.
Yet Lorian had done it, and he had found that it countered the very physical weakening that the essences caused when they traversed through the human body. Although this solution would not be applicable to the other mages, thought Gawain sadly. He couldn't ask some of the older mages to start working with the sword. Then again, the fact that physical conditioning and a warrior's spirit strengthened one's connection to the Lumen was something one of his own mages had been suggesting recently. Geleb. He had theorized a link between the knights of Simea and the Lumen. The magical signatures left by the knights was too different from that of the Lumen, but Geleb had pointed out several anomalies in it that marked it as a distant variation of the Lumen. Perhaps they did not call upon the essence of the god. At least not the one that comprised the Lumen.
Other creatures from the void maybe? Or even another god. There was much left to explore from this viewpoint. Gawain eagerly awaited Geleb's return.
Meanwhile Lorian had graduated to calling the essence of the dead god, the true heart and purpose of the Lumen. Gawain had walked him through the entire process. The incantations were different, as were many other spells that needed to be cast to bolster the physical frame so that it could withstand the presence of godly essence within it. He had mastered those, but shaping it to his will would not be overcome as easily as the previous essences that he had worked on. After all, the strength that a god's essence had was far beyond that of human or any other creature in the known lands.
It had been two days, and Gawain had come to see how Lorian was doing in his latest lessons. He winced as he saw Lorian clutch his hand and fall to his knees as the essence dissipated.
He is pushing himself too hard, thought Gawain as he saw Lorian squirm on the floor after another failed attempt. Yet it was the grim determination in Lorian's eyes each time that held Gawain back from telling the child to stop.
Ah, the passion and energy of youth.
There was something in it beyond magic. He had remained young physically even after aging a few hundred years, but for some reason it was never the same as being naturally young.
Gawain recalled his own days of youth. The age of adventure as it was called. Eora had been the only true empire. The Aegean islands were divided and nobody even gave a thought to them.
The kingdoms of Ryga, on the other hand, were young and burgeoning with opportunity. The continent was raw and untamed. The kingdoms were new, their influence limited. Magic was strong in the continent. This led to several mages wishing to reside and carry out their studies in Ryga.
Not all of them were peaceful. Several of them had become tyrant wizards, erecting their own towers and castles after enslaving the local populace. Those not as powerful or skilled, still managed to partner and find employ with mercenaries and thugs who had risen to become bandit kings.
It wasn't very surprising then, that the raw chaos on Ryga had given birth to the Black legion- a coalition of mercenary groups led by Anacalor, the half breed dragon. Until Naxannor's awakening, the Black legion had been the worst scourge to plague Ryga. Its atrocities were well chronicled, as was its fall.
What had been erased from history, however, was the fact that the Black legion was not truly led by Anacalor, but by a necromancer named Amadeus. While the Black legion's goals had been to dominate the continent and found a dark empire, Amadeus was single minded in learning the secrets of the Lumen. Once he had wrested castle Norvind from the hands of Cerevax, he left the legion to tend to its own matters.
The incidents following the birth of the Black legion had made Gawain legend. Castor, a paladin of Myria and he, had found themselves allied in fighting the legion. Over the course of two years, Castor had recruited others to his cause - Brandon, Cera and Tibia. They had also allied with Cerevax and his apprentice Amara. They were natural allies because they wished to see Norvind liberated from the grasp of Amadeus.
It had been the beginning of an epic tale that lasted for two years and would fill endless volumes of books. Subterfuge, betrayal, battles that were the stuff of songs. Those two years held everything, thought Gawain smiling to himself. And at the end of those two years, Anacalor had fallen. By Gawain's own hands. He remembered shiver
ing with excitement, and his heart beating in anticipation as he ascended the pinnacle of Canterym, the tower Anacalor had erected as his lair inside the city of Azanar.
The tower was burning. Castor and many others along with the armies of Azanar were engaged in a fierce final assault against Anacalor's remaining forces. The dragon himself stood atop the tower showering flame and ruin on minion and foe alike.
