The Reign of Magic (Pentamura Book 1)

by Awert, Wolf

  “What do you want of the Magon?” a voice asked.

  “I must talk to him!” Tiriwi called back. She made sure not to be quite as loud as the first time.

  “Why do you think you can seek an audience with him? The Magon views and guides the fates of all five kingdoms. At the same time he rules Ringwall with his archmages and all the other mages within these walls. The Magon is unavailable.” The bead of light came hopping down slowly.

  “So how do the archmages reach him?” Tiriwi asked.

  “Nobody does. The Magon calls or convenes when he considers it appropriate.”

  “And how does he receive word of events if not through messengers? He can’t possibly see and hear everything from his tower.”

  “The Magon knows all. The Dream Faces help him.”

  “No, that’s not true. He doesn’t know everything. He doesn’t know that soon Ringwall will be full of trouble and uproar.”

  “What do you mean by that?” the light asked.

  “The noble students know nothing of the legend.”

  “Shh, silence! None may talk aloud of the legend,” the light hissed.

  “Why not?” Tiriwi asked. “Some know, others don’t. And those who don’t will soon be at war with those who do.”

  “What nonsense.”

  “What does the Magon plan to do about the coming disquiet here in Ringwall?”

  The light said nothing and floated back upstairs.

  “Wait!” Tiriwi called.

  The light stopped and fell back down again, this time to her eye level. She was looking at a light sphere, and sitting in it was an old man on a chair by a table. Gray of hair, with a gray working robe, with no markings or insignias on his clothing. The face was obscured, but Tiriwi could tell that the old man was not the Magon.

  “You’re a wisp, aren’t you?” she asked.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “I always thought wisps were tiny elves or young goblins.”

  “You’ve never seen one of us, eh?” the light snorted. “Elves and goblins, really! A wisp is a wisp, not a goblin! There are young and old wisps. I’m one of the older ones, but none of us is a goblin. And elves are fairy-tale creatures. They don’t exist.” The wisp shook its head indignantly.

  “My name is Tiriwi. Can you tell me yours?”

  “I am called Wisper, like all of us wisps.”

  “But if you all share a name, how do you address each other?”

  “We always know which Wisper is meant.”

  “Does the Magon understand what it means if the students fight among each other?”

  “Maybe he wants it to happen, who knows?” Wisper answered.

  “But why should he?”

  “Perhaps to see if someone sticks out?”

  “Nobody will stick out. Two groups will be fighting one another, but once that fight begins, fate will start to unravel in a different direction.” Tiriwi’s voice was grave.

  “Oh, come now. What does a child know of fate? We changed fate the day we invited you here.”

  “Yes, you did. And every change leads to another, greater change. If the Magon does not solve the conflict before it starts, then I know who the Changer is, or whatever you call him,” Tiriwi trumped.

  “And who’s that supposed to be?” the wisp asked.

  “The Magon himself and his archmages!”

  “This is a joke,” the little old man grumbled.

  “Think about it,” Tiriwi said. “What do you think will happen when an Oa and two other young students defeat the nobles?”

  “That’s not going to happen.”

  “What do you think will happen if I’m injured during the fight, after being invited here by the mages?” Tiriwi continued.

  Wisper said nothing.

  “Do you really think that the Oas and the druids will just ignore it?”

  “Are you suggesting a fight of all the magical powers against Ringwall? Forget it, nobody can defeat the Magon and his archmages,” Wisper said.

  “No, I’m suggesting nothing of the sort,” Tiriwi responded. “I’m saying that if that were the case a mighty magical storm will occur, in whose shadow anything can happen. What’s supposed to be under control will shake and break. All because of a silly argument among students.”

  The wisp nodded. “You’re a gifted diplomat, Tiriwi. We will see how the Magon reacts.”

  “You’ll tell him?”

  “That won’t be necessary – he’s listening. Go now, it’s better for you.”

