by Awert, Wolf
“There’s no Metal energy in this ore,” he noted.
Tiriwi kneeled down and gazed at the refulgence in reverence. Nill joined her and called his light ball back down. He brushed the floor with his fingertips and felt slight bumps every so often. It hit him: these were not veins of ore at all.
“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” he asked, breathlessly. Nill could not believe his eyes. The entire floor was covered in writing. He could not decipher it, but he recognized the letters. He had found them on Perdis’ works, on his amulet – and on the falundron.
“Writing?” Tiriwi asked in amazement.
Nill nodded and followed the script back to the door. When he reached it and looked up, he noticed that the door itself and all the surrounding walls were covered in the symbols too. Nill sent his ball of light upwards and dispersed it, so that an even light was cast upon the room. The hall was too large to see the walls on the other side, but it was enough. Pillars held the vaulted ceiling. Everything was covered in letters. The floor, the walls, the ceiling, and every last pillar. Nill had no idea where the text began or ended. This one room, he felt, contained more than the entire library of Ringwall.
Brolok sat on the floor, interested, but detached. “Reading and writing have never really been my thing. But I know you’re going to tell me what it says in a moment anyway.” He grinned again.
Nill could make out entrances to other rooms in the walls, but unlike the previous ones these were not roughly carved from the rock. They were so smooth that they looked almost as though the stone had melted and cooled down again. He could not see any further writing beyond the hall he was in.
Nill limped along the walls. He had quite forgotten his rule about walking normally; the hall was such a wondrous place that it had driven all else from his mind. The hip above his good leg had begun to ache. He touched it, but could find nothing unusual. The dull pain was directly beneath the sheath of his dagger.
Nill pulled the knife out to alleviate some of the pressure from his aching muscles and found himself momentarily blinded. The blade’s steel emitted a light that sliced straight through the dusky darkness of the hall. The light ball he had conjured earlier shrank to a pitiful little speck as the light from the dagger spread out, filling the side of the hall to their left.
Tiriwi had closed her eyes instinctively. Brolok was shielding his with his hand.
“Unbelievable,” he muttered. “I held that thing in my hand and I never felt any magic in it.”
Brolok lost all interest in the hall and instead wondered whether Nill had imbued his dagger with magical properties or whether the magic had been in the blank from the start. He wondered how the forging had changed it, and mostly what sort of magic it was in the first place. Not Metal, surely; it had slipped past his highly trained senses.
Where they stood it was still semi-dark. To their left the light grew stronger and stronger, until they had to close their eyes to shield themselves from the piercing brightness. On the right, all was shrouded in darkness.
Nill followed the light and the other two followed him. The brighter the light became, the dimmer the dagger grew. It seemed to suck in the light around it and dampen it so as not to burn their eyes. When they returned and entered the dark part of the hall, Brolok piped up. “I’ll give us some light.”
He shook his hand and out came a large but fairly dim light. It left his palm and floated in front of them like a guide. It did not get far; after a few steps the darkness swallowed it whole. But Nill’s dagger shone bright again.
“What magic is this?” Nill whispered. “I’ve carried a magical dagger around with me all this time and I had no idea.”
“Me neither,” Brolok admitted. “And I’m usually able to feel a blade’s magic from twenty steps away. One thing’s clear: your blade is not of the five elements.”
“The magic in these halls isn’t, either,” Tiriwi added.
“What could it be, though? What gives this hall its power? It’s so strong it pushes out all the way to the Hermits’ Caves. What magic could it be that Tiriwi and I feel in such abundance, yet goes right past you?” Nill’s voice was urgent.
“Well, as a half-arcanist I’m bound to miss some things.” Brolok rarely admitted his weaknesses; in Nill’s and Tiriwi’s company he normally felt like a real, full human, and not a cripple like the nobles treated him.
“This is an ancient magic,” Tiriwi breathed. “I always thought that our magic, the Oas’ magic, was the oldest in the kingdoms of Pentamuria, but this is far older even than that. I wonder if it can be harnessed in any way, or whether it’s just the rock’s life energy around us.”
They walked around the walls of the hall and found eight exits set at regular intervals, which lead to further caves.
Each of these caves offered the same view. Golden writing was scattered on the ceiling, on the floor and on all walls and pillars. On the far side of the cave the dagger’s blade remained dark, and when Brolok made another light it seemed to greedily devour it. The polished steel appeared to vanish, showing a darkness Nill had only before seen in the passage to the Other World. Even here, in the complete darkness, everything was covered in writing. His fingertips told him what his eyes failed to.
“Did you notice?” he asked after a while. “Each of these caves has a slightly different magic.”
Tiriwi shook her head. “I feel only one magic, and I don’t know it at all.”
Brolok had a look of confusion on his face. “All I’m feeling is how weak the elemental magic is down here.”
Nill sighed. “We should turn back.” He knew what he had to do. He must read the script, even if it took him forever. The glyphs on the amulet would be his key. He had to learn to read them.
“We need to find the falundron first,” he said, slightly louder.
“That’s easy enough,” Brolok said. “It’s sitting over there.”
The falundron was clinging to the inside of the wall where the entrance had been.
