The Divided Knight - Chapter Twenty-Two

Not long after returning to Valewind and taking up his position as Loremaster to the Duke of Telvany, Wilem had begun looking into the secrets of the castle, hoping to find some evidence that might lend some credence to suspicions he'd had since he was a boy. Initially, his searches had turned up little he hadn't already known, but then he'd come across an unblocked passage that lead to levels that were below the dungeon, which meant that, like most other structures in the kingdom, Valewind was just as vast below ground as it was above. One day, Wilem hoped to take his search one step further and discover the tunnel he was sure connected Valewind to every other castle and palace in the kingdom – a tunnel he suspected might, somehow, predate recorded history – but today was not the day for thinking about such pursuits. Today, he had to get Garrold to the room with the Eltaran spell etched into the floor, and then pray that Garrold would know what to do once he got him there.

And what about after that? Wilem wondered as he lead the way down a narrow flight of stone steps. Will Garrold be able to face an Eltaran Sword Priest using nothing but instinct to guide his magic?

“You still haven't said where we're going, Brother,” Garrold said from behind him, his voice echoing off the stone walls to either side of the stairs.

“There's a room I found down here that has an old Eltaran transit spell etched into its floor,” Wilem said. “I think you might be able to use it to reach King Lyrian's forces before they arrive at Valewind.”

“Reach them? You want me to leave the castle and face them alone?”

Wilem stopped and turned back, raising the torch he held so he could see his brother's face. “There isn't time for anything else. You know that as well as I do. If we hadn't been so foolish, we might have had more time to better prepare ourselves for Lyrian's attack.”

“And if I don't go . . .”

“More people will die. Every village between here and the place where Lyrian's forces crossed into Telvany will be put to the torch.”

Garrold sighed. “Lead on, then, Brother.”

It wasn't long before they reached the bottom of the stairs. Using what little Arcane Magic he was strong enough to wield – magically, monks were even weaker than clerics, though their talents did give them flawless memories and a degree of superhuman speed – Wilem reached out and touched the door that lead into the corridor beyond. Despite being hung on heavy iron hinges, the door opened silently, and when it did, Wilem's torch went out, its light replaced by that of the others that lined the corridor beyond.

“How far below the dungeons are we?” Garrold asked as they stepped out into the corridor.

“Twenty feet,” Wilem said. “Maybe more. And there are other corridors beneath this one, all of them older than everything above.”

“Astonishing,” Garrold said. “Wilem, how come you never said anything about this, before?” He smiled. “Was this one of your pet projects?”

Wilem turned away and started down the corridor, feeling suddenly embarrassed. Wasn't he Garrold's Loremaster? Wasn't it his duty to inform Garrold about things like this? Ever the slave to my own curiosity. What foolishness! “Something like that,” he muttered.

When he reached the door of the room he was looking for, Wilem opened it – again with a touch that caused the door to swing on its hinges without a sound – then faced his brother and indicated that Garrold should go in first. Garrold hesitated a moment, frowning in puzzlement, then stepped into the room. Wilem went in behind him, with Stevan and Robert bringing up the rear. Once inside, Wilem took up a position against the wall beside the door, and watched as his brother examined the ancient design that had been etched into the floor.

The design – a seven-pointed star surrounded by words written in Eltaran script – turned the floor of the room into a large, circular platform. Garrold paced around the design, studying it with one of the most intense expressions Wilem had ever seen on his brother's face, and even knelt down to touch it a few times, closing his eyes each time he did. Wilem could feel the magic flaring inside of Garrold, stronger than it had been at any time during their conversation back in his study, and wasn't surprised at all when, the last time Garrold knelt down to touch the design, he noticed that blue light had begun to leak out from behind Garrold's eyelids. When Garrold stood and opened his eyes, however, Wilem had to suppress a gasp of surprise at just how bright Garrold's eyes had started to glow.

“I understand the purpose of this platform and the spell that surrounds it,” Garrold said. “But I can't do anything with it. The spell has been disrupted.”

Touched by a Spellbreaker! A Spellbreaker who wanted to make sure no one could sneak into the castle with magic! I wonder what happened here? “You can still sense the spell, though?” Wilem asked.

Garrold nodded. “I can. It's very faint, and I'm having to stretch my senses pretty hard to do it.” He paused, frowning and glancing again at the floor. “I get the feeling I'm not really supposed to be able to sense it, at all.”

“A normal mage, with access only to Arcane Magic, wouldn't be able to,” Wilem said, trying to keep the excitement he felt out of his voice. “A Spellbinder, however, would. Spellbinders are the natural antithesis to a Spellbreaker, and are even rarer.”

