Return of the Ancient by J J Wilding

Author:J J Wilding [Wilding, J J]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-12-01T22:00:00+00:00

Inside the Tower of Light, Darrius made his way up the spiral staircase as quickly as he could, the fighting outside intensifying with each passing second. The Guardsmen that gotten him to the entrance were now blocking it, fighting off dozens of Emoroc every minute to give him the he needed. Passing the first-floor dormitory, he noticed that all the beds were empty, the beige sheets neatly tucked into the mattress, the traditionally blue duvets folded and arranged properly. On each bed sat two leather-bound books, one stained red and another other blue. The book that was missing was stained gold and contained the spells each apprentice was required to master before they moved onto becoming an adept.

“Third floor.” Darrius murmured to himself as he climbed the stairs, the first time his old bones had had to tackle them in nearly two decades. His own classroom was in the palace itself, where he prepared the adepts in the art of potion making, something Dormer had decided years ago was beneath him as an apothecary. Reaching the third floor, the apprentices all stopped rehearsing their charms and spells and stared at the advisor panting in the doorway, the walls so thick it was impossible to here the calamity outside in the city. Gathering his thoughts, the advisor knew he could rely on them to help him, even if they were only apprentices.

“I need your majik,” he told them, “the fighting outside is a losing battle.”

“Fighting?!” some of the apprentices gasped.

“Fighting,” Darrius repeated, “and a war that relies on us to end it. Borin and Rainne are currently fighting off a beast of illusory majik and it’s our job to help them! We’re going to re-ignite the Eye of Linhelm!”

“Really, sir? The citadel?” Kai, one of the youngest apprentices asked. He was not much older than fifteen and had neatly cropped, dark blonde hair, almost the colour of gold in the lantern light. Like the other young apprentices, he wore the simple black robes to denote he was a first year in training. A dozen wore the red robes of a second year and only half a dozen had succeeded to the white robes of a third year. Triss, the only apprentice missing from the group, was far below them in the city, fighting alongside Taron and the Watermen, having succeeded to his fourth year of training. Darrius, noting the determination on their faces, nodded.

“We certainly are,” he replied, “now, help an old man to the roof and we might begin!”

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