The Forgotten Magicks: The Academy's Call

by Caden Nantes

  Tristan sighed, turning to his two companions. The younger one had gone to sleep minutes before, his quiet snoring irritating an already on-edge Tristan. The dragon-like one turned to him with an inquisitive stare.

  "Why are you really here? What is this prophecy you talk about?"

  Tristan sighed again. "It's... complicated. If only Girrdan were here to explain,"

  Aeyn frowned. "Girrdan? The old elf?"

  Tristan nodded, and Aeyn's face brightened. "He gave me some sort of scroll-"

  "Scroll?" Interrupted Tristan. "Let me see,"

  Aeyn handed him a rolled-up piece of parchment. Tristan unraveled it and read,

  The days of the prophecy are near. If you are reading this, son of the head Clansman, then my days are past, and I have left this world. The prophecy clearly states that Druid, Shifter, Dragon, Walker and Slayer must combine forces to thwart the evil that lurks deep within our very souls. We may put up a fortress to guard from it, we may cage it, but it is forever there, teasing us with tales of greed and glory. No man, elf, dwarf, pixie, dragon or the like may hide from it. Some choose to absorb it, to let it take over, and these are the ones who we must defend against. We must defend against our Shadow-Selves, or all shall be lost. Beware your dark self, as it may lure you into its void, leaving you trapped in a cage of your own making.

  Tristan's hands shook as he set down the parchment. He gaped as it turned suddenly blank, leaving no trace the words on the page had ever existed. Aeyn frowned.

  "What good is a blank parchment?" He picked it up and gasped, his eyes scanning the page before setting it down again. "What could this mean?"

  Tristan furrowed his brow. "So you saw it too, even though it seemed to go blank?"

  Aeyn's frown grew deeper as he showed him the parchment. "You can't see anything?"

  Tristan shook his head. "No. Not anymore,"

  "Let me see," said Sylin, jutting into the conversation. Aeyn thrust it out toward him, but the thief waved him away. "No. Set it on the ground. It seems as if it is imbued with some sort of magic,"

  Aeyn complied, and Sylin peered at the scroll. "Revilo nefus enki," he chanted, while waving his hand toward the scroll. Nothing happened. Spreading his hands, he shook his head. "It uses a powerful spell I don't know of. But what is strange is for a spell like this to work, you would need something from each person, such as blood or hair," when all he got were blank looks in response, Sylin sighed and said, "It seems as if someone enchanted this scroll to respond differently to certain people,"

  Tristan nodded. "Girrdan was a powerful seer," he made no mention of Sylin's magical ability.

  "So, he basically sent a message to each of us." Aeyn looked at the thief.

  "Theoretically, yes." Sylin took the scroll in his hands. "But I still have to rea-" he cut himself off as his jaw fell open. He closed it, and a few moments passed before he cleared his throat. "Yes. It also says something to me,"

  Tristan stared at the strange halfbreed. "Well? Are you going to tell us what it says?"

  Sylin opened his mouth, but only a squeak came out. He tried again, but ended up coughing. Tristan frowned at the part-elf. What was wrong with him?

  "I-I can't tell you," he stuttered.

  Tristan narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

  "A spell, somehow..." he trailed off, shaking his head. Tristan glared at him for a moment before turning to Aeyn,

  "What about you?"

  Again, the only response was a squeak and cough. Tristan scowled. Was this some strange practice shared by the other races?

  He rolled his eyes, exasperated. "Fine. I'll just say it,"

  His throat constricted, and he erupted into a coughing fit. Once he was finished, he looked at the others, wide-eyed. "Ideas?"

  ∆∆∆

  Tristan’s swords glimmered as the sunlight danced across their surface. He swept them both to the side, an imaginary enemy blocking his attack. Twisting his wrist, the hilt of one blade slammed into the enemy’s temple, knocking him out. Tristan spun around, crossing his swords to block a spear. He lashed out with a kick to the midriff, sending the enemy sprawling into the ground.

