Spellscribed: Provenance

by Kristopher Cruz

  The soldier nodded, his skin pale from the cold. Endrance helped him over to the fire, where he sat so close to the flames he risked falling in or setting his clothes aflame. Joven picked up the discarded sword and after examining it a moment, tossed it to the ground near the man who had obviously forgotten he had let go of it.

  After sitting back down across from Hill and giving the man a few minutes to warm up, Endrance took a deep breath and lifted a hand to prod the man to continue. “You were saying something about the two of us having to go back to your fort with you?” he said.

  The second man spoke up while Hill was still warming up. “There was a murder deep within our fort, and our commander told us to chase down anyone who might have been involved.”

  “All right, who was murdered?” Endrance asked.

  The man sighed. “He was the regional tribunal.”

  Endrance raised an eyebrow. “Someone like that would not have been unprotected while within your fort. What was he killed by?”

  “His throat was slit, sir mage. We found a bloody knife stuck into the desk just nearby the tribunal’s body.” The soldier shrugged. “Our commander has detained everyone in the fort and sent us out to check for others who may have been fleeing. We didn’t really expect to find anyone, but there you two were, easily found by that campfire.” He finished, gesturing towards the fire.

  “Ah. I see.” Endrance said. “If you would like us to come with you, I can understand you need to follow orders. But we have been moving in your direction, not away from it.”

  “Still, our commander would still want you to come with us. Being a wizard, he might even use your help.”

  “If you all insist, we will detour with you. But I have a duty to perform, and cannot tarry for very long.”

  “All I ask is that you come with us back to the fort. You can convince the commander to let you leave once you are there.”

  Endrance nodded, pushing himself to his feet and looking back over the camp. Joven had been hard at work during their conversation, and the camp was almost entirely repacked. All that remained was the campfire. Looking around, Endrance brushed snow off his trousers and looked down at Hill.

  “When you’re ready, we’ll get going.” He said.

  Four hours later the eight soldiers and two travelers found themselves within the gates of the border fort. The structure was built of stone on the top of a large hill in the middle of an open field. It was built with three great square towers that rose above the walls, where many slits carved into the stone allowed soldiers to see farther than anywhere else within miles. The rest of the fort was squat and rectangular, rising only two floors but likely having at least one dungeon or underground storeroom.

  Buried in the winter snows, the tower was nearly invisible in the blustery cloudy nights, where the visibility was incredibly low, even with the altitude advantage. Endrance was exhausted, cold, and sore from walking the horses through the storm and stumbling in the dark through snow blanketed obstacles. About an hour and a half in he realized he could make his journey easier by walking in the steps of the leading soldiers, but even then he still stumbled and was sure he had sprained an ankle but was too numb to feel it.

  He had his warming spell, but it would only tire him faster and he had been uncertain how far they had to travel. They would have been able to ride up to the fort within fifteen minutes or so during the day and without snow, but with the conditions being as they were their journey had been excruciatingly slow.

  Once inside the gates, Endrance finally cast the warmth spell he had devised before. Taking a deep breath and holding it so it warmed up a fair bit, he released the spell and shielded himself from the cold and snow. The snowflakes disappeared into flecks of water as they touched upon his aura and evaporated into tiny puffs of steam. He would warm up swiftly even if the commander were to have them thrown into a cold cell.

  The soldiers within were dressed similarly to the patrol that had found them, and though only a few seemed to be awake or out at present, the fort was easily large enough to house a garrison of sixty men and then a dozen or so supporting servants.

  The commander of the soldiers stationed at the fort was waiting for them when they arrived. Though he comported himself with the demeanor of a man who was unsettled by nothing, he was not so steely that he completely concealed his surprise when his men brought them in as an escort instead of as captives. As the group approached, a few soldiers who had been waiting nearby brought out tin cups with hot broth in them to hand to the men.

  The commander approached the one who had led the squad that had retrieved the two travelers. Pulling the man aside, they had a quick and quiet conversation before the commander dismissed the soldier back to the group and walked over to the young mage and his bodyguard.

  The man was tall, though not as tall as Joven. He wore a thick winter longcoat much like the other soldiers of the fort, but it had conservatively placed metal plates across the chest and shoulders on top of whatever was inside. The plate additions stood out from the rest of the men, but his helmet was the same issue as theirs, as was the sword and shield he wore on his person. As the man approached to talk he pulled the scarf from his face, so that he could speak more clearly.

  The man from behind the scarf was an older man, with a thick, shortly cropped beard and mustache of black hair. He had a scar that started on his left cheek and went straight down across the edge of his jaw, leaving a pale cut through the hair on his face. Weathered and beaten, the older man was still in remarkable shape and his brown eyes had lost none of their sharpness. He looked the two of them over in an instant, taking in the entirety of their tired, cold forms as well as their horses, and came to the conclusions he was looking for.

  “Sir mage.” The commander stated stiffly. “I apologize if my men had handled you improperly. We do not seek to quarrel with a wizard of the circle.”

  Endrance inclined his head to the man, attempting a tired smile. “We had a small disagreement about courtesy, but the matter was rectified rather quickly. Think nothing of it.”