“Then let’s get out of here,” Brolok suggested. The falundron did not move a muscle.
Nill lifted the ancient animal and handed it over to Brolok.
“I can open the door.” Nill had seen what had happened when the falundron had moved its tail across the rock. All he had to do was draw two glyphs on it.
The three students’ lessons were coming to a close. Nill still had Mah Bu’s keystone for the library, and that was where he spent most of his days. He learned the glyphs and searched for more scriptures that hinted at Perdis and his work.
Every evening his was in the catacombs, copying rows of script. It was hard work, and he had to begin at a whim; he could not see where the text began or ended. Late one night he came back to the Hermits’ Caves and sat down on one of the logs silently.
“What is it?” Tiriwi asked.
“I’ve solved a secret of the golden hall,” Nill replied heavily.
“You don’t seem too happy about it,” Brolok remarked calmly. “You look pretty upset.”
“Dakh-Ozz-Han told me I was to become a mage, and from that day forth I wanted nothing more than to learn the magic of the five elements. Now I’ve come to realize that there is another, very different magic. And that magic is down in the great Hall.”
“But we already knew that,” Tiriwi said. “The magic down there is very different to what we know. We felt it through the door before we even knew what was down there. What’s troubling you about it so?”
“I don’t know,” Nill said. “I suppose I always thought the magic we could feel down there was a special kind, maybe a primal form of elemental magic. But it isn’t. It’s completely different, from its very foundation. There is no Earth, Fire, Metal, Water or Wood down in the hall. The traces of the elements Brolok said he could feel came from outside or perhaps from us. The hall has only light and darkness. Peaks and valleys, sun and moon. It’s a magic of two elements; I don’t even know whether elements is the right word for it.”
&nbs
p; “Good,” Brolok said. “Make sure you learn to master this magic. Then you’ll be casting from two completely different worlds of magic and nobody can harm you.”
Nill looked up, wild-eyed. “How can you even say that? Don’t you understand? I feel like my entire world got lost down there. Not even the cardinal points we know and use make any sense any more. If there’s a second world of magic, who’s to say there isn’t a third and fourth and so on? And in what world do I live?”
Nill’s desperation filled the room and the cave itself seemed to buckle under his silent scream.
“I felt like you do now,” Tiriwi comforted him. “The Oas’ magic knows only the sky, the earth and the people in between. It is a magic that combines two spheres. And we know the magic of the five elements because our fathers are druids. But we don’t believe in it, and we don’t like it. We consider it false, because the druids’ magic does not consider the human. But druids think that the human is not important for magic.”
“But what is real and what isn’t?” Nill’s voice was quiet, but his mind was howling.
“Is that question really so important?” Tiriwi asked in reply.
“Of course it is,” Brolok snorted. “But it’s easy enough to find out.”
He stood up and took a combat stance. “Get up and fight me. Then you can say whether the pain you’re feeling is real or not. If it hurts, it’s real. Simple.”
Everything was always so simple for him.
“Are you sure about that?” Tiriwi asked. “Is pain always the solution?”
“Of course! If you’re in pain, you’ll do anything to get rid of it. That’s the simple reality of the matter. Even if it means fighting illusions. During a fight you barely notice a wound, even if it’s inflicted with massive force, and afterwards you can barely sleep for pain. Still the same wound as earlier. If your opponent whacks your head off your shoulders, then you’re off to the Other World or wherever. That’s reality. Call it an illusion if you want. There’s no difference to me.”
Brolok meant what he said. Living, surviving or dying, eating, drinking, and fighting to be able to do so. Life can be so simple if you want it to be, Nill thought with a pang of envy.
Brolok sat down next to Nill and put an arm around his shoulder.
“If it really bothers you that much, then go ahead and learn this new ancient magic. A sword has a hilt and a blade. There’s no point in staring at the hilt in desperation just because it looks different to the blade. You never know, there may come a time when you really need the magic of light and shadow.”
Nill’s desperation ebbed away. It was good to have friends, he reflected. Although his fundamental beliefs had been swayed and almost shattered, although Brolok had given him no answers to his questions, there was comfort in his view of things. What did it matter what was real or illusion? Life went on, and Nill’s task was to live his life in such a way that he was honest with himself. He had no idea how, until Tiriwi spoke up.
“There’s the way of the five elements, which is what the mages and druids take. There’s also the way of the Oas. You’re the one who always said there must be a third way. Seek it out, and once you’ve found it, look for the fourth and fifth ways if they exist.”
Nill lowered his head. That was quite the task.
The troubles with the noble students had ceased. Tiriwi, Brolok and Nill were still considered people of lower standing and generally unpopular, but a neophyte who survived an assassination attempt in plain view that had been evidently planned and executed by a mage was beyond the world of the other students. There was never an investigation, and nobody ever knew who had plotted the boy’s attempted murder, but hazy shreds of memories came to some students; memories of a wand, a fireball and a young mage. Or had it even been a mage? Or rather stinking mist? “You had a bad dream,” these people would hear if they raised the subject.
