Spellscribed: Conviction
Read Spellscribed: Conviction Online
Authors: Kristopher Cruz
Contents
The fates are an indecipherable sort. Their ploys and plays cross the destinies of all men, human or otherwise. To them, time and life are but threads they weave together. They hold the strings; they know when certain ones weave, and when all strings are cut.
Of those strings, there are the ones who are considered heroes. They are beacons of light to those who live in the darkness. Where their threads travel, others weave around them to form powerful cords which alter the flow of hundreds if not thousands of lives. These great heroes are whispered about even years before their coming, to those whose hearts and minds are closely attuned to fate…
The Archmagus Talos looked over the table of paperwork and groaned. “Are you sure that he’s not back yet?” he asked.
“Yes sir.” A messenger replied. “He has not returned.”
“Does he not know any teleportation spells?” Talos demanded, rubbing his hand across his bald head. The messenger blinked insecurely.
“Am… I supposed to know that, Archmagus?” The soldier asked.
“No.” Talos replied. “I suppose not. Though if you do figure out how to learn what spells a mage knows, you’ll have a brilliant career here in the Circle of Magi.”
The messenger nodded when another one burst into the room, this one female. “Archmagus!” she blurted. “We’ve just received word that the King of Balator has fallen!”
“Kalenden?” Talos asked.
“Yes sir.” The messenger replied. “And it seems that word is out that Wizard Endrance was the one that did it!”
Talos wiped his head again. “Oh boy.” He muttered, looking out the window. Hundreds upon hundreds of feet below him the city churned, the daily hustle and bustle providing it with an almost literal lifeblood flowing through Ironsoul’s veins. “This is going to be a rough year.”
“What do you want to do about Endrance?” the second messenger asked.
“I think…” Talos started, but trailed off as he heard another set of boots rushing for his door. A third messenger burst in.
“Archmagus!” the messenger spouted. “We just received word that there was a massive army of undead in the north!”
The Archmagus grimaced. “Rough year?” he complained. “Make that a decade.”
Another messenger burst into the room. “Archmagus!” he shouted.
Talos groaned. “What?”
“More news about the undead!” he said, holding out a field report.
Talos took the missive and tossed it on top of the already too-large stack of messages he hadn’t the time to read through yet.
“Thank you. You’re all dismissed.” He said, taking a deep breath.
The group bowed and then politely fled the room. Talos had just barely sat down when the doors flew open yet again.
“Archmagus!” a new woman cried.
“What!” Talos snapped, and the messenger paled considerably.
“It can wait.” She said, clamping her lips shut.
Talos shook his head. “Out with it, or you go out the window.”
The messenger gulped. “The High King wants to see you.” She reported. “Something about a kingslayer that he’s upset about.”
Talos placed his head in his hands. “Of course. Please let him know I’m on my way.”
“Yes sir.”
“And one more thing.” Talos interjected. “Tell any more messengers that the next one to bother me will be leaving through my window until I get an hour’s peace, all right?” he threatened, his tone doing a poor job of faking pleasantries.
The messenger nodded. “Of course, sir.” She said, turning and opening the door. Another messenger stood outside, his hand raised towards the door latch. The woman grabbed the messenger by the collar and hauled him out of sight. “I’ll take care of it, sir mage.” She said, dragging the man away. His door swung closed.
“Busy decade?” Talos grumbled to himself. “It’s going to be one of those centuries.”
Chapter 01:
Endrance looked up at the cloudy evening sky and idly wondered if he had been a horrible person in a past life. Sparse snowflakes drifted lazily down around him, nowhere near as intense as the flurry that had separated him from his comrades an hour earlier. Still, the wind and snow had cut visibility down to a few dozen feet in any direction.
He lay in the snow where his horse had dumped him, his hands holding onto his abdomen as he tried to keep himself from bleeding out. He had managed to get a smooth-leather glove pressed over the sword wound in his gut that had reopened, but there was nothing he could do about the identical hole in out his back. As it was, he had his coat open and his shirt pulled up to give him access to the injury. The freezing evening air was hardly a concern for the moment. He was going to be dead of blood loss far before he could freeze to death.
The wound had been healed over, but tore open when he was flung from his horse during the flurry. Up until that moment, Endrance had thought that the wound had healed enough to be safe; after all, he could walk and he had not developed an infection from the injury. But the moment he hit the ground, he felt a sharp pain as the healed skin tore open.
He held up his free hand, mentally drawing on the power stored in his aura. Carefully, he intoned the words of power for his spell as he moved his hand and arm in gestures, while he poured power into the magic he had formed. He released his healing spell as he laid his hand over the one holding his wound closed. In a moment, he started to feel better as the magic worked its way through him. But the bleeding didn't stop. His injury had temporarily been relieved, but within seconds blood was seeping from the injury again.
His confusion over the fact that his healing spell was failing to work was but a dim concern in the back of his mind. He was alone in the mountains, separated from his friends, and unable to heal.
