Ringwall`s Doom

by Awert, Wolf

  The old searching parties Ringwall had sent out were not, as Dakh-Ozz-Han had guessed, after Nill anymore. Galvan had given his followers the choice to follow him or try their luck alone. To a man, they stuck with Galvan and the group fought their way to Fugman’s Refuge, where the master of Metal convinced the Trade King that it was in everyone’s best interest to anchor the magic of Metal deeper into the court’s essence.

  Morb-au-Morhg the Mighty traveled with Binja and Rinja slowly waterwards and settled in a small fisherman’s hut by one of the great rivers. Two of Sergor-Don’s squads learned that Morb was as at home in the wild as his hunters. One of the troops did not get to revel in the new knowledge for long, and disappeared like many other people on that day, leaving behind the horses and equipment for Morb the Mighty and the witches to use.

  The Water party had also halted its hunt, and its members had offered their aid to Talldal-Fug as well. Its members found themselves as welcome allies to their Metal brothers, now less on the hunt for Nill than for Brolok. The new, merged group moved towards Woodhold.

  There was no word from Earthland, and the green mage seemed to have disappeared, although the reports were conflicting. Sergor-Don’s dustriders rode in a wide arc from Fire to Wood towards the Oas’ territory. As much as circumstances had changed in Pentamuria, Nill was still being hunted. It was only the hunters that had changed.

  “I’m ready,” Brolok announced immediately. “I’ve been wondering for a while now when you’d finally wake up and return to sanity. My stuff is all packed up.”

  Nill flushed. “Don’t know what you mean,” he mumbled.

  “I mean, you could take Tiriwi with you. She’s my friend too. And more dependable than Bairne.” He spat on the ground.

  “No way. It’s far too dangerous for a young girl like her,” Nill said agitatedly.

  Brolok laughed so hard that a gob of saliva landed in his windpipe. Coughing, he sputtered: “If Tiriwi is a young girl, I’m the Trade King. Who saved your sorry arse by visiting the magon? That was a brave move. I would’ve probably pissed myself. Trust me, she doesn’t need protecting. She can look out for herself.”

  “You don’t get it,” Nill said, flustered. “I’m the one in danger. I don’t want to drag anyone else into it. I’m the one looking for his parents, and I’m the one who has to find the sanctuary. I. Me. Myself, not Tiriwi. Got it?”

  “Tell her, then.”

  “Dakh will explain it.”

  “You coward,” Brolok said with great amusement as he shouldered his bag.

  “Close the door!” Nill yelled after him as he left. Damn. How was he to explain to Tiriwi why he was suddenly packing and leaving? Damn, damn, damn. It was a good thing she was not in the hut. Probably better this way. If I just disappear, there’ll be no argument. I should leave her something, though, so she knows I’m thinking of her.

  Nill dug through his things, looking for two bundles of spider’s silk. It was the most valuable thing he owned.

  He cursed. Whenever you need something, you can’t bloody find it. He could not remember where he had put it. Was it still in the bag, or had he taken it out at some point? He had told Tiriwi about the silk, he recalled; he had told her everything about his travels, but then…

  No farewell gift, then, Nill thought sadly. He strapped his bag on and hurried back to Dakh-Ozz-Han. Standing with him, smiling, were Grimala, Brolok, Ramsker (not smiling, but foul-tempered as usual) and Tiriwi.

  “We were starting to think you’d got lost on the long way from the hut,” Tiriwi said smoothly. Nill’s mouth fell open and closed again several times like an absurd fish. He decided not to say anything.

  They said their goodbyes to Grimala and began to walk to where the sun stood, keeping close to the forest’s edge. They made good progress, but the druid suddenly stopped and said casually: “We have to be careful now. Some people are roaming the meadows ahead. And by ‘some’ I mean ‘a lot.’”

  “We could go through the bushes and avoid them completely,” Brolok suggested.

  Tiriwi laughed. “Have you ever tried to sneak through this forest? You have to follow the animal crossings, and you never know where they lead, or else you have to fight for every step.”

  “Don’t laugh, child,” the druid scolded. “Brolok is right. We have to go through the forest to slip past these people unnoticed. But first we have to find out where they are. From now on, not a sound. No fire and no magic, either.”

