Ringwall`s Doom

by Awert, Wolf

  “You could have picked a noblewoman.”

  “And you could pull your head out of the clouds. What noblewoman would follow a half-arcanist? And besides, I may be proud of my status of sorcerer, but I earned it. I’m not proud of my father’s noble heritage. What good did it do me to be related to them? None at all. And you know that as well as I do. No, no, a witch is perfect for me; and besides, witches aren’t nearly as strange as the Oas.”

  Nill took the time to study Bairne a little more closely. He did not know what Brolok had told her about the time they had spent together in Ringwall. Her expression did not show whether she had ever heard any more about the Oas than their name. She simply sat there, chewing her piece of dried meat. She chewed slowly and deliberately, not with the famished appetite of one who has not eaten in a long time. Nill wondered why.

  “Do you have a blessing?” Nill asked.

  “Are you mad? Who would have given us one? My father would’ve disapproved that she’s an arcanist, my grandfather only cares about noble blood, and my mother is scared witless by anything to do with magic. We’re just together.”

  “You should visit your father. He’s waiting for you. His anger at your disobedience is only skin-deep. Make peace with him before the rift between the two of you grows too big and tears apart the most important bond known to man. Your mother shouldn’t have to choose between her husband and you.”

  “You’re talking like an old man, Nill. All this chatter of fathers, mothers and children,” Brolok argued. “You don’t even have a wife yet.”

  “You’re right as usual, Brolok. True, I don’t have a wife, but neither do I have parents.”

  “Sorry. I’m just a bit caught up in myself, is all.”

  Nill nodded sympathetically. “Now tell me, what happened to your aura?”

  “Nothing much. I was forging a weapon and either I overestimated my abilities or I grabbed a piece of cursed iron. Whatever it was, the magic didn’t go into the weapon. It happens. You had more than one failed attempt at something, as I recall.” Brolok’s mischievous grin returned. “This time, it was different. I still don’t know what happened. The magic bounced right back off the iron and melded with my aura. It felt horrible. It was like life and death fusing, as if it meant for me to become part of the weapon, or the other way around. What ended up happening was some unholy fusion of the living and unliving worlds.

  “I immediately cast a counterspell and the false magic vanished. Only problem was that it took part of my aura with it. That wouldn’t have been too bad on its own. Give your body time and your aura will regenerate. But this time it couldn’t, because the tear left behind a couple of wonderful hard edges. Calluses don’t heal, either. Wounds like that have to close from the inside, and that takes a long time. Ever since then my life force has been bleeding out. For now, it’s mostly my magical power, but with it I’m losing something else. You know, useless things like muscle strength, happiness, humor… apart from gallows humor. That stays until the bitter end.”

  “So why didn’t you let someone else heal you?”

  “To be honest, at first I didn’t think it was such a problem. I had a few more jobs to do that would have earned me a lot of money, which I meant to turn into some really special metals. Meteorite iron, for example. Here in Metal World you can get anything for the right coin. Talldal-Fug’s household keeps an iron grasp on these things; they don’t come cheap.

  “Anyway, in the end I saw that it wasn’t healing so I went to a healer. He told me it was beyond his capabilities. I knew it would be difficult, or Bairne could have helped me. ‘Go to the court,’ he told me, and like an idiot I did as he said. Of course I didn’t get to the royal healer – he’s way too high up – but there’s always a bunch of them about court who know their stuff. So I went there, all kitted up with my leather armor from Ringwall and a couple of weapons. Showing what you’re capable of can be helpful.

  “Then this healer asked me what sort of madness had crept into my muckling blacksmith brain to ask him to heal me. Pissed himself with laughter, the bastard. I could’ve told him I’m a sorcerer of Ringwall just like him, with less experience. But it’s not a good idea to go boasting if you’re asking for a favor.

  “‘So you’re the one claiming to forge magical weapons,’ he went on. ‘Remember this, boy: blacksmiths are mucklings and mucklings have no business forging magical weapons. If you want magical weapons, you take your weapons to us court sorcerers and we’ll enchant them.’

