by Awert, Wolf
Nill could see that the battle between light and shadow was over. The victor was standing in the sunshine, his hands on his knees, breathing heavily and evidently exhausted. He looked around, making sure no danger came his way, and began to walk. He had made only a few steps when a gray whirlwind of mist lifted him into the air, carried him a few paces and then threw him back to the ground. The sorcerer did not get up again. He did not move. Nill closed his eyes, shocked. A scratching noise was coming from his left-hand side and drew his attention. A bent figure was shuffling his feet on over the thin green of the quickgrass. Nill could not make out whether this was the sorcerer who had stood behind him at the beginning, or whether it was his enemy. This man was injured and moving straight for his bush. Nill closed his eyes and felt the man’s overwhelming aura, strange flashes in an opaque radiance; he could not interpret it. Nill held his breath and forced himself to keep the hot air in his lungs. The man approaching was none other than Morb-au-Morhg.
Nill made the bush retract its tendrils without surrendering his position. Nill was a nothing and made himself small, but at least now he had room to move. Morhg the Mighty was drawing closer, as though he, too, sought the plant’s protection. Nill heard his ragged breathing and expected to be discovered at any moment, but Morhg the Mighty was not looking in his direction. His eyes were fixed on a point in the distance where the inner wall and the slope of Knor-il-Ank met. That was where another potential enemy would appear. Morb-au-Morhg stretched. A flame wave emanated from him, rushing along the ground, throwing chunks of earth, plant parts and ash into the air. The wave hit four sorcerers and knocked them to the ground, and upon reaching the walls climbed skywards, licking at open windows and reaching over the ramparts. The mages responsible for protection had their hands full keeping the magic on the battlefield. Most of the spectators, mostly the experienced mages, had reacted quickly and blocked the flames, but Nill was certain that tomorrow some of the less attentive among them would be carrying the mark of their negligence. What power this man had, if he was able to summon such magic in this injured state! But the spell had left a mark on Morhg the Mighty too. Nill spied a crack in his aura, originating somewhere around his chest. One of his opponents must have struck him there. Morhg’s attack had caught his opponents by surprise. Now he prepared to finish the job. White, cold bolts shot at the three men and the woman nearby who were trying to get back on their feet. They rolled over the floor, tripping each other up and remained lying on the ground, bent and beaten. A White Mage appeared and took the four defeated sorcerers from the battlefield.
Nill was not sure whether he could finish the weakened sorcerer with a single attack before he could react, but the chance was there. He had to take it. He could ambush Morhg the Mighty, paralyze him and finish him with a few quick bursts of energy. Nill bent his ring and little fingers towards his thumb and stretched the index and middle fingers out. It was his preferred gesture for bolts that he shot with a lot of power from his hand.
But he hesitated. He could not bring himself to attack the injured old man from behind. Neither did he dare move. An experienced sorcerer, no matter his condition, was always able to win against him simply due to lack of experience. He could not block every different spell.
I need to think of something, fast, he thought. I need a surprise attack that will stop his mind, not his body. Something to stop him from having the time to react. Something unknown. Like the magic of the two precious treasures. Light, hardness and motion. Or darkness, softness and calm. And if I follow up… yes, that might just work.
He tried to separate the two forces from another. It was the first time he had attempted to use the archaic magic of the catacombs. Get rid of the elemental magic and go back to its roots.
Nill leapt up and saw terror in the great sorcerer’s face. He sent a white light at his opponent and made it envelope him. In the same moment he pounced, thrust his hand through the crack in the aura and fastened his fingers around the enemy’s throat, hard. Nill had seen Brolok use this trick. The more powerful a sorcerer was, the more they relied on their magic. They could not even dodge a simple punch.
“Stay calm and don’t move. I would rather not be forced to sunder your aura from within, and destroy the magic in you,” Nill hissed as viciously as he could.
He knew he was far from being able to make good on the threat. But the strange, ancient magic and the physical attack on Morhg’s throat, despite being against the rules, had created a situation that Morhg the Mighty could not appraise. In an unweakened state he could have thrown the little fellow off easily, but he was finished.
Nill raised his free arm and the white sheen was covered by a dark shell, slowly turning to a delicate gray.
“Do nothing. If someone attacks us now, the night will repay your powers and protect you. You need not fear me. You are under my protection now.”
The sorcerer, so many winters older than Nill, stared into the air with cold, dead eyes. The grasp on his throat, part of any predator’s and warrior’s life, was alien in the world of magic, but the body reacted with primal instincts. He froze and submitted. Perhaps Morhg the Mighty could have broken the natural spell, but the unknown magic stopped him from acting. Dark magic was similar to the magic of the Other World, which Morhg the Mighty knew, but this was a different darkness. It reached deeper and enclosed the here and now just like the beyond. Morb-au-Morhg lay still and did not move.
The world around them, however, did. People were running and screaming, birds were flying and the earth was quaking. This spot alone harbored two people, frozen in the chill of the moment.
The fanfare resounded. The tournament was over. The sorcerer slumped and Nill stood up in his simple robe and said: “Let me see to your wounds.”
“What was that? What was that magic?” Morhg the Mighty asked faintly.
