CHAPTER 2
The candle flames were burning low and the room was growing cold. Though it was the middle of spring, the nights in Atlurul could grow quite chilly and sent even the most thick-skinned warrior reaching for a thick blanket. Even surrounded by walls of stone, stone that was supposed to be enchanted to keep the nighttime cold at bay, the bitter chill managed to sneak in and wind its way around Druzeel’s shoulders.
It was well past midnight, but Druzeel was still up, sitting at a large desk in one of the many studies of the tower. This particular study took up the entire floor of the nineteenth level and at this time of night, he was the only one in the large room. He knew he should be sleeping but the pull of his books had been too much. Just a few hours of reading, he had told himself, and then he would rest. That had been four hours ago and he was still reading, still learning the proper ways to perform the next handful of spells he was going to attempt in the next few days. He wanted to be perfect. He wanted to show his teacher that no matter what spell he attempted, he could perform it without folly and though he remembered well Graeak’s words about not putting so much emphasis on perfection, he just couldn’t help himself.
The next spell he was going to attempt, in just two days from now, was on the same level as the stoneskin spell he had successfully completed last week. It was just as difficult and supposedly too powerful for one so young to attempt. But so was the last spell he had cast. As before, he was determined to succeed. If he did the spell correctly–which would bring forth a dimensional door that allowed him to teleport short distances–he would prove to his mentor that he was ready to go even higher, to learn more difficult spells that had previously been out of his reach. Perhaps Graeak would even allow him to attempt some offensive spells.
When beginning any new level of magic, Graeak had always instructed his students to start with defense, spells that would protect and shield the caster and those he targeted from harm. He did this for a variety of reasons, the most important being that if an apprentice botched one of these spells, no one was likely to be hurt. If someone managed to cast a fireball incorrectly, the consequences could be disastrous and deadly. Another reason was that in battle, it only took one shot, be it with spell or arrow, to end one’s life. The first step for any wizard before they entered combat was to shield oneself with spells of protection and deflection, and more times than not, they had to do it rather quickly. Until each student mastered the defensive, they were not allowed to practice offensive spells. Druzeel had mastered both in every lower level he had attempted and wanted to proceed. Graeak was reluctant but eventually agreed. His one condition was that they continue at the pace he set, which to Druzeel’s chagrin, was rather slow. But he got his wish and was now working on his second spell. With hard work and determination, he would cast the spell without flaw and be able to climb up the magical ladder.
The frigid air once again slid over his shoulders and across his neck. He shivered and a yawn managed to escape his lips, no matter how hard he tried to hold it at bay. After rubbing the tiredness from his eyes, he pushed himself back from the desk. The words in front of him were starting to get fuzzy. Maybe it was time for sleep, he said to himself. If Graeak knew he was still awake, his mentor would probably use a spell and send him to bed. But Graeak was not in the tower at the moment. He was across the city visiting an old friend, or so Druzeel had been told.
Though he missed his company, Druzeel enjoyed these moments when Graeak left the tower. All the apprentices did for it gave everyone some free time to do as they pleased. It was true that the servants kept a watchful eye and made sure no one misbehaved, but they were not as stringent as their employer was. Many even encouraged a little mischief from time to time, and managed to get in a little of their own. It was good for people to let loose every now and then.
“Just a few more minutes,” Druzeel said to himself, knowing it would be more than just a few minutes. Regardless, he stood and stretched, reaching to the ceiling and coming to the tips of his toes. Another yawn and shiver passed through him.
He walked away from the desk to a nearby couch, one of many that sat around the room. Thankfully, all the couches held thin blankets intended for use when the night grew cold. He grabbed it and threw it around his shoulders. When he turned to sit back down, he noticed a form in the doorway.
“Master Sesstar,” came the voice of Vallia, one of the servants that helped keep The Fount in order. She wore simple cloths and had her short hair tied in a knot at the side of her head. Her blue eyes scanned the study but quickly fell back to Druzeel when she realized he was the only one here. “It’s rather late, don’t you think?”
