Ringwall`s Doom

by Awert, Wolf

  After a short moment in which those present either followed their own thoughts or waited attentively for a decision to be made, the magon arose from his chair.

  “All have said what they had to say. Nill, our Brother and Archmage of Nothing, is still at his core a mage, and the place where a mage fulfills his duties is in Ringwall. My patience is at an end. Bring him back. I will remind him of his duties personally.”

  His use of the word “personally” drove shivers down many a spine. It had never been a good idea to anger the magon, and this time he was quaking with rage.

  “I would like to make a suggestion.” Murmon-Som did not intend to let his opportunity slip. “As no one knows where our brother is, nor in what sort of danger he might be, I would suggest that five searching parties follow the five cardinal points to find him. Each search party should be under the command of a grand mage of the elements. They can decide who to take with them. We should also send out the hunters. Even if they are not numbered among the arcanists, there is little their sharp senses miss. Magic need not be the only thing worth looking for.”

  Bar Helis’ right hand shot forward as though it could hold back the words. “An excellent idea,” he said. “I would name my deputy, Galvan, the leader of the Metal party. He is a master of the element, one of the greatest mages outside of the council, and possesses abilities he seldom needs to use. He can easily stay in touch with the other searchers.”

  “Will you be able to do without him, Bar Helis?” the magon asked. He still stood tall and drew the council’s gaze like a magnet draws iron.

  “Of course; he spends no time in my lodge at all. He has his own little kingdom in the forge.”

  “The forge will have to do without him, then,” the magon replied. “He is not the only mage there.”

  “But he is the only one who knows how to smelt whytcrystals with iron,” Nosterlohe interjected, but the magon ignored him.

  “I would name Empyrade,” Ilfhorn said quietly. “She knows Nill well.”

  “Of course she knows him well, she taught him all she knows about Wood magic,” Bar Helis boomed. “Are you honestly suggesting having one of his teachers search for him? You might as well send Ambrosimas himself!”

  Ilfhorn’s aura darkened as his eyes began to glow green.

  Nosterlohe attempted to defuse the tension.

  “There are not many mages among us who know the Archmage of Nothing yet aren’t connected with him in some way. Perhaps Brother Ilfhorn would agree to send Malachiris instead. She was, like Brother Nill, successful in the tournament.”

  Before Ilfhorn had a chance to respond, Bar Helis agreed loudly.

  “Before Brother Bar Helis single-handedly takes the organization out of our hands, I would like to propose a sixth party,” Ambrosimas said quietly. He had no more to lose. “Apart from the five colors, the White mages should also be involved. Perhaps old Infiralior or Morb-au-Morhg would be prepared to undertake the journey. Both are powerful mages, but they have not been in Ringwall long enough to have forgotten the scent of the wild. Infiralior is many winters old, though, so if there are hazardous paths to take, Morb-au-Morhg seems the best candidate for them.”

  “Not a good choice, I’m afraid,” Bar Helis answered. “I have been informed that Morb-au-Morhg and young Nill are friends.”

  “As I said, Bar Helis would like to put the whole mission together on his own. Please, be so kind and name all your other grand mages – we need just approve your choices. I’m sure the magon will be perfectly happy,” Ambrosimas spat venomously. “Do you think you could spare the time to inform us where you gained this ground-breaking knowledge?”

  “Nill and Morb the Mighty have conferred.”

  “Oh, I see,” Ambrosimas laughed. “They conferred, of course. You mean, they had a little talk. In public. Atop the battlements. I know this, and everyone else knows this. He ‘conferred’ with Morb-au-Morhg after speaking to Murmon-Som in the Sanctuary. Does that make Murmon-Som his friend and co-conspirator, too? Did not Murmon-Som just advise caution in proceeding? I am sure you found that most suspicious, Brother Bar Helis.” Ambrosimas’ sarcasm grew more biting with every word.

