The Elder's Curse by Andrew Walbrown (ereader for textbooks TXT) 📕

door, scratching his chin with a single claw. His tail danced behind him gracefully, as though it were trying to decipher the magically infused letters as well. Meanwhile, Ulam studiously examined each word carved into the walls, comparing them to those forged into his axe blade. Though he did not find any matches, he was not going to become discouraged; he assumed it was only a matter of time until he found an identical word. Between his determination and Mazargo’s semi-literacy, Ulam believed together they would be able to unlock the mystery behind his weapon.

It had been a long time since Ulam had wondered about the symbols on his axe, having originally dismissed the engravings as the work of a pious blacksmith or proud warlord. But upon discovering the letters on his axe shared the same alphabet as those carved into the walls, he could not help but let his mind run wild. He knew the axe was magical, made evident by how it was able to sever the necks of the enchanted sentinels, cutting through black marble as smoothly as a knife through butter. He wondered how the axe came to the Orcish Sanctuary, and how long it had laid there waiting to be found. Ulam was also curious about its origins: who forged the blade, from what materials, and how? Why was the axe created, and for whom?

“Any luck?” Mazargo asked, his focus on the door unbroken.

“No. You?”

“Not really. All Mazargo knows is whatever is on the other side will not be good. But of course, that is why they are called ‘trials.’ Are you ready to continue?”

Ulam grunted. As ready as I will ever be.

Mazargo put a fur-covered hand on the door and pushed, the grating of stone on stone filling the room. The opened door revealed a small room, in the center of which was a small mahogany table, plain but beautifully made, with an equally elegant hand-carved case resting on top. Inside the case were a half dozen glass vials filled with an unknown substance, the liquids inside amethyst in color. There was no writing, or indication of any kind, to clarify their purpose, or what was contained inside the vials. They just sat quietly on the top of the table, waiting patiently to be consumed.

Mazargo retrieved one from the case and observed it, swirling and smelling the liquid inside as though it were a glass of wine. Judging from the lack of reaction on the mage’s face, Ulam presumed the liquid was odorless, or at least not pungent enough to elicit a strong response. He waited as Mazargo continued examining the vials, openly admitting he knew nothing of potions and alchemy. Hopefully, Mazargo is less ignorant of these things than I am.

“What do you think?” Ulam asked as he pressed on each inch of the black marble walls surrounding them. In his studies, he had read of rooms with secret passageways, only accessible by pushing on the correct segment of the wall. He was not sure if this was one of those rooms, or if such places truly existed, but he was going to search while he waited for Mazargo to respond.

“Mazargo does not know, it has the properties of colored water and no smell. He thinks perhaps he must drink a vial to truly determine its purpose here.”

“Are you sure that is a good idea?” Ulam muttered as his fingers traced some lettering. “What if it is poison?”

“Then Mazargo will die.” He smiled, revealing a row of shiny white teeth. “But at least you will know the answer, yes?”

Ulam laughed; he appreciated the dark humor. Appropriate kind of joke for a place like this.

Without further discussion, Mazargo picked up a vial of the amethyst liquid and drank every last drop, wiping his lips when he finished. At first, there was no effect, the liquid seeming to be utterly harmless. But after a few seconds, Mazargo started looking around, as though he were desperately searching for something.

“What is it?” Ulam asked, concerned by the sudden change.

“Mazargo sees the way out of this room,” he replied. “Follow him.”

Suddenly Mazargo walked through a black marble wall and instantly disappeared. Ulam tried following him, believing a veil of some sort was concealing the exit to the room. But as he tried passing through the same hidden doorway he was stopped by cold, hard marble.

“I cannot pass through,” Ulam shouted as he retried pushing on the wall in a dozen places, thinking there was a secret button Mazargo had pushed to leave.

“Interesting,” Mazargo’s muffled voice said from the other side of the wall. “Perhaps you must drink from a vial as well?”

Without hesitation, Ulam grabbed a vial and drank, believing that must be how Mazargo was able to pass through the wall like a ghost. As he suspected a few minutes later the solid black marble slowly melted away, revealing another room with yet another mahogany table. Mazargo stood nearby, holding a vial in his hand.

“Looks like blood, no?” Mazargo said as he smelled the liquid inside. Unlike the previous vial, this one was as red as rubies. He tipped the liquid into his mouth, wincing at its taste. “It does not taste like blood though. So this is good.”

Ulam followed suit, grabbing a different vial from the cask and drinking its contents. A new exit opened before them, revealing another room with another mahogany table. They continued this pattern through many rooms, each with the same table in the center of a room with a case resting on top. Inside was always a set of vials, only with different colors as they progressed through the bizarre course.

As they passed from room to room, Ulam began to feel a little weaker. His muscles became stiff, his joints ached like never before. Mazargo complained of the same ailments, and after the fifteenth room, his tail stopped dancing behind him. Around the twentieth room Ulam was forced to sit down, his muscles devoid of energy.

“What…are…we…drinking?” He managed to say through