JOSAK – GOLDEN UNICORN, PORT CHANDREX, KLYDOR
10TH KENNOVASHAE, SPRING 845 PBM
An angry Gerard stormed into Josak’s large suite at the Golden Unicorn, leading his second-in-command, Garrick. He stomped right into the main room, where Josak was sitting at the table eating his dinner.
‘He is angry. Enraged even. Perhaps he is upset that the demon killed a few of his men. I hope his angry outburst does not lead to my having to kill him. It would be a shame to waste such a resource. But I will tolerate only so much insubordination.’
“What in the Nine Hells was that?” Gerard screamed. In response to the raised voice, Josak saw two of his followers get out of their chairs and move to intercede. Josak stood and waved them back to their seats.
‘I am not threatened by anything these two can do.’
“I trust the demon was useful in dispatching the Seven?” Josak replied calmly. “My apologies for any losses amongst your men, but they would not likely have survived the Seven anyway. Maragon, while annoying, is still quite dangerous to the mundane.”
“You could have warned us. We could have worked the demon into our ambush,” Gerard spat back. Josak considered that for a few seconds.
“Perhaps. But the Seven may have detected something from the way your ambush proceeded. This way your ambush appeared to be the real threat, allowing the demon to be a much bigger surprise.”
You will pay us an additional fifty pieces of gold for each of the men we lost. As compensation for lying to us,” negotiated Gerard.
That offer so soon into our discussion makes me think you are more upset that the surprise could have resulted in your own death, than that of your men. I can respect that. For the right price in return, all of our resources are expendable.
Josak cocked his head as he considered the offer, and the fair price for Gerard’s men.
“Or perhaps we will take the boy back,” added Garrick, pointing towards the young Indian male sitting on the floor at the back of the room. He sneered.
‘This one is arrogant. He has either misjudged me because I have no apparent weapon, or he just hates all wizards.’
“And this will be the last time you ever with-hold information from us mage. Otherwise you will find the Council of Defence suddenly taking up residence in all of your safe-houses,” threatened Garrick.
“Quieten him, Gerard. Before he hurts himself,” replied Josak in a calm tone he knew mundanes found infuriating. “You will have a thirty gold piece repatriation per lost man. Now where are the bodies of the Seven?”
“How the hell should I know?” replied Gerard angrily. “You don’t think I stayed around once your pet arrived, do you?”
Josak’s facial expression changed, the façade of control cracking.
“Have you not heard from your acolytes?” asked Gerard. “I assumed they would rein the beast in once it had finished killing everyone.”
‘As did I. The connection to my acolytes ended when the spell completed to summon the demon. But the attack should have been finished many hours ago now. Cleaning up the bodies should only have taken so long.’
“It would appear the beast just decided to kill everyone instead.” jeered Garrick. “Does that mean it’s now running around Chandrex?” Garrick’s tone indicated both curiosity and excitement at the prospect of that.
“No. The magick would only hold it here for a time. It will have long since returned to its home dimension by now,” Josak replied.
“Then maybe it took your precious Seven with it. You know, a little snack for the road,” continued Garrick.
‘Insolence will not be tolerated.’
Gerard raised an arm to caution his colleague but it was already too late. Josak raised his own arm, and flicked his finger at Garrick. With little more than a word of magick he sent the man flying across the room and into the back wall with a resounding thud.
“Gerard, head back down to the warehouse, and bring me the bodies of the Seven, and my acolytes,” commanded Josak. “They will all continue to serve me in one way or another.”
A look of horror washed over Gerard’s face at the thought of what that might mean.
‘You should know fear. Fear of me. Fear of my Lord. And fear of my Dark Magick. And you should know respect.’
“Leave Garrick here. He and I need to have a little chat about employer/employee relations.” Gerard turned to argue, but one look into Josak’s eyes told him this was not a negotiable point.
There was a commotion at the door, and two figures strode confidently through the large double-doored entry of the room. Again, Josak’s two followers rose to challenge the new arrivals, but before they were even fully to their feet, both were struck with small, bladed throwing stars. The toxin on them was the same as the one used on the Seven, and within seconds both had fallen to the ground.