  “Who’s doing magic anyway?” Brolok pouted.

  “Wait a moment.” Tiriwi had put her bag on the ground and was now searching for something. “It’s Nill they’re after. I’ve got something for him.” And she pulled out a few bundles from her backpack. “Three cloaks. One’s white, the second is black and the third one gray.”

  “My honey-darling never clothed me,” Brolok sniggered, not noticing the astonishment on Nill’s and Dakh’s faces. Tiriwi had picked her moment perfectly.

  “That’s… you…” For the second time that day, Nill was lost for words.

  “Yes, I did. What else is old thread for if not to weave something with it?”

  “It wasn’t old thread, it was—”

  “These three cloaks are a treasure unlike any other in Pentamuria. Cloaks made of the silk of the nightcrawler and kingspider.” Dakh-Ozz-Han’s fingers rand over the thin, smooth, unbreakable cloth. “Did you weave these?” he asked Tiriwi.

  “I would have liked to, but life is short and I never learned weavework. I just spun the silk into yarn. Grimala did the rest, and I’m sure she used magic for it.”

  “Excellent. One for day, one for night and one for dawn. It’s as close to invisibility as Nill could get.”

  “Very nice,” said Brolok, tapping his foot. “And where are mine?”

  “Wouldn’t you know it, Brolok, I was just about to start on yours when the thread ran out. We really should send Nill back into the mountains to get more.”

  “I suppose that’s what you get for being born on the shadowy side of life,” Brolok moaned.

  “I promise to cover you in earth every night if you want. That should hide you well enough while you sleep.”

  Brolok declined with thanks.

  It continued like this for a while. It almost gave the impression that everyone wanted to talk while there was still time before the long silence. No talking, no fire and no magic, Dakh had commanded.

  The druid ran off with strides so long nobody could follow him; he returned, only to disappear again a moment later. When the sun set, he returned again, lay down on the ground and fell asleep instantly. Nill pulled his gray cloak tighter and took the first watch with Ramsker. Tiriwi woke the boys at first light, Nill with a kiss and Brolok by tugging his hair gently.

  Brolok pointed at Dakh’s long beard and made an energetic yanking motion, but Tiriwi shook her head. She could still not quite believe she was traveling through Woodhold with Dakh-Ozz-Han himself, the druid of myth. While he looked far less mythical up close, she still treated him with great reverence. It therefore fell to Brolok to wake the old man, but he decided not to yank his beard, instead shaking him lightly by the shoulder.

  The days passed by until Dakh made a determined gesture towards the forest. It truly was a battle to get through here; the forest was one huge thicket. Nill had taken off his cloak, because twigs kept getting caught in the fabric and pulling him back. Unbreakable silk had its disadvantages.

  The others were highly relieved when Dakh indicated that their further path would be on open field again. Now that they had rid themselves of any followers, they finally dared to visit the occasional Oa settlement.

  “Where are we going, anyway?” Tiriwi asked.

  “To the Mistmountains. Once we get there, we will enter the forest at their feet, and if fate is on our side, we will find the great tree. That should be where we find what Nill is looking for.”

  “I suppose finding the tree ought to be easy, right?” Brolok asked waspishly.

/>   “It might take a while,” the druid admitted.

  “Well, as we approach the forest we should be able to see it poking out amongst the other trees. That’ll give us a pretty good direction.” Everything always sounded so easy when Brolok spoke.

  “The great tree is shorter than the others,” came the reply.

  “Why call it a ‘great tree’ then?” Brolok grumbled.

  Dakh-Ozz-Han always asked the same question when they entered a village. “Has a sorcerer ever come through this village?”

  And every time, the women exchanged glances and shook their heads. “Maybe” was a common answer, often enough it was simply “no.” Sometimes there were discussions, fleeting memories that fell through their hands like sand as they attempted to grasp them. And every time, when all other questions had been futile, Nill would ask: “Have you ever heard the name Perdis? He was a mage.”