  His swords whizzed through the air, cutting down any who dare attack him. Block, chop, parry, thrust, slice, block. He was a maelstrom of cold steel, his enchanted swords biting through the enemies’ armor. A voice interrupted him just as he was about to defeat their leader,

  “Nice swords,”

  Spinning about, he slipped a dagger from the hidden compartment on the hilt of his sword, the knife flying out of his hand toward the threat. Aeyn nimbly dodged, the dagger whizzing by his ear and lodging in a nearby tree. He gaped at Tristan, waving his arms in the air and stepping back.

  “Whoa! Sorry I ever said anything! I swear to never compliment your swords ever again!”

  “Sorry, scaled-one. You should not disturb me during my training,”

  “No kidding! But anyway, it seems you have some knowledge with dual-weapons,”

  Tristan raised an eyebrow. “The best warrior in my clan has trained me since I was six summers, and now I have nearly surpassed him,”

  “I suppose that means you’re good?”

  Tristan grinned. “Very,”

  “Well, I was wondering if you could do me a huge favor and mentor me, at least until we get to the Academy,”

  Tristan frowned. “I haven’t ever considered having an apprentice,”

  Aeyn’s head drooped. “I guess that’s fine, then. I can wait until-”

  “No!” Interrupted Tristan, a bit fiercer than he had intended. “You misunderstand my meaning. I would love to teach you the art of swordplay,”

  Aeyn’s face brightened, and a smile tugged on the corners of his lips. “So, can we start now?”

  Tristan responded by tucking into a roll and ripping his dagger out of the tree. When he turned back to Aeyn, he held a sword in front of his face.

  “Is there an enemy here?” Tristan looked around him, and then tilted his head at Aeyn. “I don’t see any,”

  Aeyn pouted at him. “Funny,” he sheathed his sword, and Tristan immediately sent his dagger hilt-first into Aeyn’s midriff.

  Aeyn dramatically fell to his knees, clutching at a wound that was not there. “Tristan, you traitor!” Falling flat on his face, he let his tongue loll to the side.

  Tristan stared at him for a few moments before rolling his eyes. “I was going to tell him he should never let his guard down, but I suppose he's dead now”

  “I am dead!” Aeyn announced, confirming Tristan’s assessment.

  Tristan walked over to him and lifted his body so he was facing him. Then he jabbed him in the ribs.

  “Ow!” Aeyn hopped backward. “What’d you do that for?”

  Tristan shrugged. “It’s a good technique for waking the dead,”

  Chuckles rang out from where the others were watching, camped among the edge of the Sheirwil Forest. Aeyn sighed, drawing his swords.

  “Come on. Let’s get this training over with,”

  Tristan drew his own sword, but did not touch the other. “You should learn how to fight against a single-armed opponent, as that will be most common. Remember, this training is for the unfortunate situation when you find the need to defend yourself. True warriors do not seek battle unless it is a dire situation, or there is war,”

  Aeyn grunted. “Tell that to your clan,”

  Tristan shifted into a defensive position, sword held out in front of him. “Come on. Attack me,”

  Aeyn narrowed his eyes. He lunged forward with one sword, while sweeping the other low. Tristan dodged the lunge and leapt over the other blade. He put both hands on his sword and spun around. Vibrations tingled through Tristan’s arms as Aeyn’s crossed blades stopped his sword dead. Tristan narrowed his eyes, sliding a dagger out of the hilt of his blade. It was at Aeyn’s throat in an instant.

  Eyes bulging wide, Aeyn stared at the knife. Tristan stepped back, nodding to him as he inserted his dagger back into
the hilt.

  “You are good for someone with such minimal training.” He turned toward Anthony, who was watching with rapt interest. “I believe I should train you all in your weapons, as you may need it for times to come.” He beckoned to Anthony, who stood and walked toward him. “Give me a spear,” the boy did so as Tristan sheathed his sword. “There are many ways to use such a weapon. The most common looks like this,”

  He stepped back, one foot in front of the other and the spear held out tip-first.

  “Some spears can also be used as a ranged weapon. I love the spears you have, Anthony, because they can be used in both ways. They were especially crafted long ago,”

  His eyebrows raised as he noticed the ring on the boy’s finger.

  “I believe Sylin has a similar ring. His turns into a shield, but what does yours do?”

  Anthony held his arm out, and a buckler appeared on his arm, though bigger than Sylin’s.