‘It would seem I must re-educate everyone on the appropriate levels of respect I am due.’
“Evening Josak. I thank you for standing on my arrival, but please... take a seat. This is your place after all,” mocked Anders, the mysterious figure of the Shadow one step behind him. That shadowy figure moved in way that calmly threatened death to any who got in his way, and he had another of those same stars in between each finger of his left hand, ready to be thrown. Anders looked around the room, and in particular at the two armed figures near the back, one of whom seemed to have thrown himself into the wall.
“Did I interrupt another team performance appraisal?’ Anders added cynically.
“What are you doing here, Anders?” asked Josak angrily, surprised that Anders knew where to find him, and even more so that he would dare barge in like this. “Ronaldo might have a liking for you, but I assure you I do not. This act of yours will not go unpunished.”
“You know the rules as well as I, old man. One High Priest cannot discipline another High Priest,” Anders added extra emphasis to the last few words for effect.
A look of dread washed over Josak’s face, which in turn brought a look of pure joy to Anders’ face. Anders then took great joy in pulling the ruby-laden gold dragon-head amulet out from under his armoured breastplate, and letting it sit with pride on the outside of his magnificent plate armour.
“I see you grew bored of being Ronardo’s play-thing. I cannot fault you for that. That man was an embarrassment to us all,” conceded Josak, quickly recovering his demeanour.
“But then why the full battle-dress?” Josak asked, indicating the platemail armour, “Are we just going to dispense with the code and settle this here and now?”
‘You are bold boy. But you are not ready to confront me. I almost hope we do settle this now.’
“No Josak. As much as you may wish that, you will not be rid of me that easily. Besides, you should show more gratitude. Tonight, I wish to celebrate my ascendance to this illustrious position by presenting you with a gift. This very night I have completed the one task that you, Ronardo and Jakobi could not do.” Anders paused for added effect.
“I have defeated the Saranti Seven, and captured their leader, Maragon.” To illustrate the point Anders slid Maragon’s gem and rune encrusted blade across the desk.
Anger flared across Josak’s face, as he realised his plan had been manipulated by the upstart before him. He badly wanted to crush the life from this man, perhaps more than he had ever wanted to do so before.
‘But it would not be fitting on the eve of the return of my master, to so blatantly violate the dictates of his church.’
“Before you ask, just let me say, it was a really nice trap you set. Perhaps some of your best work,” conceded Anders. “The only mistake was in not asking for my assistance in carrying it out. Then you would have had my superior knowledge of summoning at your disposal, rather than working against you. We could have shared this victory rather than it being mine alone.” Anders continued. He calmly smiled at Josak before adding, “Do you think Razilin will look favourably on me for this night when choosing his first Lord High Priest? Or frown on me for working against you?”
“Did you just come here to gloat? Or is there another reason for your appearance here?” Josak struggled to keep his cool, and it was showing.
“As I said, I came to offer you a gift. Once I have gathered what I need from them, I was planning to give you Maragon to do with as you please. I know he has long been a thorn in your side, and I thought you might relish being able to control how he dies, and over what duration.”
‘You offer me that was rightfully mine, and in exchange you wish something additional. Almost makes me wish for Ronardo, and his smiling charm and magick incompetence.’
“And in return?” Josak asked dubiously.
“Originally I was planning on asking for nothing.” Anders paused as he looked around the room. “But having seen Gerard here, and the sight of the Indian, I gather you have been working against your fellow Priests for some time. You are most devious, Josak. Also makes it a bit rich if you protest too harshly about what I did to you tonight.”
“Hang on a minute...How do you know who I am?” asked Gerard.
“One of the many things Ronardo gifted me with before his unfortunate passing was his memories, including where Josak likes to stay. Very decadent,” he added with a nod to Josak, before returning his gaze to Gerard. “So I know well that you were on his payroll, one of his most trusted agents in fact. I also know that the Indian was a guide meant for his use in recovering the Sword of Xarron.”
“Your point?” asked Josak.