  The first time Nill asked this, Dakh-Ozz-Han jumped. He knew as well as Nill that Perdis was not a name parents gave their child. Perdis, the empty voice, a thing for others to speak through. Perdis, father of Nothing? So close to the collapse of Pentamuria, Dakh had stopped believing in coincidences. Everything meant something. Everywhere he looked, he saw the signs, or thought so at least. He gazed at Nill thoughtfully; the boy, like himself, was looking for a sorcerer or mage.

  “I see,” he mentioned to Nill while they wandered, “you’ve found a trace of your parents. Is this Perdis your father?”

  “I hope so,” Nill said after a moment of consideration. “I’m sure he is. But it’s just a feeling, maybe just a wish. Perdis might just be someone who knew my father. One thing is certain, and that’s that there is a connection between Perdis and the amulet my parents gave me. That’s why it’s possible, if not likely, that there is connection between the amulet and the Books of Prophecy.”

  “And the falundron,” Tiriwi added.

  “The what?” asked Dakh-Ozz-Han, and so Tiriwi told him the story of the guardian they had found who watched over the caves where the Hermits had lived before founding Ringwall.

  “If what you’re telling me is true,” the old druid said, “then Ringwall’s fall is connected to the beginning of time, far beyond the Hermits, going all the way back to the roots of magic itself. But I struggle to imagine that. I would like to meet your father someday. The sorcerer I’m looking for has also vanished off the face of the world. His name is Sedramon-Per. The stars tell me that his lineage means he is important in some way. Since then, I have been searching for him or the important thing he’s doing, has done or will do. But I can’t find him anywhere. His trail goes cold on the way to the Oas.”

  Nill stood still like a branch in the first frost. Then he suddenly began to gesticulate wildly.

  “Did you just say Sedramon-Per? I always thought it might be another name for Perdis – it sounds so similar. And he must indeed be important, because he found some of the Books of Prophecy – Mun, and Arun as well, which is where we’re going. There’s something about the magical kingdoms in them. Nothing specific, though,” he added quietly.

  Dakh grabbed Nill by the shoulders and wheeled him around so they were face to face. Tiriwi looked shocked. He had never mentioned the Books of Prophecy in the time they had been together. Even Brolok looked confused.

  “How do you know all this, boy?” Dakh thundered at Nill, who had long since stopped being a boy.

  “He left a message by the spiders. Sedramon-Per, I mean. At some sort of temple. Arun, Mun and the Book of Wisdom. I know where Eos and Cheon are. I’m not surprised Sedramon-Per never found those. Now all we need to find is Kypt.”

  “You know where Eos and Cheon are? We must go there immediately.” Dakh was beside himself. “With the knowledge from these books we will finally understand what will happen. Written in them is the future.” The great Druid Dakh-Ozz-Han had to sit down because he was trembling from head to toe, but Nill merely shrugged.

  “They don’t say much. Apart from the Book of Wisdom, that was longer, but the rest is all just a short paragraph. Something about the realms of the Second Circle and Fourth Circle, that kind of thing. It was hard to understand. I found Eos in the Borderlands of Fire, and Cheon is standing in a small room in a huge underground cave system I’ll never find again on my own.”

  Dakh-Ozz-Han stood up.

  “That doesn’t sound like the Books of Prophecy, Nill. But if Arun is truly in the forest sanctuary, I will see soon enough. I refuse to believe until I see it, and once I’ve seen it, I’ll believe the rest. I wonder why I never found anything there when I first looked.” He shook his head distractedly. “I’ve been stumbling around the world like a blind fool and you’ve had a part of the answers all this time. You and Sedramon-Per both know the books. Everything is coming together. The fact that we four are here together is not pure happenstance. The lines of time are converging on a single point where they will meet and create something entirely new, something people everywhere fear. I don’t yet know what Brolok and Tiriwi have to do with all this, but they have been with you for too long to have slipped under fate’s watchful gaze.”

  “Woah, calm down, old man.” Brolok made a sound as if he was trying to calm a wild horse and Tiriwi glared at him. “I’m just a blacksmith and a warrior, and right now I don’t even have any decent weapons. I’m little more than part of Nill’s baggage. Nill visited me in Fugman’s Refuge, as friends do. That’s basically all that happened, and I’m just showing him the door. It’s a matter of friendship.”

