In preparation, Arwhon went to his helm and drank everything in there before turning again to the illuminated writing. It was in panels and each panel of script read top to bottom, left to right before continuing on at the top of the adjacent panel.
He read.
‘In the beginning there was nothing. A void. There was no purpose. There was no reason. Then a profusion of stars sprang into being and all things followed from that wonder. Mehgrin and I were two of ten created to manage this world for the advent of those who were to follow. It was they who were the purpose and the reason. Seven races were created, all different, and placed in seven different regions on this world. Some grew quickly into strong societies while others chose to hide. There were some who prospered while yet others looked inward. The purpose and the reasons for this are yet to be revealed by the Maker.
Mehgrin and I were created to be equals but she was formed from dark matter and I was formed from light. It was a matter of balance. I knew my duty of care to those who came after us but Mehgrin had little interest in their wellbeing. Her whole life was dedicated to serving one being. Herself. She desired to be a God, separate and apart, worshipped by all the races of the world and revered. Mehgrin taught those races who listened to her how to be selfish, then selfish became want and want became greed. Finally, greed became a desire for power and murder was born.
From simple selfishness, evil entered this world and interfered with the peaceful management of its growth. Mehgrin does not want two of us and she has grown powerful in her Earth and Watermagic. My Air and Firemagic are also powerful but the pure thought of good is no match for the deviousness of evil. To fight evil, you must know evil and if you come to know evil well enough, you run the risk of succumbing to it. There lies the dilemma which faces all good people.
Mehgrin and I will not last forever. We were never meant to. Our task was to hand over a healthy world to the new occupants. Unfortunately, Mehgrin’s thoughtless influence means that in the future there will be need of another caretaker. I have created the Ring to find a True person and aid that person in curing the world of evil, if that time should ever arise. The Ring will know. The Dagger was made to assist the Ring wearer in his task. The Ring shall endow the wearer with the ability to access Firemagic because it is fundamental to all. If evil cannot be eradicated, this world must be destroyed to stop its spread to other worlds. Fire is at the core of the world and is the ultimate magic to end it. I hope it will not be necessary, as I have come to love all the seven races, even if some are weak and some are strong. Art is magic of another form and some of the weaker races are very artistic and able to bring joy to the hearts of many; as long as those hearts are open and not filled with selfish evil.
Bearer of the Ring. Only you can ever read this message, however far into the future you are. The Firemagic you seek is not here, only the beginning of the knowledge you need and some basic spells to assist you in your quest. I will place the knowledge of Firemagic into an obelisk on the westernmost point of this land. Touch it with the Ring and it will show you where to plunge the Dagger. Beware. If you are not True, you will die.’
Arwhon had come to the end of the second wall by this point and as he turned to the third and fourth walls, he saw they contained six separate tracts of script, three on each wall. These were placed side by side and carried titles above them. Arwhon read the titles of the fiery tracts.
Living with Fire, Managing Fire, Calling Fire, Sending Fire, Fire Energy, Fire Healing.
So. Arwhon had used one of the these spells already when he’d healed Shiri in Goristoum but decided he would still need to read the whole lesson when he got to it. Now it was time for another drink. Arwhon discovered his helm was almost full. How long had he been immersed in the writing on the wall? It had been turned to pictures in his mind as he read and he’d been totally absorbed by it but surely not long enough for his helm to fill.
Refreshed, Arwhon went back to the tracts on the remaining two walls and started with the first one.
Living with Fire. Arwhon read the description below the heading.
‘No form of fire can harm a Fire Mage once the spell below is learned by heart. Fire will flower at need and protect the Fire Mage from harm whenever the Mage is threatened. At least one hundred repetitions are necessary to ingrain the spell so it embeds in the mind and emerges when needed. Without having to be called.’
