The Reign of Magic. Wolf Awert

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      Grimala’s old age demanded frequent pauses and her impatience grew each time. “We must hurry. Ringwall is further than I had thought.”

      Tiriwi inhaled deeply and summoned up all her courage. “I think I can make this last part of the journey by myself. It’ll look no different to that which we have already passed.”

      Her words were met with objection, but even Grimala had to accept that time grew short and that it was not a good idea to attract so much attention as a traveling party. And so they let Tiriwi go in the end, but not without repeating all they had said numerous times on the way here.

      Tiriwi’s fear of the unknown had been driven away by Grimala’s extensive worry on the long road to Ringwall, which had surrounded her like chains, pulled ever tighter. She took her small knapsack and her shoulder bag, embraced Grimala and her mothers and went on her way. Her step was bouncy, her breath deep and even and she would have quite liked to sing out loud. But she contented herself with a small melody that she hummed to herself. Ringwall could not be much worse than traveling with Grimala and her mothers.

      *

      For Nill and Dakh-Ozz-Han one day passed like the last. The dawn had barely made out the outlines of the trees and bushes against the gray sky, yet Dakh and Nill were already packing up their camp. The nightly cold that gnawed at their joints when they did not manage to find a small forest or a thicket to sleep in was countered by the first movements of the day. In the mornings they always made good progress. The noon-rest was long and took quite a part of the afternoon as well. They caught up with the sleep denied them by the short, cold nights. For Dakh, as Nill now amicably called him, would always keep walking until the last light of day had expired.

      Very slowly, the world around them grew darker. The grass lost its yellow color, the small copses became forests, and before long the slender trees became thicker and mightier. Dakh stopped.

      “The first proper trees. Not all that large yet, but at least their trunks are straight,” he muttered off-handedly. Nill gulped. Apart from the Mylantos he had never seen trees this tall. He thought of a thousand ways in which all that wood could be used.

      “Trees are always something of a wonder for Earthlanders,” Dakh said with a smile. “But if a Woodhold person came here, they would be astonished at the wide open plains before them. We should rest here.”

      Nill was surprised, for the sun was still close to its zenith and they could have easily managed a good stretch before their usual resting time. Dakh’s urgency seemed to have fallen off somewhat. They kindled a fire and the druid filled his cauldron with water, herbs and bits of dried meat, as he always did. Nill had taken his amulet out from under his shirt and was examining it pensively. The druid turned his head respectfully away, as though he did not want to disturb the communion between Nill and his amulet. Every now and then his gaze would flicker back to the pot in which the water bubbled merrily.

      “This wooden disk is supposed to come from my parents. At least that’s what Esara told me. Apparently I was wearing it around my neck when the Ramsmen found me. Do you think that my parents knew of magic, like you do?”

      Dakh grumbled uncomfortably. “Possibly.”

      “Would you like to take a look at the amulet?” Nill asked, holding the disk out for the druid.

      “If you ask it of me, Nill, I will take a look. Be warned: do not hand out an amulet without thought. Nobody can know what additional powers it grants you. These small advantages are often what determine whether you stay alive… or not.”

      “Please,” Nill said simply and gave Dakh the amulet.

      The druid held it up gingerly. “The main body of this amulet is made from a rokkanut’s shell.” His voice sounded flat, objective, and he took great care not to emphasize any single word. “This nut is not very common in Pentamuria, because the only place it grows is in the high mountains of Metal World. The nut’s shell is so hard and thick that it is very difficult to break.”

      “But how is the seed supposed to bud if the shell is so hard?” In Nill’s inner eye a small bud appeared, trapped in an eternal jail. He felt pity for the poor seed.

      “In nature, everything finds a way. The rokkanut’s blessings are the drill wasps. They use their stingers to drill tiny holes into the shell and then they lay their eggs in it. The eggs hatch into larva, and these speak to the shell and persuade it to open up. Nevertheless, it is a tough job to carve anything out of the shell. Whoever crafted your amulet must have quite some experience.”

      The druid turned the disk so that the light shone on the surface at an angle. “The symbols on the amulet look like writing, but it is writing unlike any I have ever seen; I cannot read it. It is bursting with magical energy, I can feel it, but I cannot see any more than that. Whatever its uses are, you will have to find out for yourself.”

      Lost in thought, the druid held the wooden disk in his hands. “But that is not all. The band that holds it is made up of eight threads, woven in a complex pattern. Every thread is made up of three strands. I see black and white strands. Each thread is either black or white. Three threads have two white strands and a black one. It is all very peculiar. Each thread is either black or white.”

      The druid scratched his chin. “There is some sort of symbolism hidden away in this order, and I cannot see it, for the number eight is meaningless in magic. The magic world keeps the pentagram of five elements as its base: Metal, Water, Wood, Fire and Earth. Five is a magical number, for the mages in Ringwall as well. The mages also count three sphere-magics apart from the elements: the magics of the Other World, of Space and of Thought. That would be eight in all. But I have also heard that as of late they practice the magic of Nothing. But I know nothing of that. That would be nine in all. No, no, eight threads on a magical object – the reasoning eludes me.”

      “And the band itself? Is it also from Metal World?” Nill’s entire body was tingling with excitement and he had difficulty sitting still. Although he was getting more questions than answers, he felt that the secret of his own origins was not as murky as he had up until now thought.

      The druid nodded thoughtfully. “I can tell you more about the material used in the band than the band itself, yes. It is made from spider silk. In fact, it is from the webs of the nightstalker and the royal weaver. Both of them weave gigantic webs that are large enough to capture wild animals. Nightstalkers and royal weavers live somewhere between Water and Metal. They can be found in swamps and mountains. Their webs stick to everything they touch, and I cannot help but wonder how the secretion was removed from them. It takes a great deal of skill to craft usable strands out of those webs.” Dakh handed the amulet back to Nill. “Keep it well hidden. It is an extraordinary magical artifact. Until you find out how its magic works, do not show it to anyone.”

      “But how am I to find that out if even you can’t?”

      “You are the bearer of this amulet. It will speak to you someday.”

      Nill asked the last question that burned inside him. “Do you think my parents were mages?”

      The druid simply shrugged, and shortly afterwards his thoughts seemed somewhere else entirely.

      After that night Nill’s sleep became so restless that even Dakh’s nightly rest was disturbed by it. Nill dreamed feverish dreams, the slivers of which he had already forgotten the next morning. Every morning it took longer for him to awaken properly. At first he thought СКАЧАТЬ