The moon, Vexir, hung low against the dark navy sky surrounded by a choir of twinkling stars. A long belt of stars wrapped around the center of the atmosphere, acting as a guiding path for the celestial bodies to dance across. The trees of the Danheim Forest reached upward like outstretched arms toward the sky. Their trunks were not particularly thick, but densely packed together, their tangled roots protruding from the earth to create a path of stumbling blocks in the dark of the night.

Acadian slowed their pace when they had traveled a good way north of Krandaelyn. He called Flynn closer to the front of the cart and told him to keep an eye out. At once, Flynn had actually silenced his own voice and instead whispered, “Invenalum.” His green eyes shifted to a divine gold color.

To him, the world became a dull grey, except for a wispy trail of golden magic that swam across the colorless ground. The trail wound like a slithering snake through the trees and off into the distance where Flynn could not see. He instructed Acadian to move forward, then guided him around the forest labyrinth toward the magically revealed path.

After several minutes of quiet trotting and rattling from the cart bouncing along the uneven path, they arrived at a tall structure amid a clearing. The tower was a crumbling edifice of old and cracked stone brick. Gnarled vines snaked their way up the walls and ingrained themselves in any alcove within the decrepit spire. The tree clearing made way for the moonlight to peer down like a spotlight onto the lone tower, making it seem all the more isolated. It was frighteningly quiet, not even a cicada seeming to sing here.

One by one, the group dismounted their cart and stepped softly in front of the shambled wooden door. Rusty hinges seemed to hold the door closed. At the foot of the entryway were shards of glass. Looking up, they saw broken-out windows along the sides of the tower, the frames of which bent outward, as though something in side had frantically tried to escape.

“I don’t think anyone lives here,” Frank said with an air of boredom, crossing his arms across his chest.

Flynn narrowed his still golden eyes up at the window, “No one lives here. But that doesn’t mean someone isn’t inside.” His spell revealed the golden path of magic sweeping under the door. From behind the shattered window frame overhead, a gaunt and sallow woman glared down at the living party gathered at her doorstep. When her empty eye sockets met Flynn’s knowing glance, she disappeared.

Acadian put his hand on Flynn’s shoulder, “This is the place. You can drop it.” Flynn blinked and his eyes returned to their usual hue. Acadian looked at Gostor and nodded to the door. The dwarf smiled and pulled free his handaxes. A moment later, the wooden barrier was brought down in wood chips, and the molded, dusty interior was revealed.

The inside was a web of narrow, winding staircases that led to the peaked roof of the tower. A cold and damp air wafted to the intruders, immediately forcing them to shallow their breathing. The walls were lined with old, broken shelves of worn tomes and artifacts. Among the books and torn tapestries that littered the floor were bones, humanoid in nature. Arsa used the tip of his bow to overturn and straighten out one of the crumpled draperies. Even with the moth-eaten and frayed fabric obscuring the image, it was clear these tapestries depicted grotesque scenes of ancient torture and painful magic.

Acadian sneered at the ground beneath him, shouting, “We come to seek audience with the witch, Agaas.”

A sound echoed around them like a laugh, or perhaps a sob. A rush of air pushed against them all, causing clouds of dust to rise in the air. They coughed and waved the grime from their faces as old candlesticks all around the tower began to light with ghostly blue flames. Out of the dust, a figure began to materialize behind the obscuration.

A woman, translucent in nature, stood with her head unnaturally bent downward, her wet-looking white hair falling like icicle daggers well past her torso. She wore a black-blue gown beneath a leather corset with strings far too long for it. Her wrists were bangled with silvery bracelets and jewelry. Around her neck was a silver collar, squeezing tighter than what could have possibly been comfortable. A terrible cracking sound echoed in the chamber as her neck snapped straight up, revealing a very, very dead face. The woman had no eyes, only black voids inside her empty sockets. Her cheeks were sunken in, with one side having a missing chunk of flesh entirely. Her lips were thin and pale purple, the flesh seeming to be torn at the edges of her corrupted smile.

She began to levitate off the floor, “An audience with Agaas, he says. What joy it brings me to be needed.” She disappeared in a cloud of dust and then reappeared next to Acadian. Despite being incorporeal, her presence carried the smell of a corpse.

The elf tried not to look into her sockets, “We seek the location of a tome. A spellbook that once belonged to a wizard called Besior.”

Agaas tilted her head nearly completely to her shoulder, “Besior, he says. I know the tome. I know it well. I know where he hid it. And why.” She began to chuckle again - or cry.

Flynn stepped closer to her, causing her head to jolt in his direction, “Can you tell us where to find it? It can aid a great many people. We can give you offerings, should you require payment.” His tone was formal, which caught those who hadn’t traveled with him long by surprise. He seemed to have more conversational awareness than he seemed.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

“Offerings, he says,” Agaas appeared by Flynn now. “What kind of offerings does he bring me?”

Flynn glanced around at the others. His eyes landed on Gostor, who was still wearing the topaz amulet. He walked over and placed his hand on it, “We have jewels.” Gostor grunted and pulled away, clasping his hand overtop the necklace. The specter looked around, displeased. She floated between them all, getting uncomfortable close to Circe. The woman didn’t even glance at her as she floated by, keeping her eyes trained on a pageless book on the floor.

