by Levi Samuel
Inyalia,
I apologize for my absence this morning. New orders have arrived, altering our scheduled itinerary. I’ve been asked to report your progress and make my recommendations. You’ll be pleased to know I’ve reported favorably. Which brings me to my next point.
Accompanying this missive, I’ve included a piece of vellum. On it, you’ll find an inscription written in a special ink. It’s a teleportation spell which, when read, will bring you to my current location, the resting place of the guardians. Consider this the first leg of your final trial.
Tylor Caer’moor
Inyalia studied the scroll more carefully now that she knew what it was. She didn’t know the language it was written in, let alone how to pronounce the words. How was she going to read it? Tucking both, the message and scroll into the pocket of her pack, she searched the lodge for any familiar faces. It was clear she was going to need help. But who would be both knowledgeable enough, and willing to help her? If the rumors were true, most everyone was already gone. And the few who remained were likely busy following their own orders. Everyone answered to someone it seemed.
Stealing a look at the food before her, nausea replaced her appetite. How was she to eat when there was so much going on? Taking a deep breath, Inyalia lifted the tankard and tipped it back, swallowing its contents in a single, prolonged draw. She was on her feet before the metal base clanked against the table.
Making her way along the perfectly manicured road, Inyalia was beginning to feel alone. Until now, she hadn’t realized how many people resided in Caelum. There was always something going on somewhere, day or night. But with the streets deserted, it held an ominous void she’d never noticed before. There was no ringing of hammers in the background. No clank of training swords in the distance. Even the birds had abandoned her. Only the echo of her boots offered any ambiance.
Inyalia marched on, toward the ramp at the end of the tier. One by one, she descended the levels, searching for someone, anyone who could aid her. Three levels below her own, Inyalia came across the first person she’d seen outside the lodge. She was still in the ranger sector, though this tier was a cusp. Caelum was divided into three major sectors, with several intermediate levels between them. Some enveloped entire tiers, while others overlapped in places. Thus far, Inyalia hadn’t strayed much beyond the finesse sector. It was where most of the ranger outposts stood. Some of her training had taken place in the intermediate zones, blending finesse with strength, and even intellect on occasion. The pit was such a place. All three sectors held equal station there, though there was no penalty for leaving your own sector and visiting another. In fact, it was encouraged, provided such activities didn’t interfere with training. After all, Caelum was a place of learning. If one wished to learn outside their specialization, no one would stop them. But for the most part, cast remained with their own.
Inyalia approached the young man, seemingly oblivious to her presence. She knew to stay out of range until he acknowledged her. That was one of the first lessons she’d learned the hard way. It’d taken nearly a week for the bruise to fade. She watched him quietly, awaiting an opportunity to speak.
He swung his training sword at the stationary target, dragging the blunted edge across before striking on the back swing. Feigning a parry, he struck again and finished with a stab to the midsection. Having completed the routine, he lowered his sword and returned to a neutral stance, as if aligning to repeat the process again.
Clearing her throat, Inyalia found mild amusement seeing him jump. “Pardon me. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Turning to face her, he lowered his sword, which he’d instinctively raised to strike. “No worries. I didn’t realize anyone else was around.”
“That’s precisely why I’m here. Do you know what’s going on? Where is everybody?”
“No clue. I woke up and found the place cleared out. I’m guessing it isn’t just here?”
“Apparently it’s all over. I heard some rumors that most were recalled, but it seems odd everyone would simply leave without making some kind of formal announcement.” Inyalia studied the man. He was young. Perhaps younger than her, though she couldn’t be certain. “There were a few people at the Ranger’s Lodge, three tiers up. You might find some answers there.”
“Thanks. I’ll give it a try once I finish my count. If this is all a test, I’d rather pass it.”
“I understand. Good luck.” Inyalia continued down the path hearing his sword strike the wooden target once again. It was obvious he was just as ill-informed as her. If only someone was willing to offer answers.
The drum of footsteps turned into a rhythmic beat, to which Inyalia found herself marching in time. Minutes turned to hours, dragging out for what felt like an eternity. She’d seen a few others in her trek, but they were few and far between, each just as confused as the last. She was beginning to enjoy the solitude. She’d been so busy in the now that she hadn’t given herself time to think. That was one unexpected luxury the walk afforded. Her head was swimming with thoughts. Some valuable, others less so. But one in particular kept coming back, intriguing her with each revolution.
Magic was something rare. Only a few possessed it. And even fewer mastered it. The arcane arts ran deep in her family, though she’d never truly understood them. Even Wrylan, her brother after Baal, had been reluctant to discuss his abilities. He treated it like some big secret that everyone was simply supposed to forget. Like their grandfather, Wrylan was naturally gifted. He’d surpassed his instructors within the first cycle of his formal training, granting him invitation to the academy at Risolde. Inyalia on the other hand, had never shown the slightest trace of possessing those secrets. If there was a magic bone in her body, it was buried deep, unlikely to breech the surface any time soon.
