“Twenty-five Sands have gone by since your arrival in Allündel, my dear Alac. That is the equivalent of a week on your planet. You must leave for Carunthya and summon the remaining dragons. The time has come.”
Chapter XXIII – Dark Places and Mysteries
Locked in his cell, Elgahar felt that he had been a fool to have joined the king’s venture with its lack of both planning and the necessary escort. He had no potions! He needed to learn how to create them. Drink the purple one! his former master had told him. He had no idea yet what the purple one was.
Now he could barely move in this limited space, surrounded by cold stone and with his morale very low. Even his apprenticeship no longer made sense to him. What was the use of practicing magic? Why bother trying to master the Conjuring Arts? He would have done better as a minstrel. He could have traveled, come to know many cities, and lost himself in the words of his songs. The idea began to appeal to him. But he had not the slightest idea of how to play an instrument and even less, how to sing. He breathed out and let his head fall limply. Maybe he should have listened to his mother and learned his father’s craft.
At once, he noticed that the energies around him were fluctuating. Something was not right. He saw that neither Turi nor Greyson had felt anything, but were still in their cells killing time. Elgahar got to his feet uneasily. He needed his staff and his notebook, he had to counter this negative energy that was unfolding.
Suddenly nervous, he began to stagger about in his cell.
“What’s going on?” Greyson asked. “Mage! What’s the matter!”
Turi, feeling uneasy, went to the bars on his cell, as did the other thieves.
“Hell! It’s a necromancer.”
Those words might have been an invitation for the shadows to come into the dungeons. Even the light of the torches dimmed.
“Do something, Elgahar!” Turi shouted.
“I’m not my master, I’m not in command of the Conjuring Arts and without my staff, I’m nothing! I’m nothing.” Elgahar sat down on the floor with his back to the wall. “I’m a useless mage.”
What would my master think if he could see me like this, defeated in the presence of a necromancer? thought the student of magic.
He was only an apprentice who depended on the instructions of others; his task was to obey. He had never made decisions or worked out strategies himself. And now the situation was requiring him to act in an unknown way. I can’t let myself be beaten. My friends are in danger while I’m sitting here, complaining!
He shut his eyes. Think, think, think! What would Strangelus or Rummbold Fagraz do? Please, Master, help me. In his mind, Elgahar pictured Rummbold Fagraz experimenting with the Conjuring Arts. He had acted in ignorance, but with curiosity and love for the Arts. That was what it involved! The will to learn and plunge into the unknown. That was what Elgahar would have to do. He would have to forget those structured studies that turned pupils into skilled followers but terrible scientists.
A good mage is a good scientist, Strangelus used to say. The good scientist uses his curiosity to explore and overcome his fear of error.
He stood up, inspired. He closed his eyes and stretched out his hands.
Nothing happened. He was too aware of himself and his responsibility. He was perspiring.
“What are you doing, mage?” Turi asked.
“Let him be, he’s concentrating,” said Greyson.
Elgahar concentrated once again, eliminating all thoughts from his mind. He shut his eyes, his ears, and all the senses in his body; he was not even aware of his heart beating. He felt a sudden fear at the thought that he might have become blind or deaf, but reason told him this was not so and he had simply reached his mind’s eye. He felt his body: his blood, the energy in his muscles, the heat under his skin, the ceaseless movement of all his organs. He imagined the strength of all the parts of his body, the energy running through his veins, the synchronization of all the systems. An extraordinary peace descended on his awed soul and he understood, without fully understanding, that everything was made of the same matter: water, fire, air, light. Everything made sense. Spells are a way of transforming energy, moving it from one state to another. The discovery unleashed an unstoppable reaction and opened a treasure that had been closely guarded within his soul. The Conjuring Arts was a single branch of something much more important. A science—no, an art—no, a miracle! It was a force he could use to create, shape and reshape, and mold at his will with the condition that he understood the essence of the matter he wished to manipulate. Everything in this universe has a soul.