“I could claim them both as the rightful heir to all that was Ronardo’s. The code may not strictly prevent us working against each other, but you know as well as I that you have crossed the line here, subverting agents from another High Priest. We can call a vote of the High Priests to determine if I am right but then we would both have to wait here until Jakobi came down out of the mountains. I am not sure either of us really has the patience for that.”
“And how would you explain your working against me this very night, then?” demanded Josak.
“Easy. I would explain your plan was failing, the demon destroyed, and your acolytes dead. Only through the timely intervention of my agent here,” Anders gestured towards the Shadow, “was catastrophe averted. The only witness we have is… oh dear… the Shadow.”
“I could rip the truth from his mind. Or yours. Lay that in front of everyone,” threatened Josak.
“Sure. But then I would demand we do a similar ‘ripping’ from your mind to see all the things you have done to work against your fellow High Priests. How many decades would we have to dig through,” asked Anders.
Josak could have argued with Anders for days about what was and was not allowed. Nobody knew the Code of Razilin’Tera better than he.
‘But he is right. If he calls for a vote of the High Priests on the matter, then it will freeze all of our plans at a very critical juncture.’
“In return for letting you keep them both, AND giving you all of the surviving members of the Seven in my possession, you will accompany my forces when they go to retrieve the Sword, and you will provide me with one acolyte who can speak with the recently deceased,” stated Anders, “But this is a one-time only offer. If you do not agree right now, then I will keep both of these two, call for the vote, and you will not be allowed to come with us when we do go for the sword.”
Josak considered the options before him. In reality, the most upsetting part was getting outplayed by Anders.
The acolyte means little, although tonight has been expensive in regards to those. I will need to use the summoning circles to bring a few more west. Going into the Indiana Peaks was not part of my plans, but perhaps it is a path to revenge for this night, perhaps allowing me to take the Sword for my own.
“Hang on, I am not sure I like being treated as property. I am not subject to anything he decides... unless the price is right.” objected Gerard.
“You have betrayed a paid service to a High Priest of Razilin’Tera. Only a rare handful have ever survived such an act. Speak once more on this and you will not be one of them,” retorted Anders, with a venom in his words that was missing earlier. The glare he gave when he stared Gerard down left no doubt he would carry through on his threat. “The price is you get to live.”
“That price sounds perfect. I am in,” Gerard replied, with clearly fake sincerity.
“And what of you Josak. We now both know what is required if we are to return our master to this world. We need the Sword of Xarron and the Stone of Evronn – the two items that between them killed him in the first place. We need his Soul. And we need a suitable new host body for him to return too.” While Anders knew full-well that Josak knew exactly what was required, he verbalised it to make sure Josak knew he too now also possessed this knowledge.
“So you were not lying. You do indeed possess all the knowledge of Ronardo,” confirmed Josak, “even the secrets he would not have revealed to anyone.”
“I inherited all of his power too,” Anders added.
“And?” Josak asked, at least a little nervous as to the response, and how much power Anders may have inherited.
“It was even less than you could have dared to imagine,” Anders rolled his eyes. “How he became a High Priest is an embarrassment to all of us. Josak, you have the Soul in your possession, so clearly I cannot do this without you. That soul allows you to sense the Stone if it is nearby or ever used, which is also clearly a valuable skill.”
‘I can indeed sense the stone, but Maragon has many ways to shield it from me. Unless the boy tries to use it, it would seem it is hidden magically from me, probably in a pouch or container which hides the stone in a pocket dimension. The only reason I realised the boy had it at all was he used it near the Tower that night.’
“And where are his acolytes? Have you taken them, or should I send someone to find them? Some of them had potential,” asked Josak.
‘I could do with some more acolytes right now.’
“I have them. Remember, I inherited all his knowledge and networks. The networks are impressive. I suspect even more than we realised. Did you know he was establishing cults to our Lord all the way to Faylenia?”
‘He was? He may have been more of a threat for the Lord High-Priest than I realised. Presenting our Lord with a huge number of followers all over Driax would have indeed been an impressive gift. Now that could be Ander’s gift unless I do something.’
“I suspected,” Josak lied. “Do you need any help reigning these cults in?”
