Othorn Mountain was not the tallest of the range which overshadowed the village of Hovelden, but it loomed largest in the imaginations of its people. The mountain jutted out of the landscape like a fist of God, contrasting with the surrounding peaks with its greenery, which persisted through the harshest of winters. Othorn was separated from the foothills by a shroud of mist which emanated from its open caldera. The aged wives of Hovelden told stories of the days before their grandmothers, when the shrouded peak was like its brothers: before the cold fire fell from heaven and changed the landscape. They told of the men who first climbed the slopes after that day and found themselves in an entirely alien world. Trees and ferns wilted, replaced by a spongy green moss and lichen which crept out of the caldera as if animated by a living force within it. The creeping things bolted after the men and consumed them, all but one absorbed and dissolved by the unknown horror. The creep fused with the rocks next, as if drawing sustenance from the earth itself.
The sole survivor fled like a madman from the strangling vines, running aimlessly until he entered the caldera. Within was an enormous sphere, which was bound to the earth beneath it by tentacle-like vines covered by the same lichen which blanketed the slopes of Othorn. The leathery surface of the sphere pulsated like a heartbeat, the veins which formed a hexagonal mosaic across the surface glowing with iridescent fluid.
The unhappy explorer was propelled by a voice within his mind to reach out and touch the surface of the squamous alien sphere, and instantly was met with a vision of the incomprehensible abomination which lay nestled within. He broke contact with the sphere and bolted away from the mountain, impelled by fear alone back to Hovelden. From that day forward, the people spoke not of the thing which lay sleeping within the Egg, nor did they go up the slopes of the green mountain.
Still, the egg which fell from the heavens centuries past slept, and no one but that long-dead, unhappy explorer had any inkling of what gestated inside, or when it would inevitably awaken.
Restal steadied herself and breathed heavily, instinctively placing her fingers on the necklace of charms which hung from her slender neck. They were smooth, flat discs etched with incantations. The amulets concentrated and focused the power within her, but also marked her as a novice, unable to weave spells on her own power without a crutch. A similar crutch dangled from her leather belt: a tapered steel knife. Her right hand quivered over the cross-guard as she gasped when she heard motion behind her. She turned, and her lips formed the first syllable of the charm beneath her fingers before she sighed in relief.
Behind her, an aged man stood, his hazel eyes visible in the moonlight beneath strings of white-speckled gray hair. He was robed much the same way she was, but wore no trinkets around his neck and leaned his lithe figure on only a stout tree branch which served as his staff. “Now’s not the time for second thoughts, little sparrow,” he admonished, his voice low and timbrous.
Restal winced and hissed through her teeth, “Apologies, Master Elias! I was startled is all--”
The wizard placed his hand on her mouth, “Hush, sparrow! I hear them coming.” He motioned for her to duck beneath the surrounding underbrush. Restal hurriedly dropped to her hands and knees as a bobbing lamp-light emerged through the thicket and the sounds of their approaching targets broke the silence of the forest with their commotion. Her muscles tensed when she saw three hooded men leading a line of bleating sheep, goats, and other confused and panicked animals. The men spoke in a brusque cant, marking them as strangers to Hovelden: vagrant bandits from the mountain roads. Their hideaway was surely close.
Restal glanced backward at Elias, watching for his signal and inwardly dreading his response. He gave none, but only kept his gaze fixed like a predator upon the bandits. His lips curled and he mouthed the words to a charm seared deep within his memory: The Charm to Hide What Is Unseen. Little by little, his body faded into obscurity, visible only as a transparent phantom and shadow to her eyes. To the bandits, who had not yet seen them, he would be entirely imperceptible, however. Restal looked on in astonishment for a cold moment before fumbling with her pendants and hurriedly muttering the spell herself. Her body began to fade. First her hands faded, then her wrists and arms. Her face and torso were next to slip into shadow when the beam of the lamp-light crossed over her.
She froze and her eyes widened when the light fell upon her. Even a chance glance from one of the bandits would render the spell only partially-effective. Then, the light returned to its prior direction and she silently breathed out the remainder of the spell, completing her shroud. She stood and glanced about her for a shadow or glimmer of Elias, but saw nothing. He had either moved on ahead or withdrawn, content to let this be her proving ground. He was always insistent that his little sparrow learn to fly on her own. She hissed and cursed him, then herself for her sloppiness.
The bandits whooped and prodded the livestock through the trees until they reached a sheer cliff wall. Restal stayed close behind them, her hands still positioned on her necklace and dagger, still leaning on those two crutches.
The bandit at the lead of the company pressed his palm to the stone and began to rhythmically chant in a forgotten tongue. He completed two refrains when Restal recognized it as a corrupted version of the Charm to Open That Which Was Shut, a spell which she still struggled to master herself. The granite wall split and groaned as it swung open, and the other bandits led their loot into the newly-revealed cavern entrance.
