The Red Sword by Michael Wallace

Author:Michael Wallace [Wallace, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Fantasy
Publisher: Balsalom Publishing
Published: 2017-08-11T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

The three apprentices were exhausted by morning. They’d passed the night sitting in a circle in the shrine of the Golden Pavilion, heads bowed, reading the archivist’s writing by moonlight. Whenever they parsed out a new line, they spent an hour, sometimes two, chanting it in unison, using their combined efforts to fix it in their memories.

As the first rays of sun crept over the woods to the east and gleamed off the small lake, one of the acolytes scaled the platform. He pulled back the sleeves of his saffron-colored robe, drew the beam suspended on ropes, and let it fall against the massive bell. It let out a deep, sonorous ring that echoed through the still morning air.

Still, the apprentices kept up their labors. It was an unusually slippery incantation, and even after an exhausting night of work, Nathaliey struggled to contain the words. At last, Narud lifted his head.

“I have it.”

“Do you?” Chantmer asked. “Repeat it, then.”

Narud did so. It sounded nearly perfect.

“Good. You will say the spell. Nathaliey and I will lend our strength.” Chantmer stood, rolled the sheet of vellum, and tucked it into his robe. “Come. We must hurry before it is forgotten.”

Nathaliey’s body creaked as she straightened herself. Her joints felt frozen, and her feet tingled when she put weight on them. She stumbled down the stairs to where Chantmer was already slipping on his sandals and did the same. The two of them walked ahead, while Narud brought up the rear, muttering the incantation under his breath.

“It will take our combined power,” Chantmer told her. “And that’s if Narud can hold the incantation.”

“We can manage.” Nathaliey gathered her confidence. The earlier she began to build her will, the better.

“I would even welcome Markal’s contribution,” Chantmer said. “Small as it is. But as he is not here, we must draw strength where we can. From unlikely sources, if you will.”

“You mean the acolytes?”

This brought a dismissive wave of the hand. “They are useless. No, I mean the gift left to us by the master.”

Nathaliey stopped and gave him a sharp look. “The orb again?”

“Shh, keep walking. You will distract Narud.”

“You never should have recovered it from the desert. Should have left it there for the master when he awakened.”

“What if our enemies had found it? It was lying there in the sand. Anyone could have scooped it up.”

She raised an eyebrow. “So simple? You walked up, and there it was, glinting in the sunlight.”

“Well, no. I searched for some time. It didn’t want to be found, I’ll admit. But with a bit of clothing from the master’s cottage and a seeking spell—”

“Something anyone can cast,” she said.

“Go ahead, be sarcastic if you want. But I saw fit to recover it, and I saw fit to study it, learn from it. That’s more initiative than any of the rest of you showed.”

“And what did that gain you? You tried to use it once already, and you failed miserably. You lost the thing to Bronwyn, remember?”

“The barbarian is long gone, and there is no risk now.

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