  And with a small plop Tiriwi found herself outside the mighty wooden door.

  When Tiriwi returned to the Hermits’ Caves, she found it deserted. Quiet voices however told her that the boys were down by the door that led into the mountain. She approached them slowly. Although they had grown closer over the past few weeks, she still found it difficult to go up to them and stayed a short distance away.

  Tiriwi heard Nill ask: “Can you see what sort of spell is covering the lock?”

  Brolok had a clever look on his face. “All I can feel is that there is magic over the seal, and there’s something beneath it. But it’s all so mixed up. I can feel Metal and Earth first and foremost, then Fire and Water. There may be some Wood in there.”

  “Of course there’s wood in there, can’t you feel it?” Nill asked.

  “This here is a powerful spell,” Tiriwi said. “It’s very strong, but simple.”

  “How do you know?” Nill turned to her.

  “The aura. Just look at the aura. Colorful, bright and clear. If the elements were truly interwoven in this spell, the aura would be a lot more opaque. It would have a denser substance and fewer colors.”

  Brolok shook his head. “I see nothing.”

  “Can all Oas see auras?” Nill asked. After the encounter with the Thorwag and the surprised look on the older student’s face Nill had begun to pay closer attention to auras.

  “Of course,” Tiriwi answered. “Can’t you?”

  Nill avoided the question and said, “I’ve heard that some sorcerers have troubles with it.”

  “Those who do rather than listen, and act rather than see, will not notice much. But you can see auras, can’t you, Nill?”

  Nill nodded. “Yes, those of humans.”

  “Not of objects?”

  Nill gulped. “Only since recently.”

  Tiriwi looked satisfied. “A lot can be read from an aura.”

  “Like what?” Nill asked.

  “You’ll have to find that out yourself. I can’t tell you, as it’s connected to you. You perceive auras differently than I do, I’d bet. And you’re a man.”

  Nill thought he had misheard, but at the same time his chest swelled with pride. Although he had certainly done a man’s work as a shepherd, barely anyone had ever called him that before. He allowed the pride to ebb away before turning back towards the door.

  “I’d like to try to open the seal,” he said out loud. He wasn’t bothered by the fact that no answer came, as Tiriwi and Brolok had already gone back to the main cave. They had probably thought he would follow, but he did not. Tiriwi’s words had helped him. If the seal was truly strong, but simple, then the spell was easy to understand. The first thing he noticed was the subdued glow of the seal. If he could manage to extinguish the Fire in the door, the magic holding it would weaken.

  Nill absorbed the heat into his body. It was made easier by the fact that the cave was rather cold. He attempted to fight the Fire with cold, took away its nourishment in the form of Wood and Air. He mixed the heat with the other elemental magics. He could feel it reacting, but it did not seem to be weakening. In the end he gave up. The seal was too strong for him.

  He was tired. He turned to leave, but stopped mid-movement. The auras of magical things, he thought. He had forgotten about his amulet in the past few weeks. It hung around his neck simply because it had always hung there, it was part of him. Nill carefully pulled it out by the string and inspected the disk. Indeed, it did have an a
ura. Like milky-white fog it covered the entire amulet. He could barely make out the symbols on the surface, but for the first time he could feel the power in this mighty magical artifact.

  “Speak to me!” Nill breathed.

  He was not sure whether the amulet had answered, but if it had, it was in a language he did not understand.

  After Tiriwi’s visit to the Magon the altercations between the students had settled down, replaced by silent animosity. There was the odd incident during lessons, but Tiriwi, Nill and Brolok made it through most of these unscathed. And so the time passed, until the day of the trial had come. Although none of the students knew anyone who had ever had difficulty with the trial, the knowledge that the results meant everything was enough to make everyone nervous. If they could not convince the mages of their prowess, they would have to abandon their education. For the children of noble parents this meant suicide, military life or self-imposed seclusion guarding magical sanctuaries for the rest of their lives. These and many other stories that were told at home, passed down from grandfather to father to children, enhanced with more grisly details from generation to generation, built the foundation for an unquantifiable fear that permeated the halls and rooms of Ringwall, breathing down their necks and weighing their heads down.