  “Enough. Morb-au-Morhg will do. The other leaders I will choose myself.” The magon turned his back on the table and departed. The Onyx had remained oddly calm throughout this last disagreement. Only a soft glow in its veins showed that it was still active.

  The very next day the first searching parties departed Ringwall. The first were the hunters. Mucklings, with no knowledge of the arcane, but they saw things the mages overlooked and were always ready to take up a trail, no matter how cold.

  Galvan had shouldered his legendary Black Dragon, a poleaxe forged of the baleful combination of steel and whytcrystals. The terrible weapon had to be swung with closed eyes, lest it blind the wielder along with its victims. The black-robed Metal mages left Ringwall as silently as their green-robed cousins. The Wood group was commanded by a slender young woman with green hair and emerald eyes. She looked as fragile as a frozen leaf and was the only one apart from Morb-au-Morhg not to hold a rank. Not only had she belonged to the six winners of the tournament, but she had been the only one not to bear a single scratch on her pale skin. Even Morb the Mighty could not claim the same. She went by the name Malachiris, a name so full of meaning that it could not have been her birthname. It held within it the poison of copper and the sadness of the deathflower, and so combined the magics of Metal and Wood.

  Morb-au-Morhg had negotiated some time to consider his choice of followers. The early bird may sometimes get the worm with luck, but it was the sharp-eyed eagle that got the true prey. He asked the twin witches Binja and Rinja for help; they, too, had participated in the tournament. Binja was specialized on Thoughts and agreed immediately, but her sister did not want to leave Ringwall. Binja’s injuries had healed, but Rinja’s blackened skin would not return to its normal color. Not even her powers in the magic of the Other World had helped her. In the end, with much convincing on Morhg’s part, she reluctantly agreed to accompany them.

  The magon sent the Fire mages out under the guidance of a grand mage of the lodge. He had had to emphatically insist on his choice, as Nosterlohe was loathe to let his deputy go. The Earth mages set out for the village where Nill had grown up, and the Water mages made their way to the nearest river that would carry them to Waterworld.

  Unbeknownst to the magon and the other archmages, Murmon-Som had summoned shadow-riders from the Other World and sent them to bear a message to King Sergor-Don. The summoning had been a difficult and draining business, so they had left much later than all the others. And yet they always reached their goal first, for a shadow does not battle with the wind, and slides over thorns and undergrowth as easily as over rocks and water. But only the Archmage of the Other World knew their intention.

  The hunt had begun, a hunt like no other in the history of Pentamuria. The magic preceded the hunters and Dakh-Ozz-Han, the old druid, looked worriedly in the direction of Knor-il-Ank as he felt the magical tides. He decided to go looking too. Only Nill had no inkling of these goings-on. He did not possess the ability to read the magical patterns inherent in Pentamuria; he did not feel the commotion in the elements, and so simply carried on his way to the Fire Kingdom in his search for Perdis and the Runes of Fire.

  “You fool,” Ambrosimas thought bitterly as he watched the mages pour out of Ringwall. “You were safer behind the walls, here with me.”

  *

  There are no footpaths that lead nowhere. Every path ends up somewhere. Even the one Nill and his ram walked at that moment. Like a track left by a serpent it wound its way from the fertile lowlands towards Fire, weaved around the hills that grew greater and more numerous, and took every flat spot to grant the wanderer a moment’s respite. The grass on either side of the track became sparser with every step. Towards Metal and Water it was still green and vibrant, but the fiery side of the hills were dry and yellowish. And yet there were always dar
ker areas between the hills that indicated that people lived here. Nill and his ram arrived at a small settlement of odd little houses just before evenfall. The buildings were simply made of stacked limestone slabs. There was no mortar, and wood for roofs was a luxury the people could not afford, so the slabs grew closer and smaller as they went up, tapering to a point. From a distance they looked more like upright cowls than houses.

  They reminded Nill of the White Mages. A cluster of stone mages. He had never seen anything quite like these houses.