Eventually, Agaas stopped in front of Frank. She reached out a pale hand that passed through one of the metal cuffs on his wrists, “I do not want your jewels. I crave your praise. Yes, yes. I want you to bow.”

Frank’s face flashed red, and so did his tattoos. He jerked his hand away from the ghost, saying nothing but glaring directly into her eyeless face. The others gave one another unsure glances, but Flynn was the first to drop to his knee.

“If it will reveal the location of the book,” he said. Arsa looked to Acadian with concern, but he shook his head and kneeled as well, prompting Arsa to follow suit. Gostor laid down and spread out his arms and legs, but Circe and Frank stood their ground.

When the others’ knees touched the ground, Agaas turned her head like an owl and opened her mouth, the corners of her lips ripping open to reveal an unhinged jaw. She screamed, “Not you!” They all grasped at their ears. Even Gostor rolled over to muffle the sound.

She turned to face Frank, floating ever closer to him. She whispered, “Him.” Frank clenched his fists and gritted his teeth. This made Agaas smile.

He shook his head, “I will not bow to you. I will not bow to anyone. I am -,” he looked at Arsa, who was still holding his head in pain, “I won’t.”

The smile faded from the ghostly face, “Then you shall never find Besior’s spellbook.” The ghost then vanished from the space. Flynn began to call back out for her, but she did not answer. Gostor growled as he got up on all fours before trotting up the stairs - to no one’s notice. Acadian and Arsa got to their feet and approached Frank.

Arsa lowered his head and looked up at him in a pleading way, “Just kneel. It doesn’t have to mean anything more than getting the book.”

Acadian joined, “He’s right, Frank. Gotta do what she says to get what we came for. Just swallow yer pride and do what she wants.”

Frank was appalled, “I will not. I swore I would never bow to someone who did not deserve it. Not again.” He held his fists at his side, almost hiding the cuffs behind him.

Gostor had found his way up the web of ever-narrowing stairs and into a bed chamber at the highest point of the tower. In the room, he could see the broken window with sheer curtains that jerked around in the night wind that filtered through the opening. The blue flame candles burned in here as well, casting eerie shadows dancing along the cracked stone walls. A decaying four-poster bed with tattered curtains sat in the middle of the room, the colors of the fabrics faded to a ghostly pale grey. An ornate vanity with a cracked mirror and tarnished metal adornments stood against the wall near the window, covered in cobwebs. On it was what looked to be an out-of-place letter - out of place due to its less worn appearance.

Gostor sat up in the chair against the vanity, grabbed the letter, and turned it round in his hands. On the back was a purple seal with what looked to be an eye surrounded by several small circles in front of a star. He slid his finger to open the letter but stopped at the sound of a loud crash downstairs. Placing the letter in the chestpiece of his leather armor, he leaped from the chair. As he approached the door, his curiosity turned him back toward the bed. He crept slowly toward it and gripped the dusty-covered fabrics that fell from the poles that obscured the bed within. Pulling them back, he revealed a long-decayed corpse lying tucked under the covers. The long silvery hair fell off the sides of the mattress and the skeletal face lay perfectly centered within a torn pillow. Around the body’s neck was a silver pendant bearing the same symbol as the letter’s seal. Gostor plucked it from the throat and hurried back down the stairs.

The dwarf jumped off the final stair to find Frank getting to his feet with the help of Circe and Arsa. Flynn stood over top of him with Acadian pulling him away by the shoulders. Frank’s tattoos began to glow a bright red but Circe stood in front of him.

“Think about someone other than yourself and just kneel!” Flynn was shouting.

Like Circe, Acadian turned to stand in front of the boy, “Yer outta line, Flynn. We work together, here.”

Flynn looked around Acadian and gestured harshly at Frank, “Tell him that! He’s the one being stubborn.” If it weren’t for Circe, Frank would have already seared a scar on him. Arsa had a hand on Frank’s tattooed shoulder, which was becoming very hot.

“Acadian is right,” he said. “Agaas was a lead, not a requirement. We can find it another way.” At this point, the ghost had materialized behind them all, snickering (or whining) like she had been. They turned to face her, all angry with the trouble she had caused.

“Has this one changed his mind?” she playfully asked, eyelessly eyeing Frank.

Arsa joined Circe in standing in front of Frank, “Get back in your grave, witch. We won’t play your games.” Flynn began to stomp out of the tower in frustration. Acadian groaned and followed after him. Just before they reached the shattered door, a loud thud and the creak of wood turned their heads.

Frank had knelt.

His eyes were burning with a fury they had yet to see from the usually mild-mannered sorcerer. His fists were still clasped, squeezing against the metal around his wrists. With a disgusting glee, Agaas floated directly through Arsa and Circe to come face to face with Frank. He fought the urge to stand up and cast a radiant spell at her.

“Very, very good,” she giggled or laughed. In an instant, she was floating above all of them. “The spellbook of Besior is sealed away in halls of stone, nestled in mountains where dragons may roam. North of Ailaydan, south of Hirondale. Careful travelers, it hides where Kienivaris dwells.”