Nill gave an innocent smile. “Mostly acting. An illusion of white light and black dust.”
The sorcerer shook his head slowly and deliberately. “It certainly was not. I recognized traces of it. It survives in the Borderlands, but I have never felt it so purely. What are you?”
The sorcerer got to his feet and rubbed his neck, where Nill’s fingers had left red marks. He looked Nill in the eyes. “I thank you. I did not see you and you could have eliminated me with ease.”
“I might have killed you in your weakened state. I could not take responsibility for that loss.”
“I wonder, am I to praise your generosity or laugh at your stupidity? A neophyte defeats an old sorcerer and spares him… In all my years…”
“Come, we should leave. We are among the victors and are now Mages of Ringwall. Other matters we should not speak about.”
The winners did not really look like winners. The price they had paid for victory was too great. Morb-au-Morhg was leaning on Nill’s shoulder, Infiralior was being carried, Binja had one eye swollen shut and Rinja’s face was blackened. But, as most had expected, these were the sorcerers who had made it through. The sixth victor was a young woman with long green hair, green eyes and skin so white Nill thought it looked like snow. He had never seen anything like it before. She looked incredibly delicate and fragile, but Nill did not intend to test her; she had survived the tournament. She must have had monstrous power.
“Or she got lucky,” Nill thought. He alone was the unexpected. But the others knew it was not chance. Great sorcerers forced fate, not the other way around. Something as easy as luck, misfortune and chance did not live long in the structure of magical powers. Either the winner was stronger than they looked, or they were someone fate had further plans for. Either way, it was better to stay on their good side.
As a sign of his new position as mage Nill was given a pale robe, a keystone to the library and a list of all portals in Ringwall along with the symbols needed to activate them. Nill chuckled. Brolok had found two portals that were not listed. On the other hand, there were dozens of portals in the archmages’ lodges that had been off-limits to them
previously.
In the first few days Nill felt lonely and lost behind the walls he knew so well. His friends were gone. Ambrosimas had dismissed him from his care with a few friendly words and a hug, for Nill was no longer a neophyte, but a mage with all the rights and duties of his standing. As a mage he held a higher rank than Growarth, as he was merely a warlock; but Nill knew all too well that he stood no chance against any experienced warlock. He thought the ranking system was rather strange now that he was no longer at the bottom of it.
What he did not know was that the Magon had ordered for him to be released of all duties for the time being. The watchful eyes of the Circle, and particularly the council, stayed on him, and the council had decided to give Nill free rein so as to further understand his role in fate’s grand plan. Nill visited Growarth occasionally, picking up delicacies in the kitchen. Empyrade was usually too busy for a visit. But the master archivist had grown close to him, and their friendship meant many a long evening, deep in conversation.
He found that an orderly day kept him from feeling lonely. He wanted to stay in Ringwall because he had a task he knew he must complete. His duty was to read and study the old texts. If he still had strength left at the end of the day he would retreat to the catacombs and fight his battle with the golden script. He learned that it was a long, uphill road from understanding individual glyphs to understanding whole sentences, but he did not give up.
He lived alone in the Hermits’ Caves. Many new students had arrived, but as before, they were all noble. Nill was pleased; it guaranteed him peace and quiet and he did not have to sneak into the catacombs in secret. Yet he knew nothing of the council’s thoughts: that the lack of non-noble students meant fate had decided. Most of the archmages agreed that Nill was the Changer, the stranger from the mists.
Nill had crossed the large room in the library and now stood in the chamber where the eight great books of magic were kept. He wanted to attempt to open one and read it. As a mage it was his right to do so, but nobody had told him how. Even if he failed, he thought, he would at least have tried. Even a failed attempt would teach him something about protective magics.
His gaze wandered over the mighty stacks of parchment in their preciously decorated bindings.
He felt his way into the volume about Fire and imagined the cover opening for him. The book twitched, but nothing further happened. Nill went along to the book of Wood; it was his favorite magic, after all, but also the most finicky to control. Was every volume protected by the same magic? He laid a hand on the cover. It felt distinctly different to the Fire one. Presumably the magic was meant to only let the books be opened if the mage was ready for it. He felt little resistance towards his will to read the pages, lifted the cover and opened the book on the first page. But before he could read a single word the second page flapped over, then the third. Page after page rushed past his eyes until the back cover fell back on the pages with a loud plop. Nill had managed to turn the heavy book on its front. He shrugged, smiled and opened the back cover. Once again, the pages flew past and with another plop the book was back in its previous position.
I suppose it’s not just about opening the book, he thought, considering his next options. When his eyes fell on the Book of the Other World, he saw to his surprise that it had been left open on a lectern. He had seen this before. Negligence was a trait in some mages too, it seemed. Last time he had been able to resist his curiosity and had not read in the book, particularly as his experiences with the Other World had left him wary of repeating them. But today was different. He had the right to read. It was a pity that it was the book that least interested him.
He read the open page. It bore no headline and began with a summoning formula. The writing was difficult to read, so Nill spelled it out loud. “Uarum vex ko…” he broke off. These few first words had made a power rise in him the likes of which he had never known. He felt mighty and strong, but he was not sure where the strength came from.