“And that's what I am?”

“It would seem so. We won't know, for sure, until you try to recreate the broken spell.”

“You knew this spell was broken before we came in here, didn't you?”

“No,” Wilem said, “but I had my suspicions. Try and recreate the spell, Garrold. If you are a Spellbinder, it shouldn't be too difficult.”

“And what if I can't?”

“Well, if that happens, I'm sure we'll think of something.”

“Sometimes, Brother, I really hate your optimism.”

Wilem smiled. “No, you don't. You'd be lost without it.”

Garrold snorted, then took a deep breath and closed his eyes. For several moments, nothing happened, then Garrold began to sway back and forth. His swaying wasn't that of someone who was about to fall – it was far too rhythmic for that – and, after a time, his lips began to move. No sound accompanied the movements of Garrold's lips, but Wilem thought that, if it had, his brother would have been chanting. Spoken spells are all in Eltaran. I don't think Garrold's chant would be. And it wouldn't be in Common, either.

Garrold stopped swaying. Keeping his eyes closed and his lips moving, he raised his arms to either side, fists closed, and began to turn in a slow circle. As Garrold turned, green light rose from the edges of the design, then streaked inward toward his closed fists. Garrold cried out when the light touched him, but he did not stop turning, and it was then that, for the first time, Wilem started to hear the words of his brother's chant. As he'd suspected, the words weren't in Eltaran or Common, and hearing them, sensing the raw power they contained, made the hairs on his arms stand on end. They're ancient! Gods Above, they're ancient!

At last, Garrold stopped moving and fell silent. Opening his fists, he made a pushing motion with his arms, and the green light that had risen from the floor vanished. He opened his eyes – which still glowed, though not as brilliantly as before – and looked at Wilem. “It is done,” Garrold said, his voice not quite sounding like his own. “The spell is restored.”

“Are you . . . are you all right, Brother?” Wilem asked.

Garrold blinked, the last of the blue glow vanishing. Wilem felt Garrold's magic die down to where it had been before they'd entered the room, and wasn't surprised to see his brother slump a bit with fatigue. “I think so,” Garrold said. “That was . . . amazing. I can do that to any broken spell?”

“I don't know about any broken spell, but you should be able to recreate most of them.”

“Recreating that spell will leave the castle vulnerable. It was broken for a reason.”

“It can be broken, again. The new head of my order is a Spellbreaker, and we can employ her talents should we decide we need to. Right now, though, we need to be able to travel like the enemy does. Can you do that, Garrold?”

Garrold gave a crooked smile, and Wilem was pleased to see he didn't look as tired as he had a moment ago. “That, and a Hel of a lot more, I think.”

“One question before you go.”

“What's that?”

“That language you were chanting in. What was it?”

Garrold raised an eyebrow. “I was chanting?”

“Yes. You don't remember?”

Garrold frowned in thought for a moment, then shook his head. “I remember something, but I'm not sure what. I was just doing what felt natural to do.”

According to the teachings of history, magic had first appeared in humans not long before Solanas the Elder crowned himself Magister. There were legends, however – the same legends that claimed the Eltarans had once ruled everything on both sides of the Ivory Spires, with humans as their slaves – that said the spark of magic had come much earlier, and had been what helped humans earn their freedom. I think it came even earlier than the legends claim, Wilem thought. So much has been lost to us!

“Go, now, Brother,” Wilem said. “Show King Lyrian and his master that we are not to be dealt with as easily as they hope.”

Garrold smiled, then spoke the words of the transit spell. Flames leaped up from the floor, surrounding and engulfing Garrold, and when they were gone, so was he.

“Will he be back?” Stevan asked.

Wilem looked over at the frightened sounding guard. “Oh, yes. And he'll be stronger than ever before.”

“Will he still need us?” Robert asked.

Wilem smiled. “Of course he will. Even the greatest Magisters still needed guards.”

“The Conclave had the Holy Knights,” Stevan said. “Is that what we'll be?”

“Holy is one thing you'll never be, Stevan. Not after that last night in town, anyway,” Robert jeered, which earned him a glare.

The exchange made Wilem chuckle. “The Council of Mages had no need of knights. They had the Silver Shields.”

“Silver Shields? I kinda like the sound of that,” Stevan said.

“So do I,” Robert added.

“Then, when he comes back, and if he's feeling extra charitable, maybe that's what Garrold will make you.” And I have no doubt that he will, Wilem thought. No doubt, at all.