Spellscribed: Provenance

by Kristopher Cruz

  Anna peered back down the tunnel they came. “Dear husband,” she started, “the door appears to have remained open. I do not believe it will be closing anytime soon. Why are you rushing?”

  The wizard grimaced, “Because Gullin just informed me that the spell is in its waning stage.”

  “Waning?” Anna frowned. “It's going away?”

  “The spell is now past halfway done, and we haven't even gotten to the book yet.”

  Silently, the five of them pushed onwards as fast as they dared, and in minutes came out into a larger chamber. Roughly as wide as ten men laid out and just as long, the chamber was piled with gold, tapestries, and other riches. In the center of the tomb was a raised dais, three steps high. Upon its center lay a black iron coffin; its surface glinted with the light of their torches. Joven had noticed immediately that the coffin itself had several thick iron chains across its surface, all of which were anchored into the stone, solidly pinning the vessel onto the floor

  “Alright,” Endrance stated, tapping Selene on the shoulder and pointing to one corner. He directed the other three to respective corners of the tomb, and they began their search. Endrance took up a search around the dais, careful to never step on the stone steps. There was one book quickly found, but it proved to be a ledger of the king's last days.

  The other four continued to search, while the young mage carefully paged through the book. He hoped earnestly, that the book here would say where the Journal of Lehtor was stored. He reached the end and read through the last few pages as quickly as possible. “The book of Lehtor was buried with the king.” he muttered. “That's all it says. Not where in the tomb.”

  Anna glanced at Endrance. “Maybe they meant it literally.” she said, turning her gaze to the coffin in the center. “But if that's true then how do we get the book out of that?”

  Endrance sighed. “This is probably going to hurt.” he said walking onto the dais, one step at a time. Nothing happened. He stood right next to the coffin, and looked about. “That's a relief.” he exhaled, and then pondered the coffin. He had no way of getting the chains off in time, nor did they have a way of opening the coffin anyways. He could try some spells, but he never studied spells like the ones he would need to open the coffin cleanly.

  Endrance sat upon the surface of the dais, and pondered a solution. He had studied one of his predecessor’s spells; one that would let him consult with an ancestor spirit, but it was a ritual and took time. If he was going to use it, it would have to be now. He was running out of time.

  The young wizard dug into the satchel he brought with him, and produced five white candles, thick but short. He set them in a circle around him, and then pulled a small silk sack from his satchel. Opening the end carefully, he meticulously poured a line of salt in a circle, making sure that the candles were equidistant from each other. He last took a fingertip and made an impression on the salt in the line in front of him, barely a dimple.

  He took out the book he had kept the notes of the ritual in. He set the book on his lap and opened to the page he had marked in advance. He lit the candles and made sure he was ready to begin. He looked to his bodyguard, who indicated he was ready. Carefully, he recited the words of the ritual as he touched the inner edge of the circle, pouring a small amount of energy into it.

  “Ancient spirit, oh restful one in silent sleep.” He intoned, following the ritual’s requirements. “Come back to me from the deep. Oh restful one in silent sleep. Trust in me your wisdom keep!”

  As he finished the ritual, he held the hand he had cut before over the line of salt. He squeezed his fist, and a drop of blood soaked into the silk dripped from his hand into the depression in the salt. The drop of red seemed to do nothing for a moment, and Endrance was uncertain if it had worked.

  The spot of red seemed to leech through the ring of salt, drawing a line of red around the center of the white line. It filled in swiftly, and Endrance found he could not easily budge the hand he was touching the salt with. His magical energy slowly fed into the circle, and it could possibly drain him if he let the circle run unchecked. A trickle of sweat beaded at his brow. Not again. He thought.

  A laugh echoed throughout the burial chamber, dry, raspy cackle. Endrance startled from where he was sitting as the sound emanated from under the coffin’s lid, but couldn’t move as his hand was still firmly anchored. He wouldn’t be able to leave even if he wanted to. However the spell circle was supposed to protect him from the spirit he had awoken.