  The man grunted and nodded. “Very well. Please, accompany me to my quarters, and we can discuss the issue that is at hand here. Your man is free to follow, and …Private Hill will be tending to your horses with all the care we would give our own.” The man glanced at Hill, who winced but immediately went to take the horses away. “If this is acceptable to you, we will see about scrounging up some food and drink for someone of your stature.”

  “Acceptable.” Endrance agreed. The commander turned and led them into the central building from which the three towers rose. “I have a question.” Endrance asked as they approached the large reinforced doors to the fort. “Why would Hill be in charge of those men if he was just a private?”

  The commander kept his stride as he responded. “He wasn’t.”

  “In charge?”

  “A private.”

  The interior of the fort was very sparse, clean and nearly empty. The halls were simple stone, devoid of furniture or decorative wall hangings. The doors were sturdy, metal frames set in stone, with steel reinforced wooden doors set flush with the walls. The hard soled boot steps of the soldiers droned out the softer steps of Endrance’s shoes and the rough textured boots that Joven wore as they followed the commander. The majority of the place was dark, and only the lanterns that hung from the ceiling at the intersections provided any light in the winter’s night.

  He led them deep into the fort, past several halls that were darkened even to Endrance’s better than average night vision. The trip led to a door near the rear of the building, to a room that was far more warmly lit and furnished than the cold impersonal halls they walked before. The commander held the door open for the two, and closed the door as he entered.

  The commander’s room was not richly furnished, but it was well done. Thick rugs covered the stone floor, and a fire burned in a triangular stone basin in the corner of the room, built three feet up from the floor so one cou
ld sit next to the fire or adjust the wood without needing to stoop. A few feet of floor around the fire was bare of rugs, showing the same quality of stone that the rest of the building was crafted of.

  Thick tapestries hung from the walls, many of which were of simple repeating patterns, pleasant, but not anything inspiring or thought-provoking. There was a bed in the corner next to the fire, a simple sturdy wooden piece with thick blankets and simple bedding. At the foot was a single trunk, where he would keep his few personal belongings. Little more than a dresser and mirror was against the wall between the bed and the fire.

  In the corner opposite of the fire was a heavy desk of simply cut wood. Upon it were many pages of parchment, quills, vials of ink, books, a map of the local area, and a compass. Here was likely where he planned the movements of his men. Here was also where he wrote reports that were sent back to Ironsoul by courier or other means.

  At the corner where the front of the desk met the wall was a pair of stools stacked on each other. As Joven and Endrance stood in the center of the room, the commander pulled out the stools and set them down in front of the desk, walking around it, he settled into a sturdy straight backed chair.

  He pulled off his helmet and set it on top of the map, rubbing his temples as the two took their seats. His hair was short cut but a dense professional soldier style, black with streaks of silver that made him appear all the more respectable. He looked wearily at the two as he leaned back and took them in. Endrance and Joven sat quietly as they waited. While Endrance felt the urge to say something, he didn’t know what to say.

  “You can call me commander Gural.” The man said after a short moment. Out of the distracting sounds of the winter night and the other men, Endrance could hear that Gural’s voice was strong, commanding, and surprisingly soft. He also couldn’t hear the usual fluctuation of tone that most people had when they were as tired as this man looked. That meant that he must have had some form of voice training like Endrance himself had. Interesting to be sure but not unheard of; military leaders can benefit from having fine voice control nearly as much as a mage could.

  “Well met, Commander Gural.” Endrance said, giving him a tired smile. “My name is Wizard Endrance. This is my bodyguard, Joven.” He introduced them, gesturing to Joven as he mentioned him. The barbarian smiled a toothy grin, sitting at a false ease on the stool, his arms crossed.

  Gural nodded as he acknowledged them, and placed his hands on the desk as he leaned forwards a bit. “I trust you have been told what has happened here, and why I ordered my men to bring you here.”

  “That is true.” Endrance said. “We were making our way towards the border, and had just been settling down for the night when your men approached us.”

  “I understand that this is most inconvenient, markedly so for a wizard belonging to the circle.” Commander Gural admitted. “But we have an emergency of some importance here and we needed to try and catch anyone in the area who might have been fleeing the scene.” The commander leaned on his elbows and clasped his hands. “Would you be willing to tell me what it is you’re doing trying to leave Ironsoul?” he asked. He had spoken softly, but it carried a quality that said his request would not be denied.

  Endrance leaned back in his stool, and nearly fell over as he had forgotten these seats had no back and were narrowly built in the first place. Joven held a hand out without looking and caught him before he spilled embarrassingly. Red faced, the young mage murmured a thanks to his bodyguard and looked back to Gural.

  “We are on our way into the untamed lands, to the barbarian capitol of Balator. There I will become their next Spengur.” Endrance explained succinctly. “Joven here is to ensure I arrive there safely.”

  Gural took the information without changing his expression or breaking his analytical stare. After a few seconds of silence, Endrance was starting to feel uncomfortable with the man just staring at him. So he mustered up the small dredges of energy he had left and gave the man a genuine smile.

