The hall was long and twisting and eventually led to a wooden portcullis barring the path to a room full of humanoid bones and piles of trash. Even at my best I’d struggled with a number of the portcullises, I didn’t bother trying to lift this one. Instead, I retreated back down the hallway a hundred or so feet to where it was coolest, and then sat, and rested there against the wall.

I wasn’t done for the day, not without exhausting more options or finding a source of water, but I needed a moment to stop and gather my thoughts. They’d been spinning since the room had stopped.

The Mushroom-King. I didn’t trust him. But for a small baragain, water, passage, maybe there was only so much he could do to betray me. He’d also seemed sincere that each of his aspects held a different opinion of me. Maybe I could trust him.

The wounds in my chest were making me like the idea more and more. Which only served to make me feel hypocritical when I thought of denying Rian similar aide. The risk was mine, however, not his. I didn’t have the right to bargain on his behalf. And in a cruel twist of irony, the severity of his injuries made them more dangerous to request help for.

Before I tried the mushroom king I’d try the other doors. Look for any obvious secret passages. The orcneas drawing bore further examination. I still had my Safe Teleport if the destroyer heard its name.

So, the other door in the balcony room first, then the orcneas, then the Mushroom King. I had my plan.

I stood (ow) and made my way back to the balcony room. It was so hot it was hard to breathe, but the room hadn’t flooded with lava or a second cloud of pyroclastic gases, so I was still ahead of the game.

Arm across the holes in my chest, I tried the other door.

Power surged through me. A deep thrumming like the druid stone, but without any of the ensuing strength. My heart did a little dance in my chest and then exploded into action, beating faster than if I’d just won a one hundred yard sprint. Sparks flew off the ground around my feet, and a ringing sound resounded from my sword and my pouch. My hand had clenched around the door handle, unable to let go. My arm jerked, swinging the door easily open.

Much like the druid stone, the feeling did not let up, but grew and grew, my heart stopping and starting at random as it swelled. With what little control I could wrestle from whatever gripped me, I buckled one knee and pushed with the other, forcing myself to tip over. I fell. As my clenched hand slipped free of the handle I was suddenly free, in full control of my body once more just in time to feel it impact the ground for the fourth or fifth time in the last hour.

The ground where my feet had been planted was smoking. Where my sword hung against my armour and trousers it had left a black sooty stain. My boots themselves were smoking and the stitching had frayed where the sole met the rest of the boot.

As best as I could tell, I’d been struck by lightning, but a lightning which did not end. Thankfully, I seemed to be unharmed. Whatever lightning the warlocks had captured and stored in the handle of their door, it was weaker than the natural sort- a rolling wall of light came to mind and I amended the thought. It was weaker than the natural sort or the sort they could summon with their dark magic.

I tried dust my gambeson and trousers and much to my relief the damage was surface level only. The black marks fell away, revealing the nearly unharmed cloth beneath.

As my hand went under my sword, the strangest feeling struck me; a tingling at the back of my hand, almost like it was being pulled backward by invisible strings. I pulled it away and the feeling quickly faded. I brought my hand closer, palm first this time, and the feeling returned. Now that I was paying attention, I could also see the blade of my sword sway, ever so slightly, toward my hand.

Like a lodestone.

I removed my glove and carefully extended a finger towards the pommel of my dagger, towards its metal counterweight. The tugging sensation rapidly grew as I moved closer and closer, almost unbearable and then—snap! My finger and the pommel both leapt the final distance and stuck together. The feeling ended. When I lifted my finger, the dagger lifted with it. I flicked my finger forward and the connection broke suddenly, and the dagger fell back down into place on my belt. I re-donned my gloves and removed my dagger, then placed the pommel lightly against my cheek. Once more that feeling, and then it snapped into place, and dangled precariously above my throat.

My body had become charged like a lodestone. I’d heard theories that lodestones were created when lightning struck meteoric iron during a storm, but never of a person becoming magnetic themselves. The effect seemed fairly weak, which I was grateful for. My master had owned several lodestones so powerful they could crush a man’s finger between them, and one of them had shattered from the force when it had flown across the room suddenly as he’d incautiously been moving a metal pot by its shelf.

I pulled the dagger from my cheek and put it back on my belt. Hopefully the effect would fade with time. It might be a fun novelty or party trick, but I couldn’t think of any use for it beyond that, and the chance of being stuck to a door or having a throw of some metal object being pulled off course far outweighed the benefits. Perhaps if I needed to scale a series of metal cliffs I’d reconsider, but I doubted the force was strong enough to make much difference even in that unlikely scenario.

I’d revealed a hexagon full of hexagons. The room had six walls, and the floor was tiled with them with the accuracy of a honey comb. A damaged metal breastplate lay in one corner. To my right, shrivelled fungus near the ceiling outlined a small wooden door with red light oozing out from its edges.

