by Ben Galley
Jergan filled the silence. ‘If the book was stolen by someone powerful enough, strong enough to summon that terrible creature, then all of Emaneska would be in danger, not just our peoples,’ Jergan warned. Some colour had seemingly returned to his old skin, and he seemed more confident, eloquent. He went on. ‘If you had seen the sort of caged daemons hidden in this manual like I have then you would know how important retrieving this book is. Now this is important, so listen well. It’s not just being able to cast the spell that is the challenge, but this particular beast needs a powerful well of dark magick to help it cross over. The elves built deep caverns to house their magick power, much like the Book you carry.’ Jergan paused to look hungrily at the mage. He continued hastily when Farden threateningly narrowed his eyes at the lycan. ‘There used to be hundreds of these wells all over the lands, but when the elves left they were hunted down and destroyed. I’m sure you know of them: “lost by dark ones all forgotten…” ’ he recited.
‘ “…Lakes of magick below paths untrodden.” Yes we’ve all heard the stories and the riddles to find the last few elven treasure troves. But they’re all gone, lost to time. Where else would someone take the book to release its power?’ Farden crouched forward, elbows on knees. Against his better judgement he was beginning to trust this Siren’s words.
‘That’s assuming that you’re wrong and not all the wells have vanished?’ The corner of Jergan’s mouth rose ever so slightly, as if he had a won a small hand in a verbal card game against the interrogative mage. But Farden wasn’t in the mood for playing games. ‘Then tell me where I can find one.’
Jergan laughed as heartily as his starved frame would allow. ‘Hah! No one has uncovered one for decades, so explain to me why I could know where to look.’
‘You obviously know that there are some left in Emaneska, and creatures of your kind are drawn to magick. You might have found one in your time with the Sirens, or maybe as a lycan you know where one is,’ he said. Farden had a dangerous look in his eye.
‘All I know is that there a still a few left, maybe about two, or three, I don’t know.’ Jergan held up his scarred palms in honesty.
‘But you don’t know where?’
‘We never found one. That was one of the reasons we never managed to summon the beast from the book.’ Jergan flopped his arms on his lap. A silence sat in the room and Farden was deep in thought. ‘So whoever has stolen this book intends to release this creature, but only by finding one of these wells.’
‘And the only way of doing that would be through the dragons of Nelska. In the memories of the old dragon there may be a clue to where an old well may be,’ offered Jergan.
‘Then I suppose I’ll be hunting dragons next.’ Farden clenched his fists and rose. Jergan stood up with him.
‘If you’re going to go then I would ask one favour of you.’ The Siren asked in a pleading voice, his violet eyes watching the mage adjust his belt and travel pack.
‘What do you want? Farden replied sharply as he sheathed his sword.
‘If you do come across any of the dragons, then at least tell them that I’m alive, and not dead. That’s all I ask,’ whined the man.
Farden nodded, and went to the door. The breeze was hard and cold, but sun was beginning to burn away the drizzle and the blue skies had started to scatter the clouds. Farden looked at the decrepit old man standing behind him. ‘Thank you Jergan, for your help. I understand you didn’t ask for this, for the life of a lycan, and I hope that you survive it a while longer.’
Jergan tried to smile, as if it was the kindest thing he had heard in decades. It probably was, he thought. ‘Good luck…’ said the lycan, and the mage sighed. ‘Farden. If you must know,’ he replied.
‘Then good luck Farden.’ And with that the mage was gone, jogging across the hills back towards Beinnh and the Arkabbey to the north. Jergan sat back down in his little chair and looked around at his little hovel. The wind howled through the crack in the door and rattled the walls. A little tear ran down the lycan’s cheek.