“Play with the magic you know as much as you can. It’s the fastest way to learn things,” Ambrosimas had once told him. “But keep your nose out of magic you don’t know.”
He had ignored this advice once before, when he was exploring the archaic magic beneath the Hermits’ Caves. It had been so strange and unknown to him that he had at no point truly been scared. He was sure that even in the worst possible case, nothing would happen as he could not command the magic. But this…
This magic was not unknown. It was a magic he had felt before, but he did not understand it.
Nill shook his head and began to read again. This time his eyes flew across the lines quickly, and he read only that which was quick and easy to process. He shivered. This page contained the knowledge of how to summon demons; how to make them fight or work for the summoning mage. Nill felt no interest in finding out what he had almost done with the introductory words on the page. He turned it and found more spells, more summons, but no explanations. Nill turned the pages back. He could only see a few pages. If there was any explanatory writing on earlier pages to help him understand this chapter, it was locked away.
Nill did not want to summon demons or control them. He wanted to understand the high magic of the elements and the spheres. The most important thing to him was finding out where the magic of the elements and the magic of the catacombs differed. He had to try and find the thoughts of his father. Ought I try with Metal? He disliked the element, but he had a fairly good grasp on it.
Before Nill could turn around, a figure manifested in the far corner of the room. A shimmering pillar took shape and lost its shine. Nill could not make out the face just yet, but he knew that robe with the wandering shadows. Mah Bu, the Archmage of the Other World, had entered the library.
“Greetings Nill, new White Mage of Ringwall. You would not believe how happy I was at your rapid rise in rank. You have an interest in the Other World’s magic?” He inclined his head to indicate the opened book. “I would be happy to help.”
“No, it was open already. I tried turning the pages, but I could only go back and forth a few before being blocked. The magic that guards these books has yet to reveal itself to me. I just wanted to try and open one.”
“Why do you lie?” Mah Bu asked. “I felt your attempt at summoning a powerful demon. I can’t see why you stopped; a few more words and he would have been yours to command. I think your calling lies in the magic of the Other World.”
Nill felt the heat rising in his face, accompanied with anger at the accusation. “I tried reading the symbols, nothing more! I did not want to summon anything,” he said, but it was half-hearted. He had enjoyed the power he had felt. Only the fear of consequence had made him stop.
The Archmage laughed. “You cannot pretend. I read you like a scroll. You want power. You might know that, or not; that doesn’t matter. You are the Changer, told of in the prophecy. You will throw time and space into chaos. Nobody else would stand here, now, at this moment. But you will not overthrow the Circle. You will not leave this room alive.”
Nill was horrified. A sharp jab went through his heart and into his stomach, making his muscles contract.
“But you were the one who decided to support me!” he cried out.
“Oh.” Mah Bu’s eyes were wide and surprised. “Nill, it’s nothing personal. I told you, I enjoyed seeing your rise, truly. But this isn’t about you. It’s not about me either. It’s about the future of the world and the survival of the magical Circle. Nothing less. You are a figure of legend! We will both be part of legends in time, and I am proud and grateful for having met you. Still, I must kill you.”
Nill’s horror was angrily elbowed aside by defiance. He was no match for an Archmage, but the mere thought that someone wanted to snuff out his life, just for a greater cause, had no space in Nill’s thoughts. He knew death. He lived in a dangerous world. But to him, the only justification for killing was under threat of one’s own life. His wish of once becoming a great warrior belonged to a past he could scarcely r
emember. Nill asked himself whether he had ever really trusted the Archmage who now threatened to murder him, and had to admit that he had. At least a little.
“Well, give it your best. I’ll put up a fight,” Nill announced more bravely than he felt.
“Very good, let us have a duel of it. I’ve been told you study a very unusual branch of magic. No, no, don’t deny it; you may be able to fool the other archmages, but not me. Your magic has its roots in the Other World, and that is where I draw my strength from. Very well. My magic of the Other World against yours, which I don’t know.”
With these words he raised his arms and a long summoning spell streamed from his mouth, the sonorous sounds filling every corner of the room. Nill knew the smell that rose from the ground. Sulfur, tar or pitch, Nill was not sure; then a hint of swamp gas and the sweetish smell of dying flowers. Or was it rotting flesh? It was the deathly aroma that accompanied the demons he knew. He was expecting Bucyngaphos, at whose mercy he seemed to be. Instead he saw Odioras, Irasemion and Avarangan, followed by Subturil.
Nill laughed aloud in the room, and addressed the demons. “You are not my demons,” he shouted. “Odioras and Avarangan, come and find my hate and fear. You will fail. Return whence you came.” Nothing in Nill recalled the panicked outbursts he had once suffered when confronted with beings of the Other World.
“Do you honestly believe the demons will listen to you?” Mah Bu called maliciously. “Servants of the Other World, enter the boy and take control. I command you; I, Mah Bu, wanderer of worlds, lord of all demons, command you with the might and spell of my magic.”
The demons grew so large that their heads vanished in the ceiling and their feet went through the floor. They filled the whole chamber and collided with each other. But Nill was surrounded by a small sliver of bright light.