Even though Druzeel had lived in the tower for almost a dozen years, he had only seen her a few dozen times. The tower was large after all. Luckily, he had the mind of a wizard and remembered who she was. He also remembered that the young woman, just a few years older than himself in fact, had gone out of her way to say hello or be kind whenever she ran into one of the apprentices that called this place home.
“Good evening, Vallia,” Druzeel said, greeting her. “Yes, it’s late. I’m just brushing up on my research.”
“For your test two days from now?” she asked with an innocent smile. Druzeel looked at her in bewilderment. It should not surprise him that she knew for most knew of his rapid ascent in magic, but for some reason, it did.
“Um...Yes,” he finally replied after the moment of confusion had passed.
“Don’t be so surprised,” she giggled, seeing him stumble. “We know a lot more about what’s going on in the tower than you think. I’d say some days we know more than Lord Loyalar.”
“I don’t doubt that,” Druzeel said with a smile of his own, thinking of the times his teacher had seemed to forget something, which was increasing as of late. “I’m almost done for the night,” he continued, seeing her staring at him. “Then I’m off to bed.”
“Don’t burn yourself out,” Vallia said with true concern in her voice. “I have seen many a wizard crack trying to do more than they should.”
“I won’t,” Druzeel replied.
“See that you don’t,” she said with a smirk. “We’d be sad to see you go. Lord Loyalar is quite fond of you and I know seeing you succeed brings him happiness, even if he won’t admit it.”
Druzeel couldn’t hide the wide smile that crept to his face upon hearing her words. Every time he heard how his mentor felt about him made him surge with pride. He just hoped he could continue the trend.
“Make sure you get some sleep,” Vallia said, pulling him from his daze of elation. “Busy wizards never seem to get enough.”
“What about you?” Druzeel asked, wondering why he was not the only one creeping through the tower at night. “No sleep for you?”
“During the day mostly,” she replied, bringing another odd look from Druzeel. “Why do you think you never see me?” she said. “Most of us work during the night. It is much easier to clean this place without busy apprentices getting in your way. I’m going upstairs to put the library back in order. Many of you don’t seem to understand that books don’t put themselves back on the shelf.”
“I put mine back,” Druzeel replied, finding himself wanting to impress her.
“I know,” she said, shooting him a smile. “That’s why you’re one of our favorites.” She gave him a smile and he returned one in kind. “Because so few are granted access to Graeak’s library, it is cleaner than usual so it shouldn’t take me more than a half hour,” she continued. “When I get back, make sure you’re not here.”
“I will. I mean...I won’t,” Druzeel rambled. She narrowed her eyes playfully and left him alone. A few seconds afterward, he heard giggling from down the hallway.
Druzeel shook his head, let out a quick chuckle of his own, and sat back at the desk. He lit a new candle and looked at the tome in front of him. The book didn’t seem quite as blurry as before but he knew if he were not in his bed by the time Vallia got back, she would give him anothe
r tongue-lashing. Even though he found himself not wanting to upset her, the thought of seeing her again filled him with excitement. Perhaps he should stay up later more often.
He dove into the book, intent on finishing at least a few more pages before he left and finally let his dreams take hold. Time had either sped up or magic had somehow frozen him in place for when he finally looked up from the text, the candle was almost completely gone. It had been almost two hours!
“Oh no!” he exclaimed, as he slammed the book shut. The loud boom echoed throughout the room and he cringed. Not wanting to waste another moment or be present when Vallia came back, he practically sprinted from the room. But as he came to the stairs that led down the tower, he paused and turned his head back into the room, suddenly feeling that something was not right.
Vallia had never returned.
Druzeel turned his eyes to the stairs leading up to the next level, to the library that she had gone to clean. He slowly walked up, not wanting to make too much noise.
Had she accidentally fallen asleep? Had she paused to read a book? Perhaps she had just not wanted to disturb him. Knowing what he knew about Vallia, Druzeel didn’t think she was the type of person to leave him alone after telling him to stop studying and rest. Regardless of the reason for her absence, Druzeel was willing to risk her ire to make sure everything was all right. When his head cleared the stairway, Druzeel studied the room before him.