Just as Chalc used to say when Arwhon first started with sword training. Repetition, repetition, repetition and he had seen Shiri do the same with the pearl beads on the Healing Belt Kuiran carried. He stood in front of the wall and read the spell slowly, waiting for his head to start pounding as it had the first time he’d tried to recite a spell. But there was not a hint of an ache or throb so Arwhon said the spell again, then again, repeating the spell over and over. At first he read it but after a while he didn’t need to and the repetition went on until he had said it over a hundred times.
Nothing happened.
Arwhon had to make water at last and trying not to desecrate Durhain’s Cave, used a spot in front of the sealed doorway to relieve himself. Feeling better, he went to his helm and found it overflowing with water again. The damp ooze was still making extremely slow progress down the wall and Arwhon was sure it hadn’t been that long since his last drink.
Back to the third wall and the second lesson. Arwhon found he wasn’t tired at all and wanted to learn the spells as quickly as possible.
Managing Fire. The description told of the many means to handle Fire as it swirled around and how to subdue or stoke a flame, quietening it or turning it into a bolt of pure energy. He repeated the spell a hundred times or more until it was part of him, just as the first spell should be.
Again nothing occurred.
Arwhon was puzzled, there was no sign anything was happening in response to the completed lessons and he was a little disappointed. He paused only to drink and relieve himself again before commencing on the third spell.
Calling Fire. The description given described how Fire was everywhere. As long as there was a modicum of warmth, Fire could be called forth from it and multiplied. Likewise, heat could be removed from something to freeze it. At the end of the descriptive passage was the spell and Arwhon started to read through it. As soon as he had finished reciting it for the first time, Durhain’s Cave was immediately filled with incredibly hot Fire, raging around the inside of the rock walls.
A Tempest of Fire.
Called into being by that one reading of the spell.
Automatically and instantaneously the spell for Living with Fire awoke to protect Arwhon. His broad grin turned to laughter as he stood unharmed in the middle of the maelstrom. Now, Managing Fire. He held out his hand to the flames and they quietened until he was left with a little Fire Sprite dancing on his palm. She looked up at him smiling and clapping her tiny hands enthusiastically. Arwhon bowed to her, held as she was on his outstretched hand. She vanished. Arwhon was very careful for the next hundred or so repetitions of that spell, damping everything down immediately each time he repeated it. Satisfied he took a break, feeling much better now.
His helm was overflowing again.
This was passing strange. There was no way his helm could have filled so rapidly from that tiny ooze. He drank his fill and poured the remainder of the water out of the helm, placing it back against the wall where, drop by drop, the water dripped in. Arwhon counted. And counted. And counted some more. He gave up when the bottom of his helm was covered and then calculated it would take over a day to fill the helm at that flow rate. By his calculations, he’d been in this cave well over a week at least. Could it be? Surely the Dwarves must be looking for him by now but he’d heard no one at the blocked entry. There were still three more spells left to learn. That meant at least three more days but learning the spells was the reason he’d come here so he might as well get on with it. Arwhon approached the fourth wall, his hands ablaze for the exercise.
Sending Fire. The int
roduction talked of propelling fire or controlling it to go to a place or destination. The target area had to be in view or alternatively, a really good visualisation would suffice which, Arwhon supposed, meant somewhere he had actually been. Distance was unimportant. If the visualisation was not accurate enough the spell wouldn’t work. Arwhon interpreted that to mean mostly line of sight. He started on the spell, expecting something to occur but nothing did and eventually he reached the hundredth reading. With a sense of expectation, he called Fire and holding it, performed the spell while looking at a spot near where the door used to be. Fire poured toward it and Arwhon perceived this spell as a possible avenue of escape when coupled with Managing Fire, turning the energy of Flame into a narrow white-hot beam and burning his way out. However, before he attempted it there were still two more spells to read and Arwhon was resolutely determined to complete his basic training.
Fire Energy came as a revelation. Arwhon had wondered why he was not feeling hungry, even though he’d obviously been trapped in this cave for many days. Fire Energy simply boiled down to using the energy of Fire to replace the need for food and Arwhon realised that this was happening to him already, as he had no appetite whatsoever. It was tricky saying this spell a hundred times and Arwhon had to minimise the energy intake from each repetition to virtually nothing but even then he felt overfull when he’d finished.
