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

“No!” Ryson screamed before the thing could crush his windpipe. He released his hold on his dagger. With unbridled fury, stoked by the will to live, Ryson threw his arms upward. His forearms crashed into the wrists of the corpse. Such was the force of contact, that the boney left wrist snapped, and the creature’s hand went sailing into the brush. The hold was broken, and Ryson scampered off to a safe distance.

The corpse showed no sign of distress over losing its hand. It also showed no sign of tiring. It moved to its feet, brought its focus back upon Ryson, and again, it moved forward.

The delver’s shoulders drooped in disbelief. Mental fatigue, more then physical weariness, hung upon him even as he moved carefully away. As he waved the buzzing insects from his face, he considered turning and running for safety. Even as tired as he was, he believed he could quickly outdistance this thing. He condemned the thought, for it offered no answers, but it appeared his only option. With no other weapon, he had no way of stopping it.

Just as he made his decision, a call from the tree above him held him in place.

“Hold your ground!” an order called out.

Unthinkingly, Ryson’s gaze flew upward.

The corpse ignored the call and saw yet another opportunity to reach its prey. It again moved with great speed and an extended right arm.

Before the arm could reach its target, another form dropped into the fray. A strange man landed upon the ground directly between Ryson and the attacking creature. He was slightly taller than Ryson, but not by much. He was also thinner, yet his muscles were more defined.

With grace and speed that even a delver might envy, the man drew a gleaming sword. The blade was as long as his arm, but only as wide as two of his fingers pressed together. It gleamed with razor sharpness on both its edges. With one quick stroke, the blade sliced through the air as well as the upper portion of the creature’s right arm.

The arm fell to the ground, and for the first time, the corpse paused in its attack. It stood motionless. It stared at the lifeless arm upon the ground as if contemplating its meaning. The flies also faced indecision. They buzzed back and forth from the amputated arm to the main body of the corpse.

The newly arrived stranger did not show any such hesitation. He leaned to one side, and with a great sweeping motion, sent his blade flashing towards the legs of the cadaver. The stranger stepped into his swing, doubling the force of the blow as it struck at the knees. Both legs snapped in half and the corpse folded to the ground.

Ryson stared at the crumpled figure, his gaze fixed upon the heap of bones and rotting flesh. Just as he exhaled with relief, he thought he noticed a light blue glow fizzle about the remains. No further movement occurred, other than the swarming flies which now appeared content to buzz about the motionless remains. The delver found his voice to mumble a confused question.

“Is it dead?”

“It has been dead for many days,” the stranger said sadly, revealing some greater concern.

“What are you talking about?!” The delver’s eyes widened as he turned his stare upon the stranger. His outlandish confrontation still fresh in his mind, Ryson failed to question the appearance of the newcomer, and instead, his thoughts remained fixed upon the corpse. Confusion swirled in his brain.

“How can you say that?” Ryson gasped. “If it were dead, how could it move? You must have seen it for yourself. Didn’t you see it trying to attack me?”

“That I did.” The stranger looked thoughtfully at Ryson. “To perhaps all our dismay, it seems the dead can now be brought back to a sense of life. I despise calling it that, for it is not life at all. Animation. Forced energy. Nothing more.”

The delver’s bewilderment only increased.

“What?” It was all he could manage to blurt out.

“Magic, I’m afraid,” the stranger said distressfully. “It only proves what I already know. The sphere must be free. That is the only answer. It must be. It would explain all that has happened. I could not fathom as to who has gained possession. The thought is too difficult to bear.”

The delver found only puzzles in the words of the stranger. He clasped his hands in great torment. His voice held the tone of unreasoning bewilderment. “What… what are you talking about? I don’t understand what’s going on. None of this makes any sense!”

“It makes all too much sense. Try to calm yourself and I will try to explain. This will not be easy to accept. It’s not easy for me, yet it does not surprise me. You were attacked by the undead, sprung from magic long absent from Uton. I would guess that loosened energies are sailing in every direction even as we talk. The remnants of a spell captured long ago, now released, must have found this half-rotten corpse of some wayward traveler. The magic found its home and animated the body. You were simply unfortunate enough to come across its path.”

Ryson shook his head vehemently. “That’s not possible. What you’re saying is simply not possible.”

“Isn’t it?” the stranger said firmly. “Speak of possibilities and explain to me what you yourself have witnessed. Perhaps many days ago it was not possible, but it appears that this is no longer the case. I tell you the magic is free, and we now face everything that goes with it.”

Ryson was aghast. “So you’re telling me the dead will start rising all over?”

“No. There will be others, that is for sure, but the magic will take different paths. It depends on many things. Unfortunately, I lack information.”

