The Traitor's Spell: An epic fantasy adventure (The Magic Circle Book 3) by P.C. Darkcliff

Author:P.C. Darkcliff [Darkcliff, P.C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction
Publisher: P.C. DARKCLIFF
Published: 2023-08-03T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-One:

Exorcism

The Archmage waved at Nerah’s servants to leave, but Nerah raised her hand to stay them. The servants stood still, their eyes glancing from the Archmage to his granddaughter, their hands fidgeting. They looked as tense as warrior nuns facing Corpsentinels.

“I don’t want to watch this, Grandpa,” she said. “It will be horrid.”

Gadram frowned. “You are my future successor, and you must learn, Nerah.” While less gruff than usual, his voice was firm and uncompromising. “You are staying.”

She sighed and nodded.

Gadram turned to Paatyn. “You may leave if you wish, Count.”

Paatyn frowned in thought, his nostrils flaring. Then he gave a curt nod and left. Baard wondered why he would not want to witness such an important rite. Gadram said nothing to Baard and Mardok, but Baard had no intention of leaving Ufi alone with him. Something told him he should not trust the Archmage. Mardok stood still, breathing hard as she struggled to control her emotions.

The Archmage waved the servants away. When they left, he ordered, “No speaking, no sobbing, no interruptions!”

Baard stood by the left bedpost by the head of Ufi’s bed, three or four paces from Gadram. Clenching the twisting mahogany wood, he braced himself for the worst. Mardok stood by the opposite bedpost.

Gadram turned to Ufi and stretched his hands toward him. “Urebeorum agarir eve’talmved atregonerum aharir . . .” The Archmage spoke in a language of which Baard understood almost nothing, and which he assumed came from the Stone-Ax Elves; it was the oldest type of the Ancient Tongue. A stiff breeze began to blow through the open window. A powerful gust brought in a handful of dead leaves that swirled around the room. The curtains fluttered and rose, flapping loudly. A gurgling sound made Baard glance at the washstand. Steam billowed from the water as if it was boiling.

Ufi groaned and arched his back, making it seem he had a spasm. Baard winced while Mardok hugged the bedpost and clasped her free hand over her mouth to stifle a sob or a scream. Nerah’s gasp reached Baard’s ears over the howling of the strengthening gale.

The curtains flapped like sails in a storm. The curtain rod crashed to the floor, nearly hitting the headrest of Ufi’s bed. The windows creaked on their hinges. The dead leaves swirled in a mad funnel. A pigeon darted inside, shoved forth by a blast of wind. It nearly hit Baard’s head as it zipped past him and slammed into the wall. It slid down and did not move again.

“ . . . dorem adherem dreutor bimvlierum sterered . . .” The Archmage’s voice rang strong over the howling of the wind and the furious bubbling of the water on the nightstand.

Baard groaned in his throat when blood gushed from Ufi’s nostrils. Ufi twisted in the bed, his hands clenching the bedsheet so strongly his knuckles went white. He gnashed his teeth like a Daemorc and groaned like a Gravelacker.

The wind brought in mist, which rolled and slithered around the room like the groping hands of blind ghosts.

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