He decided he'd do it again.
He poured some water in a mug that served as dead-weight on a curly-scroll on his desk, and made it boil with a bit of magic. Although this library’s stash of herbs was almost depleted, he found what he considered to be enough dried leaves for the current session and sprinkled them on top of the hot water.
Instantly, a strong scent evaded through the yellowish vapours and coloured the water a vivid dark-green. For a moment he closed his eyes and thought he could already feel the benefits of the soothing herb while deeply inhaling above the mug. He sat himself on a chair with a soft cushion for his back, one hand on the mug and one over the strange cloak, which he held on his lap. While placing his tired feet on a smaller chair, he let his head lay on the headrest and sipped from the scorching liquid.
He then closed his eyes and let his mind be transported back in time. If there was anything related to the cloak that his mind and eyes had ever perceived, and never actually acknowledged, he would be able to dig it out.
Shortly, faces of long-lost acquaintances appeared as brief birds’ calls in the forest, that unexpectedly move from one side to the other with less and less intensity. They came and went swiftly from his mind, sometimes not giving him time to put a name to the figures. He liked to think of them as friends, although he knew categorically that he had not had one for a very long time. Perhaps since he was a young student himself and, eager to be learned in the art of magic, had forged alliances and friendships that would benefit his studies. Some would last and some wouldn’t, and in the end they’d all be long forgotten memories. He had outlived them all and when their time had come, he had not shed a single tear nor a moment to recollect their memory.
He took another sip, eyes heavier than before. With some effort, he then accompanied the mug on the floor, almost dropping it as its weight felt unbearable for his drowsy muscles. The sensation was most welcomed and he allowed himself to be guided by his mind. He gave in completely to the desire of not moving and reposing his old bones as if caught by the sweetest of sleeps.
For anyone that looked upon his body, he would appear as a snoozing old man, yet his mind had never been so sharp and active as it was in this moment. He had ventured here before, but he could not recall when. The place reminded him of the same prevailing emotion each visit provided and with a slow smile he tried to whisper a lethargic word.
“The hereafter!” His elongated syllables brought serenity as he remembered just now, how much he liked to use that word to call his inebriated state of mind.
And if he tried to recount what the experience was like, he would probably have to use the same expression. An imaginary afterlife where light never ceased and warmth never dulled. It was like looking through a piece of glass straight into the sun, without fear of losing your sight because the sun was obscured by a billowing mass of clouds and fog. There, the memories formed out of nowhere. Like children that play at making shapes out of the clouds in the immense, blue sky, so he found himself serenely grabbing trails of missing memories.
But quite some time passed and nothing of worth was recalled. He thought to lift himself from his comfortable position and take another sip of tea, yet his relaxed body failed to accomplish less than a quarter of the action. The brief, small tension of his stomach and the quick twitch of his fingers caused one side of the cloak to fall on the ground. With the innocuous gesture, a reinvigorated waft, enriched with a flowery-scent made its way to his sensible nose, suddenly taking him back to when he was a young teacher himself.
A sequence of new faces made their way to his mind. As he glimpsed at each and every one, he felt with certainty that he was getting closer. Still, he could not tell what he was looking for, until from the multitude of figures, a pleasantly round and rosy-cheeked face of a girl stopped in front of him. She must have been eleven or twelve perhaps, and she had plenty to demonstrate how wrong he was in thinking that girls cannot make great wizards.
And how wrong I have been, he allowed his mind to observe as with shy joy he lingered on her honest, round eyes.
The new, dark-haired student, just months after her arrival at the citadel, had found a way to bind her true passion for plants with what he was teaching; the art of magic. She had been so convinced and bold to argue that the both can be fused into a more powerful knowledge. A claim that had stirred much mockery from the other students and a real argument with him, her tutor. But it was on that occasion that she had tried to prove her case with a powder she had extracted from some desiccated roots and a silken ribbon, untied from her hair. She had imbued the piece of cloth with her special concoction and defied anyone that did not believe her to unfasten the knot she had just made. To his surprise no one had been able to, not even himself. Not until he had used a demanding amount of magic, too powerful for the little girl’s capabilities.