To my left, a stone dais covered one of the walls. Set in its centre was a mosaic depicting a bevy of legendary creatures. Great sea creatures with backs like overlapping shields and bellies like sledges clashed with monsters of the river and land. A giant with four legs of bronze and tusks the lengths of mountains tore into said bellies, while eagles who shoulders carried the sky retreated from the sea creature’s fiery breath. Surrounding the image were depictions of the sun. Two of them, one on each shoulder of the eagle—Three of them, one at the crest of each creature’s head—Seven suns, each arcing across the sk—One sun, held in the mouth of the sea creatu—Four, each supporting a pillar of the earth.

Every time my eyes moved the picture was different.

It swirled in a manor which drew me towards it. Feet stepping unwittingly, hand reach for the centre of the image. There was a gap there. A small blemish in the mosaic. A missing piece. One of the pillars which held up the sky.

The druid stone was in my hand. Had I retrieved it from my pouch? How could I have? The dream seed was still in place.

Twelve suns, seventy-two, three hundred and sixty five, one for each day of the year, (I don’t know how I counted them) and then there was six, three, one-

I placed the druid stone in the centre and the possession left me. The image spun, not in my mind, now, but in reality, stones shifting, tiles clicking as individual pieces rotated and moved. Like a hand unclenching the mosaic opened into a portal resting atop the stone dais. A hole the size of a grain of rice. Then my hand, my head, and then-

There was a loud screeching sound and the whole spinning frame ground to a halt. Bits of stone tile rained down onto the dais, revealing the iron working underneath, the mechanism bent and rusted.

Typical.

This was not something I could leave be, not after it had compelled me so.

Even though my chest screamed at me as I did so, I grabbed both edges of the aperture and pushed, attempting to pry them apart, or at least continue along their paths.

Something tore as they spun free. I hoped it was the door and not me. I toppled forward through the portal onto my face just to be sure.

The mosaic fully receded into the walls of the dais with a boom. The spinning of the suns, that strange feeling which had compelled me, ceased all at once, and simultaneously became stronger. My mind ripped and my vision split as the sun rose up in one eye, and descended in another. The rising sun was black, the descending one a brilliant white.

A circle of stone rose, trapped both of them in its confines, a single circle encompassing two different realms, an image viewed through a broken and scattered mirror on uneven terrain. Light filtered through the gaps in the circle of stone, blending and dancing, obscured by shadows just so in exact arrangements. A druidic circle. One which confined the sun rather than measure it.

The dark sun fell, and the white sun grew a bright and pure as gold, rising its place. the dark sun became its shadow, no longer separate or free, no longer in ascendance.

Good.

I didn’t hear it. Not quite. It wasn’t something which was said, but I felt it. Felt it deep in that place of knowing and fullness inside me. That core which permeated my being with life and light. Something disordered had become ordered. It was like the destruction of the other mosaic, but opposite somehow. Rather than an evil being removed, this was a good being set right. Something was being made more.

What it was, I couldn’t say. But it was right. It was just. It was pure. Truth and beauty had prevailed in some small way, and all, even the wicked, would benefit for it. I knew this without knowing how I knew, but I trusted that knowing absolutely. Some truths were like that.

I was in the room of bones and rubbish I’d seen through the portcullis earlier. My journey had led me full circle. Hopefully that didn’t mean I was trapped. Of course there was the fungus shrouded trap door directly behind me, but it was dark to my life sight. Dead. I was pretty sure I knew what was behind that door.

I rose, wincing and groaning and my skin cracked and split. With the amount of times I’d had to push myself back to my feet since being capture by the warlocks, you’d think I’d be an expert at this sort of thing by now.

I didn’t bother giving the room more than a perfunctory search. Whatever had left those bones might come back. And I didn’t want that trash near my open wounds.

I stopped in the portal as I exited to search for the druid stone, but as I had suspected, it was gone, sunken into the dais with the rest of the mosaic. It was a high price to pay for a door which led nowhere, I could only hope the vision of the two suns meant something.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

I returned to the room of the orcneas drawing, where I’d met Master Tom before.

I’d been preoccupied before, but now I could see that it was indeed a crude depiction of orcneas as I’d suspected. They were shown standing around an alcove with exaggerated ‘u’s for mouths, as if to show they were smiling. On the floor, which was checker-board, was a vial. Above the vial was an eye with an ‘x’ through it.

My hand leapt immediately to the vials at my belt. Though the wax had melted, one of them still bore enough of the mark for me to remember: Obscurment.

They wanted my potion as their favour? Easily done.

I scratched an ‘X’ of my own through the drawing with the pommel of my dagger, and circled the-

The sun rose.

I stopped, confused.