The evil presence dragged him out of this sublime state. As if he had antennae, he became aware of his surroundings and the evil presence. It was a necromancer and before him was a man tied up in chains. He felt a sudden rage. His will took on material form and he knew he was the chained man. He focused energy made of fire in his hands and enveloped the necromancer with it. The flames melted him until there was nothing left.
***
Elgahar opened his eyes. He was still in his cell, not standing but on the floor, drenched in sweat. He looked beyond the bars. Turi, Greyson, Cail, Funia, and the other thieves were watching him curiously. They were speaking, too, but he could not hear them.
The outside world had lost its importance for him. The only world that mattered was the one in his mind which was now the source of his magic. What was the limit? Was there a limit? If everything was possible in the mind, did this mean that there were no limits? Elgahar thought he had grown up all of a sudden as if he had somehow absorbed his late master’s soul. If this is what Strangelus felt every time he cast a spell, no wonder he was a happy man. Never until that moment had he felt such peace.
As an apprentice, he had focused on getting grades and qualifications without realizing that real life is not about accumulating awards but about being effective, being the best not for the sake of the prize but to go beyond one’s own standards. He had to do his bit toward changing the educational system, at least in the area of magic. The method inhibited the students under pressure from tests which when the moment of truth arrived were useless.
He gripped the metal bars with his hands and they melted like candles swallowed up by flames.
“Mérdmerén’s in danger!” he shouted.
The guards were coming at a run.
“What’s going on! Kill him! He’s getting away!”
Elgahar stretched out his hands that were filled with blue energy. With a swift movement, he threw a lightning bolt at each of them which struck them in the chest and knocked them off their feet. The mage took the keys from them and began to open the cells; a spell would have been faster, but he felt he would rather save his energies. Everything has a price.
“Let’s get out of here before they wake up. Mérdmerén needs us.”
***
That starry night, the fire was very welcome. They could not know they were looking at the battlefield of an absolute war that was about to break out.
Mérdmerén was wrapped in the bearskins he had stolen from the Tyrant Osuno the Fifth before they fled the dungeons. He was still trying to take in the fact that he had lost his ship and with it, the chance to sail the seas and reach the coasts of other nations. He smiled sardonically, imagining what the Baron would say when he found out about his failure.
Greyson took a bite of roast mutton. “Orcs?” he said in surprise.
During their escape, Greyson had had the good sense, and speed, to steal a ram from a shepherd who had offered no resistance when confronted with that gang of bandits. Greyson had already cut its throat as he grabbed it and the animal had bled to death on their way up the mountain.
“Yes, orcs,” muttered Mérdmerén. “Filthy beasts. There was also a necromancer. Elgahar, thanks again. That demon spawn was about to kill me. How did you manage to do it?” Mérdmerén had recovered his belongings and his pendant as well.
The young man was still pale. He was stretched out in a half-sleep, t
rying to recover.
“I transported myself to another space without my staff… It was incredible.”
He was thrilled at the infinite possibilities magic offered him. The best way was wandering since that led to all destinations. He smiled to himself.
Turi was picking his teeth with a twig. “But what would orcs be doing here?”
The mountains of Moragald’Burg were similar to those of Irontangle except that here, there were trees and animals.
“That’s what worries me,” Elgahar said. He picked up his black toga from where it was drying by the fire. It was beginning to fade from black and to show its true color. On the other side of the fire, the women had gathered together and, in whispers, were planning their revenge against the men of this country of iron and stone.
“You got a theory?” the sovereign asked. He drank from Greyson’s waterbag.
“No, but that’s not a good sign,” the mage answered. “At least it shows that evil hasn’t stopped and it’s still trying to get back to its old ways.”
“But we killed its master, Legionaer,” Greyson objected. “They haven’t got a leader to organize them.”
“There was somebody else,” Mérdmerén said.
“I saw him too,” Turi put in.
“It was that sacristan, right?”
