The Written

by Ben Galley

  ‘Look at this!’ The mage yelled. Jergan blinked and squinted at the silver trinket, covering his eyes with bleeding hands.

  ‘Look!’ Farden strode forward, marching his mirror before him into the face of the lycan. But the beast suddenly barked a guttural laugh and shouted above the rain.

  ‘You should tell your maid not to buy you cheap silver mirrors mage!’ He barked a short cackle and kicked out at Farden’s chest with a long hind leg. The huge foot caught him hard right below his throat and the mage tumbled backwards with a cry, but as he fell he threw three small bolts of blistering fire at Jergan and the lycan stepped back quickly swiping fire from his face. Farden rolled backwards skilfully and regained his stance, the wind blowing the smell of charred hair and flesh to his keen nose. He threw a massive fire blast at the creature and followed it up with a quick spell to drain the lycan’s strength. Jergan yelped and barked as he threw a rock at Farden. The powerful mage deflected the missile with his sword and kept throwing spell after spell at Jergan. A few more firebolts and a blast of lightning threw the lycan to the ground. Farden summoned a dark well of strength and threw his arms out wildly. A ripple of magick ripped through the ground like a carpet being shaken and rocks flew in all directions. The quake spell hit the lycan in the back and the crack of several bones was audible. Farden reeled from the massive spell, cramp striking his arms like a hammer bouncing off an anvil. The mage gritted his teeth and still strode forward, watching the beast scrabble to get upright. Jergan’s fur and skin were raw in patches, and blood gushed from his arm wound.

  ‘Leave!’ The lycan hissed.

  Farden halted and watched the creature pick itself up. ‘Let me talk to Jergan! I know he’s in there somewhere,’ he held his arms wide, twin balls of fire spinning in each hands as he struggled to keep up the level of spell casting, but he knew it was the only way he could make the lycan retreat.

  ‘NO!’ Jergan pounced and Farden clapped his hands together with a blast of flame. But the lycan had been too quick and the spell broke, the two of them falling back to the ground. Farden struggled for his life as razor teeth snapped an inch from his face. Claws dug deep furrows in the grass next to his head and the lycan spat and roared in his face. Farden was using all his strength to hold back the massive shoulders of the beast with his sword, backing up his efforts with an iron spell of force.

  ‘Get….off!’ Farden shouted and rolled over. His blade sliced across Jergan’s hand again and skilfully reversing his grip he raked the sword across the lycan’s side. The beast snarled and leapt away, but not before scraping a claw across Farden’s chest, luckily only finding armour beneath. The blade swung again and caught a hind leg. Farden could not chance even getting a small scratch from one of Jergan’s teeth. so he kept swinging his sword in a vain attempt to ward the animal back to a safe distance. Relentless magick was the only weapon that could keep Jergan at bay. If they had to fight until the sun came up then so be it, Farden thought grimly.

  Lightning forked the sky above them and a roar of thunder followed it. Jergan howled a haunting cry, arching his head towards the heavy clouds. Farden spun away from the lycan and the two of them circled again, both breathing hard and shaking with effort. The creature was bleeding from multiple places but the wounds already seemed to be healing and scabbing over. Farden cursed the lycan’s regeneration ability.

  The mage ran the flat of his sword over his left gauntlet and the blade burst into flame, spitting and crackling. He threw two more spears of fire at the lycan and swung his sword at the lycans skull. Jergan ducked and rolled, the flames licking his flanks. Sparks of electricity leapt over him as Farden hit him with another jolt. Jergan was getting tired and he knew it, the lycan’s spell starting to break under the pressure of such powerful magick. Farden was starting to crack as well, keeping up such powerful spells was draining him, and badly. Remembering Durnus’ words he extinguished the sword in the ground and began to concentrate on the wind around him, forcing a vortex of rain to spin around the snarling lycan. The wind howled keenly and the rain battered Jergan as Farden sent wall after wall of wind at the beast. Farden mercilessly drove a few more blasts of energy at the wolf-like creature. The wind tore back his hood and the cloak flapped while rain lashed the mage’s face. His jaw was set and the effort drained his stern features of colour. The lycan stumbled back again and spluttered as rain water filled his face. Lightning ripped through the sky.