  The other four froze shocked as a translucent, plate mailed hand rose through the iron lid, and used the sides of the coffin to help King Rothel sit up. The figure was an imposing one, even though it was nearly transparent. A hulking brute at seven feet solid, King Rothel was almost proportionally bigger than Joven in all ways. His body was covered in spectral black iron plates, though he wore no helmet. The head of the ghost was in fact intact, as if he were not dead, but in fact just an image of himself before death. His eyes, however, were white orbs, transparent and unreadable at the same time.

  A preternatural chill swept through the room, and the torches guttered and dimmed. Only the light of the five candles remained bright, and though their bodies prickled with gooseflesh, no one moved to even warm themselves. Endrance could feel the power of the spirit that stood before him. It was almost too much for him to bear being so close to it. He knew the circle’s properties, as well as his blood, was the only thing that would keep him safe from the apparition should it attack.

  The spirit leaned towards the young mage, and seemed to sniff at him. He was not disturbing the air but he seemed to have picked something up. He smiled.

  “So.” The ghost's voice was distant but still potent. It was akin to hearing a general bark at his troops from the back of the formation. “I see one of my father’s kin has come to pay his ancestor a visit. What is it that you want so badly, that you would dare to disturb my rest?”

  Endrance was unsure what he was talking about, but he knew that it could be used to his advantage. “Lord Rothel,” he began, “The prophesied time is upon us, but the details of the event are lost to time and memory. I seek the Journal of Lehtor.”

  Rothel smirked. “Which prophecy is it that you speak of?” he turned his head to take in the room. “There are so many within its pages.”

  “I speak of the great eclipse and the birth of the child who would change the world.”

  The Great Spirit nodded, looking through each of the young mage's companions as he surveyed the room. “And you are here for nothing else? Not to plunder?” he finished his turn, facing the wizard again.

  “I am only here to find the book, great king.” Endrance plied. “I do not seek any of your glorious treasure.”

  The king was silent, as he seemed to be weighing Endrance's words. He pointed to the coffin. “The Journal of Lehtor is within.” he said. “But you have not the means to release it.”

  Endrance's hopes dropped. “Very well, great king.” he responded, acceptance in his voice. “Can you share with us the means to possess it?”

  The ancient king of old had not seemed to have even noticed the wizard’s companions. He remained eerily still when he wasn’t speaking, an unnerving trait that many undead things possessed. One didn’t know it but the minute movements a living person makes is overlooked… until it was missing.

  “I will offer you the knowledge you seek,” the ghost said plainly.

  “What do I need to do?” The wizard asked.

  “Child, do you know the significance of that book?” he asked. “The Journal of Lehtor was gifted to me by the fates.” His tone was reverent, almost fearful. “Its knowledge can only be passed on to one who has the inborn power to survive knowing it. You can know what is within its pages, but it may extract a cost of you, if you aren’t strong enough.”

  The spirit stared at him, his sightless orbs unchanging. “When my brother left me I turned to the only source of power I had left. Upon gaining the Journal of Lehtor, I
read through it once. By the time I was finished I was struck blind. The declarations of fate are not meant for mortal eyes to see or mortal ears to hear. You must be more than a man, if you want to handle the power within.”

  He paused, whether for effect or to ensure comprehension the young mage couldn’t tell.

  “You may be better prepared than I; you bear the mantle of Spengur. I will tell you of the prophecy you require.”

  The ghost seemed silent and motionless for a second. It was perfectly still; in a way no living creature could, without even the slightest tremble or shift in body. Endrance felt as more of his magic slipped away in a trickle, and forced his self to remain patient. He also knew time was running out topside.

  Endrance didn't see any other way. He needed that knowledge, for without it King Kalenden would be able to get away with his plot. The real child of destiny would be overlooked, and the world would not be saved because the hero was not prepared. Even worse, the king's son could help bring about the world's destruction. This prophecy was starting to prove very dangerous indeed, and it had only just begun.

  The spirit of King Rothel finally responded. “Then I will give it to you, so strengthen your mettle, kin. If you do not survive this, no one else may have it.” the phantom king bore a grim smile, “Do not return here again, even should you perish. There is not enough room for two of us here.” Endrance frowned. What was he talking about?