That was where her problem lay. She had a magic scroll, which had to be read. But she was incapable of reading it. If only it had passed to her, she’d have the scroll figured out, and be on her way to meet Tylor. But it hadn’t. And hope made a poor shield. That was when it hit her. If she was going to read the scroll, she’d need a mage to do it. And the best place to find one was at the heart of the intellect sector, within the massive tower she’d seen upon her first arrival, and every day thereafter.
Inyalia paused, looking upon the massive structure before her. Its peak disappeared into the clouds, and she still couldn’t see the base through the fog. She’d once asked Tylor why she hadn’t seen it from the mountains. He gave her some confusing and complicated explanation that basically meant it had to do with magic. She still had no idea what any of it meant but decided it best not to push. He’d never admit it, but Inyalia had a feeling he didn’t understand it any better than her.
The tower entrance was located on the lowest tier. The trolleys weren’t running. And all the horses were gone. On foot, she’d do well to reach it by nightfall. Taking a deep breath, Inyalia turned toward the road that wound its way through the ancient and mysterious settlement. It was a long walk and she needed to reach it as soon as possible.
Towering pillars stood on either side of the road catching the last rays of sunlight. Inyalia pass between them, feeling the subtle power wash over her. She’d passed through others like them, but none as large, or grand. This was also the first set that had been gold. She’d finally reached the lowest tier of Caelum.
The sun had been disappearing for quite some time now. She could no longer see it over the mountains, but its glow was still vibrant. A part of her longed for the routine found closer to the ground. She always knew when things were happening. That was not the case here. Most days she didn’t know anything until it had already happened.
Walking the streets, Inyalia was taken back by the architecture. It was nothing like the levels above, though the transitions had been smooth. The finesse levels were mostly wood and clay, with rounded corners and open doors. She was used to that. But when the strength sector began to blend, abrupt edges and stone became more commonplace until
it fully overtook. Likewise, intellect slowly blended the two until all that was left was seamless round pillars that sprung from the ground as if grown. Though she’d found no evidence to support that theory.
Inyalia had never gone this deep into the city. Until today, the farthest she’d traveled had been the core of the strength sector. It was both magical and intimidating. A static hung in the air that left her feeling uneasy. Like the levels above, the populace was few and far between, though there seemed to be more people here than anywhere else. That made sense. These people were skilled in magics, including those of travel. They didn’t have to spend weeks reaching a destination when they could simply cast a spell and arrive instantly. Provided it worked that way. She wasn’t entirely certain.
Following the street, now perfectly organized brick, rather than the grass and dirt of finesse or the rough stone of strength, Inyalia watched a hand full of what she guessed were students. They stood upon intersecting lines that glowed from the earth. Moving in unison, their hands contorted into strange configurations. The glowing rune beneath them became increasingly bright. And then, it disappeared entirely. Inyalia noticed the elf standing before them. His head dropped and he turned to face the others. She couldn’t hear what was being said, but the intent seemed to be one of displeasure.
Stepping onto the unnaturally perfect grass, Inyalia approached the group. Perhaps they could read her scroll. Or at the very least, point her to someone who could.
“—times do I have to tell you? Clear your minds! Focusing on anything but the task at hand is the quickest way to ensure your spells fail. And that’s provided you’re one of the lucky ones. Many a caster has met their end due to an improperly articulated somatic component. Now, reattune yourselves and let’s begin again.” The mage turned just as Inyalia reached the edge of their gathering.
“Excuse me. I have a teleportation scroll that I’m having trouble reading. Is there any chance you could take a look?”
Impatience passed over the elven mage’s face. He was much older than the others, though there was a youthfulness in his eyes that his wrinkling skin didn’t reveal. “Very well. Let me see it.” He extended his hand as if expecting the scroll to materialize.
Inyalia unslung her pack. Fumbling with the buckle, she reached into the pocket and took hold of both the missive and the scroll. Under the mage’s pensive gaze, she felt tiny by comparison. She wanted to deliver the scroll as fast as possible so she could escape his attention. How anyone could impact her so strongly with a simple glare was a mystery. Handing it over, she took a step back, feeling his eyes fall from her and onto the vellum.
He studied the writing for a brief moment, rotating the page as if it would help it fall into context. Returning it to its original orientation, he gently sniffed the page and began rolling it tightly. “I’m afraid not just anyone can read it. The inscriptions are a generic teleportation spell, though the ink is unfamiliar. Such a unique pigment will require more attentive eyes.” He handed the scroll back to Inyalia and returned his attention to the students patiently awaiting him.
Tucking it into her pocket, Inyalia raised her hand, risking the wrath of his penetrating gaze once again. “Would you happen to know anyone who might be able to help me?”
The mage took a deep breath and turned to face her a second time. Closing his eyes, he shook his head and exhaled, calming himself. “Most have left to attend to more important matters. Go to the Arcanum. Someone there may be able to give you further insight. Now, if you’ll please, I’ve a class to disappoint me.” Ignoring further interruptions, he raised his hands and directed his attention back to the class. The glowing rune burned into existence. “As before!”