  ‘Leave me alone!’ Jergan shrieked. He scrambled backwards to get free of the powerful onslaught. He turned tail and stumbled away from Farden’s vortex spell. The lycan ran off into the night, howling as he disappeared.

  Farden swayed on his feet as the wind died back to its normal level. He lowered his hands and collapsed into the soaking grass with exhaustion, still trying to keep his eyes open and fixed on the hills around him.

  Morning brought him iron skies and a light drizzling rain. The rolling green hills lay quiet and sodden, the grey outcrops of rock scattering the scarred grass from the night before. Farden lay in a trance, hunched up with his knees at his chin, cloak gathered around him in a tight bundle. He had forced down some meat and water earlier in an attempt to stay awake and alive. The exhausted mage wiped rain from his face for the thousandth time. His eyes were surrounded by dark rings once more, and his lips were white with the cold. Farden’s sodden hair covered his face and a beard was starting to decorate his chin. In the valley before him lay the tiny wooden hut where Jergan had retreated to earlier that morning. After the battle the lycan had disappeared into the storm, howling occasionally and spying on Farden from a nearby hill. When dawn finally broke over the moors Jergan had began to transform and so he had slunk back into his hovel.

  Farden stood up resiliently and drew his sword. He gripped the cold steel and bound leather with his weary frozen fingers and cleared his dry throat with a crumbly, hoarse cough. After taking a final swig of rainwater and relieving himself gratefully behind a boulder the mage determinedly strode forward down the sloping hill towards the hut.

  ‘Jergan! Come out here and talk! Don’t make me cut your head off you cur!’ barked Farden. He marched up to the door and banged loudly on the rough wooden planks. No answer.

  ‘Jergan! Get up!’ Farden kicked the door in and cast a light spell to burn through the darkness of the messy cabin. The rancid smell of wet dog and rotten meat made the mage gag. A clatter of pans came from the corner behind the door and Farden stormed into the tiny room.

  ‘Don’t! Don’t kill me!’ shouted Jergan. He held up his muddy hands in defence and covered his eyes. Pale skinny legs flailed in the air as the gaunt man scrabbled in the dirt. The mage’s magick burned his eyes. Jergan spluttered and coughed. ‘Please, I’ll do whatever you want!’ he managed, and Farden let his spell die. He looked at the poor excuse for a man lying on the floor.

  Jergan looked as though the years had eaten away at him. His arms were thin and bony and his brown fingernails were long and chipped, and now starting to curl with age. A scrap of cloth barely covered him, and it was soiled with mud and blood, leaving his ribs poking through papery skin. His straggly white hair hung thick over a weary face, and dull violet eyes poked from deep holes above sharp cheekbones and cracked lips. Scales adorned his chin amidst grey stubble. Proud flecks of blue striped his cheeks and ears. He was the complete opposite of the foul creature he had faced last night, the antithesis of threatening, a broken old man lying in the dust, and the mage felt a tinge of pity for him. Scaly feet and ankles kicked pans as the exhausted Siren lycan hauled himself to a sitting position, a dishevelled crossbreed of bad luck.

  Farden leaned against the doorpost and waggled the fierce tip of his sword at the cowering man. ‘You’d better have whatever I came for, or you’ll wish I had killed you last night,’ he spat.

  Jergan was still breathing heavily, and his bony chest heaved up and down with his panting. ‘I thought you were here for sport, like the many others that have come here and tried to hunt me
. How was I supposed to know who you were and what you want, I haven’t spoken to anyone in months, or years...’ He glowered at the mage, and then cocked his head on one side, like a dog. ‘What do you want from me Arka?’

  Farden sheathed his sword. ‘Information that you have, old man, or had.’

  Jergan shook his head, as if his fate had already been decided for him. ‘What could I possibly know that’s of any value to you?

  Farden scowled, and ‘Well let’s find out, shall we? Three days ago something was stolen from my people...’ he began.

