They had been arguing about magic since before Ranthos killed the buck. Ranthos was very used to all this by now.
It was early evening, the blue sky was slowly washing over with black, and the stars were just beginning to poke through the dark.
Ranthos tried to readjust the way he was sitting, but only agitated the blackening wounds on his side, and grunted in pain. Bell and Nosgrim both stopped bickering immediately and asked if he was alright or if he needed anything.
Ranthos looked down at his feet, embarrassed, and said, “No, I don’t. Thank you.”
“Alright,” said Nosgrim, “You say the word, Ranthos, and you got it.”
“There are three types of magic,” said Sarky. She was sitting around the fire with the rest of them, undoing the elaborate braids in her hair for the night. She had similar loose clothing to Alrys, with a gold necklace, baggy blue pants that were tied and tucked into small shoes, and a sleeveless top that showed the hundreds upon hundreds of freckles that absolutely covered her whole body. They were so dense that from a distance, her skin looked a shade darker than it was. There was almost more freckled skin on her face than not. Ranthos had never seen a person like that before; though he hadn’t really seen that many people. But more than anything, her voice was loud, and deeper than one would expect. Sarky was always kind to Ranthos, but a little awkward. They never really knew what to say to each other.
Alrys chomped on an apple loudly and took a seat beside her, and Remy crawled into his lap comfortably, and graciously accepted many pets. Ranthos was a little offended that Remy betrayed him, but forgave him just as fast. He was just a cat, after all.
“See? There are three types: alchemy, atvyyrk, and sorcery,” said Nosgrim proudly.
“No, I said that there were three,” Bell said, “You said that there were four. You can’t trick me, Nossy.”
Ranthos couldn’t remember who said three and who said four. And he suspected Bell didn’t either. He thought Nosgrim must’ve been right; so kept his mouth shut and let Bell win.
“Yes,” said Sarky, chuckling to herself. “Do you know what each one does?”
“Obviously,” said Nosgrim.
“Please, Nosgrim, you don’t know half as much as you think you do,” said Bell.
“Well, let us see,” said Sarky, “Which of you knows how alchemy works?”
“Alchemists draw their magic from the leylines,” said Nosgrim.
“Yes,” said Sarky, “and what’s a leyline?”
“A line of magic,” said Nosgrim.
“Oh, thank you, great wizard,” said Bell sarcastically.
“Then you explain it further, Bellelar,” he huffed.
“I know nothing further! Are you mad?”
“You’re insufferable.”
Sarky cleared her throat, “Nosgrim is right.” She looked to Alrys for a moment, “Love, pass me the leyline map, would you?”
Alrys searched through his pack for a leather case which held many of his maps. He selected one and passed it to her.
“Come here,” she said, waving Bell and Nosgrim over, “These lines here crisscross the world, connecting these points together.”
“What are the points?” asked Nosgrim.
Bell mouthed, “What a fool. He doesn’t have a clue,” to Ranthos.
He shook his head.
“Those points are called Founts. They are the sources of the leyline’s magic, which alchemists can transform into spells.”
“What does a Fount look like?” Bell asked.
Nosgrim rolled his eyes.
“Depends,” Sarky said, “They’re all ancient places. Many in Eisenland are massive standing stones that send magic between each other. The ancients knew how to carve them and created the web of leylines that allows for alchemists to join that web and harness the magic and create spells.”
Vhurgus lifted his head and began scratching his beard. Ranthos smelled a mischievous scent about him, which was odd. He was mostly a quiet fellow, if burly and intimidating. He began some sort of breathing exercise, tapping his foot in beat.
“Do you have to be on the leyline to cast a spell?”
“No, but it—”
Vhurgus slammed his palm against the canyon wall with a surprisingly loud crash. In time with Vhurgus’ breath, hardly visible rings of blurred energy pulsed out from his hand, each ring shaking loose dust from the stone. In the wake of each ring, the rock became more and more reflective in the firelight.
Bell, Nosgrim, and Ranthos all watched breathlessly as Vhurgus changed a circle of the sandstone to glimmering metal.
“What the Hell?!” Nosgrim said, rushing towards it.