How could I have forgotten this? How could I have believed she was gone?
Felduror felt his face smile as widely as his drowsy lips could stretch, forcing his sleepy hands to try and grasp the cloak which now reeked strongly of the same essence of her concoction. Waiting for his numbness to recede, was not an annoyance anymore, not at all, not ever like before. Now, it was pure joy, accompanied by his realisation that Naghnatë was alive and closer to him than ever before.
The Choice
Lorian
The difficult and gruelling descent that had seen us safe down the cavern’s steep wall, had taken its toll. While Nuuk’s aching body and drowsiness turned him into a dead weight, I had to ask of my own more than I knew it was capable of. The rope I used to tie his waist to mine and lower him to the floor had cut through my old wounds with ease. Against the bleeding of my palms, I had taken the time I required to avoid hurting his head or dropping him altogether; a spraining affair for my limbs to be carrying his dozy body, dangling almost lifelessly on the rope’s end.
“What is this place?” Nuuk’s coarse voice echoed buoyantly in the wide space of the cave once he had awakened from a lengthy, strain-induced sleep.
Plenty of minutes had passed since I propped him in the most comfortable position the rocky-floor allowed and tended to my bleeding wounds, somewhere in the middle of the big gallery. My throbbing muscles could only be thankful for the rest, and I lingered, sprawled over a rock until my breathing steadied and the pounding in my chest had eased.
“It’s a secret passage that Naghnatë found. It extends right under the basements of one of the towers and leads somewhere near a forest, not that far from the smaller cave in the snow.” His curiosity was a good omen of his improvement.
Though, he did not lift himself. He only turned his head as much as his torso allowed and gradually inspected the wide space in front of him. I approached and offered him a drink from the herb-scented waterskin, that the witch had insisted I carry. And I was happy I had taken it. The cold brew seemed to replenish some of his strength. His eyes sparkled with a more vivid light and his face regained some of its colour.
“Thank you!” He handed the waterskin back to me.
“You’re welcome.”
“No, Lorian. I mean thank you for coming after me!”
“You would’ve done just the same, Nuuk!” I smiled at him undecidedly, thinking back to my brief confusion of mind where I would have given anything just to return home.
Under the dim light of the cave, his face appeared less swollen and less purple, though the gash in his left brow had to be treated as soon as possible.
Without a second thought, I went for one of the wider puddles and washed my hands thoroughly. I then put a finger on the tip of my tongue and checked if the water was a fresh mountain-vein or just saline moist that was dripping from the ceiling. When I ascertained that it was fresh water, I soaked the sleeve of my shirt and cleaned the dry blood from his forehead and eyebrow. Luckily, the incision was not bleeding anymore.
He thanked me with a weak smile of empathy, one which I returned candidly with a soft pat on his shoulder, taking
the chance to look for other wounds that might need immediate attention. It wasn’t too hard to find one; my eyes fell on a big stain on the side of his shirt, which promised a couple of broken ribs. Unquestionably, my competency was surpassed by that sort of wound; I dared only to prod around it with the tips of my fingers.
“Is that hurting badly?” The sound of my silly voice made the question sound even more stupid.
He hissed as he shifted his shoulders. “If I stay like this it doesn’t bother me too much. The problem is when I walk or make any sudden movement with my upper body.” He turned his head down to inspect the wound himself.
“Well, luckily down here there won’t be any need for sudden movements. And we have enough food for a couple of days!” I hoped I was right and the brutes would not find the secret passage.
I went to collect the bag that the witch had left for me. “We’ll wait here for a while and hope Naghnatë returns. In the meantime, we should recover our strength as much as we can and pray the brutes don’t pick up our trail.”
“So she came too?” he asked surprised.
