Ringwall`s Doom

by Awert, Wolf

  Nill leapt forwards. “I hope I did no lasting damage to your master,” he said breathlessly and worried, but he knew the fight was over. The Fire warriors gazed, with him, toward the rock where their king had vanished.

  “Come,” the lancer said and leapt after his liege. Nill followed hesitantly, but in the instant he touched the porous rock some immense power dragged him through.

  He was in a small cave of no more than twenty paces’ width. The Firelord lay, spread-eagled, on his back in the center. A forest of flames flickered above him. His two companions knelt beside him.

  The king tilted his head with difficulty and met Nill’s gaze. “You managed to defeat me through Fire and have earned safe and free conduct. I do not know where your path takes you, but step through the next wall, and the next after that, and you will leave the realm of Fire. The last portal is blocked to us; it removes us from our world.”

  “Fire was not my weapon. It was light. Darkness and light. The darkness absorbed your Fire and transformed it into light, which turned against you. Ancient magic is simple and does not know much about subtlety.”

  “It was a special fight for me, although I was defeated. My people will make a song of it – the ballad of the dying king. You, old mage in a young man’s body, have gifted me true immortality. I will only be forgotten when my song is no longer sung.” He beckoned his princes closer with a tired gesture. “Take him to the sacred pillar.”

  The flames receded into the ground and twitched a few more times, then the figure of the king was gone. His shield, released from his physical body, fell to the ground and rolled over a few times before also sinking into the glowing earth.

  The two princes bowed. “Follow us,” they said in unison.

  Nill and Ramsker, who had followed him through the wall, stepped after one of the fiery figures through another solid-looking wall and reached another chamber, similar to the first. In its center stood a shining pillar. It looked as though some mystical being had forged half-liquid rock into the construct he now saw. Droplets of lava had run halfway down the pillar before hardening. It looked, on closer inspection, rather shoddy; the gashes and protuberances disturbed its shape, and through them he could see the fire raging within. It crackled and roared and glowed, and Nill could admire the immense power of the flames, even though it mystified him why the pillar looked so amateurish. He turned away, tired. The long march and the fight had cost him far too much strength; only his stubbornness kept him on his feet. As he turned, a mighty pair of horns bashed his backside and forced him to turn back.

  “Leave it,” Nill scolded. “You want me to shrivel up in this heat? We should disturb the peace of this place no longer and search for the Book of Eos instead. Let’s leave.”

  Ramsker stood still as stone.

  “You stubborn old bleater. What is it now?”

  The ram did not move and the Fire princes took a cautious step back.

  “You’re trying to tell me something, am I right?”

  Ramsker still did not move, even though the tips of his shaggy coat had begun to shrivel. His yellow eyes flashed angrily, as though the question of master and servant had to be sorted out anew.

  Nill fixed his gaze once more on the glowing pillar and one of the countless cracks caught his attention.

  That looks almost like…

  A flame burst forth from the crack and licked Nill’s face. Nill yelped. When the crack and the flame had been in synchronicity for that briefest moment, he had seen the symbol. They were everywhere. The cracks and holes presented part of the writing, the flames completed them. It was harder to read than the rock in the desert. Their shape was slightly different too, runes of Fire rather than the familiar glyphs. He had to wait patiently to read each rune, because the flames were erratic, but in the end he understood its message. The sacred flame was the Book of Eos.

  Nill read the words that made up the book he had been searching for. He ready slowly, rune by rune, and once he had finished he started over. He did not notice that the intense heat was drying out his body yet further. Now and then he attempted to swallow, but there was nothing there to swallow. Only hot air and a dry mouth and cracked lips. A sip from his waterskin would have helped, but Nill had forgotten the world around him.

  The text he read was equally as mysterious as the one in the Book of Wisdom. Eos described the future of the second kingdoms. There seemed to be several of them. Whether they existed alongside one another or they were different possible outcomes of the past, he did not find out. The magic of the second kingdoms was a magic of opposites, the kind he had found in the Hall of Symbols deep beneath Ringwall. The Book of Eos spoke of a future that was distant past to the people of Pentamuria. He could only understand its true meaning when he found someone who truly knew the past. He thought of Dakh-Ozz-Han and Ambrosimas: of one, he did not know the whereabouts; and of the other, he had no idea what he would be risking.

  The magic of light and dark was the oldest magic in the world and its sorcerers could cast the strongest spells ever known. It gave Nill comfort and courage for his battle against the unknown foe he had not forgotten since his encounter with Amargreisfing. But he had not yet mastered the ancient magic; there was more to it than pure light and total dark.

  If this magic was so powerful, why did their kingdoms fall?

  Nill groaned. He knew where he would be able to find out everything about the ancient magic and the second kingdoms: in Knor-il-Ank, deep beneath the foundations of Ringwall, in the Hall of Symbols. He remembered with dread what he had read there, and how little it had helped him. I have to return to Ringwall, he thought. I understand almost as little of the ancient magic as of the magic of Nothing. But first I must find out who Perdis is, whether he is my father or someone who knew him. The books can wait.