Hours later, night had once again fallen upon the streets of Beinnh. Rowdy laughter rang out from tavern doorways and wild yells fell from the top floor windows of brothels. A light hammering rang through the alleyways, unnoticed or ignored. The old blacksmith was still hard at work, alone at his forge. The red glow of the fire illuminated his anvil and sparks flew from his hammer as it beat down on a glowing spear point. The thin old man was content, he had made a good profit on these cheap iron spears, they had earned him a fine bit of gold without too much trouble. The hammer sent another shower of sparks into the cool night air that scattered over his salamander wool gloves. The blacksmith pondered his next scam and started to whistle, tuneless and croaky. Something moved in the shadows behind the forge behind him. The hammer fell again and again like a beat to his dissonant warbling, and something drew closer behind him. Suddenly a hand grabbed the scruff of the old man’s neck and shoved his forehead down hard onto the glowing spear point, making a scalding hiss as it collided with the blacksmith’s skin.
‘Aagh!’ The old man cried out and fell to the dusty floor. He rubbed at his skin and howled.
‘You lied to me,’ the dark hooded figure spread out his fingers and a small lightning bolt flickered over his palm, dancing in an electric blue glow. Farden grabbed the smith by the wrist and covered his mouth roughly. The old man squirmed as electricity flew through his bones and rattled his spine.
‘Stay quiet old man, otherwise you might make me do something I’ll regret.’ Nervously the blacksmith stifled his yelps and fell deadly silent, eyes wide and terrified. A few muffled questions came from behind his hand. ‘You lied to me about the silver mirror, and I warned you what would happen.’ Farden jolted the man again ruthlessly, and then he slowly uncovered his mouth.
The smith panted and bobbed his head. ‘I remember yer, I remember! I’m sorry! I’ll do whatever you want, er, you can ‘ave yer money back I swear! Jus’ please don’t kill me...’ sobbed the man. ‘...yer not goin’ to kill me are yer?’
Farden narrowed his eyes and watched the pitiful man squirm. ‘Lucky for you,’ he snorted, ‘you can keep your money old thief. But you can have your mirror back.’ And with that Farden whipped the fake silver trinket from his side and hit the man full tilt in the jaw, cracking bones and snapping teeth from their roots. The smith crumpled to the earth in a flurry of glass and spit and went silent. The mirror skipped and skittered over the dusty floor and collided with the stone wall of the forge with a clang. Farden looked at his glowing face in a shard of glass, and took a deep, calming, breath.
Farden stood up quickly and pulled his hood down low over his face. Without a word he walked down the nearest alleyway and melted into the shadows of the ugly town. Lightning flickered on the horizon as another storm approached over the faraway hills.
Chapter 4
“Those of special circumstance, can find themselves alone, by the field the house the mountain crag, the blood begets the bone.
Friend of foes, and fair thee well, watch out for shadows black, for darkness comes to them too soon, a wing’d teeth, bared blades, and trap.
They want what is different, but as all, we want the same, thus blood becomes the birthright, and thy night becomes thy shame.
They judge us by the difference, they judge us from thy teeth. But we watch their necks, we’ll string them up, and leave them there to bleed.”
Vampyre poem of unknown origin
Durnus was dozing in his loft room, watching the fire crackle and spark as the wet wood popped occasionally. His sleepy mind was churning over thoughts of war and countries, kingdoms and traitors, and of the legends of old. He let himself melt and rove through his thoughts, listening to nothing but the rain hammering on the stained glass windows, and the wind howling through the dark afternoon. It would be night soon, and there was nothing better than hunting in the rain. He let his eyelids droop some more.
Behind his comfy chair, propped up i
n the corner of his room, was a tall archway made from black stone and metal scaffolding, tied and strapped to the wall with thick grey rope. The contraption leaned out from the wall and over a wooden lectern holding a very thick brown book. The black stone flickered in the candlelight. The old vampyre turned his head to check on the thing in the corner, as if it might have moved, and then turned back to the fire to close his eyes and enjoy the warmth of the big armchair and the soft upholstery beneath his paper-like fingers. All was quiet in the Arkabbey. Then there came a banging noise from the corridor outside his room. Durnus sighed.
All of a sudden the door was thrown open with a startling bang and a dripping Farden burst into the warm room and collapsed to his knees, palms splayed on the stone tiles. He was breathing hard and trying to fight from coughing.