  “He was angry. Didn’t understand why until I saw through their dirty business. You know what they do, Nill?”

  Nill had no idea.

  “Alright, so when you enchant a normal weapon, it gets magical. But no spell lasts forever, and so the enchantment fades away after a while and you need to get it done again. Good money maker, that. Imagine relying on an enchantment and suddenly it’s gone in the middle of a fight.”

  “I could enchant your weapons too, even if not as powerful,” Nill suggested.

  “Forget it. The sorcerers are cunning; they weave a field into every piece of iron they sell. It’s never seen in battle, and lasts a long time for it. It’ll ruin any enchantment you put on it. Sure, you could get rid of it, or wait three winters for it to fade, but that’s far too much effort. If you can afford a magical weapon, it’s obvious you’ve got money, and if you’ve got money you’ve got no patience. These people just pay for convenience; they’ll get their gold back soon enough. I wonder if the court sorcerers didn’t sneak me that cursed blank on purpose.”

  “And you do it differently?”

  “From the ground up. I infuse the steel with magic as I forge it; that ignores the field. The magic becomes part of the weapon rather than a slim layer on top of it, and it’ll never fade. The kind of things I make are real magical weapons, the kind Galvan makes in Ringwall. It’s not even a fair comparison to the rubbish you get here. Oh, another thing: Ringwall gets its metal from here in Metal World too, even if the court sorcerers are far too scared to weave any sort of nonsense into those pieces. Ringwall pays with precious gems they get from Earthland. If Talldal-Fug doesn’t feel like delivering, Ringwall gets fidgety. As long as the old glutton doesn’t overdo it, Ringwall does as the Trade King says. Whatever. All I’m saying is that the people here in Fugman’s Refuge keep their noses pretty high up. Anyway, the healer threw me out, but first he confiscated my armor and weapons.”

  “What? You’re not serious!”

  “Oh, I’m serious. He said: ‘I’ve given you valuable time and information. Consider it payment.’

  “So I went home, wanted to get my sword and make a bit of a ruckus up there. It gets worse: my little workshop was all locked up and cleared out. Bairne was hiding.”

  “Why didn’t you go to your father? Couldn’t he have healed you?”

  Brolok’s lips curved in a disparaging grimace. “Do you still have any sense left?”

  Nill shook his head in disbelief. And this bullheaded boy once told me that mucklings can’t afford to be proud if they want to survive. As cunning as you are, my friend, at your core you’re no different from the rest of the nobles.

  “I’m no healer,” he said out loud, “but I think I can help you. I’d imagine fixing an aura should be easier than healing a flesh wound.”

  Nill concentrated his aura and melded it into the ragged one that surrounded Brolok. He absorbed some parts, weakening Brolok further still as he did so, but a human aura could not mend while the weapon’s energy still polluted it. Once the remains of the weapon’s magic were gone, the aura simply closed again. Brolok was healed, even if he still lacked magical power, and his aura was pale and thin. Nill lent Brolok some of his own strength, but the rest was up to his friend.

  Brolok clapped him on the shoulder.

  “Thank you, Nill. Can’t tell you how good it feels – it’s incredible. Give me your staff, old friend.”

  “Er – why?”

  “Who put those caps on?”


  “Your father. Don’t tell me you don’t recognize his style.”

  Brolok grinned and said: “The old dog.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t you see the magic in them?”

  “No.”

  “Blind as a bat. Archmage and you can’t even see a Metal spell. The tip is a finger longer than it looks, and the end has a springy layer in it. Saves you strength while you walk and climb. Great for the mountains. Oh, he’s an artist all right, my old man. Looks like he’s not given up on magic completely. Here,” Brolok said as he handed the staff back to Nill. “I’ll be back soon.”

  Brolok disappeared into the thronging crowd and left a confused Nill and a silent Bairne behind. Even if they had tried, they could not have found him amongst so many people. Nill attempted to start a conversation several times, but Bairne responded monosyllabically and finally not at all.

  “Are you worried about Brolok? Don’t be, he’s tough,” Nill said.

