by Awert, Wolf
The man had his long arms slung around his torso as though he meant to hold tight to the last warmth of his sleep. But his shivering was not caused by the cold.
“It has begun. Pentamuria awakens.”
A second figure joined the first out of the darkness. Shorter than the man and without his tall frailty, she embraced him from behind and breathed on his back: “What do you see?”
The man turned around. He lovingly laid his arms around his wife and pulled her closer. An outsider could not have said who was protecting who.
“I see the five realms of Pentamuria. Metal World was roused first. It woke the Other World, and the Other World made Earthland and Woodhold tremble. The last to awaken was the Fire Kingdom.”
“And the Waterways?”
“Still silent. Here we live, the watchers, or whatever role fate has decided for us.”
The man’s pupils dilated, almost overtaking his irises. His wife held him tight. As he stood, his head held high, his eyes unseeing, her husband rode the stream of time.
*
Nill, Dakh, Brolok and Ramsker had cautiously retreated to the swamp and had almost stumbled straight into a pack of riders that had been camped there. They had not heard a sound. Dakh had only been able to sense them when they were almost too close to turn back. The small group now fled head over heels through the swampy terrain, deeper and deeper into the center of the Waterways. It was bitter cold. Only the constant mist kept the temperature from dropping even further. Countless droplets found their home in spider webs, where they froze; the webs criss-crossed everywhere, and by changing their shape they gave the air a tiny bit of warmth. Running into one of these icy webs was like a cold, wet kiss.
Even Nill had to concede that they were being hunted, and that the hunters were drawing the noose around them tighter.
“We have to hide, or break through! What do you think?” Brolok asked
“We’ll hide, of course,” the druid responded. “If we break through, we’ll have the whole mob on our backs. Some of them have horses. Our only choice is to hide… but where?”
“We must flee to the Borderlands. It’s the only place they won’t dare follow,” Nill suggested.
“You don’t know what you’re saying, boy. Many people claim to have crossed the Borderlands. The few who actually did either never returned or never spoke again. You lose your soul there. The elemental magic there is sick and twisted, and even a great mage cannot control it. No, Nill. The Borderlands would mean our deaths.”
Nill shook his head. “I’ve been to the Borderlands. Not this one, though. I don’t know the Waterways, I’ll admit that freely, and to be frank I’m scared of this place. But I was in the Fire Kingdom and Metal World. The magic there is very powerful. I encountered creatures of pure Fire magic in the Borderlands of Fire, and in Metal World I found magic itself. It felt different than in Ringwall, true, but it was not so dangerous that you couldn’t control it.” Well, very nearly, he added silently. The guardian of Eos had only been defeated with the Ancient magic’s aid, but he did not have to spell that out for Dakh.
“We can try,” Dakh agreed after thinking long and hard. “But at the first sign of strange magic we’re going back as fast as we can. That means you too, Nill. I’d rather give in to these hunters than lose my mind in the Borderlands.”
“I suppose my opinion doesn’t matter,” Brolok said resignedly. “But I’m just a half-arcanist who prefers punching to transforming anyway. So I will follow you without complaint.”
The Waterways began to change. To Nill’s amazement there were far more dry islands here than he had expected. In some spots the stone peeked out from the ground, broke out right next to deep sinkholes and wide carpets of trembling turf that would have given any child joy to run around on – if not for the certainty that beneath the grass the hollows filled with murky water would swallow everyone who took a wrong step, that is.
Pale strands with grinning white heads hung from the miserable trees or peeked out of the porous stokes. The air stood still and smelled sweet and moldy. The whole place felt like an oversized grave.
Old, rounded rocks had broken off the mountainsides of Metal World countless eons ago and had since wandered all the way to the swamp, where they had finally come to rest. Huge round boulders they were, with pockmarks and holes all over. Layer by layer they had been cracked open and peeled and stuck together further below again. Bizarre shapes in the stranglehold of fungus, and all around them water and mud.