Thousands of books decorated the walls, which were covered in bookshelves. Hardly a stone of the tower shown through the wooden bookcases that Graeak had built when The Fount was first constructed. The only four places that did not have books were the large windows that allowed light in during the day. During the night, the room was lit by dozens of everburning candles that sat on a large chandelier that hung from the ceiling. Each candle was enspelled to flare up when it was dark outside and extinguish as the sun rose. The low light bathed the two large couches that sat in the middle of the room with yellow light, as well as the handful of desks, chairs, and trinkets that sat throughout. Decorative rugs, decanters full of water or wine, and other trinkets meant to give the room an aura of elegance also sat below the steel fixture.
This level was Graeak’s personal library and one that only a few had access to, with Druzeel being one of them. Across from where Druzeel now stood sat a staircase that led to his teacher’s personal chambers, which sat empty for Graeak was still out of the tower. Also sitting empty, much to Druzeel’s bewilderment, was the library.
“Vallia?” Druzeel said, just above a whisper. When there was no answer, he came into the room fully, scanned every corner and every shadow, looking for the young servant. He found nothing but empty space.
Could she have gone upstairs? Druzeel asked himself. Graeak surely had some of his servants clean his rooms, but at this late at night?
He started walking across the room to the stairs that led up to Graeak’s rooms. When he was only halfway across, something on top of the large table in the center of the room caught his eye. As he moved closer, he saw that it was droplets of some kind of liquid. It looked like...wine? He moved even closer. Wine wasn’t that thick, he told himself. Suddenly, to his horror, he realized what the droplets were. Blood!
Druzeel stopped. It felt like ice had curled around his heart and frozen his blood. His flesh went pale and sweat started to appear on the surface of his skin. It suddenly felt very cold in here.
His eyes followed the droplets. There was no pattern to them but they led off the side of the table, to a small puddle directly underneath the table’s edge. Next to that was a large puddle, and it seemed to be expanding by the second.
Druzeel slowly, cautiously, leaned over and peered under the table. That was when he saw her.
Vallia’s body had been stuffed under the table, rather carefully, so none of her body could be seen, but that did not stop the blood from her slit throat from flowing across the carpet. Her eyes–empty, lifeless eyes–were wide open in an expression of terror, and they were staring directly at Druzeel.
Druzeel stumbled back so quick that he almost fell over. That ice that had curled around his heart after seeing the droplets on the table suddenly constricted. His breath came out in short gasps and his heart hammered inside his chest, threatening to burst through his ribcage. He thought he would pass out but swallowed the bile that was rising in his throat and steadied himself on a nearby side table. If the table hadn’t been there, he surely would have tipped over. Though he had backed away and lost sight off her, he could not tear his eyes away from where Vallia’s eyes were, eyes that had been so beautiful in life.
“Vallia,” he said with a gasp as a stab of pain shot through him. He had never seen a dead body, let alone a fresh kill and the sight, a vision that would never leave his mind, shocked him to his core. He had seen pictures and read books about battle and the horrors of death, but no word, be it written or spoken, could have prepared him for the actual experience. It was ten times worse because he had actually known Vallia, had actually spoken to her just a short time before.
Then suddenly, through the dread he was feeling, he realized that whatever had killed her would most likely still be here. It could be in this very room!
Druzeel spun all around, eyes jumping everywhere. He looked into shadows, into bookcases, to the ceiling and the floor. He looked everywhere that could conceal the murderer, but there was nothing. Only he and the corpse lay in the room.
“When battle approaches,” Druzeel suddenly heard inside his mind, a memory from not so long ago, “regardless of the pain or fear you may feel, remember that you are a wizard and your weapons are never far away.”
Graeak had told him that as soon as he started to teach Druzeel his very first offensive spells. It was a lesson that he drilled into his students repeatedly for he said that one day it could save their lives.
For some reason, that memory had boiled to the surface and reminded Druzeel that he was indeed a wizard, a powerful one at that, so he quickly calmed himself and did his best to push the fear and terror from his mind. He succeeded and pushed some of the alarm away, but this was all new to him and he was still shaken. But he managed to clear his mind and cast a series of spells, magic that would provide protection against swords, daggers and all sorts of metallic weapons. He continued to cast and placed a shell of anti-magic around him as well, a spell that would deflect minor spells from reaching him. When he was finished, he brought to mind a handful of attack spells and scanned the room once more.