Tiriwi was despised and respected at the same time. She belonged to another people, and every attempt to put her in her place had failed. What could they have done against a girl the mages insisted take part in their lessons, and was determined enough to seek out the Magon for a conversation?
Only Brolok’s position was unchanged, but as he had never challenged the ways of the city he was not considered a threat. And so the days in Ringwall went by in peace until the day of the great farewell.
The Magon held a short speech about the traditions of Ringwall, Bar Helis one about the duties of the newly graduated sorcerers and Gnarlhand one about the dangers of badly understood magic. “Magic is a life of learning. If anyone forgets about that, and becomes comfortable in their ways, their lives will be short. And remember: if ever you wish to wed someone, make sure they have the same magical education you do. You know what happens otherwise.” There was general gloating laughter and a few pitying glances shot at Nill and Brolok. The students were dismissed. The end to their magical education was rather unspectacular, considering it had taken such a long time; some who had arrived as children now left matured. Not only Nill and Tiriwi, who had grown into completely different people over their time in Ringwall, but also a few noble students felt the same. Only Brolok had simply grown a little stronger, a little taller, a little cleverer and a little older. He was still Brolok.
The three unlikely friends took one last stroll through Ringwall. They took the long way from the Hall of Ceremony to the Hermits’ Caves, choosing to forgo portals and shortcuts. It was a long walk, full of memories. Just before they reached the stairs that led down to the caves, Tiriwi spoke up.
“We should go out in the sunshine,” she suggested.
They wandered along the open space between the inner and outer walls, stepped through the still carelessly open gate and found themselves on the road to Rainhir.
“That’s about far enough,” a cold voice sliced through the warm air. “Before I leave this city I have some business to attend to.”
Prince Sergor-Don stood in the bright noon sunlight; it caught his deep red cloak and made it seem alive with fire.
“I never forget, even if more important things take my time and make it seem that way. Now, Nill, it’s time to put you in your place once and for all.”
Brolok took Nill’s side immediately. Tiriwi stepped forward, standing between the two enemies.
“Get out of my way, Oa. This is a matter between master and servant; or would you like to join my maids?”
“If the prince had shown up with a sword or lance and with his retinue, I’d be glad for your help, my friend,” Nill muttered to Brolok. “But this is not your fight. Take Tiriwi and make sure she doesn’t interfere. Then there’s no danger for her, and less for me.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Brolok hissed. He stepped forwards, still in fighting pose, and grabbed Tiriwi around the waist with his strong arms. Tiriwi screeched and flailed and glared at Brolok, but she was no match for his strength.
Nill looked up at the prince and laughed in his face. “You’ve had a long time to practice before you had the guts to act, Sergor-Don.”
“Wait and see, you boasting filth. I’ll show you that all you can do is child’s play. When I kill you I’ll need only Metal and Fire. I’ll use nothing else. You could try to melt my Metal with your own Fire, but mine is stronger and would just eat yours up. If you try to block it with Earth, you’ll just imbibe my Metal with more strength. I can slice straight through any Wood you use. All you have is Water, and believe me when I say that all the water in the world couldn’t quench the fire I’m about to ignite in you.”
“You’re right; a duel can be won by brute force alone. But only if you manage to surprise your opponent.”
“Very well, you Nothing. As you wish; I’ll surprise you. My first attack will not be Fire or Metal. You can’t complain, I’m just doing as you asked.” The prince grinned wickedly as he spoke a shadow-spell. Nill’s senses closed and he felt the air around him becoming thinner and thinner, the light grew paler and the sun weaker. There was
something draining his life. Shadows approached him with hazy faces, stretching what looked like arms out towards him.
Nill shut his senses. He heard and felt nothing of the outside world, all his focus was in his own body, fixed on that terrible draining. He gathered all the warmth in his body and created a small flame in his center; it shrank smaller and smaller, grew brighter and brighter, until it finally exploded in a release of pure energy. The shadows were flung back from his motionless body, incapable of approaching him further. One shadow after the other dissolved. Nill was still shut off from the world outside, living completely inside himself. Shadows could not survive on their own in the here and now; Nill knew this much and simply waited for them to vanish.
A bolt of lightning struck him and flung him through the air.
Nill had not expected the attack, but it had done no worse than give him a few grazes. His actual life energy had been buried too deep within him to be damaged by a superficial attack. Now it broke free. A blindingly white wreath of light surrounded his body, lifting him up into the air; it formed a spear of Metal that shot towards the prince. Sergor-Don laughed and waved a hand in front of him and the spear shattered against his barrier. Yet he stumbled backward and had to kneel down. He had not expected that much force.
Prince Sergor-Don began with his signature move of rapid-fire fireballs, an attack Nill had been able to study in countless lessons and practice duels. The fireballs were no larger than the ones he used in practice, but the prince was firing them faster and hotter than ever. Redirecting the heat would be dangerous. His skin would blister and burn after only a few.
Nill instead chose to combine two spells. He wrapped Fire and Water together into deadly steam, but the prince threw even more Fire at it, scattering it in a million different directions.
Nill sent a shock wave through the ground. The Earth might strengthen the prince’s Metal, that was true, but absorbing Earth was a difficult thing to do.