Bell shrieked in excitement, “Oh good Heavens, Vhurgus! Was that magic?”
“No.”
Alrys kicked his shin.
“Yes.”
Bell ran beside Nosgrim, “That’s the best magic I have ever seen.”
“Only magic,” Nosgrim corrected.
They continued bickering.
Ranthos was astounded, “Vhurgus…”
Vhurgus turned and smiled proudly at Ranthos. He had a dumb grin.
“What did you do to it?”
“Turned the stone to lead,” he said. “It’s a simple spell.”
“Not really,” said Alrys, “Big Vhurg here’s master of transmutation.”
“Much better than you, that’s for certain.”
Alrys scoffed, “What do I need transmutation for? I’ve got you!”
“What can you do with it?” asked Bell
“He can change stone to lead, lead to stone, or to glass. There’s a bigger list of substances, but that’s the idea,” said Alrys.
Bell repeated ‘lead, stone, glass’ under her breath a few times. “Can you do this too, Sarky?” asked Bell excitedly.
“No,” she said, “My specialty is rather different.”
“And what’s that?” asked Nosgrim.
“I’ll show you two some other time.”
“You must teach us,” Nosgrim and Bell simultaneously asked the older three.
Alrys laughed, “Let us start with the fundamentals, first.”
Bell bent her knees and raised her hands in what she imagined was a magical position, “I’m ready.”
Alrys looked to Vhurgus.
Vhurgus said, “Fifteen laps, each of you.”
Nosgrim grew red and smelled furious, “Teach me magic! Not running!”
Bell groaned and started tying up her skirts, mumbling something or other about how ‘it was pitch black out there and they were going to die.’
Vhurgus wouldn’t argue any further.
Soon Bell and Nosgrim were off running again.
Ranthos pulled his hood over his head and dropped his eyes. He wanted to be running laps with them; though, he was certain that were he running laps with them, he’d want to be mortally injured.
“Cheer up, cub,” said Alrys after a sniff. “You’ll be well in no time. Once you can walk, we can meet up with our friend. She can heal you, and you’ll be feeling better than ever. Then Vhurgus can run you round till you drop.”
Vhurgus nodded grimly. Ranthos did not doubt it.
“And take the damn hood off!” he said, tossing his apple core at his head.
“Alright alright!” Ranthos said with a chuckle, removing it slowly. “It just feels odd.”
“I know,” he said, “But you’re not in Tatzelton anymore.”
“That place was wretched,” said Sarky.
Vhurgus mumbled an agreement under his breath and shook his head. “That place is disgusting.”
“Are you all… uhm… magicians?” asked Ranthos.
“Yes!” said Sarky. “Though of differing degrees. Vhurgus and I are the best alchemists in our Order, while Alrys can’t really do anything right.”
Vhurgus smiled.
Alrys’ brows raised, “Thank you, love.”
Ranthos asked Alrys, “If you don’t cast spells, then what do you do?”<
br />
“I’ve been asking the same question,” said Vhurgus.
Sarky smothered a laugh.
“I will have all three of you know that I do cast spells,” he corrected, straightening his green vest. “And I also would like to ask how many atvyyrk either of you have.”
Vhurgus crossed his arms.
“Atverk?" asked Ranthos, pronouncing it wrong.
“No, no,” Alrys conducted the pronunciation with his fingers, “At-vyerk.”
“Atvyyrk,” Ranthos attempted.
“Wonderful!” said Alrys, “By the sound of it, you’ll be a full alfar in no time.”
“What do,” Ranthos paused for half a moment to make sure he said the syllables correctly, “atvyyrk do?”
No one corrected him.
Well done, Ranthos!
“Depends on which one you have,” said Alrys.
“Which what?”
“Atvyyrk,” he said, “There are twelve atvyyrk, each with a number of magical properties.”
“But,” Ranthos was still confused, “What are they?”
Alrys realized that he would have to start at the very beginning, “Tattoos, essentially.”
“Tattoos?”