  The king held a mighty spectral fist over the wizard’s head, the mailed hand outspread. He opened his mouth and a tone that was much too deep and unnatural poured out from it, like an oversized bell tolling. As he did so he slowly clenched his fist, the flickering from Endrance's candles barely catching across the translucent surface of the gauntlet. Endrance felt a spike of panic. Rothel had pushed right through his protective circle without as much as a flicker of power. This ghost was beyond the ken of such a simple protection spell.

  To Joven and the three keepers, it appeared as if nothing happened. To Endrance, the moment the ghost closed his hand over his head was the moment that time decided it was going to take a break from flowing at normal speed. A piercing pain shot through his head, and agony rolled from the top of his skull down his neck and back. Images flashed through his head, accompanied by an infinite multitude of sound. Things, places, people, all kinds of images, both still and moving passed through his mind, each one as quick as a thought, but as painful as a blow to the head.

  More than images, the visions were full experiences that he felt as if he were there. It seemed to the wizard that the cycle would never end, until suddenly one of the images sprung fully into his senses, blurring the others out of his thoughts, they were still passing through, causing searing pain as they crossed his mind, but they seemed strangely muted by the vision before him.

  Before him lay a battlefield, never ending in any direction. It seemed to go on forever in all directions. There he could see millions upon millions of the many races of the world fighting together against the forces of a great evil. Humans, elves, dwarves, wolfmen, and many others all bore the symbol of a white mountain across their armor and proudly across their banners. Their swords gleamed in the twin sunlight and though he could see they had been in many battles before this, the troops in battle fought with an unwearied vigor.

  Their vigor was needed in this field of war, as their foes were terrible and mighty. Endrance saw stretched out to his right an endless sea of demons, side by side, packed in a tight formation as they swarmed the races of the world. He saw many kinds of demons, but there were some that he was certain never existed before, beasts of sweeping horn, spike growing from flesh as tough as stone, and wielding infernal bladed maces that they swung with two hands, massive enough to pierce through armor and crush the body beneath. Behind them were gigantic four-legged demonic beasts, many men tall and incredibly powerful. They had many tails coming from their sides, each more than long enough to reach the ground, where they flicked about dangerously, their tips frighteningly bladed and sharp.

  The battle raged on, and the races of the earth fought bravely against the demonic host assailing them. Catapults and ballista hammered the large walkers, and archers in the back fired into the hordes indiscriminately, taking down many demons only to have them replaced by many more behind them. The ground had become stained red with blood, and cluttered with the broken bodies of both men and demon alike. Endrance could smell the bloody stench; hear every clang of metal striking metal or bone, and the screams of the injured.

  A roar that shook the air around him made Endrance shift his gaze up, and he saw something in the air above him. As if moved by an unseen hand, the battle around him shot away from him, falling away as if he had been the one anchored in place and the world had been dropped. He was now standing in the sky, high above where the clouds would have been that sunny day. There he witnessed a scene that he would not ever forget.

  In the air before him was a white dragon, larger than he could ever have imagined. Its body was easily several hundred feet long, and its wings spread out twice that, casting a shadow across the land below it. Its scales were pearl, and even the small ones of its sides were as big as the mage's hand. The large scales across its belly and along its spine were easily as large as houses. The scene had seemed to freeze in time, the dragon suspended in the air as it had swooped down onto the back of a great black dragon of nearly the same size, if not bigger.

  Endrance saw that upon the backs of these great creatures was a single man each. The white dragon bore one of the most impressive men the young mage had ever seen. His muscles bulging, plate armor gleaming, the warrior looked to be as large as king Rothel had been. His back bore a cloak with the symbol the soldiers below him bore, and he seemed to be the commander, if not their leader. His face was contorted into a roaring battle cry, his long blond hair flowing in the wind, only held in check by a golden circlet across his brow. His cheek bore a mark looking like a red sword, a birthmark of some sort. The warrior's armor was obviously magical, as it gleamed with an unnatural brightness, and the warrior moved as if the armor was not even there.

