Rise of the Nightkings

by Levi Samuel

  The scroll flew from the countertop, rolling itself midair and came to a stop in front of Inyalia. She gently secured it and returned it to her bag.

  “My dear, you’re in luck. All of the conjuration masters have retired elsewhere, but one student remains. I hear she’s quite talented in her field of study. She should be able to give you the name for whom this scroll is meant.”

  Inyalia narrowly had time to brace herself before an orange light surrounded her. She felt weightless for the briefest moment. The orange faded to black, and the ground beneath her disappeared, though she did not fall. A new ground settled under her feet and Inyalia opened her eyes to find herself standing in a new room.

  Books were scattered about the place. Several had been piled into towering pillars that nearly touched the ceiling. Others cover table tops, some laid horizontally on their shelves, and a few glided through the air, flapping their pages like the wings of birds. The chamber was dimly lit from the occasional long burning candle. Thick strings of wax dangled from their bases, approaching the floor.

  Inyalia searched the room, hoping to find whatever it was she’d been sent for. The stone walls were horrific compared to their exterior counterparts. These were rough and dark. And there were no windows within sight. If there was a hell, Inyalia guess this was it. She was so far from nature. So far from freedom. She felt trapped within this cramped dungeon of books and stone.

  “What are you doing here?” A familiar voice cut through the dark.

  Inyalia turned to find Lorena standing behind her, arms filled with thick tomes and fingers ink smudged. “You’re the conjurer?”

  “That’s my main focus, though I’m skilled in others. I ask again, what are you doing here?”

  “I didn’t come to fight. I’ve spent all day trying to find someone to read this scroll. The guy downstairs sent me here.” Inyalia pulled the scroll from her pack and offered it to Lorena.

  “Why would I help you? It’s not exactly like we’re on the best of terms.”

  “Best of terms? You cheated when we were in the pit. And I still beat you.”

  “If you’d like a rematch, I’m sure we can arrange that.” Lorena tossed the books onto one of the many cluttered tables. They slid against another stack, settling almost expertly. A glowing flame burned in Lorena’s hand, pulsing, awaiting command.

  “I told you I didn’t come here to fight. I just want to get this read so I can be on my way. The sooner you help me, the sooner you can go back to whatever it is you do here.” Inyalia stared intently into Lorena’s eyes. She could see the pain within them. There was something more happening here. Something she didn’t understand. And worse yet, she wasn’t sure how long it had been present. This could have been the reason for their strife all along, and she’d never taken the time to notice it.

  Lorena squeezed her hand into a fist, drowning the flaming ball. It dissipated into nothing. “Fine! Let me see it.” Lorena snatched the scroll from Inyalia’s hand, inspecting the markings as so many others had done. Carrying it to one of the tables with an open space, she laid it on the flat surface and grabbed a mortar from one of the many stands. Sprinkling a silver dust over the scroll, sparks of purple skated across the page. Lorena’s gaze turned serious. Her head shot toward Inyalia, locked on her rival’s position. “Where did you get this?”

  “It was wrapped up in a missive I received this morning. I was told it can take me to the Hall of Guardians.”

  A defeated chuckle escaped Lorena. “Of all places— Do you know what happened to me after our—sparing match?”

  Inyalia shook her head, unsure what this had to do with the scroll.

  “I spend just over a week in recovery. I suffered what we commonly call backlash. It’s what happens when a caster detonates a spell too close to themselves and fails to absorb the excess energy. Think of it as trying to put a fire out with lamp oil. All things considered, I was fortunate. Most people who suffer backlash are never able to cast again. It overpowers them, making it next to impossible to control the smallest spell. Yet somehow, in a manner neither I, nor my superiors can explain, I was able to escape this fate. I had to regulate, as I was completely drained, yet crackling with energy. But it didn’t fry me. And now here you are, carrying a spell that is locked specifically to us. How do you think that happened?”

  “What do you mean, it’s locked to us?” Inyalia wasn’t sure what was happening. There was clearly something larger at play. And apparently Lorena was as ill-informed as her.