“Yes. With blessed ink and inscribed on your body with the correct rituals,” Alrys rolled up his sleeve to reveal a spiraling tattoo of thin knots curling about large shapes that could have been mountains or rocks. It crawled from his shoulder to the back of his hand. “I usually keep my Atvyyrk covered when I go into towns like Tatzelton. But this is the stone,” Alrys traced the gray-blue lines with his finger, and they seemed to shiver and move against his touch. Like it was alive.
Ranthos’ mouth was slightly agape, “What does it do?”
“Well,” he said, “Listen.”
He tapped his tattooed knuckle against the rock floor and then tapped the same spot with the other hand.
“I hear nothing.”
“Listen again.” Alrys repeated the knocks a few times.
Ranthos listened closely. “The hand with the atvyyrk is heavier.”
“Gooood,” Alrys pointed at him and grinned.
“What’s the advantage of that?”
Sarky shrugged, “None of us know.”
“You really have some of the worst atvyyrk,” said Vhurgus.
“Shut it you two,” Alrys said. “Vhurgus would you please—“
Vhurgus seemed to catch Alrys’ meaning before he said it. He stood and drew that gigantic sword he had been sharpening when Ranthos first woke up, and sliced it through the air and across Alrys’ skin.
“Scut!” shouted Alrys, drawing his arm back. He certainly wasn’t expecting that so soon. He winced and nodded a cold, “Thank you… you oaf.” He held the arm in pain. He had just been struck with a sword, after all.
Vhurgus held his belly and giggled—which was an odd sight to behold—and inspected his sword’s edge. No blood.
“Why did you do that?” Ranthos asked, “Could someone please just be clear?”
Alrys showed Ranthos his arm, unharmed save a single layer of peeled skin along Vhurgus’ slice.
“The stone atvyyrk makes my arm tougher. It’s a useful tool when I’m fighting beasts thrice my size.”
“I could’ve used that against the buck. Why don’t you all have that?” asked Ranthos in amazement.
“We’re human,” Sarky said, rubbing Alrys’ sore arm for him.
“Atvyyrk come from the alfar’s ancestors,” Alrys said after planting a kiss on Sarky’s cheek, “But alfar can’t harness the leylines like humans can. Every lineage has their own magic.”
“What about hodgepodges?” Ranthos asked.
“We’re special, aren’t we?” Alrys smiled and tipped his head.
“Alrys has atvyyrk and he can cast. But he’s terrible at both,” said Vhurgus.
“I’m not that bad,” said Alrys, shaking his head, “You two are being rather unfair. Way I remember things, my magic has saved your hides more than once.”
Sarky patted Alrys’ back as she rolled his sleeve back down. “You’re handsome enough that you don’t need to be a good magician,” she said, kissing his cheek.
“Why you’re all the court jesters aren’t you tonight?” said Alrys dryly.
“So…” Ranthos thought for a moment as they continued to rail each other, “Are you going to teach Bell and I alchemy and atvyyrk?”
“You don’t teach atvyyrk—”
“Don’t bore him with the details, Alrys,” Sarky chided.
“Yes,” he said, “We will. If you want to learn.”
Red as apples, Bell and Nosgrim returned, panting. They were drenched in sweat, so in the firelight they looked bronze. Nosgrim was doubled over, while Bell held her side in pain.
“Alright,” said Bell, mustering the energy to clap her hands eagerly, “How do I turn stone into metal?”
“Bell!” Nosgrim scolded breathlessly, “He’ll make us run again.”
Bell took a few heavy breaths and wiped her brow dry before answering, “Oh yes sorry. I realize now, Mister Vhurgus,” she took a few more breaths, “That running is its own type of magic. And I am happy with that for now.”
Nosgrim nodded, “Exactly.”
“Get some rest,” Alrys said, before Vhurgus had time to disagree.
It was glorious. They looked like heroes from a damn legend.
Alrys wore those same pauldrons he had when they’d met in Tatzelton, but also a deal of armor on his right arm, all carved with the same skeletal patterns and flowering designs. He had a large kite shield painted green with the hissing face of a leopard emblazoned on the center and strung across his hip was a square-headed morningstar. Each corner of the heavy head was tipped with a devilish spike, and the long hilt was wrapped in leather that was carved with runes.