  Again, he turned his back on the pillar. Ramsker seemed satisfied this time.

  “How did you know, old friend?” Nill asked his ram.

  Ramsker scowled at Nill.

  “Oh, stop. You’re always looking at me as if your entire life was just one long annoyance. You might not have noticed it, but we’re still alive and with a little luck we might just manage to escape this furnace.”

  “We do not know your path, old mage,” one of the Fire princes said. “But if you stay on a straight path you will leave soon enough. The walls all lead in different directions. May your dreams come true.”

  With these words they left through the same wall they had entered the room by, and Nill was alone with his ram. He thought for a while about being called an ‘old mage,’ shrugged and stepped through the wall opposite him. He found himself in a similar cave to the one he had just left and stepped through the next wall, then the next and the next after that. He continued in a straight line until the fiery red had given way to a dark blue.

  Where am I? he wondered. Before he managed to think any further, the energy of Metal hit his body like a punch.

  VIII

  As every great change in the world is heralded by countless tremors, so too is every great deed preceded by many smaller ones, far from the centers of power, cloaked in unimportance. The druids know this, and so they walk the land, traveling through villages and cities, always searching for harbingers of fate, those inconspicuous happenings, small miracles, disappointments and triumphs. They, the druids, are the ones who keep a lookout for the threads and knots of the great web of the world, who pay attention to the spinning wheel of time, who attempt to see the bigger picture that shows the future as the past envisioned it. No one saw it clearer than Dakh-Ozz-Han.

  The heavy wooden door in the high wall opened noiselessly. The man with long, matted, reddish-brown hair squeezed through the gap and stood in the courtyard until someone took notice of him.

  “Hey, you! What do you want?”

  The man lowered his head to accentuate the obvious fact that he was neither lord nor proud warrior. Quite the opposite, in fact. In spite of his size, there was an unobtrusiveness about him that c
aused many to simply overlook him.

  “I seek shelter for the night and some food, if it’s not too much to ask.”

  The servant opened his mouth, likely in preparation for a harsh reply, but seemed to think better of it and indicated a corner of the courtyard.

  “Over there you’ll find the entrance to the stables, and there,” he pointed a little further, “down the stairs, is the kitchen. If the master has no problem with it, you may stay.”

  The man nodded gratefully. “Thank you. Would you be so kind and tell your lord Hermanis-Per that a weary traveler has asked for refuge and would like to meet him to thank him for his hospitality in person.” The stranger’s voice had assumed an adjuratory tone, and the servant was not in the least surprised that this smelly wanderer knew his lord’s name.

  “And please inform him that I will be in the stable.” The stranger dragged his feet through the summer dust, yet peculiarly he left no tracks.

  “Send him forth, or…” Hermanis-Per considered, “leave him in the stables, just make sure he doesn’t sneak around. Folk like him steal where they can.”

  “Master, he wishes to speak with you.”

  “With me?” Hermanis-Per gave a short, surprised laugh. “The vagabonds grow more brazen with every passing day.”

  “He said he wanted to thank you in person,” the servant explained. Hermanis-Per glanced towards the stables before fixing his eyes again on the servant.

  “I will take care of matters,” he growled. “I do not want him here in the house. You may go.”

  The lord sat with his chin cupped in his hand and stared out of the window, where his gaze lost itself in the vast fields. The immelgrain promised a rich harvest, and the grass was more lush than it had been for a long time, and had granted them a good first cut. Hay for winter was secured. The estate fed the family and those who depended on them. But the rumors that passed like rain through the villages and disquieted the rabble cost him many hours of sleep, and Hermanis had difficulty in concealing it. He knew more than others. He had always known more, but that was nobody’s business.

  He finally heaved his large body from its comfortable seat and hurried down the stairs with astonishing lightness for a man his size. He strolled through the courtyard, looking left and right as he did so, eyes always open for signs of trouble where he needed to set things right. He took his time with it; a druid should never feel as though their presence warranted urgency. It had to be a druid he was harboring in his stable, he reasoned. Any common drifter would have been sent away at the gate. And if not a druid, then certainly at least another kind of arcanist. Before he entered the stable, he loosened his dagger from its sheath. He had barely stepped over the threshold when his attitude changed completely.

  “I can smell you, you old vagrant. Come into the light.”

  “You could do with being a little more pleasant, Lord Quarrysand.”

  “And why would I do that?” Hermanis-Per’s laugh echoed dimly in the wooden stable. “You are not very welcome here, as you can no doubt imagine. Had I been on the hunt, and had I found you as I sought a bush to relieve myself, then… then I might, under the good sun, fresh air and birdsong’s influence, might have lent you my ear. But here?”

  With these words, so at odds with his actual feelings, he embraced the dark figure tightly. He whispered in the wanderer’s ear. “It’s good to see you again, Dakh, but it’s far too dangerous here. For both of us, and for different reasons, as you should know.”

  Dakh-Ozz-Han returned the hug with equal joyful pressure and replied: “Hermanis, you are who you are, and that means you are always still partly what you once were. You have a grand place here, and you have earned it well. I will not endanger you.”