It still stood empty. Could the murderer have just come to kill Vallia? Had he or she left once the deed was done? Druzeel didn’t think someone like Vallia would have such an enemy and anyone that would break into a wizard’s tower certainly had other motives than the death of a simple servant. No, Druzeel said to himself, the assassin was still here. But where?
His eyes rose to the stairs leading to Graeak’s chambers. It was the only logical option, so he slowly walked over to the stairs. He looked up and saw only the flickering of flame from the few candles Graeak always left lit when he was out of the tower. With a deep breath, Druzeel ascended.
For just a moment, as he walked up the steps to his mentor’s room, he paused. Shouldn’t he be alerting the tower? Should he not try to contact Graeak somehow? Did he even want to go up against whatever had managed to break into a heavily warded and protected tower? He did not know what awaited him above. For all he knew, a lich was waiting for him. Or something worse, though at the present time, Druzeel couldn’t think of anything worse than a lich.
But what if the assassin was waiting for Graeak’s return? What if it was hiding in the shadows with a dagger, eagerly awaiting the return of his mentor? What if the assassin was waiting to slit his throat, just as he had done to poor Vallia? Druzeel could not wait. He had to act and he had to act now, so he crept up the stairs.
And came to an empty room.
The candles were burning and the bed lay untouched, as was the dresser, clo
sets, desks, chests, and other objects that sat in his mentor’s room. None of the parchment on his desk had shifted. No drawers had been opened. Druzeel had been here many times and after a quick scan could see nothing out of place. The curtains over the two windows were still and flat, the shadowy corners were empty and all was still. The only thing moving were the flames and his chest, as he took a breath he never knew he was holding.
Where had the murderer gone? Could Vallia have really been the target? Could the assailant have truly left the–
The wall across the room suddenly shifted, ever so slightly. It was like a breeze quickly flowing over a loose piece of clothing, but disappearing almost immediately. Anyone else not familiar in the ways of magic may have missed it, but Druzeel had been taught about many forms of magic, including illusions. When the wall jumped, he knew what he was looking at.
He moved across the room, still keeping his eyes peeled in case the assassin, or assassins, he thought with dread, were in the room and he had missed them. When he reached the illusionary wall, a fake wall he never knew existed, he slowly eased his face through.
As soon as his flesh broke the plane of the wall, it faded away. Before him stood another stairway, leading to another level.
Druzeel had been through the entire tower in his twelve years of residence–in the basements and even on the roof, which one had to teleport to reach–and had never seen or heard of these stairs. Perhaps this went to the roof. Knowing there was only one way to find out, he walked up. And entered a room that made his body shiver and his mouth fall open in amazement.
The chamber was the same size as Graeak’s own, but instead of being filled with regular furniture and trinkets, it was packed full of magical artifacts. He saw golden staffs, silver rings, odd-colored wands, and helms that seemed to glow with power. Swords, axes, spears, bows, and a hundred other types of weapons, all etched with runes, embedded with gems, or coated in glittering paint lay scattered on the floor or resting against the wall. There were piles of coins, orbs, and talismans, stacks of books, bags, and clothing, and shelves and bookcases full of potions, flasks, and vials of colorful liquid. There was furniture with intricate designs, odd armor and clothing that he had no idea where one would wear them, and other large objects that he could not even begin to guess their function or enchantment. This was a dragon’s horde–no, ten dragon’s hordes worth of magic. The power in this one room was enough to raze an entire kingdom to the ground.
Standing before such treasures and energy, Druzeel could feel the magic in the room, could feel the auras and power radiating from the things before him. His eyes were as wide as plates and his heart beat furiously in his chest. What he wouldn’t give to spend time in this place and unlock the secrets of the tools before him. What he would not do to have Graeak...
His thoughts trailed off as he thought of his mentor and of where he was standing. Why had Graeak never told him of this room? Why had he kept it a secret? Druzeel was sure he had his reasons, but he couldn’t think of any right now. His mentor said he trusted him, so why not trust him with this? Did any of the other apprentices know? He could not be the only one that was not aware that a cache of powerful magic laid just a few floors above their heads. Did the servants of the tower even–
The sudden sound of coins shifting from just around a large pile in front of him pushed the questions away. Druzeel quickly remembered what he was doing here: searching for a killer. He brought to mind a simple holding spell, praying it would be enough, and moved forward, slowly.
