Delver Magic I: Sanctum's Breach by Jeff Inlo (read novels website .TXT) 📕

“Yes, he’s in your chambers.”

Matthew turned and ran up the stone stairs, his feet passing beyond every other step. He grabbed the door and yanked it open. It swung to its full length before it thudded against the stone door stop. It vibrated for but a moment, until its own great weight brought it to a motionless halt. Matthew was through the door in but a heartbeat. Before another such beat, he had already vanished beyond the line of sight of those that followed.

Rachael also moved quickly up the stairs. She grabbed the door handle, but waited patiently for the two strangers to follow her inside before she swung it closed. Once all were inside, she set off down a small corridor and disappeared through a door in a far back corner of the church.

Mappel and Lief looked about curiously. The main room of worship now contained several more anxious people. They totaled barely more than a dozen, but their whispers buzzed with excitement and sent an echoing hum through the rafters. In comparison to the space available to them within this building which was more like a fortress than a church, their number appeared meager at best. They could no more fill the many benches which lined the open space than Mappel’s camp of elves could fill the branches of all the trees in Dark Spruce Forest. Yet, from what the elder elf remembered of Matthew’s words, this must represent a great majority of the church’s followers.

Those within barely heeded the arrival of the elves. In fact if either Lief or Mappel had removed their caps, it was doubtful that any would have noticed. Instead, they chattered nervously, excitedly among themselves. They looked pensively toward the hallway which led to Matthew’s personal chamber.

“What should we do?” Lief asked softly while keeping a watchful eye on the people that continued to ignore them.

“Let us move to a seat in the back where we will remain inconspicuous to these people. I assume the reader will summon us when the time is proper.”

The church members paid them no mind. Their attention remained centered upon the passage to Matthew’s chamber.

Both elves took satisfaction in the small respite, and neither felt at all uneasy with the present number of humans, a humble and unassuming lot.

Lief took the opportunity to look about the large open space which represented the heart of the church. For the most part, it remained simple. It was void of any relics or symbols which might connect it to the faith of Godson. The walls made of powerful stone, rose up to the thick wooden rafters of the roof. The benches stood aligned with a walkway down the center, leading away from the front door. At the path’s end, a simple platform stood innocuously and just high enough to allow a clear view of a speaker.

Lief’s further inspection was cut short by the sudden appearance of the reader. He broke from the passageway into the vast open space alone. He took but a few steps toward the center before stopping to address the other followers who immediately ceased their chatter.

“Friends, it is not my intention to keep things from you. I would have you all involved with what must be considered, if I could. Unfortunately, I am not even sure if it is my place to be included in what must be discussed here today. Please bear with me for but a few moments.”

The reader turned, but not back to his chamber. After scanning the room, his eyes fell upon the two seated in the back. He moved to them almost as quickly as he raced up the steps of the church. He leaned over Mappel and whispered so as no one else could hear.

As the other church members watched silently, Mappel nodded and made but a passing remark to his companion.

Lief rose and headed to a side door which Rachael had previously used. In but a moment, he was behind a closed door. It was time for him to send word to the elf sentries of Dark Spruce.

Upon Lief’s exit, Mappel turned his head back to the reader. They exchanged messages inaudible to the others. He then stood and followed Matthew to the center of the room, to within the very midst of the other followers. They gathered around the elf and the reader curiously, expectantly.

It was Mappel who spoke. He stood still, his hands gently clasping his staff. Only his head turned about to meet the questioning gazes of those that now surrounded him.

“Do not blame the reader for keeping you in the dark over what has been happening here. It was never his intention to hide anything from you. If you must blame someone of that, blame me. I will tell you now, what only a select others might know. You will understand, for your following allows you an appreciation for the land as it was.” He tried not to pause, but he could not help stopping to inhale deeply before speaking his next sentence. “The Sphere of Ingar has broken free from its entombment, and the magic has returned to the land.”

Mumblings erupted, but soon all quieted to hear further explanation.

Mappel held them calm with his reassuring voice and patient eyes. “I know you will find this difficult to accept. I have been told such a thing has not been prophesied for you. I can only say that such an event was also not included in elflore. I know such a thing, for I am an elf.”

With these words, he removed his cap and cloak and tossed them upon a nearby bench. He did so with a confident assurance, as if he knew exactly how those that surrounded him would react. He remained still for long seconds to allow the others a moment to vent their surprise. Indeed, the room was filled with gasps of shock and mumbles of disbelief. As the room finally quieted once more, Mappel concluded his address.