“Where do we go now?” Nill asked. “We can’t stay on this island.”
“Onwards,” the druid said shortly. “We are in a transitional part of the land. The Borderlands are directly ahead.”
They had not yet taken a step when the mists blew apart to reveal a horde of bold figures. Their leader, a tall man with long hair, put a shell horn to his lips and blew a long, wailing note, followed by several shorter, duller ones. They made Nill’s ears ache.
“Welcome to the Borderlands gate!” the warrior with the horn said, indicating a mocking bow. “But you really should go no further. It’s dangerous enough here. We must protect you from your own ignorance.” A dismissive, arrogant sneer spread across his face.
“And who are you to protect us?” Nill asked sharply.
“Friends of Ringwall! What else?”
“You don’t look like servants of Fire,” Brolok snapped.
“Fire? What gave you that impression? We serve the magon and the High Council of Archmages.”
“Do you take us for fools? Do you think we have not heard that Ringwall has fallen?”
“Fallen, well… what does that matter? The walls fell, yes. We can rebuild them. But the spirit of Ringwall lives on and has lost none of its potency.”
“Big words for a small man,” Dakh-Ozz-Han said calmly. “How is it that one such as you presumes to speak for the archmages of Ringwall?”
“Because I told him to.” The woman was slender, and her green hair gave her the appearance of a wood-nymph. “My name is Malachiris. I am a mage of Wood from Ringwall and I have been trying to catch up to you for days, but your path was not the easiest to follow. Almost as if you were lost… we had hoped to find you sooner.”
“There was no reason to run,” a deep voice behind them spoke up. Three heads turned around. Only Ramsker kept his yellow eyes firmly on the green mage. “Master Galvan!” Brolok gasped. He recognized the legendary Black Dragon, a poleaxe made of steel and whytcrystals, strapped to his back.
Behind Galvan was a larger group of riders whose dark, heavy armor over blackened chainmail did not look friendly. Like bright inclusions in black basalt, the colorful robes of Ringwall’s mages and the gold and silver-trimmed robes of Talldal-Fug’s court sorcerers broke up the monotony of the blackness without adding any warmth at all.
Galvan, who immediately recognized Brolok, did not spare him a second glance. Instead, he fixated on Dakh-Ozz-Han.
“Greetings, druid. I am Galvan, master mage of Metal in Ringwall. I do not intend to harm you, but I must ask that you hand over the archmage.”
“Perhaps you should, Dakh. We are powerless against so many enemies, and the only way out is earthwards. But without horses…” Nill’s voice trailed off despondently.
“I certainly will not, Nill. Something is wrong here and before I’ve found out what it is I’ll move not an inch. We need a little more time. The truth will come crawling into daylight sooner or later,” Dakh whispered back.
“Master Galvan, Ringwall has fallen!” Dakh declared loudly. “So why should I hand over this young man? Also, I cannot help but wonder why you ride with servants of the very man who destroyed the Circle of Archmages and murdered the magon. Did you not swear fealty to Ringwall, now and always?”
“I don’t know what you mean. Ringwall’s stones were destroyed, but the circle is unchanged. It took residence in the halls of King Talldal-Fug for a short while. The king of Metal World has done no damage to Ringwall. He will grant th
e young archmage amnesty and safety. Talldal-Fug never laid a finger on Ringwall. So what is this nonsense you speak of?”
“Who are these people, then?” Dakh challenged, indicating two troops of light riders that had just brought their steeds to a halt and were pulling out their bows.
“Nowhere left to run,” Nill groaned while Dakh laughed contemptuously.
“If these people aren’t King Sergor-Don’s dustriders under the leadership of two sorcerers, you can strip me of my druid title and call me a shaman. Don’t tell me you didn’t know.”
Galvan looked around and seemed ruffled for a moment, but then his eyebrows narrowed and his voice had a note of warning in it. “It just shows how important the archmage is for Ringwall’s history. But Sergor-Don’s dustriders have come on their king’s command and do not answer to me. I cannot speak for them, but I can offer my protection from them.”
