Garlath repeated his earlier efforts. He felt the heat of his magic as he worked to overcome the resistance of the lever, but finally, it worked. The lever snapped down, and the pin raced along the track, bobbing up and down as it moved. Garlath could see a trace of magic in the air as the pin moved. The trace was a perfect copy of the character Kelnor had indicated was needed.
The magic was insubstantial but unmistakable.
“I see it now,” Garlath said. “When the crystal is in place, it will create the spell?”
“Yes.” Kelnor handed the crystal to Garlath. “Fill it.”
“Fill it?” Garlath asked.
“You ever use a staff? You know how to charge a crystal?”
“I know how. I don’t use a staff. I don’t need that much magic.”
“You do now. Go ahead and charge it and make sure you have enough to trigger it. It’s up to you. I can’t do it, and even if I could, I won’t.”
“I told you, this is for his own good.”
“And I heard you. I simply don’t agree.”
“Show me how to reset this.” Garlath said. No point in belaboring the point.
Kelnor demonstrated how to reset the pin and lever and how to wind the mechanism. Garlath had seen this sort of thing once before. It was called an automaton. He had seen a woman with one such at a market in some far-off land whose name he no longer recalled. When the woman opened the box, a tiny figure spun slowly while the box emitted a tinny melody. She wound it with a key, just as Kelnor had done. He supposed the workings were much the same, but using an automaton to release a spell, that was completely new. There were certainly big things in the future for the surly young wizard.
After the evening meal, Garlath found Kelnor studying a scroll in the room they shared in the Dusty Tankard.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Promise me the temple is empty.”
“I’ll check before I do anything,” Garlath said. “I promise.”
“I’m not going with you.” Kelnor handed Garlath the device. “I don’t want to be anywhere near you when this triggers. It’s dangerous. You know what to do. When it’s all done, come get me and we can be on our way.”
“The crystal?” Garlath held out his hand.
Kelnor refastened the crystal to the brass pin and wound the device. “Be careful with this. You don’t want to set it off until you’re safely away. If it triggers while you are within the confines of that spell, you will die.” He looked up with a stern expression. “Die. Slowly and horribly.”
“I understand.”
“I will see you when this is all over.” Kelnor turned back to the scroll he had been studying when Garlath interrupted. It was as if, having discharged his duties, Garlath no longer existed.
“When it’s over,” Garlath said.
Kelnor didn’t even look up. He just grunted and kept on reading.
Garlath shrugged. He’d done all he could with the lad. He had other things to worry about. He had seen a guard near the temple the night before. Sulrad was either onto their plan or suspicious. He wondered if Kelnor had somehow communicated with Sulrad.
He hoped not.
With the temple only a block away, Garlath was starting to think things would go off without a hitch, but as he rounded the final corner, a rough voice called out from the shadows, “State your business.”
A city guard stepped into the street in Garlath’s path.
“On my way home.” Garlath slurred his words and affected an unsteady gait. Let the guard think he was besotted on ale.
“No, you’re not. You’re coming with me.” The guard whistled and two more men appeared. Neither of them was dressed as a guard. Toughs from the looks of them. So this was the way of it. Sulrad must have bribed the guard and hired the toughs.
Garlath shoved the guard. “Leave me be.”
The butt of the man’s spear stuck his middle.
He bent over and feigned heaving as he shoved Kelnor’s device into the shadows. It wasn’t as close as he’d hoped, but perhaps it would do. His only worry now was to make his way out of the area before triggering the spell, and the guard appeared to be about to make certain he did. He only hoped he had enough magic to trigger the spell from wherever the guards were taking him.
The gaol was little more than a heavily planked shed with a thin door on it. The guard and the two toughs tossed Garlath into it and slammed the door. The place stank of vomit and urine. The bench was rough and splintery and there was no privy or chamber pot, but if Garlath’s plans succeeded, he’d be gone well before morning.
“Sleep it off. In the morning, the castle guard will be coming for you. It’s the work crew for a moon while you dry out.”
“Don’t need no work,” Garlath said.
“I said quiet.” The guard rapped on the door with the butt of his spear.
“Let me out,” Garlath screamed.
“I said quiet. You want me to open this door and let you have a taste of my spear?”
“I’ll be quiet,” Garlath said.
“Good. See that you do.”
Garlath waited until he was sure the guard had moved away from the door. He sat down with his back to the rough wood and closed his eyes. He let his senses expand. He was six blocks from the temple. The device was sitting in a gutter not a dozen spans from the temple.
He reached out for the brass lever, but something stopped him.
What if it didn’t work? What if it was positioned in the wrong place? What if the spell was wrong? He did not fully trust the young wizard.
What could he do if his worst suspicions were true?
Very little.
Best to get on with it, but was the temple empty?
