The Reign of Magic (Pentamura Book 1)

by Awert, Wolf

  Brolok became his regular partner during practice. During one of their habitual practice fights with fireballs and ice spheres he hit Nill in the head, singeing his eyebrows, although the ball responsible had been moving at a typically Brolok-ish slow speed.

  “What’s the matter, are you asleep?” Brolok asked.

  Nill jumped as if he had just been torn from a dream.

  “Sorry, Brolok. I’m not sure what’s wrong with me. Probably all the mages around me, they distract me,” he answered absent-mindedly.

  “Of course, it’s the mages,” Brolok laughed. But behind his joyous face the first stirrings of worry awoke. He knew that Nill had complained for days that the mages had not been leaving him in peace, but he did not know what he meant by that. It was true that they encountered mages everywhere when they traveled from their caves to the teaching rooms, but no more than usual. But Nill did not mean the comings and goings of colorful robes. Brolok could not feel the invisible fingers that were touching Nill, attempting to get under his clothes and penetrate his brain. Nill had foregone his shirt and tunic and was instead wearing Brolok’s old leather harness that hung rigidly around his skinny frame. But even more uncomfortable than the invisible fingers were the encounters in the hallways. Some of the passing mages ignored any sense of personal space, pushing past Nill at an awkwardly close distance. Every time their auras collided he felt a small shock, followed by an almost indecent tingling on his skin.

  “Take me in the middle,” Nill requested without bothering to explain why. Brolok saw Nill’s odd behavior as a remnant of the encounter with the falundron, but Tiriwi had a better idea of what was going on and had taken it upon herself to put herself between any approaching mages and Nill. It worked. The uncomfortable tingling stopped and Nill was left alone, but he remained jittery, nervous and distracted.

  Brolok asked Tiriwi for advice. “If someone were to attack him right now, he couldn’t defend himself. I have no idea where he or his mind is. Do you know what’s wrong?”

  Tiriwi had noticed Nill’s behavior too. She sat down next to him, close, but just far away enough for their auras to stay separate.

  “Nill, are you alright? I can feel an incredible heat within you that I don’t recognize.”

  Nill shook his head. “I’m not alright at all, but I don’t know why. Something’s wrong with my magical energies. It’s all a mess. And my hand hurts like it’s never hurt before. And I think I’m feverish.”

  “Lie down; I’ll see if I can help.”

  Tiriwi placed her hand on Nill’s forehead, helping him reduce his fever. She also succeeded in partially removing the inflamed part of Nill’s hand injury. Nill’s aura soothed from the unhealthy red that had lain over the more familiar colors, but what Tiriwi saw made her do a double-take. It was not Nill’s aura, not the way she had known it for the past winter. Where strong, confident colors had once played with another, there was a sickly paleness to them now. The colors were hardly recognizable, and the entire aura had a feeling of fragility and transparency to it. It had lost its distinctive flickering and was pulsating light and dark in a slow motion.

  “Moonshine and sunshade,” Tiriwi thought, without paying much attention to what she meant by that. She then spoke to Nill.

  “I can help you come to terms with the effects of your injuries, but I can’t heal them. They’re magical and too deep. You will have to heal them on your own.”

  Nill nodded and then fell asleep.

  Tiriwi knew that even Nill would not be able to fix his aura without help. She sent Brolok to Ambrosimas, and unwilling as he was to face an Archmage, he complied. Nill was his friend, after all. And so he ran to the quarter of Thought, searched for the door with the most obvious magical properties, pulled out his shortsword and slammed the pommel against the wood. The pommel shattered and yellowish fragments of bone rained onto the floor below.

  “By the demons, now I have to make a new pommel,” he cursed under his breath, continuing to mistreat the door. “Where in the world am I going to get Ironbone from in these parts?”

  “I can’t help with your weapon,” a calm voice said. “Now leave my poor door alone, I’m coming.”

  Brolok turned around in wonder and could barely make out an aura dying down. It smelled badly sweet, as so often when an empty room was filled again. “Death hurries,” they say, but in reality it was just little creatures and dust, decomposing.