“You mean the one who fought against the God of Light?”
“The same one,” Elgahar said. “He was always a strange one. But he fought so fiercely! It makes sense now I think back on it, how the strange things that happened around us were him wielding some dark power. There’s no doubt in my mind now: he was the one who fought against the God of Light and who took the eyes from that demon.”
“To have been able to confront the God of Light must mean he’s someone special,” Turi said.
“That doesn’t matter,” Mérdmerén said sharply. “It doesn’t explain what a couple of orcs and a necromancer were doing in Moragald’Burg.”
Turi stood up. “I think I know what I have to do.”
They looked at him in surprise.
“What are you thinking, flatfoot?” Greyson snarled.
“Listen,” Turi said. “Mérdmerén says the tyrant obeys the necromancer’s orders, right?”
“True.”
“Well, let’s go and interrogate the king.”
“Are you going to interrogate him?” Greyson said mockingly.
“Let’s be honest, none of you can move as stealthily as I can. That’s why they call me the Crafty. And my cousin here—” he indicated Cail, “—can confirm that.”
“It’s true,” Cail said unwillingly.
“Don’t be a fool,” Mérdmerén said. “You’ll be caught and skinned.”
“I don’t think so. If the impression you picked up is right, the tyrant must be looking for some way of freeing himself from the dark side’s control. Meanwhile, you could go in search of Ságamas.”
“Does Your Majesty have any more orders for us?” Greyson sneered. “That’s your king there in front of you. Behave yourself!”
“It doesn’t matter,” Mérdmerén put in. “Turi’s plan isn’t so crazy after all. While he’s trying to find out about the relationship between Moragald’Burg and Némaldon, Ságamas can show us the way out of this land and the sooner, the better.”
An idea occurred to him at that moment. If he had come with his court, thus identifying himself as King of Mandrake, he would have alerted the spies of Némaldon and perhaps provoked an attack. Being identified as a pirate had not been such a bad idea after all.
Moreover, Turi had got back the pendant that had been hiding him from the Brotherhood of the Crows and the necromancers who must have been on the prowl, searching for Ehréledán. On the other hand, evil was aware of Mérdmerén’s presence in Moragald’Burg and might think that Ehréledán was there to interfere in their dark business. That would mean that the Crows would be searching for him. The king’s guards were already sending out search parties to find the escaped prisoners.
Mérdmerén understood the value of his mission. Because of an impulse, he had ended up in hostile territory and now, he had been given the chance to find out about their sinister plans. The plan for forging political alliances now seemed insignificant to him in comparison the possibility of surprising the enemy. If evil had penetrated the government of Moragald’Burg, it was logical to imagine that the same thing could have happened in other nations, as it had in Mandrake.
“Death’s all around us, my friends,” he said. “But if we manage to get out of here and get back to Mandrake in one piece, it might mean a serious blow for Némaldon. They might be negotiating with other empires to persuade them to join their evil crusade.”
“Then we’d be surrounded by enemies,” Elgahar said.
“Exactly. Turi, you know what to do. The others will come with me. We’re going to the harbor to find Ságamas.”
Turi smiled. He turned and in a single moment, the night had swallowed him up. Mérdmerén and the others made their way on to the harbor.
Chapter XXIV – Carunthya
Saying goodbye to Allündel was easy, more so than Alac had imagined during his stay. He felt linked to this place of simple beauty and high wisdom that honored life, and yet he had never felt so determined. When the time came to take his leave, a simple gesture and a smile proved to be enough. He had all he needed to go on with his mission of defeating Evil.
The demigod and his dragon were flying in space toward the River of Time to travel to Carunthya, a destination that Róganok already knew. The magical beast generated the purple vortex which swallowed them up, transporting them immediately to the River of Time.
The colossal dragon was moving his sinuous body gracefully when suddenly, he made a turn and rose to cross into another dimension. They now found themselves in a magical place supported by supreme forces that reminded Alac of Tempus Frontus. What had become of Nordost, the dragon with the metal scales?