He came around the corner and saw a man, dressed head to toe in black studded leather armor, standing next to a pile of staffs. A cloak, just as dark as the rest of his clothing, hung from his shoulders and a hood was pulled over his head. The only skin that showed on the man was that around his eyes. The rest of his face was covered by a mask, making identification impossible. The only weapon Druzeel could see was a shortsword sitting on his hip, resting in a scabbard covered in runes. The pommel was in the shape of a claw, grasping a deep purple gem, and the small cross-guard looked to be a skull. Between the two sat a grip of black, a black as deep as the man’s cape. Druzeel could feel the evil of that weapon just staring at the maliciously designed sheath.
But at the moment, that was not what alarmed him. What alarmed him was the golden staff–its shaft covered in what looked like red and white veins–that the man was placing into a sack that was connected to his hip. Impossibly, the entire staff, which Druzeel noticed was topped with a skull that seemed to change color every few seconds, disappeared into that small sack without trouble. It should have shocked him to see the large object fit into one that was many times smaller, but he was a wizard and had extensively studied magical item lore. The sack was no doubt a portal sack, which could hold hundreds of items without ever getting full. With but a thought, the owner of that extremely useful item could reach into the pouch, picture what they wanted in their minds, and pull it out with ease. Thinking of how long the assassin had been allowed to be in this room made Druzeel wonder how many items he had managed to pilfer. No matter how much he had stolen, he thought to himself with anger, his theft ends now.
“Hey!” Druzeel shouted before he realized that course of action might not have been one of the smartest things he had ever done.
The assassin’s head snapped up. Druzeel let out a gasp when he saw the man’s eyes. They were completely black, without a speck of white showing. His skin was the opposite, almost white, looking as if it was dead flesh. The sight unnerved Druzeel, but he took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. There was no backing down now.
“You’re under arrest!” Druzeel proclaimed, unsure of what else to say. What did one say to a murderer and thief? “Put back what you–”
His voice caught in his throat as the man’s arm snapped forward. A dagger, materializing out of thin air it seemed, flashed from his hand and sped at Druzeel. He let out a squeak and made to dodge, but the speed at which the assassin had moved was too much, but just as the dagger was about to reach him, it bounced off one of the shields he had cast moments before.
Thank you, Druzeel said to himself, thinking of Graeak and all the lessons the man had drilled into his head. Going defensive first had just saved his life, like his mentor had said, but only for the next few moments. Seeing his dagger laying on the ground, the assassin’s eyes narrowed at Druzeel. The man even looked a little surprised. But that expression disappeared so fast that Druzeel wasn’t even sure he had seen it. What he was sure of seeing was a terrible sword, pointing in his direction.
The assassin had drawn his weapon so quickly that it appeared to have just materialized in his hand. The blade of that menacing sword was dark purple, matching the foul look of the gem in the pommel. Both let off a slight glow and seemed to pulsate, as if knowing they would soon be feeling blood.
Druzeel quickly dismissed the hold spell he had been thinking of. He knew that the man before him was entirely too skilled, too cloaked with magic, as he was, for a simple holding spell to stop him. He needed something more powerful, but he couldn’t use a fireball or lightning bolt. With the powerful magic all around them, those two spells could be disastrous should they happen to destroy something. He needed something that would affect only the man skulking towards him.
The spell he wanted popped into his mind and he started to recite the words. The magic filled him and as he moved his hands and fingers in the intricate gestures that would bring to spell to the life, the thief sprinted forward. Luckily, Druzeel had spent hours mastering this spell, on his mentor’s wishes, and finished with plenty of time.
The assassin skidded to a stop as a band of steel suddenly took shape around him. When Druzeel uttered the last word, it started to contract, to trap the thief and hold him in place.