Then all that was left was the final piece of magic.
Fire Healing. The description on the wall covered far more than Arwhon already knew he could do and it was astonishing. The Fire Sprites had previously given him a really simple Healing spell to use on Shiri when he rescued her from Empress Martine and the Dark Mage but compared to what he read on the wall now it was a crude and simple thing, although the spell had still worked and healed Shiri’s flesh. What Arwhon saw before him was a revelation. This magic meant he could now mend bones, join severed flesh together, seek out and remove infection and part flesh without injury to remove things like growths. Arwhon repeated the spell a hundred times and then drank deeply again from his helm. He settled to rest, planning how to use his new Firemagic to blast the door open when he roused and somehow return through the passageways to Dwarfholme.
Arwhon woke suddenly. He had no idea how long he’d slept but felt refreshed, although a little stiff in places from sleeping on the hard floor. He rose, had another drink and poured some water from his helm, leaving it half empty. No point in wearing the thing because the passages he had to travel were low and he’d be walking with his head bent forward. Besides, it would make a useful water carrier as he wandered the tunnels. Arwhon buckled the chinstrap to act as a handle and make it easier to carry the helm. At least he’d have some water to take with him but the first thing he had to do was get out of the cave.
Arwhon considered his options and remembered back to when he’d destroyed the Dark Mage. His sword had concentrated the magical fire into a white hot beam which had melted the rock behind the vaporised Mage. Now that he knew the spells for calling and wielding Fire, perhaps the sword could become a tool. He drew the patterned blade and pointed the tip of it at the spot where he thought the entry was, calling Fire and sending it. Flame shot from the tip of his sword and Arwhon fined down the blaze to a tight, white-hot beam and increased the strength of the fire. It cut through the Dwarf Mage’s sealing ward like a butcher’s knife through fat and with a coruscation of light, the opening was revealed. Arwhon was satisfied as he shut the Fire off and sheathed his still cool sword. All he had to do now was find Dwarfholme.
Arwhon entered the passageway and looking down saw footprints in the dirt pointing to his right. He followed them in the dull glow given off by the phosphorescent lichen, until the floor became rocky and he could no longer make out the footprints. As he stood at a branching of the tunnels, pondering which one to take, a loud howl rang through the passageway. Arwhon shivered, Droogul, but then he relaxed as he understood just what his mastery of the spells from Durhain’s Cave meant. He could not be harmed if he called Fire to his defence.
Arwhon chose a passageway and inched slowly forward, eventually coming to an echoing space as the cry rang out again, extremely piercing at close range. He knew where he was, the cavern with the small stream where the Dwarf Mage had stopped for a rest on the way to Durhain’s Cave. He entered it cautiously and in the dim light saw an upright animal covered with white hair standing beside another lying on the ground. Droogul! It spotted him immediately and without any warning, charged. Well before it reached him, Arwhon flamed. The Droogul stopped in its tracks, cowering, before lowering itself to the ground, head down, backside up in an attitude of abject subjection.
Arwhon didn’t know what to make of this odd event but turned his protective flame off. The Droogul slowly backed away towards its companion. Curious, Arwhon carefully made his way over to the pair, talking quietly and saw to his horror that the Droogul on the ground had a crossbow bolt protruding from its belly. Sticky blood matted the white fur all over its midsection. The Droogul must be in agony.
Wary of attack, Arwhon wedged his helm upright on the ground before creeping closer to the pair. The healthy Droogul backed off a little making strange mewling noises, almost like speech. Arwhon carefully and gently laid his hand on the injured Droogul and saw beneath its furry, white coat. Its body was very similar to that of Man and other races in its basic plan and this one was female to boot.