“I do not. I was the contact to many of them before my promotion. And I am already using the acolytes to entertain the Seven. But I have more reasons why we should work together. It is also highly likely that of the two of us, only I possess the skills to bring the Lord’s soul into this world and then into another host,” continued Anders. “Well, without consuming myself in the casting, and I do not believe, even with your level of faith and devotion, that you would martyr yourself on the eve of his ascension.”
Anders would have kept going, adding more and more reasons why this plan made sense. But Josak could already see he was cornered. He held up a hand to stop.
“I am in. I thank you for letting me keep Gerard and the boy. I ask that you also leave me the one on the ground. He needs a lesson in manners. On Razilin’Tera’s soul I pray you are even half as good as you think you are.”
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Anders just smiled as he motioned for the Shadow to lead him out of the room.
“I’m much better.”
ALICIA – A SARANTI SEVEN SAFEHOUSE, PORT CHANDREX, KLYDOR
10TH KENNOVASHAE, SPRING 845 PBM
Seven figures were huddled in a small hovel in the poorest district of Chandrex. While there were no rats, they were the only thing missing from making this humble abode the picture of misery and poverty.
“Nice safe-house,” offered Azzanon, as he mockingly brushed dust off his fancy shirt.
Mitchell and Hawkin had returned to the inn an hour after dawn, where they had found her waiting downstairs for their return, and none too happy about it. She had spent many moments scolding both of them, especially regarding the black eye Mitchell was sporting. Peregrin had remained silent but did seem to enjoy watching the scolding.
Mitchell and Hawkin were also not alone. Once she had started to give them the dressing down, three more figures had entered the inn, and stood around like they were together.
A well-dressed and attractive Lotese noble had introduced himself, and then explained in great detail how they had spent the previous night in the nicest inn in town, and then apologetically compared it to the ‘relative squalor’ she had stayed in.
‘He is quite charming. And not bad to look at either, although a little delicate for my tastes.’
Alicia had quickly gone back to the church of Chandrilar on their way, to check on Davon. He was stable but would need to remain in the priest’s care for some time.
‘I had hoped the church would provide guidance on what to do next. With Davon’s condition I was torn whether to remain with him, continue on with Mitchell and Hawkin, or perhaps even return home to my posting at Garet. I think my heart longs for the safety and comfort of home, and if the church orders me back there, then my guilt would be absolved. But the Bishop had said that Chandrilar smiles his blessings upon my troubled companions, and that Chandrilar wished I remain with them. It seems even the Gods want me on this journey.
The young Gaebriel seems nice enough, but she is a little flighty. A young noblewoman who does nothing for a living, compared to a farmer’s daughter and devout priestess. I doubt we could be more different. Hawkin and Mitchell don’t seem to mind her though. Hawkin has spent the afternoon trying to impress her with all his ‘stories of glory’. I have known him his whole life, and even I can only recall about fifty percent of these stories.
And I have no idea what to make of the mirror-masked one. He said nothing. Almost intervened when I went to touch Mitchell. And then left almost as soon as we got to the safehouse. But kept telling Mitchell to relax. He had faith Mitchell was ‘up to this if it came down to it’. What is ‘this’? And what strange people have I now been caught up with?
MITCHELL – A SARANTI SEVEN SAFEHOUSE, PORT CHANDREX, KLYDOR
10TH KENNOVASHAE, SPRING 845 PBM
Mitchell knelt nervously on the ground. Six other figures were huddled in the same small hovel in the poorest district of Chandrex.
“Nice safe-house,” offered Azzanon, as he mockingly brushed dust off his fancy shirt.
Mitchell and Hawkin had led the others back to their original inn, where they had found Alicia waiting downstairs for them, and none too happy about it. She expressed her disappointment in them and the decisions they had made.
‘Disappointing Alicia hurts more than when I disappoint Maragon. Feelings are so weird and inexplicable.’
Peregrin had remained silent, even as the commoner girl had scolded the noble boy.
‘Actually, his body language seemed to both enjoy it, and condemn it, at the same time. A massive breach of the protocol he cares so much about, but fun to watch, even though he likely does not understand why Hawkin would tolerate it.’