Excitement spread through Druzeel as he saw the spell take effect, but that excitement turned to gloom as the assassin, with relative ease, dropped and rolled out of the tight loop before it closed on him completely
. Amazingly, he was out, rolling across the ground, and on his feet again in less than a heartbeat. Druzeel was so dumbstruck by the man’s speed that he stood frozen. That moment of paralysis would have been his doom if the assassin had acted, but instead, when the thief stood, he wore a look of surprise.
He looked to the band that he had narrowly avoided, then to Druzeel, then back to the band. When the spell faded away, he turned back to Druzeel, eyes flashing with interest. Or was it malice? Whatever the reason for his delay, Druzeel took that moment to back away, reaching for another spell.
The assassin leaped forward, that shinning purple sword leading the way. Druzeel leaned back and blurted out one of the first offensive spells he had learned, one of the first battle spells most wizards learn in their first years as an apprentice.
Three shimmering balls of silver light, about the size of a fist, leapt from his fingers and sped at his attacker. The magical missiles would hit any target they were cast at, even swerving and changing course to make contact. They were not as powerful as other spells Druzeel had at his disposal, but it was a spell he could cast rather quickly and with the distance between the two men rapidly closing, it was all he could think of. He never intended the glowing balls of energy to stop the thief. All he wanted was to make the thief pause, to give him some more room. But to his astonishment, the missiles never made it.
The thief did pause, but not because of the spell. He stopped and swiped his sword at the missiles, one swing for each one. As the blade made contact, slicing each ball in two, the energy fizzled and faded. A small spark and low pop was all that remained of the spell.
If Druzeel was surprised at the thief’s avoidance of the steel band, he was completely flabbergasted at what he had just seen. It was now perfectly clear that whoever this thief was, he was far beyond Druzeel. He had to get away from him and he had to do it now. Perhaps if he could get in the open, one of his more powerful area spells may slow him down, but Druzeel didn’t think he had a chance of stopping him.
He turned and ran, not even bothering to see what the assassin’s next move was. All he knew was that he had to get away, had to put as much distance between himself and the thief as possible.
As he bolted around the corner and down the stairs, Druzeel screamed all sorts of obscenities to himself, cursing himself as a fool. Next time rouse the tower! he screamed in his head. Next time send a message to Graeak! Next time be smarter, if you survive to see a next time.
He came into Graeak’s personal chambers and continued to run, never once slowing, never once looking back to see if the assassin was following. With any luck, the man would continue to pillage the magical horde and ignore the young wizard he had just encountered. Unfortunately, luck was not on Druzeel’s side.
When he was only halfway across the room, he heard a whoosh of air and something tangled around his ankles, snapping them together. He lost his balance and fell, slamming against the stone floor. He managed to throw his hands out but the impact jarred his bones, blasted the air from his lungs, and snapped his teeth together, almost slicing off the tip of his tongue. When he finally regained his breath, he turned to see death stalking toward him.
The assassin was calmly walking across the room, strolling through the personal chambers of a powerful archmage without a care in the world. His eyes flashed with malevolence. Druzeel scrambled backwards, pushing against the floor, grasping for salvation. His eyes darted all around the room, looking for anything he may use against that awful man coming at him. When his back bumped against the wall, he knew he had run out of room. He knew he would never be able to get a spell off. He knew that the moment he raised his hands, the man would lop them off. He had finally run out of time.
The thief stepped right up to his bound feet and look down at him. Druzeel looked up, intent to be defiant to the end. He was surprised to find courage and strength inside him. He was surprised to feel that the urge to grovel, to beg for his life, was not there. The thief would have no satisfaction from him.
To Druzeel’s surprise, he saw something then in the thief’s eyes. He saw something when he faced his death without fear or panic. He wasn’t sure, but he thought it was respect.
The purple blade rose, but before the thief could even begin to swing, to plunge that blade into Druzeel’s body, there was a loud bang and a puff of smoke suddenly appeared across the room. The cloud quickly dissipated and a very angry Graeak Loyalar was peering at the thief, who had spun around to face the newest arrival.
“What is the meaning of this?!” the archmage bellowed, annoyance clearly displayed on his face. When his eyes fell on Druzeel and his bound ankles, anger blazed behind his eyes.