‘Farden!’ The vampyre hauled himself upright and rushed to the mage’s side. From his hoarse gaspings, Durnus made out the word “water” and went to a pitcher on a bedside table. He filled a cup and returned to give it to the mage. Farden downed the whole thing in one go and tossed the vessel aside. He stood upright and groaned.
‘By the gods that feels better. I’ve never run that far that fast before,’ Farden took a moment to swear and then coughed again, seeking the refuge of the other comfy chair by the fire. The vampyre followed him and watched him slump into the armchair.
‘You’ve been gone for almost week, we were starting to get anxious,’ he said. His friend was still struggling to get his breath back. ‘Farden hold still.’ Durnus spread his thin fingers over the mage’s forehead and the tired man went rigid. Farden’s eyes shook while his vision burst into colour and vibrated with energy. The vampyre quickly removed his hand and the mage shook his head, blinking and wriggling his jaw experimentally. Farden squinted and twitched with the electricity of the strong spell. ‘That felt, incredible… why’ve you never done that before?’ He looked as though he were keeping watch on his nose as he tried to focus on the dancing lights in his eyes.
‘Jolting the brain like that too many times can kill a man. Even one as strong as you.’ Durnus looked at his old friend. Mud, twigs, scrapes and wounds covered Farden’s back and shoulders, his cloak was ripped to shreds and the sword dangled almost free in the loose strap around his back. Blood oozed from several wounds, some fresh, some old, and his face was a mess of stubble and bruises. He looked as if he had been dragged backwards through a forest and a river, thought Durnus, but at least he was still alive. Farden had regained his breath thanks to the spell and most of the colour had returned to his cheeks, but he still had deep black bars under his eyes and his dark hair was a bedraggled muddle.
‘I have news.’ Farden cleared his throat again and leant back in the encapsulating chair.
Durnus leapt back to his seat with surprising agility for someone who appeared so old. ‘Well let‘s get to it! What happened?’
‘Well I found Jergan on the hills where you said he’d be, south of Beinnh,’ Farden paused for another cough. ‘And, for a hermit, he wasn’t at all shy when it came to trying to kill me. Anyway, in short, you were right, Jergan and the Sirens found our book in the Tausenbar mountains before the war, in an old elf stronghold, and thought they’d try and use it. Jergan was one of the men who studied it, and with their wizards,’ he said wizards with a hint of superiority in his voice, ‘they tried to cast some of the spells. Apparently the book was some sort of dark elf summoning manual, for bringing creatures over from the other side.’
‘They cast the spells in it?’ The vampyre was shocked.
‘That’s what Jergan said, and for some reason I trust him. They went through it systematically from cover to cover, and their wizards tested the daemons and beasts on Skölgard prisoners. Jergan thinks that’s why someone would steal the book, to get at the powerful beasts hidden in its pages.’
‘But the Arka have fought daemons and ancient beasts before, you were there five years ago, when the minotaurs came out of the Efjar wastes? Why should this book be any different?’
‘He said this book held one spell that the dragon-riders feared so much they were never able to cast it.’
‘What was it?’ Durnus entwined his fingers in thought and stared at the fire.
‘They never found out… but it was something that scared the Sirens and their dragons to death, apparently a terrifying beast referred to as the “mouths of darkness” They were foolish,’ Farden shook his head, trying to remember the lycan’s words.
‘Foolish indeed,’ the vampyre watched flames lick at the wood and stone.
Farden leaned forward. ‘Jergan also mentioned that if somebody powerful enough were to attempt to summon this thing, that...’
‘That they would need a great source of magick… perhaps like one of the dark elf wells?’ guessed Durnus.
‘Exactly,’ the mage smiled at his friend’s intuition.
‘As far as I know, the last one we found was near Arfell, north of the library and several miles underground.’
‘And with barely any magick left in it, if I heard the stories right,’ Farden pointed a finger at his friend. The heat from the fire curled around him like a blanket. ‘And as far as I know, there aren’t any left in Emaneska, but Jergan seems to think that there are a few we might have missed.’