  “Come, we’ll go inside the house. I will have to be terribly rude to you, but the food ought to make up for it. We’ll have the chance to talk about old times later.”

  A sound came from the druid’s throat that was difficult to interpret. “We should stay here, Hermanis. I have already made sure that no one will miss your presence, and when I go, none shall remember I was ever here. I hope.”

  “But we can at least sit down?” Hermanis-Per suggested and tugged the druid over to a feeding trough. “I’m always glad to see you, but I’ve learned that your visits are never without reason.”

  “And so it is this time too. Pentamuria is overripe. So ripe, it threatens to burst. We stand at the crossroads to changing times.”

  “The Great Change we all fear so much?”

  “You’ve heard of it?”

  Hermanis-Per barked a laugh. “I may have been a lord for a long time now, and the magic of numbers and harvests take up more of my life than the magic of the arcane, but I am still part of your world. You said so yourself.”

  “So are all nobles and kings and lords.”

  The lord gave a contemptuous snort. “I have my doubts. They’re more concerned with their power and influence than anything, but enough of them. What about the coming change?”

  “I am almost certain you are a part of it. Did you know you have a son, and likely a grandson as well?”

  “Sons and grandsons?” Hermanis-Per’s laugh was loud enough to make the horses nervously twitch. “I could hardly count them even if I had ten more hands.”

  “I mean neither your trueborn sons nor the army of bastards you have left in your wake. I mean – as you know full well, you scoundrel – Sedramon, the only bastard you honored with your Per. Sedramon-Per, the dragon between sea and mountain. I always thought you were mad to give a child such a name. But these days I wonder whether you didn’t know more than you let on, even then. No matter!” Dakh-Ozz-Han clapped a hand to his thigh loudly.

  “To understand the future, I must know where Sedramon is. The old dog knows how to hide; neither the mages of Ringwall nor I have been able to find him. But I am not the only one looking for him. Nature itself has been awakened and keeps its many eyes out for him. Only an archmage, and likely only one of those sinister fellows, has the skills to cast such a spell. Perhaps it was the magon himself.”

  “And how could I help you, Dakh?” Hermanis-Per looked rather abashed, like a young boy who has shattered his mother’s vase in carelessness. “I sent him to Ringwall when he was old enough. As any good father would. Well, he wasn’t quite that young anymore. I’ll admit I took more time than usual with him. After that I only saw him once. It makes me sad to say it. You know he was always my favorite. After he finished his studies at Ringwall, he stood here in the yard one day, out of the blue. How happy I was! I had such plans for him. But he never meant to stay. He had only come to say goodbye, and I never saw him after that. In my dreams, sometimes. The elements alone know how he managed to find me in my sleep, but even that stopped happening ages ago.”

  “And not a word of that was true, you old liar. Tell me exactly what happened. Every detail. Leave nothing out.”

  Hermanis-Per could not suppress a grin. “I see it like it was yesterday, Dakh.” And he spoke.

  “I saw him standing there. I always thought that my home was his home too. But when I saw him, a little lost and so insecure, I began to doubt. That was the only reason I stood still at the window, watching him, instead of going down and greeting him immediately. It was only a few moments. The commoners took notice of him quickly. All the people here liked him. I would rather he had kept a good distance from the rabble. If you’re too close to them they lose respect. But commanding never interested him.

  “I left my position at the window and stepped out into the yard, and he ran towards me. We shared a hug and all my doubts vanished, scattered to the winds. He had seen seventeen harvests by then, and was a head taller than me; but he was still as skinny as a signpost. I’ll leave others to judge who was embracing who. I thought it unwise to make a scene before the rabble, so we returned to my private chambers for a talk between men.”

  Hermanis-Per shifted his weight uncomfortably on the trough and made a few half-hearted gestures
; evidently, he did not know how to continue.

  “Well, I offered him the position of resident sorcerer. I hoped he would eventually take over my estate. It was risky business, as you can imagine, Dakh, but I would have found a way somehow. Trust me. I would have managed. Risang, my eldest, is good with a blade and his two younger brothers are honest and hard-working, but you need more than a strong arm and a thick skin to keep this place alive. Sedramon would have been the right choice, I’m sure of it. He would soon enough have learned the few remaining things he didn’t know. But before I had the chance to tell him of all my plans, he crushed them.”

  Hermanis paused again. Dakh began to show the first signs of impatience.

  “He told me he’d only come to say goodbye.”

  “By the sky and the earth and the five elements between them, stop making such a mystery of things!” Dakh snapped. “We’re not entertaining a party at a campfire here! I must find your son. Tell me all you know.”

  Hermanis’ mouth tightened as he frowned and straightened up.

  “He admitted that he was not made for sorcery. He was scared, and not afraid to show it. He said that the magic took hold of him, not the other way around. I had to prod and poke a little, but in the end he told me that he was a respectable healer and was able to cast a curse or two. Dakh, be honest, who ever heard of a neophyte using curses? I knew he had an extraordinary gift, one he was not ready for, and I offered to continue his education myself. But he didn’t want to hear of it. He suggested – with a straight face, mind you – that I should make Risang my resident sorcerer.”