  “I don’t have the time, nor the patience to give a full tutorial on spellwork. But, when making a scroll, it takes more than just inscribing the spellwork onto a piece of vellum. In fact, all that does is lay the foundation for the type of spell being performed. It’s the ink that determines the specifics. Take this scroll for instance.” Lorena gestured to Inyalia’s scroll. “The markings are a basic teleportation spell. Anyone can use it, but their destination would be some random place within the scribe’s reach. This scroll is to a specific place. A piece of that place, something specific to the destination, was ground into a powder and mixed into the ink. The scribe then went a step further and locked this scroll to us. Somehow a piece of each of us was collected and added to the ink. They then wrote the spellwork, meaning it’s utterly useless unless both you and I work it together. Without one, the other is useless.”

  “That sounds easy enough. If we’re all that’s needed, let’s make it happen.” Inyalia stepped forward, ready to continue her quest.

  “Just a second.” Lorena placed her hand against Inyalia’s chest, stopping her. Aren’t you the least bit curious as to how they got our essence? I don’t know about you, but someone working a spell around me without my knowledge is dangerous territory. Not to mention a violation to the Code of Magi. And to add another element, not that it isn’t already deep enough, my final assignment was to find the Hall of Guardians. I’ve been searching for days and haven’t found anything more than basic history. No maps, no coordinates, no landmarks. Among all of these books, the name was only written once, in reference to the first rangers. But nothing tells me where it’s located. And then, suddenly, you show up with a scroll that’s literally written specifically for you and I to travel there. I mean, I know you’re a bit slow. But how can this be anything other than a trap?”

  “I hadn’t thought about it like that.” Inyalia’s cheeks flushed red. Lorena had a point. Everything thus far had been a test. Why would this be any different? “We’ll, we both have to get to the Halls. And you said the location is unknown, so we can’t get there without using the scroll. Is there anything we can do to shift the circumstances into our favor?”

  Lorena thought for a moment. Everything was laid out perfectly. It was that perfection that made her question it. There were spells to remove ink from nearly anything. If she used one of those, she could possibly augment the perimeters of the scroll. But if her calculations were off, even slightly, it could mean the death of both of them. “I can’t change the destination. Even if we knew where we were going, it’s too precise to leave to chance. But I can possibly delay one of our arrival by a few seconds. That would allow the first to scope it out. If things go bad, it would give the second one a chance to react.”

  Inyalia thought through the possibilities. The delay was a good plan, though they needed something more. “Forgive my ignorance on the matter, but is there any way for us to see what’s on the other side before going through? Like, I don’t know, invisibility or something?”

  “Mixing the magics is too unpredictable. It’s already a complicated process. We don’t want to lower our chances any more than they already are. But that does give me an idea.”

  Chapter VIII

  Elves and their Tests

  Onyx stone protruded through a thick canvas of white. Crystalline sparkles followed the ridges, reflecting the bright moonlight, hung low in the sky. The snow was dense and undisturbed, radiating an eerie sense of solitude even the abandoned streets
of Caelum had failed to deliver.

  Inyalia walked across the powder’s surface, searching her surroundings. Though she knew Lorena was right behind her, she’d never felt more alone than she did right now. The cold lingered on her skin, but she couldn’t feel it. Even the wind, forcing its chill through her cloak, did little to affect her.

  Inyalia was surprised by how close the mountain peaks were. Not even her journey with Tylor had brought her so close. Given an hour to spare, she could have straddled the highest tip and returned. But that wasn’t why she was here. She needed to find Tylor. But where was he? The message said the scroll would deliver her to him. They’d used it as directed. At least in the ways that mattered. But there was nothing here. Just rock and snow.

  Recalling the hidden room among the mountains, Inyalia had a thought. Tylor told her the mountain was littered with them. Why would he have done that if not for use at a later time? He was always doing that. He’d say something minor, adding no emphasis, only to throw it at her a few days later to see if she was paying attention. Had that been his plan from the start? Given she was on a mountain peak, it made sense he’d await her arrival in one of the dwarven ruins. The lack of footprints reinforced that theory, especially considering the absence of snowfall.