Then, as she was nearing the end of the scolding, Azzanon had decided to bring up the amazing inn they had stayed in, and specifically drew attention to how much bigger and comfier the beds were compared to the squalor of Alicia’s inn.
‘I note he didn’t bother to explain we had helped protect a princess. Just went on how about how comfortable and big the beds were. How would he know, he was barely in it! I think he may have done that just to rile her up. I notice he managed to slip in the fact she was beautiful about three times.’
Alicia had altered their route only slightly so she could quickly check on Davon.
‘Thank God he is stable and likely to make a full recovery. I will gladly take that outcome, even if it means he will be too unwell to continue to travel with us.’
But now Azzanon and Eva had returned and they were all sitting around a small stove heater, as the rain bucketed down outside. Once Eva had her helm off, Azzanon indicated that she should report first.
“Maragon is not here.”
Everyone waited for her to continue, but after a few seconds it became apparent she was finished.
“OK… short and to the point,” Azzanon replied. “I can also tell you that around 12 nobles were killed last night in what authorities are calling a brazen robbery during the annual society ball at the DeVillier Manor. This is of course utter rubbish, as it was actually a failed assassination attempt on young Gaebriel here. There are also rumours the middle Prince of Klydor might be missing. I do not understand how your Council of Defence ever learns anything given the quality of information they get on these matters.”
Mitchell followed everything up until the last part, which to his mind, seemed irrelevant. From what Maragon had taught him the Council of Defence was the order that all mages and sorcerors within Klydor were expected to register with, and they also contained the legal Inquisitorial arm of Klydorian law.
“But why would anyone want to kill Gaebriel?” Mitchell asked.
“Not sure, but it would seem someone in Drasak has decided to try and climb the social society ladder by removing a few of the Drasak noble houses. Gaebriel and her family are in the way.”
“And who is Gaebriel within the social heirarchy of Drasak?” asked Peregrin bluntly.
“She is a princess!” blurted Hawkin excitedly.
‘Ha! I suspect Azzanon will not be pleased if he keeps blurting that out.’
He looked across and saw Azzanon shoot a filthy look at Hawkin. He noted Alicia also taken aback by the revelation.
“Why is she here?” Alicia asked. Her tone was more from surprise and genuine wonder as to why a Drasak princess would be in Klydor, given the significant distance between the two empires, but it sounded harsher than that. Gaebriel hung her head a little.
“Her family sent her here to protect her, and it is vital we minimise how many people know she is here” replied Azzanon, glaring pointedly at Hawkin. “Her father is attempting to stand up to the assassin guilds. He is attempting to return Drasak to the normal world where the King actually rules. But this is a very brave and dangerous act in a nation where the assassins are used to having control.”
Hearing Azzanon speak well of her father helped Gaebriel lift her chin up again.
“Any idea who is trying to kill me?” she asked.
“Not sure of that either. The thugs were all gone or dead by the time the authorities got into the Manor. Whoever it is they have employed one of the Drasak Assassin houses to help them. But Drasak and assassin do always seem to go together,” Azzanon replied.
While not his intention, his comment hit home with Gaebriel, and she seemed quite hurt by it. Seeing he had wounded her with the comment on her nation, Azzanon continued. “If it makes you feel any better Princess, we think it was one of the Assassin Guilds who informed us of this plan. That is why I was able to intervene.”
“And who might you be?” asked Alicia.
“I my dear girl, am Azzanon Klarence III, of the Drasnian Intelligence Agency,” replied Azzanon, returning to his natural Drasnian accent, and bowing gracefully.
The young Princess gasped in shock.
“And you would care about the death of a Drasak noblewoman, why?” asked Hawkin, referring to the enmity Drasnians and Drasaks generally held for each other. For Gaebriel it seemed nobody had anything nice to say about her, and it showed upon her face. Alicia moved to the young girl and put her arm around her.
“Because we hate to see any Drasak plot succeed, even one against its own people,” continued Azzanon. He offered Gaebriel a reassuring smile, and also went to her. “And we would like to see the current King succeed in changing things there. He has sent ambassadors to places such as Klydor, and although that may have just been a cover to allow him to send Gaebriel here, it is a start, no?”