I’d been circling the vial. The iron pommel of the dagger had made clear tracks across the charcoal drawing and the limestone wall. It wasn’t the action itself which had caused the feeling. Several circles already surrounded the smiling faces. I’d been trying to make my meaning clear.

I flipped quickly through my spell book and- my spells had returned to me. I could feel the energy, an invisible potential at my fingertips, ready to be called into being.

Had I lost time? I was thirsty, true, but only because of the heat. I had not sudden need to relieve myself. If I’d spent the day drawing, surely I’d notice more effects than that. Perhaps then I’d been sent forward in time as I had from Elysium. But why? The drawing?

I finished circling the vial, tensed, ready for the feeling to return.

Nothing.

I sheathed my dagger. There was another feeling. What was-yes! there it was again. My spells. I hadn’t just had them returned to me, I could write another.

Was this the effect of the double sun? Time moving twice as fast? Or perhaps two suns in the sky, two sunsets, two sunrises? I’d have to keep track.

I wasn’t about to let the opportunity sit idle, but first, I needed to complete my favour for the orcneas. Two many obligations had stacked up, especially if I was thinking about giving the Mushroom-King yet another. Maybe I’d try calling Tom’s name before it came to that.

I returned to the room with the checkboard floor. Sure enough, in the middle alcove was a small charcoal drawing of a grinning boar’s head.

Getting the vial of obscurement free without twisting my arms or tugging on my chest wounds was no easy trick. I had to lean one way and reach across the other with the arm furthest away from the vials. I still felt a few small twinges of pain as I pulled the vial free, but it was a far cry from the searing agony. I was likewise disproportionately proud of my ability to place the vial on the floor without pain a moment later. I had to lean precariously over into a half squat, with my non-squatting leg braced against the wall of the alcove, which was a vulnerable position, and must have looked ridiculous, but it got the job done.

That done I returned to the room where I’d met Tom. I wanted to record a new spell first, but something about the black and white alcove had given me an idea.

The bookshelf was set in an alcove of its own. I’d noticed it before, but I’d not paid attention to the floor of the alcove. Why would I? But now having stared at the black and white tiles of the other room I noticed an inversion of the pattern I’d noted there. Whereas the bathroom tiles had been more worn in the main room and less in the shelter of the alcove, the stone floor of this room was far more scuffed up directly under and around the bookshelf. In fact, the scratches traced an arc almost exactly the same width as the bookshelf if measured from its central support beam.

The beam too was strange. It was not an especially wide bookshelf, but it was divided right down the centre with an unusually thick piece of wood. Even if anyone had wanted to store their books there, perhaps a perpetually chilly warlock looking for a bit of a retreat, there was hardly any room.

Warlock spa. The lava, bath house tiles and smaller side room with a bookshelf suddenly all made sense in that context. Perhaps this area had contained, contained, or was planned to contain, a natural hotspring somewhere. Maybe the warlocks had even drilled into what was apparently a volcano in hopes of creating one. You’d think they could just create one with their magic, but maybe when it came to relaxation, they preferred to go all natural.

I was getting distracted.

Now that I was paying attention I was almost certain the bookshelf had a central rod running inside the middle support beam which it could use to pivot in place. I tried pressing on the upper right corner, then upper left, moving my way dow- it was stiff, as though it had been poorly made (of course) or had been damaged in the explosion, but once it got going stutter-step, inertia took over and I rotated after it into a new, larger room.

The room was mostly empty, containing only a ladder directly across from me, a few piece of rotten wood scattered about the floor and- my eye was drawn to the left hand corner. A large, pear-shaped pyramid sat there. It had... stains. Ropes and winches led from the corners of the pyramid to a circular harness which lay nestled around its peak. A quick glance told me all I need to about to how to use the device. I wasn’t sure on the specifics, but I didn’t want to be, and I wasn’t about to waste time figuring it out. It was enough to treat it as a reminder of who I was fighting against.

Still, it was cooler here. Cool enough I felt safe in trying to record a new spell in accordance with the second rising of the sun. The list of spells to record was ever longer, but given the utility, and the chance I might lose it, there was one spell I had to prioritize duplicating.

I summoned my Magic Swords to me and swept them through the air in a spiralling pattern of attacks. I tried to drawn my corporal sword to join in the dance, but pain overwhelmed me and I abandoned the idea. The strength of two blades would have to be enough. Lights joined the dance as they ever had, two little candles valiantly struggling against darkness.

Magic Swords II: Two invisible blades dance and strike with the base force of 484 lbs. One for 45 minutes, the other for an hour. Two lights, bright as candles, swirl about it, rising into existence just before the blade appears for the first time and dying an hour after it vanishes. Two more lights join in at the end of the first hour, and end an hour after the first lights fade, providing 3 hours of light total. All move independently following the whims of their master.