Inyalia hesitated. She wanted to offer appreciation. She wasn’t rude after all. But he’d made his intentions clear. She didn’t want to risk upsetting him further. Turning away from the group, she spotted the tower not far from her. It hadn’t seemed so near a moment earlier. Perhaps his advice had something to do with that? She couldn’t be sure.
Returning to the road, Inyalia marched intently toward her destination. It was growing dark and she wasn’t sure how much longer Tylor would wait, if he’d even waited this long.
As the sun disappeared completely, numerous colored flames sparked into existence, hovering over what Inyalia could only guess were lamp posts. They were unlike any lamps she’d seen before. They were polished and smooth along their tapered poles, splitting into a series of individual fingers that twisted as they spread, only to rejoin in a decorative point. The odd colored flames danced roughly a foot above each one, providing three times as much light as a torch, though they weren’t painful to behold.
Stepping into the shadow of the tower, the clinging static became more intense. It crawled on her skin, sparking when she moved. She felt powerless beneath such might, though there was a confidence burning within her chest. She knew nothing could harm her so long as she had a clean shot. Armed with only a bow and wit, she was untouchable.
In answer to her presence, the tower’s wall groaned. The seemingly living material shifted and stretched. A small hole appeared, growing wider. And within a minute, an open doorway rested where solid wall had been moments before. Swallowing hard, Inyalia stepped through.
She found herself standing at the center of a rather large room. Despite its majesty, she was somewhat disappointed. The interior was roughly the same dimension as the outside perimeter. Everything had seemed so mystically wonderful and full of mystery up to this point. And while there was still plenty to make her wonder, there was one element that seemed wrong. Why was it not bigger on the inside? Defying the laws of nature should have been an easy feat. After all, what was the purpose of magic if you couldn’t alter such things?
Studying her surroundings, Inyalia realized she wasn’t alone, though she wasn’t in company either. A lingering haze filled the air, transitioning to a dense fog the farther it got. Rows of dark shapes, reminiscent of people, stood on the other side of the fog. Gradually, one would step to the head of their line. They’d stand there a moment. And then they were simply gone, replaced by the next in line. Inyalia tried to listen. The distance was great, but she should have been able to hear something, anything. Unfortunately, the only sounds present belonged to her own little row of fog.
“Name?” A distant voice asked from the far side of the room.
Inyalia glanced around, in search of the booming voice. She couldn’t see anyone around her. Only a tall wooden podium at the head of the room. Did she reach the head of her line? She hadn’t realized she’d been standing in one. Was it the same for everyone?
“What is your name?” The voice repeated.
Inyalia approached the podium. Its height adjusted the nearer she got, granting sight of the patient, but exhausted face behind it.
A balding middle-aged man stared back at her. He wore deep red robes and a pair of spectacles that rested on the bridge of his nose. Sighing deeply, he spoke again. “I assume this is your first trip to the Arcanum. I need to know your name and destination.”
“Oh! My name is Inyalia Highlor. I have a scroll I need read. It’s supposedly written in some kind of special ink.”
The man’s frown shifted into an attempt at comfort, though it settled closer to a creepy smirk. “Now that we’re getting somewhere, may I see the scroll?”
Inyalia removed it from her pack. No sooner than it was free, it flew from her grip and floated gently across the chamber, landing on the podium. A part of her wanted to chase after it. She wasn’t opposed to its viewing, though the manner in which he’d taken it was a bit rude. But that seemed to be the general commonality of the mages thus far. There was a running rivalry in Caelum. While all three sects trained together on occasion, it was common knowledge that they didn’t often see eye to eye.
The man collected the scroll. Unrolling it, he studied the sigil. “Yes, I see. You’ve been summoned to the Guardians. But this inscription here—” He fingered the page as if In
yalia could see the part he was addressing. “—is unusual in such a simple incantation. And the ink. I see what you mean about it being unique. I’ve seen this type of scroll work before. We usually reserve it for the more powerful spells. Wouldn’t want just anyone opening a portal to the abyss, now would we?” He laid the scroll down and stared expectantly at her, awaiting response.
“Um, no? It doesn’t go to the abyss, does it?” Inyalia was feeling suddenly confused.
The mage laughed. For the first time since she’d met him, he seemed rather cheerful. “No, silly girl. Nobody would be so foolish to give a scroll of the abyss to an untrained simpleton.”
Inyalia stared at him a moment. She was pretty sure he’d just insulted her. Unfortunately, there was nothing she could do about it. This was apparently the gatekeeper who would eventually decide if she could continue. “So you’re saying it’s only readable by certain people?”
“You’re really out of your element, aren’t you?” His smile faded. “The scroll can be read by nearly anyone, provided they’ve studied the arcane scripture. Its complexity prevents it from being used by anyone but a specific, or group of specific qualified persons. This particular scroll doesn’t appear the be either. Though I see the one who crafted it is not able to use it.” Scratching at the sigil, his attention fell elsewhere, as if he were witnessing multiple things at once. Speaking to himself, though not so loud for Inyalia to hear, he gestured dismissively.