  Bairne said nothing. Nill sighed and looked up and down the street. Strange figures walked around. In their blue and black cloaks and shirts and capes they all looked dark. Not dangerous, but joyless. The only spots of color in the dark crowd were several old men in their stately robes. There stood one; there, another ambled around. They exchanged gestures and a few short words when they met – otherwise, they kept to themselves. The citizens of Fugman’s Refuge avoided them wherever possible, but nobody seemed too bothered when bumping into another. Nill would have liked to know whether these well-dressed men were noble sorcerers or magical nobles, and was just wondering this when he heard a rough voice behind him.

  “What’re you standing around here for? Get lost.”

  Nill looked up, and then around. Bairne seemed to have left. Nill was staring straight into an unmistakeably hostile face. It belonged to a skinny man of indeterminable age, but evident authority. Nill opened his mouth to respond, but the man expanded his aura, touched Nill with it – which Nill found highly rude – and said: “I said, get lost. You deaf, boy?”

  Nill found this rather more rude than necessary. He had his own aura condensed to the milky gray and was just thinking that he might answer in kind when he noticed he could not move.

  “Take him away,” the man said.

  Two armed men lifted Nill’s frozen body onto their shoulders and marched off. Nill’s position was uncomfortable, but just as he could not move, he could also no longer feel his body. Only some of his senses still remained to him. Four sorcerers were around him. He saw that much. One had distracted him, a second had stood behind him and the other two were the ones who had just before stood on the opposite side of the street, talking.

  A tidy trap, Nill thought. What are they going to do with me?

  He would find out soon enough. Up a few stairs, along long and narrow corridors, down some stairs – more down than up. Doors banged open and shut. Nill was thrown to the ground in a small room and another door closed – this time to the room he was in. Then silence.

  The freezing spell on his body began to wane. The four sorcerers were gone and Nill straightened up with difficulty. Now he felt the rough fists and the hard floor’s welcome. He rubbed the aching spots and tried to get his blood to flow properly again. He opened up cautiously to the sounds around him and listened. Nothing. No sounds, and more importantly, no magic he could detect. He felt as though he was wearing a veil. Nill reached deep into the walls, spoke a Fire spell to illuminate the small room, but nothing happened. He felt the echo of Water magic quench his flames. His own Water spell was absorbed by the earth, and his Earth magic was crushed beneath Wood. Wood was split in two by Metal, and Metal melted under the Fire. Nill hit the shapeless contours of the large stone blocks that made up the wall. His light bolt was swallowed whole by the muddy Earth and Water; an attempt at darkness was nullified by Metal and Fire. Wood ignored them both.

  The veil on the walls that blurred the edges of the stones was an illusion. Beneath their soft contours, the blocks were rough enough to scratch his skin. They were cold and breathed the kind of dampness that creeps into your bones and drains them of warmth, and yet there is so little of it that you cannot simply wipe it away. Everything was cold in here, even the air. The coldness came from a motionlessness that made it feel stale; there was hardly enough strength in it to revitalize Nill’s breathing. The only things in here that might once have seemed alive were a small hole in the ceiling, a larger one in the ground, and the gaps around the heavy wooden door; but they were now as dead as anything, filled with rotted wood and the inflexibility of a long-gone spirit.

  Nill felt as though a weight was squeezing him, a weight he could not shake; it came from above, from the sides and from below, and it robbed all of his attempts at magic of their power before he could even begin. He tried to fight it off, concentrated his energy and rampaged against the walls, but for naught. The walls did not even fight back. They merely swallowed his energy, gobbled it up with large, greedy bites, leaving him exhausted and empty-feeling.

  Panic flooded through him. The retreating wave pulled him along and under the sand of the sea floor and spat him back out. Nill coughed. What was this place?

  Nill felt defeated but he was not about to give up. Even though he was no master of the five elements and had barely any experience in combat, he knew a thing or two about the ancient magic. He pulled the darkness from the walls and transformed it into light, prepared to burst the walls with its brightness – but it did not happen. The dark energy felt hollow, a shell on his powerlessness; the light magic unfolded as an idea and sank into the pores of the stones. Nill grew dizzy with exertion. He managed to grasp the wall before he fell to the floor. There was more than one power at work here. His elemental magic was parried before it was cast, and at the same time something sapped the strength from his body when he attempted the exact opposite. He had no choice but to wait.