  The situation was different, albeit no less ominous, for Tiriwi, Brolok and Nill. Tiriwi, as an Oa, was not part of the standard order, and her participation in the trial, while not mandatory, was requested. But like so many other voluntary things, the choice was a façade. Refusing to take the exam, or failing, would have cast a terrible light on the wise women’s reputation.

  Brolok, being a half-arcanist, had the worst pressure. Everyone knew his limits, and his results were at the mercy of his examiner. For Nill the trial was the answer to whether or not he could continue to walk the path Dakh-Ozz-Han had set him on. Nill wanted to learn. Where but in Ringwall could he find the knowledge he needed?

  As at their reception, the archmages had assembled. Even the noble students began to wonder why the archmages had condescended to watch over a simple examination of the beginnings of magical knowledge. Nill spotted Empyrade standing behind the Archmage of Wood and suppressed the wish to wave at her.

  Kleiborn, a Grand Mage of the Earth lodge, had the task of judging and leading the trial. With a strangely high-pitched, but piercing voice he announced the rules of the tournament.

  “Every student will have three tasks to master to show his or her proficiency. He or she must be able to cast a convincing magical attack. He or she has the choice of which element to use, as well as the type of attack. Speed and strength will determine the likelihood of success of your attack. This is the first task.

  “The second task will be the defense against a magical attack. The type of attack will be a surprise, given to the student by his or her examiner. Speed is of vital importance here, for the attack must be quickly recognized and a counter-measure must be chosen. The student will have only a very short frame of time to do this.

  “As every combatant will be injured, poisoned, cursed or diseased at some point, he or she must be capable of healing him- or herself. This also means that the student’s healing skills will be used at a later point in their education to heal others. Self-healing, then, is the third task.

  “These are your tasks, and you must fulfill them. Every student may choose their own examiner from the ranks of the mages gathered here today. Every mage in the Hall of Ceremony today has manifested their agreement to help with the trial by their presence. That is why our mages are here: not for their own entertainment, but for the responsibility they bear to our circle, and I am deeply gratified to see the Hall so full. The opinion of success or failure of a trial will be announced to me directly by the examining mage, and the decision then lies in a vote of all the mages that have convened here today.”

  Nill was impressed, although he wondered how such a massive amount of people could ever agree on something. He supposed he would see soon enough.

  “Hereby do I begin the trial and call forward: Prince Sergor-Don, of Herfas-San.” Kleiborn hit the ground beneath him loudly with his staff, and the thud resounded around the hall.

  Nill was not surprised by Kleiborn’s choice. Sergor-Don had the highest rank of them all. Nill was certain that he would be last, as Brolok, although he was a half-arcanist, had an impressive family line through his father. On the other hand, a village boy with no family was probably the lowest rank anyone in Ringwall had ever had. This meant that he had the advantage of learning from the other students’ mistakes and successes, but he would also have to carry the weight of uncertainty the longest.

  The young prince walked leisurely into the middle of the hall and chose as his examiner a mage from the Fire lodge. It was their teacher.

  Those who had hoped for Sergor-Don to cast a spectacular spell were quickly disappointed. The prince threw an ordinary fireball at the teacher; it was larger than the ones they had practiced with, but still easily within the confines of that which was allowed during lessons. But then he turned up the intensity of his attacks. They came faster and faster, until they were blurred. His examiner humored him for a while, and then they both broke into laughter. Although the prince had just demonstrated an enormous amount of energy use, he looked as though he could have kept going forever.