It was there that Gawain confronted the dragon alone. And won. Though he was stronger, wiser and far more knowledgeable when he faced Valymar and his twelve, Gawain had always counted the battle with Anacalor as his finest. It was his youth, he thought again.
They were hailed as heroes in Azanar with statues erected in their names. Castor had been offered a place in Azanar to start a sect of Myria's paladins there. Gawain too had been offered a place in the court of Azanar. But he chose to decline. He had already decided that he would study the Lumen under Cerevax and Amara.
While Gawain and the companions were battling Anacalor, Cerevax and Amara had succeeded in retaking Norvind from Amadeus. They had gotten word that Amadeus was quite distracted and his own apprentices had deserted the castle when they heard of the Black legion's fall. Cerevax reasoned that a small force could move quickly and catch the necromancer off guard. And it had worked.
Once his work at Azanar was completed, he bid farewell to the companions and joined Cerevax and Amara at Norvind to reestablish the mage school there. He studied first under Cerevax, and then under Amara who had become keeper after him.
It was strange, but Cerevax never spoke of his battle with Amadeus. Perhaps it was the shame of having failed in his duties as keeper by letting the castle fall into the enemy's hands.
Thud.
Gawain snapped out of his reverie. He found Lorian reeling in the wreckage of a bookshelf at the far end of the room. Grabbing hold of his staff, Gawain made his way towards the apprentice.
Burning passion of youth or no, this had to stop.
Gawain never remembered himself or any of his apprentices being launched off their feet by the Lumen before. It was a dangerous backlash. There was much Lorian still did not understand about godly essences.
Gawain took Lorian's hand to help him get back on his feet only to have it pushed away roughly. Gawain was taken aback by this reaction and stood stunned. Lorian realized what he had done and immediately had a look of profound regret on his face.
"I'm sorry, Master, I...I..."
Lorian seemed to be searching for the words. It was almost as if he was in some drug-addled stupor. Gawain let the slight pass as that of a reaction under stress. He had to stop his young apprentice before he did himself some serious harm.
"That's fine, but this has to stop," said Gawain, taking a firm tone. "This is not the essence of a mortal creature that you are calling upon!"
Lorian nodded but didn't seem to listen. He was barely making his way across to the floor center before Gawain took a sterner tone.
"Lorian! As your master I demand that you stop. This instant!"
Lorian turned around to face him. Gawain could read nothing from the expression. It was a blank stare. Lorian then spoke.
"Just one more attempt, Master."
"It will not make a difference. I already told you. You have come farther than anyone ever has in a remarkably short time. I see no need for you to struggle so much. The Lumen is already yours. I have no doubt that you will one day master it to lengths that none of the mages of Norvind have been able to. You need to be patient. The essence needs to get used to your body and your call. Soon the calling will become instinct for you."
That was only partially true. He had mastered the simpler essences faster than anyone else. But Gawain knew for a fact that there was no way to speed up the way the godly essence was called. But it should serve to placate him and deter him from further attempts. It would seem for now that Lorian had believed him, because he was staring thoughtfully at the ground. After a short period of silence, Lorian spoke.
"I promise I will give up after this last attempt. I just need to try something..."
Before Gawain could protest, Lorian began his casting. Gawain shielded his eyes as he saw a burst of light emanating from Lorian's body as he was chanting.
Strange... What was he doing?
Gawain was very familiar with first steps of the Lumen. He had been casting it for so many years. This looked nothing like Tarmach's false sleep. Gawain tried recollecting the phrases that Lorian was reciting. Variants of shield spells. Not the physical ones, but the mental ones. Spells designed to strengthen the mind against external influences. These were often used to prevent the disruption of one's concentration during battle...with the side effect that the mage was oblivious to anything that happened around him and was utterly focused on his own spellcasting. But there were a lot of differences between the spell Lorian was casting now and the standard spells.
Two large diamond-shaped boxes of light materialized around Lorian's head. Lorian continued casting as Gawain looked on curiously.