  ‘And you think I had something to do with it?’ He glared again, and Farden felt the anger boiling in his chest. The cursed old skeleton was being petulant. Farden crouched down and brought his eyes close to Jergan’s. ‘Listen here, old man, and listen well. After last night you’re lucky I didn’t set fire to your hut and be done with you. But I’ve been sent here for information, and I don’t intend leaving without it. I suggest that you give me what I want. And if you interrupt me again, it will be the last thing you do. Tell me what I want to know and I’ll leave you in peace, or end you if that is your wish.’ The mage’s eyes burned with fire. The Siren looked away, and they both rose warily, Jergan taking a seat by the small stove and Farden remaining standing, arms crossed and stern. The scaly man took a few deep breaths, licked his dry cracked lips, and gestured with a wave of his papery hand. ‘Please, go on.’

  Farden flashed a humourless smile. ‘The stolen item was a book that was taken from the Sirens during the war. It was a book of great magick, small and black with a black dragon-scale cover. My masters think you studied this book years ago when you lived in Nelska.’

  The lycan looked away. ‘That was a long time ago mage,’ he said.

  ‘Well I need you to remember.

  Jergan thought for a minute. His mind was full of tired headaches and ravenous hunger. ‘I have tried to forget these parts of my life, and for years I’ve pushed them from me, or the beast has done it for me. If I can’t remember having a life, then I have nothing to miss do I?’ He paused again, and then narrowed his eyes with deep thought. ‘A long time ago, years before the war, an expedition discovered a cave near the Tausenbar mountains, and in the depths of this cave lay a hidden fort dug out of the rocks and cliffs, and inside that we found a library filled with everything we could have dreamed of. It had been a dark elf stronghold, in the old times, now long abandoned, but it was filled with so much knowledge and countless forgotten treasures. The elves had left all their belongings in a manic retreat, leaving all their food and clothing behind in their rush. One of the tomes we found buried beneath the dust was a little black book like the one you’ve lost.’

  ‘Well was it this book or not?’

  ‘That was such a long time ago, and my mind isn’t what it used to be… but it sounds the same. A small book covered with black dragon scales, and a small gold latch on the front, with a very strong spell sealing the lock.’

  Farden nodded. ‘That sounds like the one.’

  Jergan shrugged. ‘Well, there you have it.’

  The mage shook his head. ‘I need more than that. What was inside the book?’

  An irritated sigh. ‘We took it and the other books we found back to the halls of Nelska, and began to study them, in what took years to accomplish. I happened to be one of the few men working on your book, trying to uncover the secrets of the dark elf magick.’ Jergan paused for a swig of nearby water.

  ‘You Sirens should have known better than to mess around with elven magick,’ said Farden.

  ‘We knew that, but at the time it seemed the best thing to do for our people, with power like that we would have been unstoppable,’ said Jergan, grinning a little.

  ‘Then I’m glad we started the war before you did.’ Farden returned the yellow smile.

  ‘Perhaps, but either way this book was the most fantastic example of dark elf magick we had ever seen. Once our most powerful spells had opened the book we were able to learn the summoning incantations that brought daemons, monsters, and ghosts from the other side, calling them to fight anyone who would stand in our way. We tested some of them with several prisoners from Skölgard with brutal results. The daemons would do anything we asked them, and they would fight on command until death. That is, if you were strong enough to summon one; several of our wizards died from the strain of summoning such terrible beasts.’ Jergan looked wistful, remembering an age long forgotten, like a torn-out chapter of a book he had once read.

  ‘Shame,’ Farden spat.

  Jergan seemed hurt, but thought better of complaining. He went on. ‘The most powerful spell in the manual was for the one of the most ancient and terrifying of all dark monsters. None of us to this day knew how to raise it, and the incantation alone scared us witless. Whatever it was the Old Dragon called a stop to such free use of dark magick, and called off the whole investigation into the “evil” book. Farfallen had it banished to southern Nelska, where apparently your soldiers stole it and whisked it away back to Krauslung.’ The scaly man crossed his arms.