The Drasaks and Drasnians were rival empires far to the east, rivals who had been at war on and off since their empires were first founded after the defeat of Razilin’Tera. Drasak was famous for the assassin guilds that basically ran the whole empire, while Drasnia was notorious for its fancy clothes, swashbucklers, and extravagant behaviour. In many ways their peoples were similar, both tending to be short and with darker colourings of hair, and a shared love of food and wine. Even the style of clothing often led trends in other lands. They rarely agreed on the colour of clothing though. Drasaks strongly favoured greys and blacks, while Drasnians wore more brighter colours than any other nation in Driax.
Like many bitter enemies, they tended to focus on their differences. In Klydor, the Drasaks were viewed as the problem, as they had for the last 100 years also sided with the militant Merlo empire that lay on the other side of the Sea of Tranquility, Klydor’s arch nemesis.
“My real problem is that run-in with Gerard last night. That was the name of the man who was chasing you from the inn. He and I have crossed paths before, and his services do not come cheap. My instincts tell me at some point we will find a link between his presence and that of a Drasak Assassin guild operating so brazenly in Klydor.”
“And what of the missing Prince?” asked Alicia. “Perhaps the assassins took him when they did not find who they were looking for?”
“I don’t think so. I did not see the Prince in attendance last night, and it is usually quite hard to miss royalty. The combination of large amounts of security, and a roving cloud of fawning courtiers. I suspect the Prince is simply off doing something or someone the royal court disapproves of.”
“The likelihood our two strings of fate are entangled is high” conceded Eva, “but the priority now must be finding Maragon, the Teacher. Mitchell, you must use the scroll I gave you.”
Mitchell looked around nervously as all attention in the room suddenly focussed on him.
“Summoning is not really my specialty,” he responded meekly.
“Maragon is relying on you,” Eva replied, trying to encourage him. “Everything he taught you child, was in preparation for a moment like this.”
“Summoning?... Mitchell?” asked Alicia, suddenly alarmed. The church had very strict rules on Summoning as it was one of the more dangerous areas of arcane study. “Ahh… Mitchell, what is going on?” asked Alicia, although the answer was already dawning on her. It suddenly seemed as if the missing piece to Mitchell was about to make itself apparent.
“Well… Maragon and I… I mean he has taught me… I have been trained in some of the arts of Magick.” Mitchell stammered, but once he started, he found the words flowed more easily, “I have been studying magick under Maragon since I was about seven. I can cast basic spells, I can brew a few potions, and I can read spell scrolls… most of the time.”
“Mitchell is being very modest. He is one of the best apprentice mages Maragon has ever encountered and would almost certainly be the top of his class were he studying in an Ashar college,” explained Eva. “Right now, he must use a scroll to summon Maragon back to us, for I fear his life is in great jeopardy.”
“Could he be dead?” asked Hawkin bluntly.
‘What if he is?’
“I believe Mitchell would know,” replied Eva calmly.
‘What does that mean? Does she mean because we are close, I would ‘feel’ his passing? I haven’t felt anything.’
“Now, we must give him room to do his work. Mitchell, take your time. You can do this,” encouraged Eva.
Alicia smiled with what seemed to Mitchell to be pride, while Hawkin just shook his head in disbelief and wonder.
“I would have told you, but Maragon made me promise I would not tell anyone. He also said that I should never use magick around any of you. He said I was just endangering you if I did,” Mitchell explained.
‘And because I am not registered with the Council of Defence. Maragon does not believe Mages should have to be registered or controlled in anyway other than what normal citizens must do.’
“That was before. Now we really need you to read that scroll,” restated Eva, holding her hand up to forestall any other interruptions from Alicia or Hawkin.
“OK… But I am going to need some time to prepare my summoning circle. Who knows what will happen if I get this wrong.”
“Exactly what do you mean by ‘wrong’,” asked Hawkin.
“I once sent my bed into another dimension, where I believe some kind of demon creature set fire to it and ate it.” Several startled gasps escaped the mouths of some of those present.