  The inhabitants were people of few words. They allowed Nill to share in their evening meal, as hospitality dictated, but they asked him to tie his ram to a post outside. The ram allowed it with a venomous glare at Nill.

  These were the first people Nill had met since his hasty departure from Ringwall. He would have liked to ask them whether they had ever heard of a mage named Perdis, but caution held him back. He was still too close to Ringwall to be sure his questions would not backfire. The question for Perdis was not meant for the wrong ears. On the way here he had already felt he was not alone, and the feeling had not ceased even here among these people.

  “I come from Metal and journey to Fire, but I have no haste in my steps. How can I repay your hospitality and aid you?” Nill asked formally after they had finished their meal in silence. Although hospitality was a sacred law, it was customary in some places to always repay a gift with an equivalent service.

  One of the older men, the kind who looked like they were in command, looked at Nill’s hands and furrowed his brow.

  “I have nothing to give you for your meal except my labor. But that you can have, as far as I can provide,” Nill said, having noticed the doubtful glances.

  “We could use some help, yes,” the man replied hesitantly. “We need to build a new field.”

  “It has been a while since I’ve worked outdoors, but I have not lost what I learned,” Nill said, but silently he wondered how one built a field. Houses were built; fields were cropped.

  Nill spent the night outside with his ram. He had been offered a camp in one of the stables but had declined with thanks. He rose early and helped the women carry water and break thin branches for the fire. After a meager breakfast he was given a wickerweave basket and followed the others to a depression between three hills where the rare, but always heavy rain had washed the sparse earth from the stony hills.

  “Put the earth in your basket and take the small stones to one pile and the bigger stones to the other pile,” one of the men instructed him.

  Nill picked up a stone, scraped the earth off it and threw it onto one of the piles, where it landed with an audible clack. He quickly noticed that this was not easy work; along with the weight, the sun burnt hotly in the sky and shortened his breath and dried his skin. But Nill knew a way around it. With a delicate spell, too small to be noticed, he made the earth heavy and the stones light. The villagers nodded in approval as they saw how precisely he could throw even the larger stones over a distance. Nill did not need to worry about keeping his magic a secret. There were no arcanists in the village.

  Nill had soon filled his basket with precious earth and attempted to lift it. His back gave a menacing crack.

  By the five elements, he cursed in his mind. I never thought earth could be so heavy.

  Nill filled basket upon basket and the two stone piles grew higher and higher. His hands burrowed into the pit, pulled out a stone, cast aside the earth and – clack! – the stone fell on the pile. Over and over again.

  Nill surrounded the stones in a slight veil of Earth magic. The earth fell into his basket and the stones flew through the air. Nill did not even look anymore. He dug and separated and threw. Clack. The stones left his view and ceased to exist. Earth was left. Dark, reddish-brown earth. Hidden fire, slowly burning out before his eyes as the topsoil darkened. Even the blue sky seemed to be growing darker until Nill entered a world in which his eyes were irrelevant. At first Nill smelled the earth, the spicy scent of hidden life, the bittersweet smell of invisible mushrooms and the aged fumes of disintegrating leaves. But soon the smells vanished too, with a breath of decay that stayed in the air for a few more moments. All that was left was a dull strength that exuded from the earth and surrounded all the life upon and within it. Nill’s hands kept working without his realizing.

  As if from a great distance an occasional clack! would reach his ears, but he was unable to say whether he or someone else had thrown the stone. The earth surrounded him on all sides.

  Nill loved the magic of Earth, but there was something unknown here, something that threatened to take hold of him. He gave all his attention to a single stone he held in his hand, its white breaking through the earth that stuck to it. A saving white in all the dull brown. It shone in the light of the sun and grew stronger, it gave color back to the sky and the earth and soon overwhelmed it, so bright that he had to close his eyes. But his eyelids could not hold it back. Nill bathed in the light and froze, for the light had no innate strength or warmth. This light had nothing to give. It only took. It wanted to rule and had forced the Earth magic away and taken its place, and now it flowed around Nill as the darkness that had preceded it.