The standing Droogul dropped to all fours and crept toward the female, kneeling beside her to take a hand of the injured one in its own while making questioning noises at Arwhon. It was time to try his new found healing abilities. Ever so gently Arwhon made the spell and put his hand on the Droogul where the bolt had pierced its abdomen, deadening the nerves. Slowly, with infinite care, he used his magic to carefully part the skin and tissue beneath his hand to try to find the head of the quarrel, in case it was barbed. The other Droogul made keening noises and Arwhon watched it from the corner of his eye while he worked. He found the head of the quarrel and gently separated it from the surrounding organs before withdrawing both it and his hand, sealing the flesh as he did. When he’d finished he completed the healing spell and the wound disappeared as though it had never been. The injured Droogul immediately sat up. The other embraced it. Arwhon’s eyes widened. Embraced? Did beasts embrace?
Both Droogul then stood up. They weren’t much taller than Dwarves and the one he’d healed shyly took his hand and tugged.
Fate again.
Who was he to argue with Fate?
Arwhon picked up his helm and was led down narrow passages wondering where he was being directed. He hoped back to Dwarfholme but eventually they came to a long, narrow crack in a cavern wall. The Droogul slipped through, indicating Arwhon should follow. He had to take his sword harness off to scrape between the rock walls, which had been worn smooth by the passage of bodies over time. Stopping to replace the harness on the far side, Arwhon noticed the tunnels were different, somehow more natural. They looked to have been worn by running water at some time in the past. Arwhon followed the two Drooguls for a long time before eventually seeing others of their kind who became quite agitated at the sight of him, racing off ahead, preceding them down the tunnels while making strange grunting noises. Eventually Arwhon and his guides entered a larger cavern, the far wall of which he was barely able to see. It housed quite a number of family groups who were all standing, warned by the others who had run away from the sight of Man. Some of the larger individuals immediately ran for pointed sticks and picked up sharp, worked stones, their intentions obvious but the Drooguls who’d brought him to these depths communicated with the others in what could only be described as speech. The onlookers slowly relaxed and calmed down but still stared at Arwhon anxiously.
After further ‘talk’ from the Droogul who had brought him here some of the others came to examine Arwhon, shyly touching his mail and feeling his hair and his skin. Arwhon stood quietly as the more adventurous Droogul examined him, fingers lik
e spider kisses gently searching his exposed skin. These were not beasts. They must be one of the original seven races Arwhon had recently learned about, who had hidden even deeper under the mountain than the Dwarves.
Arwhon was led to a small fire and through dint of hand signals and miming understood he was being invited to sit beside it. He did so, trusting the Droogul, some of whom were standing behind him. An older Droogul, a female with drooping dugs, offered Arwhon a stone bowl containing some food and he nodded his thanks as he took it from her. Amongst what looked like a stew were small pieces of green plants from the outside world. Droogul must venture out of these caves at times in search of food and fuel. An explanation for the odd fantastic tales he’d heard told in Trugor, his home in Myseline, of hairy white creatures seen on the upper flanks of Mehgrin’s Wall. So, those stories were actually true and to think he’d found the source and subject of these wild tales after all these years.
By means of pointing and the exchange of words, a rudimentary understanding of each others language slowly took place. The Ring seemed to help. An understanding of the Droogul words forming inside Arwhon’s head as they tried communicating. It was limited and slow but when a few sick individuals were presented to him, Arwhon set to work with his new found skills and healed them. Joy was evident amongst the Droogul and gifts were offered to Arwhon.
Extremely fine and delicate bone carvings, jewels of all hues, carved and exquisitely polished, weavings of spider silk and a wooden flute were laid before him. Arwhon examined each piece and placed a few of the finer offerings into his pouch before pointing to the flute and then toward the Droogul before him, indicating playing. Another older female stepped forward and taking the flute, sat and performed some haunting tunes. The hairs on the back of Arwhon’s neck stood on end as he listened, enthralled, to the strange, complicated melodies created from such a simple instrument.
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