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

Still, he took a small lead upon the cliff behemoth to be the first through the barrier. He stiffened as he took the step which would carry him through the point where he knew it existed. As he surmised, he passed without restriction. The only true question remaining involved the effect of the sphere’s passing of the force field. With that question feeding his curiosity, Ryson turned to witness Dzeb’s crossing.

The cliff behemoth was also not stopped, but his passing of the barrier was not without incident. Ryson’s assessment of the barrier’s location had been precise. It reaffirmed its existence for but a slight moment as Dzeb carried the sphere through. No longer needed to protect the path to the orb, the field crackled with a bluish purple charge. It then fizzled away, leaving only a reminiscent scent which Ryson found similar to that of striking lightning.

Ryson threw out his hand to test the space. It passed through without hindrance, the barrier had dissolved. The tunnel now formed an unimpeded path both to and from the mountain’s core. The way to the sphere’s long guarded resting place was now clear, but no longer important. With but a few more steps of the cliff behemoth, Ingar’s sphere would be free of Sanctum all together.

Ryson turned and stepped lively over the last few paces. He sensed the magnitude of their deed as he moved out of the tunnel. His thoughts turned on the legends, on the mystique of Sanctum and all it represented. Now, with a cliff behemoth at his side, he would see the culmination of a quest which matched the most extravagant of these myths. Sanctum had been entered, the obstacles overcome, and the sphere removed from the most guarded of places.

Yet, there was more, more than simply overcoming the five tiers. They had passed through deeper, stronger barriers, barriers borne of fear, doubt, even intolerance. They had not simply defeated Sanctum; they had overcome the mistrust of ages. The sphere’s existence outside of this monument was testament to that. Such a feat would never have been completed without the assistance of all the races; the elves, algors, humans, and even the dwarves. They would not have succeeded without the Sword of Decree or without Mappel’s knowledge of the shadow trees. They would not have survived the human tier without Lauren’s protection. And this moment certainly would not have been possible without the contribution of the dwarves. Tun might have held to his doubts but he led them safely through the first tier, paved the way to ultimate success. Now, a cliff behemoth and a delver saw to the last act of removal.

In that moment of acknowledging the importance of their accomplishment, full comprehension followed. The thought of Tun dampened Ryson’s exhilaration. There was a cost to be born for their success and even as Dzeb brought the talisman fully free from Sanctum, the delver began to feel as much sadness as joy.

The remainder of his delight was shattered by the cough of his elf friend. The deep hack spurred the delver’s attention away from the sphere, and as he looked upon Lief again, he wondered if they had finished paying the toll.

Lief was becoming a hollow shell of the elf he met not so long ago. The dark circles around his eyes were forming heavy bags, while the rest of his face seemed to thin with every blink of the eye. Even as he sat upon a large stone, his legs trembled and Ryson knew it was not from the pain of the ankle sprain. The elf was gaunt now to the point much beyond the lean Mappel, so much more than when he had first entered Sanctum. The long bow across his shoulder seemed more of a heavy burden than that of a weapon which Lief might use with any conviction. Ryson wondered if Lief could even pull back upon the taught string, a conjecture which was augmented as the elf struggled weakly to his feet.

Ryson, filled with compassion for Lief’s haggard state, called for the elf to cease his struggle. “Don’t get up. You need the rest.”

Lief ignored the request with his last ounce of stubbornness. “I will not rest until the sphere is destroyed. To see to that, we must reach the peak.”

“Maybe you should stay here. Let Dzeb and I go up ahead. There’s no need for you to remain close to the sphere.”

“The sphere has already done its damage to me,” Lief admitted with a heavy breath. “Remaining with you during this short climb will not make a difference.”

“Are you sure?” Ryson was more than slightly reluctant to let the elf accompany them. He honestly thought the climb might take the rest of Lief’s strength.

“I am sure,” Lief grunted with one final burst of resolve. “I am weakened, but not over. I will see this to its end. Besides, if the poison can be washed from me, I will need the healing power of the algors.”

Ryson started to offer the alternative of letting the algors come to the elf. Lief, however, ignored the proposal.

“Let us just hurry to the top,” Lief requested with a weary voice. “The sooner it is destroyed, the better my chances of survival. Let me get on ahead of you. I need but a small distance from the sphere. After that, it makes no difference whether I stand a league or a hair from it. The poison remains in the air regardless.”

With a surprising burst of strength, Lief darted forward and up Sanctum’s slope. Ryson watched with dismay as he knew this was the last ounce of power the elf would muster. He gave Lief ample time before nodding to Dzeb for them to follow.