  Brolok made his way back, hoping that it really had been Ambrosimas who had spoken.

  His emotions, it transpired, had run away with him, and the quaking door had not remained unheard in a city full of attentive ears. The noise had evidently not been contained to the Thought quarter, and upon his return he found someone else already at Nill’s bedside.

  He arrived, but so had three mages. A grand white mage with weary eyes and a beard so long he had wrapped it around his waist, a young-looking mage from the Other World and a Metal mage whose friendly smile was at odds with his cheerless eyes. All three took a respectful step back when Ambrosimas appeared in the entrance.

  “He’s determined to heal himself,” Tiriwi explained, “and we wanted to respect that. We don’t know what illness has grasped him and why he chose the difficult path he did for healing. We’re afraid he’s not up to the challenge.”

  One of the mages took Nill’s hand in his and pointed at the holes. “That’s where it’s bad.”

  “Yes, we know, but Nill didn’t say what he used for the wound. It’s been looking bad for a few days now, and then he got fever on top of it.”

  Ambrosimas gave Tiriwi a long, calculating look. “Well well, he managed to stab himself in the hand.” Ambrosimas laid his hand on Nill’s. “This is no ordinary sting. If we weren’t in Ringwall I’d say he was bitten by a shade-viper. But they live exclusively in the Borderlands, far beyond the fog-fens. This has wounded his spirit.” Ambrosimas laid several large, semi-translucent leaves Tiriwi recognized as coming from the gigambrella plant onto the wound, folded them around his wrist and covered it in a magical, sparkling violet membrane.

  “I’m no healer,” Ambrosimas said, “but I know the spirits of arcanists. As far as their feelings and thoughts are concerned, at least. This wound goes right down to the deepest layer of his being. I’ll be sending someone along. The most immediate danger is over.”

  Ambrosimas gave the three mages a short look. His gaze did not linger, as though he was looking for something more important. “We ought to respect his wish for self-healing, but from now on there will be someone standing guard over him, and they will immediately contact us if Nill’s condition worsens.” And then to Brolok and Tiriwi: “We can have you three moved out of these caves and into rooms upstairs. You would probably prefer them to your current deplorable living situation.”

  “Please, no,” Brolok cut across him. “There’s no spot in Ringwall better for feeling Metal and Earth energy.”

  “As you wish. We ought to leave Nill alone for the moment.”

  Ambrosimas left the room and the White Mage followed him. The young mage from the lodge of the Other World addressed Brolok and Tiriwi. “I’ll remain until the Word has sent a guard. Your young friend is in a precarious situation indeed; I have never seen such a malformed aura.”

  The Metal mage spread his arms and covered Nill in a black veil. “His aura yet surrounds his body, and I will make sure it stays that way.”

  “We’ll take care of Nill. He’s in good hands,” the mage of the Other World attempted to calm Brolok and Tiriwi. “You’d better go and get some rest.”

  “No,” Tiriwi replied.

  “What? No?”

  “No generally means I disagree. I’m staying.”

  “You’ve no right to decide that,” the Metal mage said, his brow furrowed strictly.

  “The decision is mine and mine alone. And I’ve made it.”

  Brolok stood in the entrance to Nill’s cave and could not believe what he was witnessing. Tiriwi had always stood fi
rm by her opinion of the right use of magic, but she had never outright clashed with a mage before. She seemed determined to come to blows and Brolok could not understand why.

  “You will leave, or I will make you,” the mage threatened.

  “Nothing will make me leave,” Tiriwi replied. “Nill is my husband, and every Oa is bound to make sure that her husband is safe. Nobody and nothing can come between an Oa and her duty. I will allow you to stay, however.”

  The mage stared at the girl in disbelief, considered for a moment and then said: “Very well. We both want him to get well again. There is no sense in us arguing. You may remove his armor. It may be of use in battle, but not so much while he sleeps. Or is the armor a part of his strength and manliness?” he asked with a sneer, not troubling to hide his annoyance. Tiriwi loosened some of the straps, but made no effort to remove the harness. The mages leaned over Nill and removed the garment. His body rose a few inches and then fell back. He looked very relaxed.