“Of course she did and I am sure Ghaeloden has done his best to save you from punishment!” I replied, deciding if it was the chunk of wax he’d have first.
“Is that what I think it is?” he exclaimed, his eyes sparkling as he extended a hand to grab the piece of Iprorim-food.
“Yes, it is, and it’s all yours.” I chuckled, settling for a piece of cheese and a hunk of bread.
He devoured the wax in no time and licked all of his eight, oily fingers. The feast appeared to have reinvigorated him and the fact only gave me hope. While I continued eating, he started talking again.
“I have my doubts about it…” he started.
My face betrayed my confusion.
“Ghaeloden I mean,” he added.
“Oh.”
“Drakhahouls are very proud creatures and honestly I wouldn’t jeopardise my prestige for one like me either, if I were a dragon.” There was a heavy trace of disappointment and hurt in his voice, yet he continued before I could put together a reply. “It’s not that his life depended on an Iprorim or that his conscience would be damaged if he allowed one like me to perish. Besides, Felduror told me exactly what the dragon had said, you know! When he had met Ghaeloden, that is. And it was not a nice thing to say.”
Now it was my curiosity that prevented me from replying.
“He said that the dragon did his duty, obviously, and reported exactly how things had developed, and that I alone had come up with the rebellious plan of going against the wizard’s words. Felduror insisted that Ghaeloden was convinced that I did such a thing not for the forsaken tokens, but solely because I desired freedom above all else. In his opinion I wanted to rid myself of the wretched string that binds my wings together so I can be free again. I’ve always felt the Drakhahoul was onto something.” The imp let out an angry puff.
I took the long pause as a sign to intervene, “Nuuk, don’t you see? He said that to protect you!”
“Protect me? Lorian, look at me! How was I protected?” He flinched in obvious pain as he tried to turn himself towards me.
The sight of his bruised, sad face and tearful eyes made me swallow with remorse. “You are alive, Nuuk! If Felduror had found out about your magical abilities, he most certainly wouldn’t have allowed you to live. I’m sorry it had to be you to suffer as you have, but I am glad nonetheless that you’re alive. And when Naghnatë returns, I will make sure she heals you, magic or no magic, you’ve got my word!”
I wondered if Naghnatë would have something to say for the fact that it was his own fault that he found himself in this quandary. If he had followed her instructions, and brought back the herbs, most likely we would all be sitting here and contemplating our move for recovering the tokens instead of just trying to escape alive.
“Nuuk, what about the herbs you were supposed to bring for me?” It occurred to me to ask.
“All gone! The sceptre and my bag are with the wizard. Speaking of which, the sceptre does not work in his hands.”
“You mean he cannot become invisible like you?”
“Exactly so! I’m certain of it. Although, he can hit pretty hard with it.” He sighed.
“I see.” Now I understood what had caused the perfectly straight gash above his brow.
The herbs could have restored much of his strength as well as mine, a crucial detail if we wanted to escape. The brief memory of how the witch had rubbed the curious plant of Drakholia on my knee, made me consider the possibility that soon I might need another cure myself. Although I had walked and climbed with much ease, my knee felt nothing like it had when the witch had mended it. During my recent exertions, I had managed to ignore the signs of my deterioration. Now that I looked at it, I wasn’t sure anymore. The previous, minor stings of pain that had issued and died hastily from behind my knee and travelled up towards my spine, were more alarming now that I was resting. The signs were obvious; I would soon need help myself and I did not know if rest was helping or making things worse.
Nuuk sensed my uneasiness and looked at me questioningly. I ignored him. The last thing he needed to know was that I could not carry his weight anymore in case we needed to run.
“Where is Naghnatë anyway?” he asked.
“I don’t actually know. She said she’d distract Felduror and hoped that we’d succeed on our own before she had to reveal herself, otherwise there’d be no chance of returning here for the tokens. We’re supposed to wait for her here!”