Ryson kept a pace which allowed Lief to maintain his distance. Only when the elf disappeared over the final ledge did Ryson increase his speed to utilize his own climbing abilities, as well as those of Dzeb. The last few paces were covered with the speed of a near sprint and the accompanying light which surrounded them announced their arrival. The radiance from his sword, increasing with the extending glow to the east, matched clear daylight upon the top of the mountain. It chased away the darkness as the weapon in his hand appeared more like a flaming torch than a finely polished sword. It brought light to all those who now stood upon Sanctum’s peak and it revealed for all to see that the sphere was in Dzeb’s hands.

Most stared at the sphere in wonder, save Holli who was tending to Lief. He had crumpled to the ground in final exhaustion.

Matthew broke the silence with a near shout of exhilaration. “Bless you, bless you both delver and cliff behemoth! And bless the powers that guided us!”

His outburst was cut short by the angry ranting of Jon who stood over the still form of his brother. “Let us waste no more time! Give the sphere to the spirit, let her open the sphere and use the power to save my brother!”

“Then there is hope?” Ryson turned a heartened glance toward Mappel.

“Shayed has stated she might be able to revive the dwarf once the magic is free,” Mappel replied. To this point, he remained guarded, but he could not completely restrain his growing enthusiasm. “With the sphere free of Sanctum, I now believe anything is possible.”

“Life and death is the province of Godson,” Dzeb remarked unshakably. His expression revealed his doubts over the matter and he made no move forward as he maintained possession of the sphere.

While Dzeb’s statement stirred reflection within the elder elf, it infuriated the younger dwarf. Jon, agitated and disturbed by Dzeb’s lack of movement, darted ferociously to the cliff behemoth. He leapt in the air as he plucked it from Dzeb’s hands. The dwarf struggled awkwardly with the sphere’s size, but not with his intentions. He bore a direct path to the ghostly form of Shayed.

As the apparition threw open its hands in gleeful anticipation, Ryson was nearly knocked from his feet by the staggering revelation which presented itself. The power of the sword surged through him. The very air seemed to unravel. He could not focus upon another, not even Mappel who stood by him. His attention was thrust toward the spirit that took Shayed’s shape. The ghostly form turned blood red, at first with no characteristics, but soon its shape came true to him. The shaven head, wicked eyes, gnarled hands, all contrasted sharply with the soft benevolent image of Shayed. He saw clearly through the disguise and beheld the hungry visage of a maddened wizard.

“No!” Ryson screamed. The single word echoed over and over in his mind. Despair and fear ran through him like a cold river. He watched helplessly, painfully, as Jon’s movements seemed to slow to a snail’s pace, but did not falter. The dwarf never hesitated, never heeded the delver’s anguished cry.

Ryson erupted in fury as he witnessed the dwarf holding out the sphere to Ingar’s greedily curling hands. The delver bolted forward, but even his tremendous speed could not erase the distance in time. He dove the last few paces, stretched out to grab the dwarf’s waist, but before impact, the sphere had been passed.

Jon was solid, sturdy with a low center of gravity, but Ryson’s momentum sent him flying. The two rolled over on the wet ground of Sanctum’s peak, Jon with angry confusion, Ryson with growing alarm. The delver gracefully completed the roll and let the spinning motion carry him back to his feet. Jon remained in a bewildered heap, but bore a furious stare upon Ryson.

“Are you mad?!” the dwarf roared. “Do you not want to see my brother restored to me?”

Ryson could not answer, did not have to. The maniacal laugh of another offered a much clearer answer. Jon saw the shocked, near incoherent stare of the delver as the first clue to the scene behind his back. He turned only to witness the others staring in much the same fashion. All watched blankly at the terrifying spectacle. With a final twist of his neck, Jon finally placed his sights upon the source of the depraved exuberance and knew there was no hope for his brother, perhaps no hope for any of them.

Ingar’s disguise had vanished, no longer needed as he possessed the talisman of his own creation, the sphere of ultimate power. He stood revealed; the feigned whiteness of his spirit dissolved and was now stained by his true blood red appearance. The soft kind features of his previous mask eroded away into the deranged face of a madman. His bald head glowed hot. He laughed deeper with delight in his own malice as he now soaked in the power to carry out his twisted nightmares.

The sphere remained beside him, a willing accomplice or perhaps dictator of these same horrific desires. He did not hold the weight of the orb. Instead, he let it levitate within his reach. While his hands remained free, a bond much like a crimson rope tied the two together. A magical union between the sphere and the baneful spirit opened the vast power to Ingar, allowed him to carry out his desires, desires which were indeed spurred by the sphere.

If there was ever a question as to which was truly in control, whether wizard or talisman, it no longer mattered. The two were now one, linked by the bond. The sphere proved as the source of unimaginable power, the wizard was the tool.

As if to punctuate this undeniable fact, Ingar raised his hands and unleashed the power