  “You see?” the mage from the Other World said. He sat down beside Nill and moved his hands along the sleeping boy.

  The Metal mage stepped closer and tugged at Nill’s necklace. “Hmm, very interesting. An amulet, and a real one at that. What do you say to that? A neophyte with a real amulet. He must have powerful protectors, because I doubt he made that himself.”

  His fingers cautiously wandered along the string.

  “Leave him alone, he needs his sleep,” Tiriwi snarled at the mages.

  “Worry not,” the Metal mage said. “I only wish to check whether the amulet might help heal him. I do not need to touch him now that I know where it is.” He stroked the amulet with his fingertips. “No healing, only protective spells here. Interesting craftsmanship. Excellent work. I will have to take a closer look when Nill is feeling better.” At these words he stood up, sat down in the main cave and sunk into a deep calm. A few moments later he rose again and said: “Nill is in no immediate danger. I’ll be back tomorrow.” And he left.

  “Far too considerate,” the mage from the Other World growled, taking the amulet from Nill’s neck. “I’ll show this to the Magon and we’ll see his decision on how to proceed,” he continued sternly, pocketing the amulet and following his colleague.

  Brolok entered. “That was brave of you. I wouldn’t want to cross you when you’re serious about something. But I never knew you and Nill were married, or that the Oas take care of their husbands. You did a good job keeping that quiet in front of me!”

  Tiriwi’s eyes went cold, contrasting with her reddening face like a glacier set against a sunset. “Nill isn’t my husband. You know he isn’t, and I know that you know. If you tell Nill anything about what I did just now, then a foul-smelling skin disease will stop you from ever wearing armor in your life again.”

  At this she hastened from the cave. Brolok stayed for a while, grinning.

  Nill was sleeping, Tiriwi had stormed off and Brolok felt needed and useless at the same time. Crafting a new weapon or working on a new set of armor while Nill was bound to his bed, too weak to move, seemed treacherous to him. On the other hand, he had no idea how to help Nill get better, and he felt his presence was unnecessary.

  He ruffled through Nill’s things, put aside a bundle of clothes and found the case in which Nill kept his map. He whistled appreciatively. The map was marked all over.

  “Nill, old boy, you’ve been busy. Bet you I can find some portals you’ve missed!”

  Glad to have something to do, he left the caves. There was one spot on the map almost devoid of markings. It was, as expected, somewhere between Water and Wood, on the opposite side of Ringwall to their caves. The fastest way to get there was taking a portal to the Hall of Ceremony, and then going towards the Wood quarter.

  “Let’s see what we can find,” Brolok muttered to himself.

  Nill slept deeply and long. The White Mage, sent by Ambrosimas, had arrived. He had checked up on Nill, smiled, and left again. Nill had opened his eyes twice, been fed broth by Tiriwi and had fallen asleep straight after. When he awoke the next day he felt stronger, but still confused and disoriented. He saw Tiriwi and Brolok sitting next to him on the floor.

  “I think I’ve got something for you,” Brolok announced. “I found something yesterday.”

  “What did you find?” Nill asked, tired.

  “Nothing special, just a new portal,” Brolok answered casually.

  Nill pretended to be happy at this news, although at the moment he had little interest in further trips of discovery.

  “And what’s special about this portal?” he asked. “Apart from the fact that it eluded me?”

  “It was well hidden and had a small blocker made of metal. Probably just to make sure people didn’t accidentally walk through it.”

  “So?” Nill could not muster any excitement for Brolok’s discovery. His mind was on Ambrosimas instead. There was something fiddling around in his thoughts, but he could not catch it. Ambrosimas had come to visit, and other mages had been there too. He remembered the magical touches, but he could not remember what had actually happened.