No whispers interrupted my writing, neither spell was lost in the process. Even more astoundingly, the process worked. I felt that subtle tug which indicated I’d truly recorded a spell and not just written a pretty rune. Even though I still felt the loss of the druid stone keenly, it seemed too easy after all the difficulties spell crafting I’d faced over the last month. Perhaps I’d just gotten lucky, but I couldn’t help but feel there would be a yet larger price to pay.

Gift me a horse in a warlock’s lair and I’d count its teeth three time over, just to be sure.

The room contained two exits other than the one I’d come through, both on the wall to the right of where I’d entered by. One was an iron door, the other a wooden portcullis. The portcullis would probably be harder to open in my current state, but was less likely to be trapped, which I also had less ability to deal with, injured as I was.

I was down to a single push spell as well, which made me loathe to waste it on either one before I’d at least tried opening the iron door by hand.

The again, I’d not expected to have the spells to help me at all in the first place. There were two ways to think about it from that perspective. Either I could open the door or portcullis without a spell, since I’d have had to do so anyway, or I could see it as a “free” spell and use it frivolously however I pleased because I wasn’t supposed to have it anyway. Or I could treat it like a new day had dawned and act accordingly and normally, but that wasn’t how my brain worked.

I’d at least try the iron door first. But if it was stuck I was blasting it open. And I had my guard up. One hand on my spell book, one eye on the corner of the bookshelf, which I could just barely see from where I was standing.

The handle leapt into my hand when I reached for it, and the door stuck to my knuckles when I turned the bar. It was easy enough to break free, but could have thrown me off my game if I wasn’t ready for it. The door itself didn’t budge.

Something ice cold brushed by me. Colder than ice. So it cold it burned like fire. Like lightning. My clothing crackled, and something pinged at my hip. I didn’t bother turning to look.

TransportII

Safe Teleport

I appeared, naked and clinging to the bookshelf, several seconds later. I’d had to end the spell early to get the timing right, as I’d only had to cover a distance of 30 or so feet.

I pushed against the top right corner and this time there was no initial hesitation by the door. Whatever had caught before had been worked out or broken free. The bookshelf spun easily, depositing in the room full of broken glass onto my naked front.

I became a convert of the dwarf goddess in that moment. My future children too, if they had an ounce of gratitude in them. Not a single shard of glass had managed to penetrate my vital areas. In passing I was dimly glass had also glanced off my thighs and neck, but my concentration was focused on more... sensitive matters.

I stood and brushed myself off. My chest was still screaming, of course, but my heart and mind were racing fast enough that for once I barely noticed.

I dared a peek back into the other room, sending my lights dancing about for any sign of what had impacted me.

A chill lay in the air. My clothing and items lay in a pile just on the other side of the bookshelf, seemly unharmed. The iron door had a large streak of frost running up, with moisture beading and falling back down along the same line. The frost was wider at the top than the bottom. The metal had bent near the top, and appeared slightly discoloured, like oil in water. The stone above the door had shattered, as had most of the ceiling in the room. Pebbles now lay scattered across its surface.

The gas had risen, then. And whatever it had been, it had been enough to almost instantly freeze whatever it had touched.

I freed my sword from the tangle of clothing and raised it up to the ceiling. At this point it would be little loss if it broke. I doubt it could survive much more than one good swing.

Nothing happened even as the point of the sword scrapped the shattered ceiling. It appeared the gas was quick acting, but not long lasting.

I moved back into the room to get dressed. The cool air was soothing on my chest wounds. I needed a bit of a sooth, because dressing was every bit the nightmare I thought it would be. I was panting from a combination of the exertion and pain by the time I was done.

I’d been so close to a spell which would have prevented...

I’d been going about it all wrong.

It was a useless spell under most circumstances, but a spell which let me wear the clothing I was wearing was all I needed. I wasn’t completely sure on the exact specifics, but I had my next spell in mind.

The iron door hadn’t budged when I’d tried to open it. However, whatever had held it in place when I’d tried to move it seemed to have bent out of place when it had warped from the freezing gas. The faint breeze between this room and the orcneas drawing room was causing the iron door to sway.

I prodded the door open with my sword, spellbook (as ever) at the ready. I didn’t dare the doorhandle for fear of setting off the trap once more, and was crouched low just in case it went off anyway.

The door opened out onto an empty hallway, just under fifty or so feet in length. My jack-o’-lanterns scraped the walls on both sides to be sure, but there was nothing.

Such was the price of exploration.

The portcullis was my last easy avenue of exploration, then. It was I shame I’d been so distracted by, well, everything because I could have used my blades to lift the portcullis while I’d been recording my spell. The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind until this very moment.

Magic Swords II

I summoned my new swords instead. They would be handy to have at the ready regardless. I wasn’t about to try to lift the portcullis unassisted.

The sun rose.