“That makes sense, besides, I don’t think she would have fitted in that tiny hole,” he replied with a smile.
His joke made both of us laugh at length. An unexpected and healthy way of breaking the tension.
“Damnation!” I burst out when all laughter had ceased.
“What?” Nuuk’s face became serious.
“The cloak! I forgot the cloak on a chair near the cell you were in. How stupid of me!” I lifted myself and cupped my face, while looking aimlessly to the ceiling.
“What cloak?”
“Before I ventured to save you, Naghnatë had given me her cloak. She said it would conceal my steps and aid my furtiveness. I’m not sure it did, but it was really warm and itchy when I was breaking down your door and I threw it on a chair. I knew there was something missing all the way down and yet I couldn’t remember what. Darn it!”
“Oh,” the imp said with a soft voice, “we can only hope they won’t find it, although brutes as they may be, they make for pretty scary hounds!”
He was probably right; there were few chances that the orcs would miss it, they could easily have smelled me from behind a wall.
“Who is Quick?” My frustration made me recollect his first question.
“Oh, Quick! Quick is another Iprorim, poor soul!”
“So there are other imps at the castle? That is very good news Nuuk, isn’t it?” I tried to cheer him up.
“I know, master Lorian. Hurt and with poor memory, I barely rejoiced having met him. I am happy that there is another one like me hereabout. Alas, I fear for his soul; he’s very poorly-shaped, thin and old. And somehow, he still managed to cheer me up and wanted no pity. I would really like to save him, Lorian. He saved my life, I think!” Nuuk interrupted himself briefly, pensively. “Right before Felduror caught me, Quick cast a spell on me to befuddle my memories. I could not remember a thing until moments before your arrival. I therefore could not betray myself when that angry, old man tried to force words out of me!”
He swallowed and dried his eyes with the back of his thin hand and continued between sobs, “Before you ask, it was not his fault that I got caught. His magic came after mine. He has no tongue, thanks to our master, so he had to reply to my words someway. It was entirely my fault; I used a tiny spell to communicate with him and now that I think about it, I might have also used a fire-spell inside the armoury. It is entirely my fault!”
The viciousness of Felduror became clear. Drive
n by the sadness in Nuuk’s eyes and filled with repulsion, I clutched my fist as if the poor, old imp was someone I knew. “I shouldn’t have shifted to the citadel. I know it was wrong of me, I don’t know what I was thinking, trying to outsmart the old wizard. Still, I do not regret it, Lorian! Not for an instant. Firstly, I’ve found out that there is another imp that is enslaved in the same tower. Who knows how many others are trapped here within these walls? And…” he paused briefly, “I think there’s something else!” His voice was rich with emotion, his face unyielding.
“What?”
“I think someone was aiding me this all time! I found the armoury’s door unlocked, when I am utterly certain I locked it twice, just when I left with Ghaeloden. And the sceptre must be altering ti –” his voice died suddenly.
A distant but distinctive crackling sound caught both of us by surprise. Some small rocks tumbled down the tunnel where the gallery conveyed into the narrow and steep corridor that went upwards.
With my heart already racing, I pulled Winterhorn from my belt and jumped into my feet, gesturing at Nuuk to keep quiet and still, while I slowly advanced towards the noise.
Quickly the sound amplified and turned into something more recognizable; muffled steps. Someone was descending to the big, steep gallery.
With stealth, I moved faster towards the mouth of tunnel and hid myself behind the sharp corner, awaiting my moment to jump at whatever came out from the darkness.
The steps intensified and I confidently increased my grip around the knife’s handle. Whoever was descending was not aware of me behind the corner as the steps never decreased their swiftness. I took a slow and long draw of air; the last one before my body went still as a rock. My arm and dagger lifted high in the air readied my whole being to strike the intruder down. Though, before I had time to do anything, the intruder slipped on the steep terrain and skidded all the way down.
Winterhorn (Tokens Of Benevolence Book 1) Page 38