  “All I had to do was weaken the portal’s Earth influence a little, and then I got rid of the barrier. It wasn’t a real lock,” Brolok continued.

  Nill forced himself to listen. Why did it have to be so drawn-out, so long-winded? Could he not simply show Nill the map? Tiriwi, too, looked politely interested, but her eyes were darting around.

  “The portal led to a narrow corridor that slowly grew and led to a large door,” Brolok bored his friends.

  Nill grimaced, but Brolok just grinned. “There have to be more portals there, because when someone came through that door he vanished somewhere along the corridor. I have no idea where he went.”

  “Mages always run around in corridors that vanish into nothingness around here. Why should that one be any different?”

  “I didn’t only see him coming through the door. I also witnessed him go through.”

  “And?”

  “He entered with a stack of parchments, and he came out with none. What sort of room would you keep scrolls of parchment in?”

  Nill’s exhaustion was gone in a flash. The library of the mages! Nill had heard whispers of it. A room, or several, to hold all the knowledge the mages possessed in one area, accessible to anyone in Ringwall if they knew the way. The collected scripts, scrolls and findings of hundreds of generations were there!

  “I need to go there!”

  Knowledge was an oral treasure in Ringwall, passed from teacher to student, from parent to child, from friend to friend. The very idea of writing down knowledge to be kept in unchanging form sounded mad. Writing was, in general, made for the moment, like speaking. A clearly read spell on well-prepared parchment, papyrus or tree-bark was far more powerful and binding than the same spell simply recited. Any sorcerer knew that. That was why the symbols were written, that was the reason for the development of script. A spell, read aloud, combined the power of picture, mind and word. But in the moment a spell was read and spoken aloud, the magical carrier, the writing, fell apart. Messages that passed from king to king, put to the scroll by sorcerers so that their content could not be changed and was not at the mercy of a messenger’s memory, never lasted long.

  There were exceptions to this rule. The old King’s Law of Earthland was carved into the magical wood of the outer gate of his castle. The gate might be damaged by wind, weather or enemy artillery, but it was able to shrug off these damages. The words, however, had to be cleaned and re-carved at least once every moon cycle. Two court sorcerers did nothing else. Or so the tale went.

  But this was different. It was a library with wisdom, knowledge and insight for the ages. It was different, it was special, and Nill wondered how the mages were able to keep it safe from the harmful flow of time. “Let’s go. Lead the way, Brolok.”

  Brolok gave a satisfied grin. “I told you it might interest you.”

  Nill clambered out of bed and had to hold onto Brolo
k’s shoulder so as not to fall over again. Although the prospect of visiting the mysterious library had given him strength, he was still unsteady.

  Half-carried by Brolok and with the aid of a few portals they reached the entrance the narrow corridor Brolok had described. He showed Nill how to open the portal and they slipped through the tight entrance.

  Nill’s excitement was reaching breaking point. As fast as his weakened legs would carry him he hurried towards the door at the end of the corridor. It was clearly visible, being made of a much lighter wood than the stones of the corridor.

  To his disappointment he could not open it. He inspected the aura and was disheartened. It was white and almost opaque. This was a seal he did not understand, far too strong for him to remove.

  “I have to get in!”

  “Why, though? Do you think you’ll understand anything that’s written down in there?”

  “I’m not sure, but understand: if all the collected knowledge of the mages is amassed here, then it’s the only place in all of Ringwall where I might find something about my parents.”

  “And what exactly are you looking for?” Brolok asked.

  Nill shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t even know what’s behind this door.”

  They made their way back to the Hermits’ Caves. Nill’s heart was full of a strange mixture of excitement and disappointment. For now, he needed to recuperate and gather his strength. The next few days would be tiring.

  Without help he had no hope of entering the library. Luckily for him, Ambrosimas had decided to resume his lessons after a lengthy break. Although the Archmage was telling him something about the importance of the aura as an astral body, which under normal circumstances would have had Nill more spellbound than any enchantment, he could not concentrate on the subject. He sat waiting for an opportunity to ask the one question that burned inside him at that moment.