Garlath expanded his senses. No, it was not. There were a dozen people in it. Were Sulrad and his followers living there? Curse this bad fortune. He considered triggering the spell anyway, but he’d given his word, and a wizard’s word was his bond. He’d seen what happened to a wizard who went back on his word. Not even an oath. Young wizards were taught about the unfortunate Worsim. Worsim had made a solemn promise to heal a young man then reneged. He gave no reason. No apology, simply said he was not bound by his word. Not ten days later, Worsim was the victim of a freak accident. A boulder had broken from the mountainside and landed on him while he stood in the middle of a crowd. The tumbling boulder missed every other individual, but killed Worsim. No. Garlath would not break his word, but what did that mean?
Garlath waited, but the people in the temple seemed to be content to remain there all night. Whoever they were, they were ruining Garlath’s carefully laid plans. If they were not gone by morning, he would trigger the spell regardless. He’d take his chances. A few people dying in the course of his duties was an acceptable, if tragic, loss. But if he failed, many more might die. He would try to avoid the loss of life, but he would not let that make him fail. Eventually, Garlath fell into a heavy sleep. He hadn’t planned for it but realized his plans might have gone awry when the guard yanked the door open, letting the sunlight in.
“Come on, you lazybones. The castle guard is here for ya.”
“Mph?” Garlath struggled to clear his head. Where was he? That’s right. The gaol. He had something to do.
He reached out with his magic.
The device was still there.
There was no one in the temple.
They were all out front.
He gave thanks for his good fortune, let his magic touch the brass lever, and yanked.
In his mind’s eye, he saw the pin scribe its path in the air. A trail of vermillion fire etched the symbol that would define the spell.
Nothing happened.
Had the spell not worked?
Was the device too far away?
At first, Garlath thought the device had failed. But after a hand of heartbeats, the barest flicker of magic washed over him. It was working.
Something reached into Garlath’s chest and ripped at it as if trying to draw his
heart out through his ribs. His magic was being torn from him.
He gasped.
Had Kelnor tricked him? He’d said the spell would need no magic from anyone to work, so why then was it drawing power from him? He had to do something or else his magic would be gone.
“Ego autem absit,” he shouted, forbidding the magic to depart. The power slowed down, but not enough.
“Tolle quod tuum est et non,” he added for good measure.
The magic slowed to a trickle.
Garlath heaved a heavy sigh.
With a pop, his magic snapped back to him, but it was reduced. Almost nonexistent. He was dry. No quick return to Amedon for him.
The guard, distracted, released Garlath. “What in the name of all gods was that?” he demanded.
Garlath took the opportunity to run. He twisted from the guard’s grip and raced off in the direction of the Dusty Tankard.
18
Sulrad stepped through the great doors that admitted the faithful into the temple. He had taken to holding his morning blessing and encouragement on the steps before the temple. Each day at sunup, the faithful gathered there to hear the blessings of Ran and receive encouragement from Sulrad. Most days, it gave him great joy to bless the faithful, but today, something nagged at him. The statue of Ran was warm as it hung about his neck. That either signaled acceptance of what Sulrad was doing or annoyance at his actions. Some days, he did not discover which one until much later, when Ran had made his position clear.
Today was one of those days.
The statue was warm as Sulrad began his benediction.
He pushed the thought aside and continued. As he reached the conclusion of the blessing, the ground beneath his feet shook. The solid stone of the temple stairs swayed as if they had been nothing more than wood cast upon a stormy sea. The sound came next, a low roar like the sound of crashing waves. It rose to a deafening pitch before falling silent.
“Run,” cried one of the faithful, a young man Sulrad knew by sight, but not by name. The young man turned his gaze upwards then fell to his face.
Sulrad spun.
Magic was at work here. This was not natural. Deep below the earth, something was happening.
He felt it — a tingle along his spine.
A soap bubble rose from the ground and grew larger and larger until it surrounded the temple. Sulrad backed away, certain that entering the bubble was the wrong thing to do.
As it grew, the soap bubble solidified, as if it were made of glass.
When it encased the temple completely, the earth shook once more, then stopped. Vines thrust from the earth, furiously climbing the temple walls. Once they completely engulfed the temple, the thick, dark vines grew huge thorns.
Sulrad’s guts wrenched. He should have known. Ran was angry with him. He’d been failing in his responsibilities to heal and to spread the word to the surrounding towns, but how was this going to help? How could this be Ran’s work?
He let his senses touch the thorns. They had the feel of magic. Strong and strange magic.
As he pondered what sort of spell might have done such a thing, the thorns began to shimmer. A clear coating covered the thorns.
Sulrad stepped back.
This certainly wasn’t Ran’s work. It had the stink of Amedon on it. The wizards of Amedon might be unwilling to kill him and risk Rotiaqua and Zhimosom, but it appeared that they had no qualms about destroying his work.
“Ran curse the wizards of Amedon,” he screamed.
Sulrad turned to the crowd. Most of the staff had vanished, but a few remained, looking to Sulrad for guidance.
“Hear me,” he shouted. “Some days, Ran brings us trials.” He gestured to the temple now shrouded in thick, thorny vines and trapped inside a glass sphere. “On days like this, he is testing us. Each of us. Will we run in fear? Will we forsake him? Will we beg him for mercy, or renew our commitment to him and seek his path?”
The staff quieted.
“This is not the end. It is only the beginning. A new trial has been set to prove our loyalty. Do not let Ran down. Do not let him see your faith waver.”