  And so the time flowed on. Nothing moved behind the closed door. Once, a scratching sound in the ceiling made him look up, but he saw nothing, no matter how closely he looked. He gave up when a cold wetness on his forehead made him jump. Thick droplets were falling from the small hole in the ceiling, right down onto him. Nill caught a few in his hand and tasted cautiously with the tip of his lip. It tasted horrible, but not poisonous. At least he would not die of thirst.

  The sun was low when Brolok returned. With his bag of weapons over his shoulder and the leather armor on his back, chest and shoulders, he stood confidently and smiling a satisfied smile. They would have to hurry a little now, he thought.

  “Where are those two?” he cursed under his breath. “We’ve no time to waste.”

  As he spoke he saw Nill’s staff lying in the dirt of a gutter, half sunken in the mud amongst rags and half-rotted cabbages.

  “Can’t I leave you alone for even a moment?” he grumbled as he looked around in worry. He bent over and picked up the staff. He hid his worry well enough as he walked along, taking care to remain in the shadows of the houses. A short hiss made him freeze for a moment, but then he recognized Bairne and relaxed.

  “What happened?” he whispered.

  “They got Nill,” the answer came back, even more quietly.

  “Who?”

  “Talldal-Fug’s sorcerers.”

  “What do they want with him? Tell me what happened; leave nothing out.”

  Bairne explained in a voice between a whisper and murmur how she had seen one or two well-dressed court sorcerers walking along the street, but had not paid them further attention. The street was, after all, a direct route to the palace. Everything was calm until one of the sorcerers addressed Nill. Bairne had not been able to make out what it was about; the sorcerer had shoved her aside and put himself where she had stood. She had thought it a good idea to hide in a corner where she was less noticeable, but could still watch the group. Then everything had happened so quickly: one of the sorcerers who had passed by returned, and two others crossed the road. Nill had apparently attempted
something – she did not know what – but the four sorcerers had him in their grasp and two armed men had carried him away, towards the palace.

  “If they meant to kill him they would have just done it there and then,” Brolok thought aloud. “They didn’t seem too worried about being in the open. Having two guards take away a paralyzed man in broad daylight would attract attention. The sorcerers must have felt strong and wanted to be seen. Anything else makes no sense. We have to get Nill out of there. Being stuck in one of Talldal-Fug’s dungeons won’t do him any good.”

  “And how are you going to do it?” Bairne whispered.

  “No idea,” Brolok muttered. “None at all.” For a moment he seemed helpless and indecisive, a mixture of emotions he displayed all too rarely.

  “First we have to find out where they’ve locked him up. We’ll figure something out,” he added.

  “Are you going to just fight your way out? I see you’ve got your weapons back.”

  The tone of Bairne’s voice demonstrated clearly that she thought this method could not end well.

  “A plague upon the lot of them!” Brolok exploded. He laid aside a small round shield and emptied his weapon-sack. A hammer, a sickle and several long, round pieces of metal fell out. Bairne did not know what to make of them.

  “My weapons are in the hands of some noble or other. You can bet they had the gold pulled right out of their noses for my blades. Only my armor, equipment and this little treasure here weren’t sold yet.”

  “What is it?” Bairne asked, indicating the odd pieces of metal.

  “I’ll tell you later, if we have time. In any case, I’ve got no weapons. Can you make a fire hot enough for me to forge in?”

  Bairne shook her head sadly.

  “I feel naked without a weapon. I’m too weak a sorcerer to face the might of Talldal-Fug alone. Besides, I think there’ll be more than a few people after me soon enough. Trust me when I say that they didn’t just hand my sack over, if you know what I mean. I’ll try and scrounge a few weapons – I’ll be back as soon as possible. See if you can’t find out where they took Nill. Think you can do that?”