The spell he cast now was the standard spell to protect the mind. Gawain began to wonder at the reasoning behind this. Lorian did not lack concentration. The spell wouldn't really make a difference. Lorian was preparing still more alien spells while Gawain tried to recollect the phrases that Lorian had uttered to figure out what these exact variations would do. He didn't recognize the last spell. It was done. While Gawain was still brooding about the final spell, the familiar chants of Tarmach's sleep spell began to sound.
Gawain felt a shiver run through his entire body. The fool!
"No! Lorian, no!" Gawain shouted and panicked for the first time in hundreds of years.
In a state of sheer terror, Gawain rushed toward Lorian with his staff held aloft to strike him and disrupt the spell.
A golden flash. Gawain stumbled and shielded his eyes. He barely retained his balance. The spell was already cast. When the glow died away, Gawain saw Lorian lying on the floor. He rushed toward the limp body, cradling it in his arms and shaking the head. He slapped Lorian's face repeatedly all the while yelling his name.
"Master Gawain... Is everything fine? I was in the next room and I heard—"
Gawain looked up to see a mage standing near him. He could not recollect the man's name. Only one name came to his mind.
"No!" shouted Gawain at no one in particular. Still looking at Lorian's body he said, "Nothing is fine. Rhaen! Quick. Fetch her now! I need Rhaen."
In a few moments the room was filled with mages. Gawain was still in shock. He noticed that he was sitting in his armchair. When did this happen? He looked up to see Rhaen standing near him. When did she get here?
"There's nothing to worry about. He seems to have fainted. He's still breathing," she said.
Gawain almost laughed. He tried to hold it back, considering the seriousness of the situation. It came out in a guffaw and a cough.
This was absurd.
In his long lifetime, he had seen an immeasurable number of things. There was little that could still surprise him today. Yet Lorian had done it. He broke out laughing with the rational mindset that what was done was done.
He was a genius. The boy was a genius to have done this. The whole room seemed to have noticed him laughing. All of them fell into a grim silence, including Rhaen. Perhaps they thought he had finally gone mad.
"Fainted?" asked Gawain. The panic had passed. Gawain was calm once again. "He hasn't fainted. My young apprentice here has managed to trap a portion of the Lumen within himself."
The mages in the room were staring at each other. Gawain recollected the entire event. Lorian had bolstered his own mind from the inside to prevent disruption from emanating outward. To block out the conscious part of his brain that fought against the mind's own illusions and dreams.
That was what the first spell was. It was designed to prevent him from breaking out of Tarmach's sleep and persisting the connection with the Lumen. The second, more standard shield served to prevent
any external influences from waking him up. A very potent spell at that. No amount of slapping let alone throwing him on a burning pyre would disrupt what was going on in Lorian's head now.
The other spells began to make sense. All in all, Lorian had managed to imprison a small portion of a god's essence inside his own body. It was a miracle he hadn't burst into a thousand pieces as soon as it was done. Gawain recollected that Lorian hadn't completed the casting yet. He made the connection, and then severed it from the void, trapping it within himself.
The only spell Gawain did not understand was the final one. He did not know how it worked...yet. He knew he would understand it if he spent some more time, but he could recollect the traces of necromancy around it. Although he did not know exactly how it worked, he knew what it did. Necromancers and Summoners used it when they wished to give up a portion of their own essence as bait to call forth undead or demons. This was yet another variation, but if Gawain understood correctly, Lorian's own essence would be locked in combat with that of the Lumen right now. Or at least a small portion of it.
Two essences shared in one body.
"I don't understand..." said Rhaen, finally stopping Gawain's train of thought.
Gawain felt angry that Rhaen had not yet understood. She was definitely cleverer than this. Once again, instead of being worried about Lorian, Gawain could only marvel at the feat that he had accomplished.
Only a fool or a genius would attempt something like this. Gawain himself was always wary of the necromancer's soul magic. Then again, he understood that progress could only be achieved by such experiments. The ones who died in such attempts were fools and the ones who lived became legends.
That was the only difference.
A small part of him was saddened that he was viewing this situation so pragmatically. Gawain shook his head pushing back such sentiments. For the briefest moment, he understood the passion that mages such as Amadeus felt, evil though they were, when they sacrificed everything for the pursuit of knowledge.
Apprentice Page 23