  Lorena’s voice broke the silence. “Seeing anything?”

  “No. Just snow and rock.” Inyalia listened to her echo fade into the distance. Strange that Lorena’s words didn’t do likewise. “I’m not seeing anything here. Bring me back. Maybe we’ll have better luck if we’re both searching.”

  Inyalia’s vision twisted and warped around her, drowning out everything she’d witnessed in the moments before. Her stomach knotted, threatening to expel whatever was left of her minute breakfast. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she found the walls of the tower library staring back at her. Instantly, she wished she was back on the mountain. At least there she didn’t feel confined. Wiping a layer of sweat from her forehead, Inyalia focused her eyes in the dimly lit room.

  Lorena was standing over a pensive of swirling smoky liquid. Drawing a ladle of the mysterious concoction, she poured it into a tapered vial. It settled to the bottom, condensing in a near-black syrup-like state. A single drop formed on the bottom of the taper and broke free, landing in another dish.

  “It’s almost ready.” Lorena swirled the dish, ensuring the contents mixed equally.

  “I’ll never get used to magical travel.” Inyalia grabbed the wooden bucket Lorena had placed beside her. Her body convulsed, attempting to dislodge the absent contents of her stomach. In many ways it would have been easier if there was something there.

  “Give it a few hundred more times. You’ll get used to it.” Lorena smiled, both in victory and empathy. Conjuration was hard on the body, especially when one was unexperienced with it. In truth, the nausea still plagued her, but she’d grown to expect it. Between that and a little trick she’d picked up, it had almost no effect on her anymore. Though Inyalia had a right to be sick. She hadn’t fully teleported. Lorena had drained the original scroll to create two replicas. One would function as intended. That was the one they would be using next. The other, the one Inyalia had experienced, was a blend of conjuration and divination. Rather than sending her through completely, Lorena sent only part of Inyalia through the teleportation spell. She was there in all the ways that mattered, but her physical body remained behind. Such a transformation placed a heavy toll.

  Inyalia spit the sticky film clinging to her mouth into the bucket. Drawing her waterskin, she took a swig and swished the liquid in an attempt to wash away the taste of stomach acid. Wiping her mouth, she composed herself and stood. “How much longer?”

  “Nearly ready.” Lorena tapped the side of the tapered vial, releasing the final drop. Lifting the dish, she gave another swish and poured the blackened contents into an inkwell. Ensuring her quill was perfectly clean of dust or old ink, she carefully dipped the tip into the well. Quickly, delicately, and precisely, Lorena brought the quill to a fresh piece of vellum. In a swift fluid motion, she recreated the sigil of the original scroll. It glowed gold for the briefest moment before turning purple. As the final line rolled into place, a sheen flashed over the vellum and the ink soaked to a near black. “And we’re ready.” Lorena wiped the remaining ink from her quill and tucked it away. Lifting the new scroll, she gently blew across the fresh sigil, ensuring the ink was dry.

  “Let’s get this underway. The sooner we find the halls, the sooner we can get back to our lives.” Inyalia was beginning to feel tired. It’d been an exhausting day, full of disappointments. And now that she was making progress, she wondered if she had the strength to handle whatever she’d face next. There was a temporary truce between Lorena and herself, but how long would that last. They weren’t exactly friends. She had little doubt Lorena would abandon her the first moment she was no longer relevant. But she couldn’t wait any longer. She had to see this through to the end. Taking a deep breath, Inyalia extended her hand, awaiting Lorena to take it as she had when they read the first scroll.

  “Otkin Adarab Utaalk” Lorena’s voice resounded around them, echoing with a power that was both startling and commanding.