  Gural sighed and sat back in his chair, wiping at his face with a gloved hand. “All right, I believe you.” He said. “But before I could let you go I would be in poor conscience to forsake asking a wizard’s professional help in this matter.”

  “Oh?” Endrance asked. “What kind of help could I be?”

  “You wizards are all far better educated than ten of my men combined.” Commander Gural replied. “You might be able to help us make sense of the murder, help us know who could have done it.”

  Endrance shrugged. “I would be happy to help when asked, but I am exhausted; I’ve been on the road all day and then should have been asleep hours ago. I can take a perfunctory look now and put my mind to it after I get some sleep.”

  The commander looked at him and blinked.

  Endrance sighed. “I’ll take a quick look tonight, but I need sleep or I’ll make mistakes. That could be worse than if I didn’t help at all.”

  “Ah.” The commander said. “That will work for now. We’ve already moved the body so you can take a look at him tomorrow.”

  The young wizard thought for a moment of the blasted wolfman he had left behind earlier that day. He shuddered, but swallowed and nodded. “Sure. I can do that tomorrow.”

  The rooms that Endrance and Joven had been given were directly next to the room where the murder had happened. The room was barely big enough that there was room for a single cot, a trunk for gear, a small table and chair, and a similar fire pit like the one commander Gural had in his chambers, though this one was smaller and wasn’t already burning when they were ushered in. Joven took the room closest to the victim’s, and Endrance plopped into bed in the room next to that one.

  He had looked over the room the tribunal had been killed in, but he had been so tired and worn out by that point that everything had become a long fuzzy blur. He had taken notes of things that stood out to him, but even as he stripped off his shoes he could not recall what it was he had written down. He sat on the bed and shucked his clothes, tossing them on the chair so the melted snow water could evaporate as he slept.

  He checked the fire pit to make sure it had fuel in it, and lit it with a simple spell that most apprentices learn early on to ignite candles and lanterns for their master. As the heat from the fire spread warmth through the room, Endrance finally released the warming spell. The relief was immediate for him; it felt like a spiritual weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

  He rubbed his back as best he could, touching the lines shaped into his skin by his meridians. He could almost imagine he could feel them under his fingertips, though he knew on some level that they didn’t change the quality of his skin in the slightest. Even after the amount of time he had since its appearance, the purpose of the circle on his back continued to elude him. From what Archmagus Talos had told him, it was impossible to scribe an effect or spell you didn’t know upon your body, and how perfectly you know the spell affected the spells efficiency and potency.

  If that was true, what did he mark onto his back and how would it even work if he didn’t know it?

  Kaelob’s education was very heavy in the basics and exploring what could be done with just those basics, but he only went into a few branches of advanced magic during Endrance’s apprenticeship with him. He couldn’t begrudge the man; Kaelob had always said that he wasn’t trying to influence Endrance’s education towards one branch or the other.

  “I’m only building the foundation for your own tower of learning.” Kaelob had told him. “That way, it’s sturdy enough that you can build anything you want upon it and it would budge not an inch!” His explanation had a lot more gesturing and flailing about, but his statement was the sum of his reasoning.

  As Endrance lay back on the mattress and started to doze off, he idly wondered if this circle came from the basics he had been taught, and he had just not recognized it yet.

  He awoke without explanation a short time later, his breath coming hard and a trickle of sweat running down his face. He felt
a moment of confusion. Were the goblins back? It almost felt like he had felt a beat of the goblin drum. He shook his head, and took control of his breathing. It wasn’t nearly as hard to gain control of his panic, and he realized he didn’t feel the familiar sensation of magic in the air.

  He scanned the room, trying to find the source of his awakening. Nothing stood out to him. As he searched, the adrenaline spike of panic faded, and the exhaustion from the prior day seeped back into his mind as he found nothing out of sorts. He did find his gaze drawn to the depth of shadow in the corner across from the fire pit. A nagging sense of fear crept into his spine, a thin string of instinctual self preservation that tickled at his mind, barely felt through the fog of his nascent slumber.

  “Hah.” He mouthed, blowing air through his teeth. “Look at me, jumping at shadows like a child again.” He closed his eyes as he lay back upon the mattress. “I can’t let something like a little darkness scare me.” He drifted back off to sleep a few short moments later.

  Only then did the Sha’hdi relax. Cautiously, she melted out of the pool of shadows in the corner of the room, her predatory eyes fixed upon the young man who had nearly pierced her hiding place. She crept up to the side of the bed, as silent as a whisper of a single snowflake in a winter sky.

  The kid had been sleeping fitfully when she gained entry to the room, but seemed unaware of her presence at first. She had stood there for several minutes as still as a statue as she watched the young man’s near angelic features. Though not nearly as beautiful as an elven child would be, he had a quality of his face that reminded her of someone whom she used to know. The faint trace of elven blood in his appearance was noticeable, but hardly accounted for much, many male elves had dalliances with human women that they fancied for a few years and then discarded.

  She had then considered her orders, and wondered if such a strange assignment was worth the price that was set. She was Sha’hdi, an assassin of the highest degree and of the closest intimacy; it wasn’t in her nature or training to toy with her prey for even a fraction as long as she had with this one. A faint smile curled the corner of her lips.