The Black Shield by Michael Wallace

Author:Michael Wallace [Wallace, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Fantasy
Publisher: Balsalom Publishing
Published: 2017-10-03T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

Two days after his confrontation with the dark acolytes, Chantmer was in the library vault with a book of arcane knowledge, laboriously copying an incantation while trying to fix it in his memory, when he sensed a strange presence. A change, a scent on the air.

The library was drenched in magic already—runes and wards and the minor charms of archivists, all mixed with the deep, knot-like magic protecting the books and scrolls themselves—and if he hadn’t placed a special ward at the doorway against intruders, he might have missed it. The smell was like lemon. Tangy, distinctive. The ward had released it to his senses when it detected an unknown presence entering. Whoever it was carried magic with him, rich with power, and Chantmer sensed danger.

He didn’t rise from the desk over which he’d hunched. Instead, he slowly set down the quill on its cloth, turned his hands palms down, and brought up a spell. Spectral hammers. They might not destroy the intruder, but they would weaken him long enough for the library’s own defenses to activate. He began to speak the words.

“Volans maleis again?” came a familiar voice. “Aren’t you tired of that old spell?”

The half-spoken incantation died on Chantmer’s lips, and he turned. “Oh, it’s only you.”

Narud opened a satchel and set down a jar of honey, two bottles of wine, and a wheel of cloth-wrapped cheese on the table next to Chantmer’s open book. The former apprentice and freshly ordained wizard raised one bushy black eyebrow, seeming to enjoy looking down on Chantmer for once.

“And why should I change it?” Chantmer said. “Had you been an enemy, volans maleis would have been effective in this closed space.”

“Would it? I’m not so sure. The hammers rotate as they fly, and might have smashed apart on the vaults. Anyway, how about radicatus?”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“Which proves my point. If you didn’t lean so much on volans maleis, you’d have a wider repertoire.”

Chantmer gritted his teeth at Narud’s tone. It didn’t help that Jethro and Karla were in the library, studying the clay tablets from Marrabat and openly listening in on the conversation.

“I suppose you’re a wizard now,” Chantmer said, “and that means you can lecture me as you see fit.”

“I didn’t mean it as a lecture.” Narud shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “The master told me to check on your progress, to see what new spells you’d learned.”

“Never you mind, I’ve been studying hard.”

“And who were you expecting just now when you tried to smash my face?”

“His name is Zartosht of Starnar. There was another, too. They call themselves dark acolytes, and they serve King Toth.”

Chantmer explained to Narud how he’d been approached in the palace gardens, how Zartosht had bragged about entering the library and defacing the Book of Gods, and how he’d tried to recruit Chantmer to serve the necromancer.

“What a fool,” Narud said. “As if that could tempt one who follows the Crimson Path, no matter his position in the order.

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