There came an overlapping of dimensions. Alac felt the change in temperature and pressure despite Róganok’s magical cloak; without that protection, cosmic forces might have disintegrated his body.
Carunthya spread before them. It was a platform of black rock that floated in the void, surrounded by nothing. The platform had the shape of a perfect circle in whose center, a micro-galaxy spun in an eternal acceleration, giving out divine lights. Around it were five portals, each a different color: white, blue, yellow, brown, and black. They were the five essences: light, water, fire, earth, and darkness.
The colossal dragon landed upon a small surface which nevertheless allowed just enough room for his body.
“Welcome to Carunthya,” Róganok said. “Its sacred portals will lead you to the gods of each essence or their dragons, no matter where they may be.”
Alac leaped down, spreading his wings to break his fall. There was no atmosphere, but he could breathe.
“We are in what you have known as the Interim, only here there is no green light. By the way, we dragons can pass in and out of the Interim whenever we wish. As can Górgometh.”
Under the micro-galaxy, there yawned a dark hole. Alac had no desire to imagine himself falling into the abyss and chose to back away. He flew toward the portals. They were spirals surrounded by pointed arches from which came a murmur like that of a beehive. And there was nothing else, anywhere.
“I suppose now I have to open a portal—Róganok?”
The dragon was distracted as he studied the environment.
“There is something strange. It has been a long time since I visited this place; thousands of years. Even so, I can detect a change, a force that does not fit. Can you not feel it?”
Alac shrugged. If he had visited the place in the past, he remembered nothing about it.
“I’ll have to trust your intuition, Róganok. Tell me where we have to go and we’ll go there.”
“You do well to trust me, little god. My wisdom complements your powers. Let us start with the portal of fi
re. There we will seek ArD’Buror. Some energy from that portal upsets me.”
“Upsets you? That can’t be good.”
“It is what it is, Alac. I cannot say whether it is good or bad, it simply makes me uncomfortable. You make me uncomfortable and that does not mean you are bad, do you understand?”
Alac was annoyed by the insult but to avoid getting into an argument, he gave no reply. In any case, if he was upsetting the dragon, then the dragon had better get used to it.
“Let’s be on our way. Lower your neck so I can mount.”
“Before that, you need to earn my respect. We have shared some important moments, but I still have doubts about you. You can fly, can’t you? Well then, climb on by yourself.”
Alac rolled his eyes, feeling pressure coming up his throat. In a single leap, he flew up and mounted the dragon.
Róganok made his way on foot toward the portal. The yellow portal swallowed them up.
Chapter XXV – Elgahar Rises
Turi moved among the shadows like a panther. He climbed buildings and passed through houses so stealthily that not even the ghosts were aware of his presence. He had made his preparations thoroughly: he was wearing a minimum of the barest, darkest, and most close-fitting clothes he had. His boots were light with flexible soles so that it almost seemed as if he was barefoot.
Osuno the Fifth’s house could not compare in beauty with any castle of the Mandrakian nobility, although it was certainly very long and its endless corridors held numerous rooms. When Turi set his eye on the one with the largest and most ornate door that was protected by watchmen, he knew he had found the tyrant’s chamber.
Before launching into the most dangerous part of his mission, he went straight up to the roof. There he sat down, letting his legs dangle and his gaze wander over the horizon. The sky in Moragald’Burg was beautiful. He realized that no matter where he went, anywhere in the world, he could look out on a horizon which he could admire with a receptive soul. He took a deep breath and felt his mind grow calm. It was easy for him to relax even with the danger ahead. Then he went on in that state, his perceptions heightened, detecting any movement around and recognizing the right moment to take action. Any soldier would have envied him. Could he have inherited this trait from his father? There was no way he could find out since he had never seen the Baron and knew very little about him, but the same thing had happened with Cail.
Soulseeker’s Descent Page 15