  ‘What was this spell about?’ Farden asked as he took a seat on a small wooden box.

  ‘We never knew, it referred to what was named...’ Jergan made a guttural sound of some foreign language, and Farden shook his head. ‘Something I can understand, please?’

  Jergan made a face as though he were teaching a child. ‘Thy mouths of darkness or terrible dark, something like that. All that we managed to find out was that this thing was different from the other dark creations, a crossbreed of daemon and dragon that old Farfallen feared greatly. Luckily, none of our wizards had been strong enough to survive such a powerful incantation, and the Old Dragon put a stop to our research, so the book was sent away and we halted all other reading on dark magick. Farfallen had the practice outlawed in Nelska and none of us spoke any more of it.’

  ‘Research is hardly the word I would use, but that sounds a wise thing to do, for a Siren.’ The mage nodded as he searched in his travel bag for food. He tossed Jergan a red apple and munched on his. ‘I will assume that was a compliment,’ said the lycan, as he caught the offered fruit. ‘Thank you.’

  Farden shrugged. He mused as he crunched on the bruised apple, turning over words in his head. There was a moment of chewing, and then the lycan asked a question. ‘I take it you are one of the Arka then? One of the Written I imagine?’

  Farden set his jaw. It was an invasive question, especially from a Siren. He humoured him. ‘Yes, I am.’

  Jergan nodded slowly, a hint of something in his hollow eyes. ‘Then I applaud you, carrying the Book is not easy task, for some,’ he said, and his hungry eyes roved over the mage. ‘I’ve heard the stories about the unlucky ones, mage, when the magick eats away at the mind.’

  Farden shuffled on his little box and scowled. ‘I suggest you keep your observations to yourself. Why would someone want to steal this dark manual?’ How much would it be worth on the magick market?’

  ‘As I said, it has been years since I talked to barely anyone mage, as you might have guessed I usually just end up eating my guests.’ Jergan’s face went icy cold and his eyes glazed into a faraway look. Farden tried to find patience somewhere inside him. ‘I saw as much last night. Again, why would anyone want to steal the book?’

  ‘Power maybe? But to use the greatest spell in that book you would have to be one of the more powerful mages in Emaneska. I only know of a few, and most of them are the ones who sent you. Out of the Arka probably only the Arkmages could open the book and cast the spells within. You’re probably asking the wrong person’ said Jergan, but Farden didn’t buy it. ‘There are other powerful mages in the land these days, besides the Arkmages. A few of the wizards from your own lands could do it, and in the east Skölgard have sorcerers capable of such feats. Why would my masters steal their own book?’

  ‘You tell me, mage. Could you do it?’ Jergan asked with a nod of his head.

  Farden shook his head. ‘That’s not the point,�
�� he snapped, and the lycan went on.

  ‘If someone wanted to steal it then they would have to know of its existence. Excluding the dark elves who are obviously not an option, that leaves the Sirens in Nelska or your own people. That’s the truth of it.’ Jergan leaned back on the rickety chair. Even with the stiff breeze from outside sneaking through the open door, the air inside the hut was thick and stale. The more Farden looked at the scaly lycan, the more he pitied him. He obviously hadn’t eaten anything for days; Jergan had eaten the whole apple already and had wolfed down the core and even the wooden stem. The mage shook his head, and focussed on his task.

  ‘Then if it wasn’t any of the Arka, that means the war is far from over,’ concluded the mage. An ominous silence hung between them. Farden’s mind ran through fields of possibilities and jumped over hedges of doubt. Had, the gods forbid, one of his own Arka committed this crime, murdered the scholars and stolen this book? Farden’s mind clouded stormily with fears. He couldn’t rule out the Sirens either. And there was the distinct possibility that the murderers were working completely on their own, independent of either race, Arka or Siren. Suddenly he felt a heavy dread worrying and chilling his heart, but an equally strong sense of duty coursed through his veins, and the mage clenched his fists as he resolved to put a stop to this mess before it got out of hand. Farden had to get back to Durnus.