  “You have a great house indeed, Brolok. Your oven is in Metal World and your door all the way in the Mistmountains,” Dakh remarked. “We shall see, we shall see.”

  “That village over there is the last Oa settlement in Woodhold. In the distance you can see the peaks of the Mistmountains. That’s where our journey takes us, and that is where we will part ways.” Tiriwi stood upright, pointing somewhere far away through the morning mist.

  “Greetings, Oas!” Dakh called to the first women he saw. “I bring a sister and two dubious male fellows to shake things up in the village.”

  Tiriwi frowned. This was not the way she wanted to announce their arrival. She turned to Dakh to ask him what he was thinking, a question dangerously close to a rebuke. Before she spoke a word, she hesitated. What was wrong with her? Only a few days ago she never would have thought of such disrespect. Then another thing caught her by surprise: the old druid looked far less like the Dakh-Ozz-Han she knew. Yes, his hair, eyes and nose were all still the same, but he looked older; he had dropped the mantle of authority he usually bore and seemed more like a vagrant than an awe-inspiring druid. Tiriwi shook her head in disbelief. The mystical druid was now a silly old man.

  “May I introduce Tiriwi of the Oas, Brolok, a sorcerer from Metal World, and Nill or something like that. He carries Tiriwi’s stuff. Oh, and you know me, of course,” Dakh blathered.

  “Yes, we know you,” the women laughed. “Welcome, welcome.”

  Odd. Why doesn’t he give his own name? Tiriwi kept her eyes and ears open, and grinned a little when she saw that her pack mule’s ears had gone red at Dakh’s words.

  The guests were allowed to wash and Brolok bantered bawdily with his hostesses; Dakh had excused himself to pay his respects to the eldest, and Tiriwi took care of Nill – there were too many young women around here to leave him unattended. They only reconvened at supper.

  “We’re pilgrims of a sort,” Dakh-Ozz-Han explained when he was asked what brought them here, and he gave a short laugh. “These young men are, as you can probably see, emphatically not druids. They are sorcerers, searching for the roots of the magic of Wood. Ha ha!” He laughed again. “I never thought how silly it sounds out loud. ‘The roots of the magic of Wood.’ It’s like wood doesn’t have roots of its own. Well then, roots of the roots or something. Whatever, not important. Anyway, I have a duty to them, because they have done much for us druids and the Oas as well. You have probably heard of them already. So I offered to gui
de them.”

  Tiriwi furrowed her brow again. She did not like Dakh throwing away his dignity like a smelly old cloak, but the Oas’ eyes were bright. Nothing was more exciting than new stories. Their visitors seemed to be important people, even if they had never heard of Brolok and Nill before.

  “The magic of Wood is closely related to the Oas’ magic. Like our own, it makes a connection between sky and earth. That’s all we know,” one woman said politely.

  “We druids see it as a sort of middle thing between Fire and Water. Life comes from water and turns into the very Fire that feeds it. The Fire burns dark and no one sees it, only the Wood can feel it, can feel how it lives through the Fire and dies with it when the embers offer less warmth at the end of its life. The Fire can also burn hot and bright and turn entire forests to ash. But the Wood’s enemy is not Fire, it is Metal, as the steel ax cuts through the tree. No use, no sense. The Wood’s power unfolds in the Earth, when it makes the Earth’s magic its own. To us, it’s a young element, which is why it’s more difficult to understand than the others.”

  Dakh-Ozz-Han chattered away as if he never wanted to stop.

  “If you want to dedicate your lives to Wood, follow the path to the Borderlands and seek out Creakhorn, the prime tree where the spirit of Wood lives,” one of the Oas recommended. “Creakhorn can be difficult to find, because when it gets too old it falls, and then its seed grows into a new tree. We always see it as the new Creakhorn. To the forest, nothing changes. We Oas rarely ever go looking for it, and if we do, it’s not because of its magic. It connects us to the old world we came from. There was once a sorcerer here, looking for it.”

  “Thank you, sister, I’m sure we’ll find it. And this sorcerer you speak of… tall, light hair?” Dakh raised his arms to the sky as if to imply the sorcerer in question had been a true giant. “I might know him. He would have been quite young at the time.”