He had barely finished talking when two more groups joined the circle. From the setting sun came five more mages and from Earth came a woodland strider with two women.
“It is as Galvan says. The archmage belongs to Ringwall.” It was an Earthen mage leading that group.
“We’re surrounded,” Nill hissed. “Just let me go. They won’t harm me.”
“They’ll burn us alive the moment they’ve got you,” Dakh growled back. “Besides, words can work wonders if used properly. Everyone seems to be after you for themselves, and the many hunters have many masters, which means many reasons to start a fight when it comes to the prey. We have to make sure the fight begins before they start speaking with magic and weapons,” he whispered. Then he raised his voice again.
“If Ringwall is destroyed and the magon dead and the High Council murdered, who is the highest authority in Ringwall? I’d say it’s the last living archmage, Master Galvan. So what exactly is stopping you from obeying the archmage and following him rather than acting as though you are the master and he the servant?”
The strider leaned on his staff; the gleaming tip could as easily be an illumination as a spearhead, and the two women beside him were whispering excitedly as though the whole confrontation around them was unimportant.
“Morb-au-Morhg,” Nill breathed. “Dakh – that’s Morhg the Mighty.”
One of the court sorcerers had stepped out of Galvan’s shadow and spread his arms wide. “Like Master Galvan, I speak in the name of my king and promise that the archmage will be under our most powerful protection.” The golden borders of his robe indicated that this was a man of high standing. “We do not demand the second man; he is a murderer, thief, rabble-rouser and cheat, but in his mercy, Talldal-Fug has declared that he be left alone unless he crosses back into Metal World. Should he do so, he will die.”
Dakh-Ozz-Han got to his feet. His aura was bottled up and almost black – then it exploded in a cascade of colors.
“I do not intend to hand over even one of the two so long as you do not name the reason for wanting them. Never before have mages followed a deceased magon.”
Galvan heaved a great sigh as though he alone must shoulder all the burdens in the world.
“Never before has Pentamuria stood upon the brink of destruction. Do not pretend to be braver than is wise, druid. You are surrounded by twenty mages, and that is not all. We have the court sorcerers of two kingdoms with us, and should that still not convince you, we have more than enough warriors, archers, duellists and armored riders. My esteemed druid, how do you mean to stop us from simply taking the archmage? He would only take unnecessary damage if a fight was to break out.”
“He’s right, Dakh,” Nill whispered, tugging at the old druid’s sleeve. But Dakh had not yet given up the word war.
“Galvan, master mage of Metal. You have become the leader of a truly remarkable troop. You ride as vassals of Talldal-Fug, the Trade King, you speak of Ringwall’s old command, you join with King Sergor’s dustriders who helped to kill your master. And what about the strange Wood mage you called a representative of Ringwall?” Dakh turned slowly to face Malachiris. “How did you manage to become a mage in Ringwall? You are not of noble blood, you were never a sorceress and you never set foot in Ringwall before. Your aura has a strange shine and impure colors. You have managed to poison and besmirch the elements. Your stench wafts all over the place. Who are you? Are you an Oa, banished by your people and the wise women? Or are you a witch? Perhaps you are a little of everything. You are what you are, but what you are is not a mage of Ringwall.”
Malachiris laughed in his face. “Silence, fool. What do you know of me? Nothing. I serve the Wood lodge and was one of the victors of the last great tournament. That alone qualifies me as a mage. Who cares who I was before? Now, hand over the archmage. I am not as patient as Master Galvan. Hand him over, or I will take him myself.”
“No one will take him.” Across the water glid a small boat that docked on the island without making a sound. Although the sound of the voice did not carry far, the words reverberated through the skulls of everyone standing near Nill, Dakh and Brolok. Some of the warriors clapped their hands to their ears, not realizing that thoughtspeak was not so easily blocked out.