“I’ll go get my sword then, shall I?” asked Hawkin, only half mockingly.
“Perhaps the Princess and I should leave?” suggested Azzanon.
“You will be safe here,” affirmed Eva. “This place is protected from magickal scrying so your enemies cannot find you while you remain here.”
Mitchell saw Azzanon looking at the beautiful young princess and trying to decide what to do.
‘The trade-off of additional people to protect her versus getting caught up in our trouble and having her killed by a blade, arrow or spell not even meant for her. A scry protected safehouse certainly is a strong reason to stay. I hope they stay.’
“Perhaps if we got the Princess clothing a little less conspicuous?” suggested Mitchell.
“Yes. Something that made her a little less attractive or memorable,” agreed Alicia. At least one reprimanding look went her way as others thought that comment was petty.
‘Alicia is not being petty or jealous. She is being practical.’
“What I bought her was designed to do just that!” protested Azzanon. Mitchell re-appraised what Gaebriel was wearing. It was no Ball gown, but it was well tailored, stylish, and definitely made an appealing sight one was likely to remember.
‘Ha! There is clearly a difference in what the wealthy consider to be common clothing.’
“In fact, I found it painful to buy that dress. It is last year’s style, and a colour that is at least three shades from the pastels that you would ideally use to highlight Gaebriel’s hair or eyes,” Azzanon further justified. “Any worse of a choice, and she would be remembered for her fashion faux pa.”
“That dress is better than anything I own,” proclaimed Alicia.
“And if we were seen in Garet, I suspect the townsfolk would be talking about Gaebriel for weeks,” added Mitchell.
“What are you proposing? We have her wear a hessian sack with holes cut it in for her head and arms,” asked Azzanon tartly.
“I have a spare outfit with me,” replied Alicia. “It is basic pants and a tunic in earthen colours. It will be a little long in the leg and a little loose fitting, but I think we can make it work.”
“If it helps keep me hidden from those looking for me, I think it is worth it,” added Gaebriel. She looked at Azzanon with her big green eyes, clearly hoping they would stay with the group.
“Ok,” uttered Azzanon, agreeing to both things simultaneously.
“Can we please focus on the task at hand?” interrupted Eva.
‘Looks like the distractions have run out. Now it is all up to me.’
It took Mitchell just over an hour to prepare his Summoning Circle. While he had the more common components for this spell, he was pleased when Eva also provided him with some silver shavings to strengthen the spell.
Her knowledge of magick in many ways seems superior to mine. Maragon taught that elven magick is more powerful than that wielded by the humans, so why isn’t she doing this?
“Are you sure you should not be the one doing this?” he asked Eva once the circle of runes and magic sigils had been clearly etched on the ground.
“I cannot read it. The scroll’s magick is based in a language I am unfamiliar. Your understanding of Archeron is far greater than my own. Our magick is all based in our own language… what you would call Elven. Also your personal connection to Maragon is the strongest. That could be important. If he has been captured, then this connection will help you to overcome the magickal barriers they have likely put up to conceal and trap Maragon.”
With a resigned shrug of his shoulders Mitchell took the rolled up scroll out of his scroll case, and unrolled it gently. Before him he could see the magick runes etched out on the page, but he was careful not to let his eyes focus too clearly on them until he was ready. One of the more troublesome aspects of scrolls was once a particular rune was read, it would release its magick and disappear from the page forever. Only the intial section of a scroll, which served as an introduction and explained the spell itself, could be read safely without ruining the entire spell.
He took several moments to calm himself. He was vaguely aware of the looks of encouragement and support from the others in the room, but he deliberately put them out of his mind and focused solely on the task before him. Only once his breathing was in a controlled rhythm did he start to read the scroll.
Reading a scroll is like playing in the waves at the beach. You can prepare for it all you want, but once you are in the wave you really have no choice but to just ride it out to the best of your ability.
He could feel the magickal energy quickly gathering force as the runes started to fade and disappear from the page. This spell was indeed powerful, way more potent than anything Mitchell could ever hope to cast normally. But scrolls made the process simpler, requiring only that the caster read them correctly, and was able to hold the magickal energies the scroll generated long enough to complete the spell. So far so good.