  Tristan smiled. “Draw that sword, the one you may think a knife,”

  Anthony complied, his eyes enlarging as the knife turned into a short sword.

  “Yes, it is as I thought,” said Tristan. “Try imagining it as a sword, but differently,”

  The short sword morphed, having only one edge yet staying the same length. Its sheath also changed to accommodate the new length.

  “It is a Ranger’s Sword, obviously used by rangers,”

  Anthony sheathed his sword, and his buckler turned back to a ring.

  Sylin approached the group. “We should get going. We need to make it to the Academy by winter in Valaria,” his voice was unusually gruff.

  "Yes, of course. If we encounter any elves, let me do the talking. And do cover up your ears, halfbreed," Tristan made a pointed glance at the thief, and then turned toward his horse. Saddling up, he beckoned for the others to follow.

  "Come on! We've a long day ahead of us!"

  Chapter Nine

  Bloody Humans...

  The long journey through Sheirwil Forest was, thankfully, uneventful. They never stopped, save for food and water, but even that was scarce. By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, they were nearly across the arduous landscape.

  “Are we close to any town? This forest is getting spooky,” Anthony shuddered.

  “We are almost there. Good thing, too, since right now would be the perfect time for the elves to ambush us,” said Tristan as he unslung his bow. Always good to be prepared.

  Sylin could seldom be seen, the mysterious sorcerer seeming to sink into the shadows themselves. Which is why Tristan nearly fell off the saddle when he said, “There’s someone approaching,”

  Tristan eyed him suspiciously, but decided it better not to ask how he knew. He led his steed, Folan, off the dirt road and into the trees. Leather rubbed against leather as he slid off the saddle and nocked an arrow. The minutes ticked by as they watched, and they waited. Finally, Tristan threw up his hands.

  “There’s no-one there, let’s-” he was cut off as Sylin shushed him, eyes intent on the road as two men clad in brown strode forward. They walked beside a horse-drawn wagon, one on each side. Both held spears, with which they would occasionally poke whatever was inside the wagon with. They got close enough Tristan could hear their voices,

  “We’ll get quite the many gold pieces for that specimen,” said one.

  “Oh, I’m sure we will,” said the other. “But I wish John’d let me have a turn drivin’ the wagon. My legs are killin’ me!”

  Their voices faded as they walked away.

  Anthony walked back onto the path. “Nothing to worry about! They’re probably trappers, doing what they do,”

  His horse followed him onto the path, and he saddled up again. “C’mon! I wanna get to a soft bed, and Fiery here has been itchin’ for a run, haven’t you, girl?” The horse nickered in response, and Tristan sighed.

  “I wonder where he got that name from,” he muttered.

  Soon they were all saddled up and rushing toward town as fast as the horses’ legs would carry them.

  ∆∆∆

  They arrived in a town known as Hensburrow an hour later. They each dismounted, leading their mounts through town and searching for an inn. People made a wide berth around them and their horses. There weren’t many wandering the streets, especially at this hour, but those who did,scowled at Tristan. He frowned. What’d I do?

  Eventually, they came across a small wooden building. A hanging sign stated, ‘The Lonely Inn’. They brought the horses around back, where a boy with dark hair greeted them.

  “My name’s Jerdan, and I’ll be the one taking care of your horses,”

  Tristan nodded. “Thanks, Jerdan. We need food and enough rooms to sleep four,”

  The boy gave him a strange look and then nodded. “It’ll be two silvers. Just tell the owner, Leina, that Jerdan sent you,”

  Tristan gaped at him. “Two silvers? You have to be kidding!”

  Jerdan’s gaze darted to Tristan’s ear-tips, and then to the ground. “Er, well, I suppose I could do one silver for two rooms with bunks?”

  “Yes, Jerdan, that would be wonderful,” interjected Aeyn.

  Tristan was still fuming at the absurdity of it all. Why did these people hate him? They walked through the front door to be greeted by the scent of musky wood and something cooking. The room was small, with creaky wooden planks sounding like they might break if you flicked them, and straining wooden support beams sagging under the upper floor’s weight. A bar with a few wooden stools pulled up sat at one side of the room.There were tables and chairs at the other side, and a staircase in the far corner. Only four people were currently occupying the room, all of them human.