Ryson stared back at the now lifeless heap of rotting flesh. Fatigue, confusion, even despair, crashed upon his every thought. He fought to seize shreds of logic, answers to this unthinkable puzzle. He found nothing but greater turmoil.

“You are human?” the stranger’s voice questioned firmly. There was little sign of compassion for the delver’s confusion.

Ryson finally forced his gaze completely from the broken mass which previously hoped to kill him. He focused upon the face of the man that came to his aid and now stood before him. The stranger had brown, thin hair that hung straight down and clung to his head and neck. It covered his ears fully before ending at the tops of his shoulders. Over which, he wore a heavy wooden long bow and a quiver of arrows. His face looked as ordinary as anyone’s, except for the nose which appeared small and slightly pointed.

“I’m a delver,” Ryson finally answered. The question brought some sense of hard reality. Stating a simple fact seemed to reassure his troubled thoughts. Finding momentary sanctuary in such feelings, he focused upon the question. “Why do you ask?”

The stranger revealed a hint of hopefulness at Ryson’s response.

“Truly? You are a delver? Full-bred?”

“Yes. Again, why do you ask?”

The stranger ignored the question as he reflected upon his own thoughts. “A delver,” he mumbled to himself. “Perhaps a blessing. Difficult to say without more information.”

“What are you talking about?” Ryson demanded. His confusion grew into annoyance. “First, you tell me about the undead and strange magic. Then, you say there might be more. You ask if I’m human, but you stand there talking to yourself when you find out I’m a delver. Are we in danger or not?”

“Relax. You are safe for now. Perhaps safer than I. I asked if you were human because I watched you fight. You moved with great speed and agility. I could not believe you were an ordinary human. I thought you might be half-bred. Although they are scarce, they do exist. I myself have never seen one.”

“You mean half-delver, half-human? You haven’t seen one before? I’ve met hundreds.”

“No. I mean half-human, half-elf.”

“Elf?!”

Again, Ryson Acumen’s eyes widened in disbelief. He now stared angrily at the brown haired man. The word burned in his mind. This was too much. His despair blossomed into near rage. Was it not enough for him to have dealt with the atrocity of the undead? Would he now have to listen to this stranger cast stories about ancient legends? The explanation of magic animating this pile of rotted flesh and bones was enough to stir his anger, but this, this was too much to handle. Rage took hold of his thoughts, a burning spark ignited into a roaring flame and Ryson snapped with a harangue directed at the stranger’s apparent disregard for ancient folklore.

“That’s enough! I’m not going to listen to anymore of this. I don’t know who you are, but that’s enough. You might think I’m fool enough to believe your story about magic, but I won’t stand here and listen to anymore! You want to try and make a fool of me by talking about magic, well that’s fine, but when you talk about elves you’re talking about things you probably don’t even understand. You’re speaking about legends, myths I may not believe but there are others who do. Who in the name of Godson are you to make light of such things?!”

At first the interloper watched in wide-eyed wonder at the delver’s outburst. He was certainly not prepared for such a tongue-lashing and he gaped at Ryson for the first few lines of the angry lecture. Finally, he made an attempt to explain. “Please hold your anger. I assure you I am not making light of the legends. Nothing could be further from my mind.”

Ryson’s anger barely subsided. “Then, why are you questioning me about elves?” he demanded in a strained tone.

For the first time the stranger showed a gleam of compassion for the delver. He spoke softer and with greater warmth. He sheathed his sword and put his arms behind his back. “First allow me to introduce myself. I am Lief Woodson. I am happy to see you defend what you call myths so vigorously, but I assure you, they are not myths. The teachings to which you refer are based on a reality of long ago. It is a reality, however, which all may have to accept once more.”

Ryson finally checked his anger. While the words of the stranger held no more clarity than before, at least his own outburst released the strain of his encounter with the living dead. “I still don’t know what you’re talking about, but I want to make one thing clear. I know about the legends. I was taught long ago to respect them. That means if you’re going to try and make up lies, I won’t stand here listening to you. I’ll go my own way and find out what I can on my own. I’m not ungrateful to you for saving me, but your words are disrespectful. Not to me, but to others.”

Lief Woodson smiled broadly. He even allowed himself to laugh lightly, but only for a scant moment. “You must indeed be a delver, for no human would treat the legends with such respect. Forgive me for laughing, I do not laugh at you. I have witnessed many disconcerting things these past few days. To listen to you sparks a hope deep within me. But let me assure you, I do not abuse those things which you call myths. They are, however, not myths. They were, are, and always shall be reality. I am part of the legends themselves. As you are purebred delver, I am full-bred elf.”

Lief pulled his hair back and away from the sides of his head and he exposed his ears for Ryson to witness the pointed