He lowered his hands and turned to Ignal. “Your house is still available?”
“It is.”
“Good. We will need a place to stay while I discover who has done this, not that it will take much discovery. I am very certain I know who it was; it’s how they did it and how we break it that I need to discern.”
“You will. I have faith in you. Ran will show you the way.” Ignal bowed and took his arm. “Come. The faithful will follow.”
“In a moment. I need to see what I can of this.”
He glanced up. The spire was scaffolded in thorns. At the top, the winch that delivered materials to the workmen swayed slightly in the early morning breeze. He reached for the vines, but his hand was stopped by the impenetrable bubble that encircled the temple. Pain flared in his chest.
He grimaced.
Was this part of the spell?
“Father, what is it?” One of the staff approached Sulrad. “It glows. A dull green light surrounds the entire temple. We can’t pass. One of the healers tried, and she fell right over as she stepped across the line. Another stuck his foot over and screamed that he’d seen himself plummeting from the top of the spire to his death.”
Sulrad blinked. He saw nothing like that. “What do you see? Can you reach your hand through it?” he asked.
“I’d rather not try.” The acolyte cradled his hand as if shielding it from a nonexistent flame.
“Try.” Sulrad barked.
“No.” The acolyte turned and fled.
Sulrad turned to find another younger boy standing there. “Well. Do you see it?”
“The glow?” the boy asked.
“Yes, the glow. Do you see it?”
His answer was hesitant. “Yes.”
“Stick your hand into it, then.”
“I’d rather not.”
“I’ll pay you an extra gold if you do.” Sulrad stuck his hand into his pocket as if retrieving the proffered gold.
The boy hesitated.
“You won’t die. You’re serving Ran. He will protect you.”
The boy stretched out his hand, taking a single halting step toward the temple.
Sulrad examined the hand as it drew closer to the structure.
Just before the hand touched the shimmering glass, a faint green glow appeared around it. It reminded Sulrad of the portal to the void he used to travel to and from Amedon. Could that be it? Had the wizards surrounded the temple with a portal? If so, where did it lead?
As the boy’s hand came into contact with the glass, he let out a scream.
“What did you see?” Sulrad demanded.
“I saw my death,” the boy cried out. “I was old, surrounded by strangers who were all weeping for me. Then it grew difficult to breathe. That was my last breath. I know it. I’m going to die.”
Sulrad rapped the boy across the head.
“You did indeed see your death. You were old. All of us die, but not you, not for some summers.” Sulrad said. “Stop your crying and think.”
The boy snuffled back his tears. “You mean I’m not going to die?”
“Not today. Go find Veran. I want to know what he sees here.”
“Right away, Father.” The boy bowed and disappeared down the street.
Sulrad stretched out a hand toward the structure in the same place where the boy had. As his hand approached, his flesh grew warm, then hot, then intolerably hot, yet there was no trace of magic at work. None that Sulrad recognized.
“What have you done?” Sulrad muttered under his breath as he placed both hands in the air and advanced on the invisible shield. He continued until he was certain that his flesh had been burned from the bones and the pain was unbearable. He was certain such a heat had done damage to his hands and wondered how he could have been so foolish. Was this what they had wanted? To tempt him into a rash action where he maimed himself? That
was the sort of thing the wizards of Amedon would do. Trap him with his own impetuousness. He withdrew his hands and examined them.
There was nothing.
Not a hair had been singed from his flesh.
Sulrad tried again, this time pressing further. He was on the verge of collapsing under the pain when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
“A cunning trap, don’t you agree?” Veran asked.
Sulrad withdrew his hands and turned to see Veran standing behind him. It had only been a handful of heartbeats since the boy had run to fetch him, or had it? Sulrad had lost track of time while enmeshed in the spell. He noticed it now. The morning sun was well on its way toward noon. Just how long had he been standing there?
“What is this?” Sulrad raised an eyebrow at the younger priest.
“It’s a trap. If you have no magic, it shows you your death. If you have magic, it shows you what you fear the most, but it also draws you to it, tempting fate as it were, until you can’t back away, can’t look away, don’t even notice the passage of time. All the while, you waste away, forgetting to eat or drink or relieve yourself. You stand there enthralled until you die.”
“Who would craft such a thing?” Sulrad shook his head, trying to clear it.
“Not the wizards of Amedon,” Veran said. “They don’t possess this magic. It must be an old spell created by the dragons and left in the hands of the wizards. It’s the sort of things dragons were famous for, using human nature against humans.” Veran tightened his grasp on Sulrad’s shoulder. “Ingenious, don’t you think?”
“How do we defeat it?” Sulrad asked. Whatever the spell was doing, it seemed that the temple had lost its luster. The stones appeared as if it had weathered from summers in the sun when it had only been laid in place within the last moons. If the spell continued, how long before they crumbled with age?
“I’m not sure we can. It may have been created from inside the temple. They would have placed a stone or an amulet somewhere and triggered it by magic from out here.”
Dragon Lord: An Epic Fantasy Saga (Origins Book 2) Page 12