  Aeyn sidled up to the bar, waiting until a small lady with brown hair came over.

  “Yes?” She asked.

  “We’re looking for Leina,” said Aeyn.

  “That’d be me,”

  “Jerdan sent us. He said a meal and two bunk rooms would be one silver, so we paid him there,” said Tristan.

  The woman looked at him as if just realizing he was there. Her gaze flicked to his ears, just as Jerdan had done. Appraising him with pursed lips, she finally said,

  “Yes. Your food will be out shortly,” she spun about, snatching four keys off a rack and then turning back to them. “Here are your keys,”

  With that, she wandered off to serve another patron.

  “Why does no-one like me?” Whispered Tristan.

  Aeyn shrugged. “Maybe they don’t like elves,”

  A deep frown marked Tristan’s face for the rest of the night, even as he lay in bed, wondering what could have happened for these people to hate him so.

  ∆∆∆

  Tristan groaned as sunlight blared through his closed eyelids. Fluttering them open, he immediately regretted it as bright light seared his vision. He narrowed his eyes, making out a form standing in front of him.

  "Rise and shine sleepy head. We've got a long day ahead of us, and the others are already awake," Aeyn was dressed, but instead of wearing his usual armor and swords, he now took on a more casual outfit of a gray shirt with a royal blue jerkin on top. Dark gray trousers covered his legs, and Tristan noticed he had a dagger in his boot. Other than that, he was unarmed.

  Tristan grunted as he rolled out of his bunk. The room was small and plain, but not unkempt. Two wooden chests sat at the foot of the bunks, one of which Tristan had stored his daggers and clothing in. The other was claimed by Aeyn.

  Tristan's swords and bow were stored in the closet located in the far corner of the room. As soon as he opened it, Aeyn's swords came crashing down on him. He let out a squeal and turned to Aeyn, who was doubled over in laughter.

  "Sorry, but it was a tight fit,"

  Tristan sighed and shook his head. Humans.

  Turning toward the vanity, he splashed some water on his face and then made his way over to the chest. He slipped into his brown trousers and forest green tunic. He then added a sleeveless leather vest. As
he attached his two daggers to his belt, he turned to see Aeyn hefting a pack with the tips of two scabbards peeking out the top.

  "I thought we might seem more inconspicuous if we carried no weapons," he said.

  Tristan raised an eyebrow. "Hard to be inconspicuous with two sword tips jutting out your pack,"

  Aeyn shrugged, handing Tristan his own pack. "I was able to fit your quiver and one sword in there, but you'll have to carry your bow and the other sword,"

  Tristan furrowed his brow. "How come you can fit both of your swords, which are bigger than mine, but I can only fit one of my own? And what did you put in here, rocks?"

  Aeyn grinned. "I might've given you a few extra rations,"

  Tristan punched him in the arm and grabbed his sword and bow. Both weapons secured to his body, he headed out the door.

  The smells of eggs and ale greeted him as he descended the steps into the main room. Men and women of all different sizes were scattered throughout the room. The Lonely Inn wasn't so lonely anymore.

  He pulled up a chair to a table where the others were already sitting. In front of him was a plate of steaming vegetables, eggs, and cheese.

  “Cheese? Who puts eggs with cheese?” asked Tristan incredulously.

  “Seriously?” asked Anthony. “You put eggs with cheese all the–” he frowned, stopping himself. “Oh, that’s right. Elves mostly eat fruit and some cheese, right? You’ve probably never had cheese.”

  Tristan nodded, still confused.

  "Took you long enough," commented Anthony as Aeyn sat down.

  "We need all the rest we can get." Tristan picked at his eggs and veggies.

  "Isn't it kinda weird there are only humans here?" asked Sylin. "We're right beside the Elven Clans’ land, yet there are no elves in sight,"

  Tristan frowned. He'd just been thinking the same thing.

  "Well, there weren't any other races in Sarvin." Aeyn bit off a chunk of his venison, and Tristan shuddered. The elves didn't eat meat for a reason.

  "That's because Sarvin is the capital of Sarinia, human territory." Anthony slurped up some of his stew while he spoke, causing a very disturbing noise.