  To say the warrior wielded a sword would be an injustice. The weapon he clenched in his hand was a blade of pure crystal, translucent but iridescent, little colors shifting in the light as it moved. The rest of the blade was formed of thick golden wire, intertwined and forming the handle, guard, and pommel out of one piece as thick as a man's little finger. Set into the guard was a grand emerald, brilliant and perfect.

  The black dragon was as impressive and frightening as the white, though the man that stood in the saddle on its back had the look of someone far more dangerous. Clad entirely in black plate armor, many blood coated spikes adorned it. The skulls of large creatures made up its paldrons, with a black spike protruding from each eye socket. Its helm incorporated the front of a demon's skull as the faceplate, black steel formed the rest, and a crown of spikes adorned its head. Endrance didn't know how or why, but he felt that even though the dragons were dangerous magical creatures unrivaled by any and without any true predators, they were not as dangerous as the man in the demon-bone helmet was.

  In his hand was a bastard sword of black steel, the guard a twisted bar of metal, and the grip bore little spikes in it. The pommel was a grinning skull. The worst part however was the blade, which was crafted out of what looked like segments of flat bone, each part bearing a nasty barb on alternating sides of the blade. The edge of the weapon was wickedly sharp, and Endrance could see some kind of living eye set in the guard. Demonic power flowed out of this weapon, and he could see lines of blood across the blade's surface, as if it had veins.

  The whole scene remained suspended in the air before him, and he could feel the image burning itself into his mind. The white dragon was swooping down on the black, its jaw open in a roar and claws extended to intercept the black, as it's foe rose up to do the same. The barbarian hero had his sword raised high in the air above him, his other hand grabbing the saddle he stood in,
while his opponent held his demonic blade back as he built up strength for a sideways stroke.

  Time picked up again, and the dragons clashed into each other with a crunch of claws and teeth impacting scale and bone. The two dragons collided, their claws and teeth finding each other and biting in. They began plummeting down to earth slashing at each other with their claws and even their tails, the white dragon's tail spiked while his foe's was bladed.

  As the two twisted and writhed in battle, the two men upon them had begun to fight. Their swords clashed as they performed staggering feats of strength and agility, quite literally running or leaping across the dragons as they twisted, keeping the great beasts below them as they fought. Swords clashed, crystal struck bone, and they fought each other with everything they had. The two warriors fought across the bodies of the battling dragons, and in seconds it was over.

  The black dragon got in a lucky hit, its bladed tail darting between scales and burying itself deep into the white dragon's chest. It roared in pain and clawed its enemy’s eyes. Dragon blood rained down onto the swiftly approaching battlefield below. The demon-skull-faced warrior swung his sword, the segments of it seeming to wriggle as the blade bit deep into the hero's collar between his neck and left shoulder. The teeth of the sword ground, and blood sprayed into the air. The barbarian's eyes flickered, and it seemed he would drop, when his eyes snapped open with rage, and with a bloody roar, he grabbed the demon blade with his left hand, the teeth digging into his palm as he pulled the black armored foe closer to him, tearing his wound even deeper and spilling his blood into the air. The man in black armor struggled for a second and slid closer, neither of their footing good enough to let them resist. The hero plunged his sword into the man's chest, the crystal blade cutting into the black metal as easily as flesh, the tip erupting out the man's back, spraying dark blood into the air.

  The ground rushed up to them, and before Endrance could do or say anything, the fighting dragons dropped past him, colliding with the earth below. He remained hovering in the sky, watching the combatants crushed and scattered on both sides by the impact of the dragons in their death throes. His vision turned up to the sky, and he found himself looking upon the twin suns. He watched as a great darkness swelled up from behind the first sun. Blackness in the shape of fingers wrapped around the sun and blotted out much of its light. The massive hand pulled the sun up into the sky, and Endrance felt his perspective dragged along with it, pulling him up into the sky. In the darkness above, he watched in fear as the light of the sun brightened when the hand squeezed harder and harder. The brightness grew so strong that Endrance was certain he would never see again when the sun itself exploded. He cried out and he felt himself falling again, the wind whistling through his ears, and he knew what lay below to arrest his fall.