Gullin!
Endrance tried calling mentally.
I need your help.
Endrance's familiar had not been enjoying the freezing cold, and had been sleeping on the back of their pack horse. The mage had never before tried communicating with his familiar while he slept, but if anyone could get the message, it was him.
There was no response. Endrance gritted his teeth and tried again.
GULLIN!
Endrance mentally bellowed, putting his will into the call.
He felt, at first, a moment of confusion broadcast in response, but then his familiar woke up.
Master?
Gullin asked.
Where did you wander off to?
No time to explain.
Endrance replied.
I'm bleeding pretty badly and need help.
Gullin's ego was both with his mind, and not inside his mind. It was hard for Endrance to explain it to others, but surface emotions and mental sensations were picked up by the bond, while deeper personal thoughts were hidden; unless one of the two willed it to the other. Endrance sensed the bird's panic spike.
Lead the others to me.
Endrance commanded.
My magic is failing me.
In the distance, Endrance could hear his familiar cry out. The tripartite voice chorused in echoes somewhere to his left. It was followed by the sounds of shouting in the distance. It seemed that he had been missed until that moment.
It's funny.
Endrance thought.
They were all there to escort me, yet they managed to lose me on a well traveled path. Is my sense of direction really that bad?
Do you want me to answer that?
Gullin asked.
Endrance hadn't realized he was broadcasting.
No.
he replied,
Just hurry.
All Right.
Gullin whispered in his mind.
I am leading them, but I feel your life is in danger.
I'm trying to keep all the red stuff in, but I'm all full of holes.
Endrance replied, feeling woozy from the blood loss and the thin air.
What?
I dunno.
We are almost there.
Endrance's vision was growing white at the edges, and he was only vaguely aware of several horses charging into sight before he started to drift off. It was so cold, and he was so tired.
Gullin exploded into action, cutting through the air the moment Endrance was spotted. The crimson familiar was a bird roughly the size of a barn owl, with an appearance lying somewhere between a cardinal and a rooster. Brilliant red with orange undercoat, the bird's tail and wing feather tips glowed like embers that sputter with fire as the wind flowed over them.
It left a trail of smoky air as he landed on Endrance's left arm, his talons finding purchase on the silver bracer worn under his sleeve. He turned to the mage's companions and cried pleadingly as they approached.
Joven was the first to arrive. A massive man of, at minimum, six and a half feet; the barbarian was powerfully built. Add in the fur-lined, hard leather armor and impressive array of lethal weaponry, and Joven was a fearsome enemy or staunch ally, depending on what side of his axe one stood. The big man skidded onto his knees in the snow, carrying a bulky, leather pack that he had ripped from his saddlebags. He thunked it down into the blood-soaked snow and opened the top.
"He's bleeding badly again." Joven called out. "I need your help."
By that point, the rest of the travelers had arrived; three women and three more men came into the small ravine the mage had inadvertently discovered. The three women dismounted, handed the reins over to the portly man riding alongside them, and rushed through the snow to their fallen Spengur.
They were the Draugnoa, the ghost women of Balator. Originally, they had been Ergkinoa, the owl-women, but their lives as lore keepers ended the day they were bonded to the mage, their Spengur.
The first to arrive was Selene. Despite the cold, she wore a light colored shirt, black vest, tight pants, and boots. She was curvier than the other two and would have caught many men's attention if it were not for her status as Draugnoa. Her hair was a cascade of curly black ringlets framing fair skin and dark eyes. She knelt down on the other side of Endrance from the bodyguard and immediately started stripping the mage out of his coat and shirt. The snow around the woman very suddenly melted, as her fear for the mage increased. Joven glanced up from his unconscious charge to the woman, and saw her eyes flicker with something red and luminous.
“Here.” Joven thrust out a curved needle and a spool of thread. "Get ready to stitch the wound closed. Don't take any chances, use as many stitches as you need." he commanded. "Then we flip him and do the back."
He opened a pouch within his first aid bag and pulled out a pinch of red clumpy leaves. He thrust it out to the second woman to approach. "Here." he said. "Chew on this quickly, but don't swallow." He took a pinch for himself as well.
The second woman accepted the pinch of shredded bloodroot without complaint and started chewing.
Bridget was tall, six foot with a bodybuilder's musculature. Powerful in stature, she was all hard body and no soft edges, a stark contrast to Selene. Her mundane brown hair and eyes were offset by her right arm.
Almost two months before, Bridget had lost her right arm in battle and, by all accounts, should have died. Only Endrance's intervention had kept her alive and healed her wound. Saving the arm had been beyond him at the time. Only with the assistance of an elf he had befriended, had he been able to restore her arm - in a way. The limb was a perfect silhouette copy of the original, but was grown from a seed that had been implanted into her old wound and appeared to be made of wood. It was tougher and stronger than her old arm, but she kept it covered in a sleeve of cloth that was asymmetrical to the custom armor that Endrance had purchased for her. The rest of her body was covered in leather armor reinforced with metal banding. Two blades hung off her, one short, curved, chopping blade at her hip; and a longer, heavier one on her back.