The lone boat, Nill thought suddenly. The Changer of the Water worlds. The image faded quickly as a young girl leapt out of the boat to stand behind Nill. A short, strong figure pulled the boat onto land and a tall man, taller than even Galvan by a whole head, took two long strides to reach the middle of the small group. His aura flickered in the wind, insubstantial, almost invisible – rather like the man himself, whose long arms looked so out of place on the thin body.
A wild scream made everyone look around. Malachiris seemed to have gone mad at the sight of the man.
“YOU? You cursed dog and your bitch? Oh, how long have I waited for this moment, to see you before me one last time! Did you ever forget where you belong? Did you really believe you could just disappear out of my life like you entered it? Did you really think you could escape my curses? This is your end, Sedramon-Per. Yours, and your whore’s, and your son’s end!”
“You?!” Sedramon yelped in disbelief.
Everything happened all at once. From Galvan’s hands shot a wall of burning Metal at the group that scorched the ground at their feet, so hot that even the rocks began to smolder. Dakh blocked it with a Firewall of his own. Metal and Fire collided. Some bits flew up into the air, shooting sparks and leaving trails of smoke. On the ground, the Fire and Metal had clawed into each other and were tearing off each other, meeting again in yellow and green flames, weaving a curtain of molten Metal that fell to the ground screeching and was knocked back into the air by the force of the Fire with all the dirt it had gathered.
At the same time, Malachiris began to speak lightning-fast and the ground began to boil. But it was not heat that made it move. Small, gray creatures rose from the earth, strong and armed with short spears. They were no taller than hip-height, bigger than Thorwags but smaller than demons.
The dustriders nocked their arrows. Their leaders surrounded them with wide barriers and the elemental mages sent their elements into frenzy.
Nill had whipped around at the sound of the voice. All he saw was the tall man’s outline, distinct and dark against the bright sky. His eyes stopped seeing, his ears stopped hearing and his brain was flooded with a tidal wave of visions that made him forget everything around him.
While a battle of elements raged around Nill and the screams of tortured air pierced his ears, he found himself in a place of silence. He saw Sedramon-Per, lying in a small hut, and a green figure with long, white hair bending over him, stroking his face. He saw a flash of an image of a red-haired Oa with two sticks in her hands and the familiar face of the spring-keeper.
“Did you learn the holy man’s teachings?” he heard the voice ask in thoughtspeak.
Nill nodded. “The Book of Wisdom and the path to Eos. I found both.”
“The Book of Wisdom is one hundred and twenty-eight stories in eight forms each. Did you learn them?” Nill sh
ook his head. “Too soon. You left him too soon. What a pity.”
Pictures of Earthland, Metal World, the spiders, the Waterways, the Oas again – they rushed through his mind until Nill felt dizzy. Finally they crawled to a halt and he found himself standing atop the wall of Ringwall. All around him were exuberant people, gazing over the inner wall, watching sorcerers fighting each other with flames and dark clouds, bolts of lightning and crashing waves, grasping creepers and whirling rocks, light and illusions. In the middle of this commotion stood a tall, thin sorcerer with two differently-colored eyes. He pulled off his cloak and turned it inside-out. Rusty red-brown marks decorated the surface and began to dance. Nill saw the tall figure follow their lead as he slowly evaporated into thin air. When the fight was over he stood with the victors as if nothing had happened.
“You are Perdis, Sedramon-Per. I knew it. I knew it all along. You are a mage of Ringwall.”
The sorcerer accepted the honors that every new mage received. He was given the key to the library and a small room of his own. White mages took what they were given. Sedramon-Per did not complain.
Malachiris’ warriors charged. Their leader had dropped the shell horn and pulled out two long daggers. His long mane whipped around his head like a war banner. Brolok flung a swarm of Metal-soaked thunderbolts at them and charged as well.
The warrior twirled his daggers. He was fast and could attack from any side. Brolok had no weapons and his only protection was an old chainmail glove on his left hand he had taken after the battle at the campfire.