  This is even worse, Nill thought. At least, he believed he was thinking, for he no longer knew where he was or how the sun stood. All he felt were small, soft chunks of earth falling through his fingers to the ground. He had raised his hands to his head and now pressed his fingertips against his eyes. Shadows fell over the whiteness and slowly the world came back into focus. Nill opened his eyes and saw that he was sitting in front of a large pile of earth. His basket had toppled over.

  “Is everything all right with you?” one of the men asked.

  “It is, it is. I suppose I’m not used to so much sunlight,” Nill answered somewhat absently.

  As the sun set they admired their day’s work, a large hole in the ground from which all the earth and stones had been removed. The evening meal was simple, but there was plenty – potatoes, dark bread and onions. Nill could not recall having ever eaten a better meal.

  “A capable sorcerer or druid here would get a lot of fields done in a short time,” Nill said after a while.

  One of the men gave a contemptuous snort. “Where are you from? Can’t be around here; no sorcerer would ever stoop to helping us build a field. The lords and ladies only care about themselves. And druids – I don’t think I’ve seen one all my life.”

  “I heard Ringwall lets its disciples go every winter. Some return to their parents to take over tasks for their families. Others, so they say, roam the land to perfect their art and gather experience before taking on more daunting challenges. Do you really mean to tell me that no sorcerer has ever even passed by here?” Nill was chewing on an onion, so his words came a little muffled.

  Several of the men muttered to each other, others shrugged or shook their heads. The women said nothing. One did not talk about magic. Nothing good ever came of it. Only the eldest kept his thoughtful gaze on Nill.

  On the next day the hole that was to become a field was filled again with the larger stones. On top of the large stones they laid the small ones, then atop that they piled the earth. It looked dark and smelled fresh, and after a few pitchers of water it was moist enough to give the seed life. The new field was small and would likely feed no more than one family, but it had a good and fertile topsoil. It would serve for many harvests.

  Nill witnessed none of it. He had barely closed his eyes when the gentle caress of sleep crept over his body and took off his mantle of caution, and the magic of the night fell upon him. Unable to act against the onslaught, he simply let it carry him. Pictures appeared before his eyes, no more than memories in the surrounding blackness; he felt, more than saw them. The white light, that terrible brother of darkness, had no place in the shadows of the night when sleep reigned.

  The darkness was not content with surrounding Nill. It seeped into his every pore, filled his ears and shut his eyes. It brought with it
its own sounds, smells and images, for which it needed no senses. Nill tossed and turned in his bed and attempted to fend off the darkness with every ounce of magical power he had over the five elements. He had as much success as a person trying to shatter a rock with a small twig. The elemental magic was still there, though; it circled around him like a pack of spectators watching two pitfighters, observing every change and suffering, yet elated, but not part of the battle and unable to intervene.

  The night drew to a close. Day came with the light gray of dawn and passed as it had arrived as night fell once more. It took two days for Nill to awaken.

  “I’m fine,” Nill reassured his hosts. They finally showed him, not without pride, their new field. And indeed, Nill felt full of strength and life.

  What sort of life would it be if I have to make the field before harvesting the plants? he wondered, but at the same time he had great respect for the people who lived and worked here, and also for the food they worked so hard for. In Earthland every bite had been a little treasure too, but his time in Ringwall had made him take food and drink for granted.

  How quickly one forgets, he thought as he said his goodbyes to continue towards the Fire. The eldest gazed after him for a long time.

  “That was a sorcerer, maybe even higher than that. No smooth-hand can work as hard as us,” he said finally. “And he carries a heavy burden. The air around him flickers and the earth trembles. Nobody could sleep like he did. He probably thought it was best not to show us his true self.”