The third woman hung back, a horn bow strung and an arrow knocked, but not drawn. She scanned the area cautiously as the other three worked.
Lean and muscular, she did not have the hard body build of her friend Bridget, but she did have strong arms and a powerful grip. She kept her wavy blond hair braided, out of the way of her quiver. Her arms were bare, save for a hard leather brace on her left wrist that kept her skin safe when firing the bow.
Tanya was the most recent of the Draugnoa. When the first of the original three, Anna, fell to an assassin's venomous blade, it had left a vacancy in the Spengur's ranks. Tradition insisted that he be attended by three Draugnoa, and so there was to be a replacement. At the time, the city was under siege by the undead and Endrance had attempted to circumnavigate the extensive selection process by soliciting a volunteer. He had been turned down, but by the time the sieging forces were dissolved, it had become apparent to all that he had managed to save the city - even without the help of a third Draugnoa. Tanya had volunteered shortly afterwards.
Joven set out a cloth square he had cut to fit over the mage's wound. Bridget spit out the wad of bloodroot onto her hand and gave it back to Joven. Joven pinched it, and carefully packed it into the wound. He held his bit of bloodroot in his cheek.
"Now," he said. "Start stitching it."
Selene quickly went to work. Tanya, who hadn't found any sign of an enemy, was surprised by how quickly and efficiently the three went to work.
"I take it this happens a lot?" She asked, keeping her eyes on the snowy ridges around them.
Bridget shrugged. "This is actually a lot better than the last time."
"Last time he had a slit throat." Selene said, tying off the last stitch. "There." she said, cutting the thread on a fingernail. Tanya noted then how sharp her nails were.
Joven then placed the cloth square over the wound. It stuck firmly from the blood on his skin. He then flipped the man onto his stomach, using his coat as a blanket. He spat out the bloodroot and packed it into the wound as Selene rethreaded the needle. She quickly set to stitching the wound while Joven prepared another cloth square.
"Wasn't that wound healed?" Bridget asked, frowning. She remembered watching Endrance use his healing magic on the injury a few days before .
"I don't know. I thought so too." Joven replied. "See anything that could have... I don't know, run him through again?"
"No." Tanya reported. "No signs of struggle, though I think I see where his horse had gone."
"Could it be that bitch again?" Bridget asked.
"Who?" Tanya queried.
"Jalyin." Joven replied. "An assassin."
Tanya paused. "Cut his throat?" she asked.
"Yep." he muttered.
Selene finished stitching the other side, and Joven applied the cloth to that wound. He pulled a roll of bandage from his bag and, with Selene's help, started wrapping the injuries.
"She still around?" Tanya asked.
Bridget shrugged. "I don't know. Endrance says she's not after him anymore, but who knows with elves."
"She's an elf too?" Tanya exclaimed. "There are many strange things happening around the Spengur."
"Tell me about it." Joven replied. "I'm not even sure there is a normal with him."
"I've been with you for a week now, and still I find this all confusing." She admitted.
Bridget shrugged. "It's not that hard to get, once you open your mind." she said.
"I... thought I was open-minded." Tanya muttered.
"It's simple." Bridget explained. "Endrance is trouble no matter where he goes. It's his way."
"He's good at it." Selene said with a smile.
Joven tied off the bandage and wrapped the unconscious man in his coat. "Speaking of ways." Joven replied. "We need to find a way to get back on track. Endrance isn't going to get any better here and we are now a day behind."
Selene stood. "It's a blizzard, Joven." she stated. "Even you can get lost in a blizzard in the middle of the wastes."
Joven shook his head. "Then we need to get him somewhere warm." he declared.
Gullin hopped up, Selene catching him and cradling the bird to her breast. She had been giving off a lot of heat since the snowstorm had hit, and near her was the warmest place the familiar could find.
"Well the bird seems okay." Bridget scoffed.
Selene smiled. "You're just jealous that he likes me better." she said.
Joven picked up Endrance, carrying him to the horses. He laid him carefully across the back of their pack horse. "Tanya." he said.
"Got it." she replied, cutting him off. "Horse."
She stalked off into the snow, following the errant horses' tracks. They led her past a small copse of trees and over another. She found him wandering in the snow, confused. Snow still caked his head and saddle from the flurry barely thirty minutes before. Tanya slowly approached the horse, trying to see if there was a reason he would have run off. He had snow on his hooves and legs, but he didn't appear injured. Something must have scared him.
Tanya crouched, keeping the horse in view. The horse hadn't yet noticed her, but something about his behavior seemed strange. The snow around the horse was too disturbed to be just from his movement. He was fidgeting around, but staying in the same patch of snow.