The weeks of intense practice on this exact spell certainly helped a lot.
His concentration waivered only slightly when he heard the hushed gasps of awe from the others in the room – Eva made not a sound – as the blue shimmering portal began to appear within the summoning circle. Mitchell could feel the magick pulling on something, willing it to appear in the room.
‘I hope I am pulling on Maragon, and not some greater demon of the Blood God.’
The vague outline of a human form began to appear on the ground, but at this point it appeared to almost be made of shadow, with no real colour or detail to it. Mitchell wanted desperately to look up to discern if it was his mentor, but he dared not take his eyes from the page. The scroll was nearly completed, and he dared bringing disaster upon them all if he ruined the spell at this critical juncture.
As he began to read the last section of the scroll Mitchell began to feel something was wrong.
‘Something is pulling pull back at Maragon from the other side. Something that from the feel of it, is considerably more powerful than I am, even with the scroll helping me.’
Mitchell tried desperately to focus his concentration even more, drawing magickal reserves from within himself to try and win what was becoming a magickal tug-of-war. But it was making no difference. Even with his best effort all he seemed able to do was hold Maragon where he was. He was slowly losing ground, and there was no way he could maintain this level of spell for long.
Whether it was a conscious decision, subconscious decision, or whether perhaps it called out to him, Mitchell would never know, but at that critical moment he found his hand stray towards his belt, and the Stone of Evronn concealed in its pouch there. He pulled the stone from its concealed position, and immediately felt a warmth from the stone as it touched his skin. He also felt an immediate change in the magickal energies gathering around him.
It was not a sudden burst of power, one that might have broken his hold on his spell. No, this was a slowly gathering power which was simply immutable to the magick arrayed against it. It wasn’t long before Mitchell could feel Maragon being drawn back through the portal towards him, and he could feel the frustration and anger from whatever lay on the other side.
Maragon materialised through the portal, his tattered robes and muscled frame illuminated by the portal light behind him. He rose from his curled up, prone position quickly, and using verbal utterances only, began to contribute his own formidable magickal energies to the portal. He held out his hands towards Eva, and with lightning quick speed her dagger slashed at the ropes binding his hands and arms.
No longer fettered, Maragon rose to full height, and began casting more magick. He took the dagger from her and began a spell of his own. The dagger in his hand was mirrored by two more identical daggers conjured purely from magickal energy. As his hand pulled the dagger back and then flicked it through the portal, the two mirrors did the same, and all three flew through towards the targets Maragon knew to be standing on the other side. Mitchell felt the resistance from the other side weaken considerably.
Maragon, a look of grim determination on his face, now continued to pour magick into the portal, changing and shaping the spell as his own. Interdimensional magickal energies started to course around him. Brief glimpses into other other dimensions flashed before the eyes of those willing to look into the maelstrom of magick growing around him. The magick being unleashed in the small room was now howling much like a real maelstrom of wind might.
“Do not look into the dimensional maelstrom,” screamed Eva in warning, struggling to be heard over the vortex. “Creatures on the other side of the flashes might use that to draw you to them or them to you.”
“What?” yelled back Hawkin. Alicia moved to him and covered his eyes gently with her hands, while speaking directly into his ears.
Mitchell could still feel a tug-of-war within the portal, but it was no longer fighting over Maragon. Now Maragon was trying to pull other things through the portal before it collapsed. The impact of the stone was spent. Now it was just Mitchell and Maragon versus whatever was arrayed on the other side against them, but those forces were now nearly spent.
Maragon’s casting reached its crescendo, his words booming over the howling winds so that Mitchell could hear the spell-casting conclusion.
“Et quod a manibus peto, deripio”
(And I rip that which I seek from your grasp)
With a sudden rush of magickal energy which burst from the portal in all directions, the portal disappeared, leaving the tattered and torn figure of Maragon on his knees, but now two other figures lay behind him, as did several piles of equipment, armour and weapons. He weakly raised his head and smiled at Mitchell, pride evident in his eyes, before slumping to the ground.