‘Indeed, I’ve spent almost my entire life trying to track them down.’ He tapped his thin lips thoughtfully, deciding what to do. ‘This is dire news, Farden, especially if the lycan is right about an undiscovered well. If we’re assuming, that the thief stole the manual to get at the spells, then we have to suppose that they mean to release this beast on the world.’ Durnus spoke his words with an ominous tone, a cold voice in a vacuous cave.
‘And if Jergan was right about the size and power of this creature, then we could all be in serious danger, and I don’t just mean the Arka. Whoever stole that book wants to turn Emaneska upside down…’ Farden looked at the vampyre and their eyes locked in a steely embrace.
‘We need to get you to Krauslung with all speed.’ Durnus quickly leapt from his chair and went to the pile of scaffolding in the corner. He flipped the dry pages of the dusty tome on the lectern and let his fingers scroll over the lines of brown ink.
‘I’ll need most of the night to prepare the quickdoor to the citadel. You need to rest. I can imagine that you’ve been through enough to get this information so I advise you just get some sleep friend,’ he said, as his pale blue eyes scanned the book eagerly.
The mage took a deep breath and gathered his cloak behind him.
‘What was it like?’ asked Durnus abruptly. His finger had stopped on the page.
Farden looked over at the vampyre’s back. ‘Imagine seeing death in the eyes of a nine-foot tall wolf,’ the mage paused, remembering that blur of a fight. Durnus turned to face him, a humorous look in his pale eyes. ‘It strikes me as odd, my good friend, that you should ever see anything resembling death. Every time I fear the worst, you come back to us with no more than a handful of scratches. I envy you Farden, being out there face to face with creatures like Jergan?’
‘Envy me?’ Farden threw him a quizzical look. ‘Are you sure?’ Farden lifted his torn cloak over his breastplate and pointed to the deep groove made by the lycan’s raking claws. ‘This isn’t a handful of scratches, an inch further up and I would be either dead or howling away somewhere out in the mountains.’
Durnus smiled and turned back to his book. ‘Come now, I know you better than that. You crave danger,’ there was a pause. ‘That’s why I’m always telling you to be careful.’
‘Here we go,’ muttered Farden, with a mock sigh. The vampyre turned around again as the mage slumped back into the chair. ‘No, I’m not going to lecture you.’
‘For a change.’
‘Fine. All I’m saying is that we’ve known eachother a long time,’ Durnus tapped the side of his head with a pale finger. ‘I know why you came here to Albion, and what you’re trying to hide from, and I’ve seen how you deal with i
t. Just remember that we care about you, and that even you have your limits.’ The vampyre crossed his arms and stared at the mage. His face was serious, and his words were sincere. Farden felt a little uncomfortable as he always did in these moments, and tapped his vambraces with his fingernail. ‘It’s not likely I’ll find them just yet though,’
Durnus sighed and went over to the mage. ‘Just be careful,’ he said, and Farden nodded silently. The vampyre found himself smiling and put a thin grey hand on his friend’s shoulder. ‘And in truth I do envy you, because you’re the one who gets to go out there and make a difference, fight the battles and the monsters, uncover the secrets and be the warrior. My days are long drawn out and my memories are slowly fading, Farden, I can’t remember the last time I held a sword. By the gods it must be at least fifty years ago,’ chuckled Durnus.
Farden seized the opportunity to change the subject. ‘That’s because you’re a dusty historian, old friend. But have no fear, I’m sure there’s still some fight in you yet.’
‘Hah! That’ll be the day.’ The vampyre went back to his book laughing. To illustrate his point Farden picked up a nearby book and blew the dust from the cover. He cleaned it with the palm of his hand and squinted at the faded title. “Treatises on Shapeshifting”, that’s a bit dangerous isn’t it Durnus? Playing with the old daemon arts?’
Durnus looked at the book and shrugged. ‘Just curious, and it’s not just daemons that can shapeshift, my dear mage. What do you think I am? Or Jergan for that matter? Both curses have their roots in the ancients,’ he said, and then wagged a didactive finger in the air. ‘Did you know that the powers that bind a lycan are completely opposite to that of a vampyre? If a vampyre were to be bitten by a lycan, one of pure breed, then it could technically cancel the two out.’