  The walls faded to black, replaced with a cold unlike any other. The frozen wind whipped across the landscape, cutting to the bone. Inyalia crashed into the snow, scattering the collected flakes around her. Were it not for the initial shock, she had no doubt the dry heaves would have returned. Fortunately, she was too distracted by the intense cold to think about it. How could she have thought this not bad moments earlier? Picking herself up, she looked around in search for Lorena. She couldn’t be far, but their hands had separated in the final moments of the twisting.

  As if the thought released her, Lorena appeared a few feet above the snow in a flash of orange light. She fell face first, disappearing beneath the surface.

  Inyalia rushed forward to help. It was difficult to move. Not only were her joints stiffening, but the snow was at least four feet deep. She had no idea how she didn’t sink during her brief visit. “Lorena!” Inyalia reached the mage just as she was crawling from the crater.

  Shivering, Lorena rubbed her arms. She wore little more than a set of light blue robes with a spell pouch and leather shoes. “You said there was snow, but I didn’t imagine it’d be like this. Why is it so cold?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t feel it when I was here earlier.”

  “You wou—wouldn’t have. You were lit—little more than a specter.” Reaching into her spell pouch, Lorena grabbed a hand full of dust. Rubbing it between her already bluing fingers, she closed her eyes. The powder clinging to her robes began to melt, turning to steam. “That’s better. Allow me?” She waited for Inyalia to nod her consent. Waiving her hand over Inyalia, the dust turned to ash and fell away. A heat flowed from her, wrapping itself around the elven ranger. “It’ll only last an hour, and I only have enough dust to cast it once more. We need to find the halls before that happens.”

  “Agreed.” Inyalia drew her bow, nocking an arrow in one swift motion. Scanning their surroundings, she searched for whatever it was she’d seen in the corner of her eye.

  “What? What’d you see?”

  “I don’t know. It was there, and then it wasn’t.” Inyalia pointed to a nearby hill.

  Lorena readied a firebolt, taking a defensive stance beside the archer. “Were you able to make out any details?”

  “Not really. It was light in color. Like a silver or light gray. It was gone before I could see anything else.”

  “Are you sure the snow isn’t playing tricks on you?” Lorena made her own perimeter check, circling her focus around the pair.

  “Yes. I know what I saw. It moved so—There!” Inyalia fired an arrow. It buried itself in one of the mounds near a large stone, absent its target.

  “I didn’t see anything.”

  “I hit it. I know I did. It passed right through. We need to retrieve the arrow. The blunted tip isn’t goo
d for much, but maybe it’ll prove I hit something.”

  The pair made their way toward the minor disturbance in the snow.

  Inyalia had another arrow ready, searching for movement. Reaching the impact site, she stuck her hand into the frozen crystals, watching it melt away. If she could remember, she needed to have Lorena make her a couple scrolls of the heat spell. That would certainly rival keeping a few nights of firewood on hand. Finding the arrow, she pulled it free and inspected the tip. Holding it aloft for Lorena to see, a smile came to her lips. “See?”

  The blunt tip was broken. What had been a small piece of leather wrapped tightly around encapsulated sand was now a shredded, useless pocket. The remaining bits of sand poured from the multiple tears, leaving nothing but the ruined leather behind.

  “What is that?” Lorena leaned closer to inspect the damaged tip. Reaching into one of the tears, she removed a thin plate. “Ouch!” Blood seeped from her fingers where they’d made contact.

  “What is it?” Inyalia inspected the holes for more of the sharp devices. Finding none, she broke the damaged head free and returned the arrow to her quiver, memorizing its location. A headless arrow was next to useless, but it was far better than a blunt tip if lethality was required. Of course, if Tylor had allowed her to carry her real arrows the day before, it wouldn’t be necessary.

  “It looks like a scale of some kind. It’s sharp, I’ll tell you that much.” Carefully, Lorena grabbed it with her other hand, avoiding the edge. Wiping the blood away from the scale, she inspected the properties. “It’s a light blue, almost gray. Not reptilian by design. And not aquatic either.” Flexing it between her fingers, she noted its density. “It’s almost like a fingernail, but stronger. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of such a creature.”