The thief sprinted toward the nearest window. The sudden action caught both Druzeel and Graeak off guard. They expected some type of attack, some sort of combat. At the very least, they would have thought the thief would have thrown a dagger at one of them. But he just took off towards the window, reaching into one of his many pouches as he went.
Be it the knowledge that the windows were heavily warded or the speed at which the man moved, Graeak was slow to react, to cast a spell against the thief to prevent him from escaping. He assumed the magic he had cast on The Fount that prevented people from breaking in would also prevent them from breaking out, but his assumptions were dashed to pieces when the assassin flung out his hand.
Tiny black beads flew at the window. When they hit the curtains and glass, they exploded in a puff of black smoke. The protective wards and spells burst, filling the room with sparks and flashes of light. The assassin dove right through the cloud, disappearing from view. Graeak expected to hear a thud when the man smashed into the seemingly unbreakable glass, but as the mist cleared, all he saw was an opening where the glass and fabric used to be. Whatever magical objects the man had used had successful destroyed his wards.
Graeak ran to the window and looked out into the night. Instead of seeing the thief falling to his death, he spotted him soaring through the sky. His cloak, or whatever it was that was clinging to his back, was fanned out, allowing him to glide through the air as would a bird. Graeak brought a spell to mind and pointed his staff at the fleeing thief, but did not send his magic against the man. The thief was too far away and if he managed to dodge, the spell could fall into the city. That was not a risk Graeak was willing to take.
“Master!” Druzeel said. He pulled the binding from his ankles and ran to the window, next to his mentor, watching as the thief blended into the night.
“Tell me what happened,” Graeak said, pulling himself and his apprentice from the window. The thief had escaped. All he could do now was assess the damage and pray it was minimal.
Druzeel told him everything, how he had found Vallia and tracked the thief to his personal chambers. When he spoke of the illusionary wall phasing in and out, Graeak’s face grew more concerned. When he described the pocket sack and the magical staff he saw the thief stuffing into it, Graeak spoke, cutting him off.
“How long was he here?” his mentor asked frantically.
“I don’t know,” Druzeel answered truthfully.
“Did you see him take anything else? Anything at all?”
“No,” Druzeel said, growing increasingly worried seeing the fear creeping along his mentor’s face. He had never seen his teacher shaken so and the sight unnerved him. Graeak must have seen his look of concern because he quickly wiped the worry from his face.
“Master,” Druzeel said, “I know I should have roused the tower or sent you a message. I know I should not have followed and that some things even I am not privy to, but I thought–”
“No,” Graeak said, his voice calm and free of anger. “I’m glad you investigated for I felt it when the illusionary wall was broken. It is what alerted me that something was amiss. Somehow, the thief made it through without setting off my wards. If you had not followed there is no way of knowing how much more he could have taken or what damage he could have caused.”
Heari
ng the praise washed away Druzeel’s fears. He still sensed some distress in his mentor’s voice, but he assumed anyone would be upset about just being looted.
“Now,” Graeak said, bringing Druzeel’s attention back. “Rouse the tower and send for the Lances. See if the thief has harmed anyone else. Do not tell anyone of poor Vallia. I will break the news to them myself.”
Druzeel nodded and ran from the room. Graeak watched him go, holding his calm until his apprentice was out of sight. When Druzeel was gone, the worry and fear returned.
He hurried across the room and up into the hidden chamber. He strode past the piles of rings and orbs, walked right by the bundle of armor and weapons, and completely ignored the collection of staffs, the same collection the thief had stolen one from. None of those things mattered. The thief could have stolen every item he passed and he would not have cared. Only one item mattered.
Graeak walked to the back of the room, to where the pocket dimension he created resided, the resting place of the Orb of Decay. He rattled off a few words and a line appeared in the air. The glowing rent split and opened, revealing a small room lined with protective wards, inscribed with powerful runes, and protected by ancient spells. Graeak entered and spoke a command word. Light suddenly filled the room.
“No,” Graeak whispered, as another surge of fear shot through him.
The wards he had set, the runes that had taken countless days to write, and the spells he had cast were all broken, the power fueling them destroyed. And the pedestal that sat in the middle of the room, the resting place of one of the most dangerous artifacts he had ever been exposed to, was empty.
The orb was gone.
* * * * *