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Restal winced and shivered in the night air. This was a greater challenge than she had prepared for. Elias had spoken of bringing brigands and cut-throats to justice, not battling fellow mages. Her hand gripped the dagger tightly. Her eyes scanned the treeline, the cliffs above them, the thicket behind them. She bit her lip and cursed again. Where in the Nine Spheres was Elias?
Restal summoned her courage and gingerly stepped into the entrance behind the bandits. She was careful to step lightly, for the charm could not stifle the ear the same way it stifled the eye. The thieves’ lamp illuminated sacks of grain, mounds of copper and silver, and salted meat carcasses: Hardly a king’s treasure hoard, but it was more wealth than Restal had seen in her life. Momentarily distracted, her foot brushed past a bag of coins, causing it to tip over and spill its contents. The bandits wheeled around, daggers in hand, as the mage among them clapped his hands together and chanted the inverse of his charm, the Charm to Close That Which Was Opened. The cavern opening slammed shut, and only the lamp lit the pitch darkness.
“Scour the vault, boys! The spell can’t keep them hidden long!”
Restal’s fingers slid down the line of amulets to the last in the chain. If she spoke, the Charm of Shrouding would be undone, for all the good it had done her so far. Closing her eyes and focusing her mind on the charm, she breathed in rhythm with each syllable. The shroud dissipated, and she stood fully in the lamplight, eyes still closed.
Restal cast her gaze upon the bandit holding the lamp, and he froze suddenly, paralyzed with supernatural fear until his body collapsed and the lamp fell from his hand. Moments later, Restal fell to her knees and gasped. The Charm to Cast a Withering Look was effective, but drained the caster just as the victim.
The silvery glint of a knife passed through the light as the second bandit dove for her. Dropping to the floor and rolling out of the way, she clutched her own dagger and slashed at her shadowy assailant, but the blade was a stranger in her hand. It glanced off the thief’s bracer as he parried her blow, then sent her weapon hurtling out of her grasp. Restal caught a glimpse of his blue eyes and crooked smile beneath his hood as she lifted her hands, expecting to feel sharp steel piercing her flesh. But she felt nothing.
The ruffian grunted and slumped to the floor as a shimmering figure appeared behind him, clutching a bloodied staff. Elias reached for her hand, “On your feet, careless sparrow!”
Once on her feet, Restal reached for her dagger and placed it back in her sheath. Elias retrieved the thieves’ discarded lamp and scoured the chamber for the last brigand, the mage. “Watch your back, sparrow, he’s likely shrouded himself. Look out for shadows on the wall with nothing to cast them.”
Her fingers and knuckles were white with tension as her heart beat a tremorous tattoo within her chest. There was Elias’s shadow, stout and angular, cast in all directions from the epicenter of the lamplight. Her own shadow was like a willowy branch, elongated and distorted across the porous granite of the cavern walls. And then a third shadow appeared, a hulking, slinking thing which enveloped hers. Without thinking, Restal spun around, unsheathing her dagger and thrusting it into the darkness. She felt something solid resist her blade, then heard a gurgling sound. The shroud dropped, and the mage spasmed, gripping her collarbone. He bared his teeth in a ghastly grimace, his face flushed as blood dripped from his lower lip and his body pressed down against hers. Panicked, Restal stabbed the mage repeatedly, her hand seemingly acting of its own volition. The mage sputtered and gargled his death rattle, then went limp, pinning her down.
She squirmed and kicked to hoist the heavy corpse off of her body, then rose. Between labored breaths, she said, “Is that what it feels like to kill someone, Elias? Does it get any easier?”
The aged wizard let her lean upon his shoulder as she shivered. “When you have lived for centuries as I have, one more death loses its power of shock. These mundane people are as mayflies to us, sparrow.” He turned over the body with his foot. The dead man’s eyes were blank, his bloody mouth agape, the color fading from his visage. “He was no one, only a misguided soul with no comprehension of the power he wielded. He was like a child playing with fire, and he met the same end.”
Restal nodded in silent agreement. Or was it agreement? She’d known this was a possibility, that she would be asked to play reaper of the enemies of Hovelden; she had sworn to do so. But even this, the death of a wicked man, churned her stomach.
The braying of sheep broke her wistful contemplation. “Are we to return all of these animals to Hovelden, Elias?”
“Not before we open the cave entrance, or we’re like to perish in here along with those bandits. You do remember the charm, don’t you? The Charm to Open?”
Restal gulped and fidgeted with her amulet. “I already used the shroud—and the withering look. I haven’t the strength. Master, might—”
“Sparrow, you’ll get nowhere if I do everything for you. You know the charm, so speak it.” He emphasized the last point of his statement by striking the butt of his staff on the ground.
Sweat ran down her brow and neck as she clasped the amulet tightly. She breathed each syllable slowly and methodically from memory, and felt her spirit flow from her body to the cold stone, lending her life force, however briefly, to the earth and animating it. The stone creaked and groaned as her will forced open the doors. The Charm to Open That Which Was Shut was finished, and so was she. The last droplets of the apprentice mage’s strength faded from her quickly, and the only sensation she felt was a scorching, burning feeling rising from her throat, then all went dark.