  For his second task Prince Sergor-Don chose a high mage of Metal as his overseer. It would have been surprising to see something other than a bolt or a flying weapon come the prince’s way, and sure enough, it was a spear. It materialized out of nowhere and glided through the air. Although it had been thrown with some force, its movement was slow, and the prince simply changed the spear’s course upwards, allowing it to fly into the sky. Rather than wait for another attack, the prince shot a flurry of arrows at the Metal mage, who banished them with a flick of his wrist. At the same time, a light-blue, twitching orb fell from the sky, bouncing off the mage and straight back to the prince. He caught it in his hand and flung it back at the mage, who simply opened his mouth and swallowed it whole.

  Applause and appreciative muttering spread through the spectating students, although only defense was necessary, and no counter-attack. The skills the prince had displayed were far beyond those of an average neophyte in his first year.

  A White Mage was to be the prince’s final examiner. They stood face to face for a while, silent, until the mage said: “Congratulations.” None of the onlookers had seen anything, for the poison and antidote had been invisible in the prince’s body.

  “If the other brothers are not averse, I would assume patronage of the prince.” The high mage of Metal, who had presided over the second task, had risen. The patronage was an old tradition in Ringwall – a student who had completed their first year would get a patron who was responsible for them. Not every mage took this task seriously, and not every student was important enough to warrant a patron who truly cared for him. But even if the prince seemed on course to becoming an important person outside of Ringwall, the offer caused some commotion. High Mages generally did not assume patronage of students. For quite a while, the hall was full of mutterings.

  The prince acknowledged the offer with a deep bow and a thin smile.

  The following trials gave Nill little in the way of enlightenment. Usually the attacks would be fireballs, because they had been practiced the most. The defensive part was far easier than Kleiborn’s words had made it seem. With the choice of examiner, the student automatically chose their element as well, and so far everyone had played by the rules. In defense, Fire and Metal found the most common use. The only exciting thing was during the third task, where some examiners seemed to enjoy certain diseases more than others. In particular, the female students were often cursed with rashes, warts, and in one memorable case, tentacles. After a few indignant squeals, however, the students always managed to revert to their original states. Poisons were rarely visible. Only one boy from the Waterways could be seen falling to the floor, cramped,
before he managed to dispel the affliction.

  The masters of ceremonies must have decided to choose Tiriwi as the first performer from the Hermits’ Caves, as Kleiborn called her name first. Tiriwi went to stand on the spot assigned to her and waited. The commotion rose with every second she remained silent.

  When Kleiborn seemed to have waited long enough, he interrupted the mutterings and asked loudly: “Who do you choose as your first examiner, Tiriwi of the Oas?”

  Tiriwi stayed calm and said quietly, although audibly: “I do not mind. I would not like the other mages to feel insulted by disregarding them in favor of another. I do not want to appear as though I feel some are less appropriate than others, or that I do not trust them. Please, choose for me.”

  Again, the mages began to murmur. Insecurity seemed to spread among them, for none of them knew how to deal with this sort of situation. Some of the younger mages in particular quite liked the idea of examining, but thought that they ought to get the approval of the older, more experienced mages first. Should not one of the high mages test her, as inviting the Oa had been the council’s decision? But of which lodge? Would that not make the white mages best suited for the task? As always, when the consequences of an action lay shrouded before them, nothing happened. All eyes were on Kleiborn, and Kleiborn was staring helplessly at the Magon. The Magon smiled. “Well?” he asked in thought-speak, inaudible to most of those present. “Is nobody prepared? Perhaps one of the white brothers?”

  From the back row a calm voice rang out. “If nobody objects, I would take the first task. Although my combat experience is from days past, I hope I can still defend myself adequately.”

  On a few faces there was a fleeting smirk, but many remained impassive. What was happening here was not the Ringwall way. Who had ever heard of a student changing the process of the trial to their liking?

  Tiriwi slowly stretched her arms out, pointing at the mage with all ten fingers.

  “May I begin?” she asked quietly. The White Mage nodded and gathered his concentration.