“The events which are now unfolding are difficult for us all. Yet face them we must. And we must face them together. I ask that all of you keep this to yourselves. The reader has assured me you are capable of such and I have no cause to doubt that. The interpreter has returned to you. He has returned to discuss the sphere. As your reader has said, he does not wish to keep secrets from you, but I will ask your indulgence. I must speak to the interpreter. There are things we both must know. I would ask that I may do this in private with only the Reader Matthew present. For now, this is how it must be done.”

Mappel turned and walked from the small crowd and toward Matthew’s chamber.

The reader lingered but for a moment to allow himself one last reassurance to the other followers. He then followed quickly after Mappel.

Matthew took the lead after turning a small corner and guided the elf back to his chamber. The door remained open as Matthew stepped inside. With great respect, he presented the elder elf to the interpreter.

Mappel walked purposefully into the chamber with dignified grace, almost as if he expected to meet royalty. He came to an abrupt halt upon witnessing the appropriately named interpreter. While Mappel knew little of the current customs and culture of the humans, he was well aware of their short life span, especially as compared to the longevity of the elf. He knew they grew old quickly. In but the turn of a handful of seasons, their lives past and age made its mark upon their faces. He thus expected a wizened old man. At the very least, a senior to the reader. That is not what he found.

The youthful interpreter leapt from his chair with a broad smile and the energy of a young deer at play. He could not keep his eyes from the tips of Mappel’s ears even as he held out a sturdy hand to grip Mappel’s. His eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, rather than surprise.

“An elf,” he said almost joyously. “By the wisdom of Godson, an elf!” He laughed a gleeful laugh. “You don’t know how happy it makes me to see you.”

Matthew moved past, but as he did, he noted the bewildered expression pulling upon Mappel’s cheeks. He cleared his throat lightly before speaking to make introductions.

“Mappel, this is Stephen Clarin. We also refer to him as the interpreter. Stephen, this is Mappel. He is an elder and leader from an elfin camp in Dark Spruce Forest.”

Before the interpreter could utter another word in greeting, Mappel turned upon the reader. He had pulled his hand away from Stephen’s grip as if it were nothing more than an illusion.

“This young man is your interpreter?” Mappel could not withhold his question nor mask his disbelief.

Stephen took no insult at the inquiry as he responded for the reader.

“I am that,” he spoke cheerily while continuing to steal yet another glance at the unique ears. “Not what you expected am I?”

“No you are not,” Mappel replied as he allowed himself to glance over Stephen’s entire young body. “I do not wish to offend you, but I must admit I do not understand this. It does not fit with the rest of the story I have been told.”

“What story is that?” Stephen asked. His eyes twinkled even brighter, as if he was privy to some joke no one else in the room was aware of.

Mappel’s grip tightened about his staff. His voice rang with confusion. “That you came to this church ten complete cycles of the land ago, yet you appear less than thirty cycles now.”

“I am twenty-six,” the interpreter said with no shame.

“That would have made you sixteen upon your previous arrival to this church.”

“Yes, it would.”

“A boy of sixteen interpreting the prophecies of Godson to elders of the church?” The thought seemed so preposterous, so out of place for the elf. For but a moment, he pictured himself taking council from an elf of sixteen. Outlandish! Where was the wisdom of anything to be gained in but sixteen precious cycles of the land, let alone the ability to interpret such things as the prophecies of Godson?

Stephen could not withhold a chuckle. “Yes, I’m afraid that’s true. And I can’t tell you how difficult that made things. Luckily, the followers of Godson are more willing to overlook such things; more likely than the town regulars.”

“Please explain to me how this can be.” Mappel swam in a sea of apprehension as he made his plea. More than just disbelief now threatened to take hold of him. He had placed great hope upon this interpreter, hope that secrets of Sanctum might unravel within the combined understandings of elflore and the Book of Godson. Such expectations grew out of the high regard that the reader had placed in the interpreter, but the presence of this young man now nearly dashed such hopes. How could any one so young be knowledgeable to any great extent over such ancient and intricate composition?

Stephen retook his chair as Mappel deferred an equal invitation and placed his staff upon the floor for support. The interpreter sunk happily into a relaxed state. Unlike the mayor, he took a non-challenging position in his tone and his expression. When he spoke, his words carried a simple ease and a self assurance. Apparently, he found no offense in being questioned over his age and revealed no hesitation in making an explanation.

“People have said I was born with a gift. I do not wish to make any such judgments. I will simply say that Godson wishes to reveal the secrets of his prophecies, the secrets of the future, to the followers of his word. I have