Vhurgus somehow became more intimidating when he dressed to travel, his beard was clasped and braided with gold rings, and he wore a dark helmet and thick armor that looked to be wrought from a massive snail’s shell—or something. Ranthos had never seen a creature large enough to have that large of a shell. It was organic in design, banded with stripes of red. He had his massive sword sheathed and resting on his armored shoulder.
Sarky was perhaps the most surprising of the three; she had little in the way of armor, wearing her usual billowy blue pants, shoes, and sleeveless shirt, but she also fastened a number of small sheathed knives onto belts across her chest. Perhaps a dozen knives in all. But after Ranthos thought she had all the blades she could ever need, she tied off two longer, curved swords to her back and fastened a trio of dueling blades to her belt.
Bell was stunned, absolutely stunned. Asking each of them a hundred questions about everything they wore, asking when she could get things like that, and telling them that Ranthos should never be trusted with any of it.
Nosgrim was similarly impressed, but curbed his enthusiasm out of fear of being sent on a run by Vhurgus. He did help pack the tents into bags, though, so that Vhurgus would have nothing to complain about. He even wrangled the screaming, biting, clawing Remy Cattenpoof into his small crate.
Ranthos felt sorry for him, but knew that he wouldn’t come if they didn’t box him up, and that he would surely starve if they left him.
Or at least he felt that way. It gave Ranthos a slight comfort that everyone from Tatzelton had depended on each other. It seemed right to take him with them. And no one present was willing to risk Remy’s life.
Nosgrim slammed the crate shut and tied it closed and cursed at Remy, holding his scratched arm. Vhurgus smothered a laugh, and helped Nosgrim evenly distribute the weight of their gear among everyone’s packs—besides Ranthos.
He offered to carry something, but everyone else laughed that idea away. It made him feel small, even though he could hardly walk.
Alrys then slung Ranthos’ bow over his shoulder and what arrows they could retrieve intact from the buck’s corpse around his waist. He promised that he’d give it back
once Ranthos was well.
“Can you shoot a bow?” Ranthos asked, timidly ringing his hand. He wanted to hold his bow at least, but still knew that he couldn’t do scut with it.
“Of course I can shoot a bow, cub,” he said, “I’m likely the best shot here.”
Hardly. Ranthos silently disagreed. “Good…” he said, nodding but looking away.
“Ranthos!” beamed Bell, appearing suddenly beside him. Perhaps she smelled he was down and came to cheer him up, or perhaps she was just feeling cheery. Ranthos suspected it was the second, and it cheered him up. She smiled and said, “Behold what I have created!”
Nosgrim coughed and shot a glare, packing a bag a few paces away.
“We,” she reluctantly admitted. She revealed from behind her back a makeshift crutch made from rough branches, tight lashings of twine, and decorated with little wildflowers. “What do you think?" she asked, grinning from ear to ear.
He smiled and put it under his arm and stood. He took a few steps. It was by no means ideal, but this meant he could walk. This was going to be a grueling journey. Ranthos was not excited for any part of it, but he smiled at Bell and said, “It’s perfect, Bell. Great job. I love it.”
“It looks great,” she said, adjusting the flowers, “See, I’ve matched them with your cuts and bruises!”
“What?” Ranthos realized that she only used red and purple flowers, “Oh… How nice of you.” He wasn’t sure how to take that.
She stepped back and looked at him from a few angles. Ranthos could tell that she thought he looked horrible. She pulled his suspenders up over his bare shoulders. She squinted and tried to smooth a cowlick in his hair—
“Bell!” Ranthos said, “Whatever you’re trying to achieve is not possible.”
“Alright, alright,” she admitted, raising her palms. “I’m just trying to help.”
“I’m fine, Bell,” he said.
“What if we run into a beautiful maiden on the way? You two can start talking… and laughing… Don’t you want to look presentable when you meet your true love, Ranthos?”
“What are you on about?”
She was perfectly serious. And raised her eyebrows at him like he was crazy.
“Prince Charming!” shouted Sarky from across the way, “Let us get moving.”
Enter the Lamb's Head (The Adventures of Ranthos Book 1) Page 17