As an added precaution, mages and wizards had been put on guard duty, patrolling the inside edge of the safety sphere at all times. Currently, a young boy was "guarding," by falling asleep leaning on his staff.
"Hey, wake up. This is urgent!" Timothy yelled. The mage on the other end continued to sleep, blissfully unaware of the noise muffled by the sphere.
Timothy rolled his eyes. "Ingo."
I fireball arced from his staff into the sky, exploding over the camp for extra effect.
The boy fell off his staff as a horde of wizards ran to the edge of the sphere, led by Malachi, whose face betrayed his delight.
"Timothy! How are you?" he yelled.
"I'm okay! Can you let me in?" the apprentice yelled back.
Malachi said something to the sorcerers behind him that Timothy couldn't hear, and then snapped at the sphere, causing a small gap to appear.
"I need a bigger hole, I have a griffin," Timothy said.
"Oh." Malachi said, blinking his left eye, then his right. The hole widened enough to allow the griffin and boy through.
Timothy had barely made it through the makeshift door when he was hit from the side by a flying hug.
"Eleanor! I missed you."
"When we didn't hear anything, they thought you were dead. But I knew you would come back," the girl said, never letting go.
"As did I," Malachi said, embracing both mages.
"Bartemus told me to bring this to you," Timothy said, wiggling out of his friends' arms. He handed the envelope to Malachi, who quickly scanned it, a concerned look filling his face.
"Timothy, does your father have any large boats in the area right now?"
The mage nodded. "He always keeps at least one to the north of Gurvinite. Why?"
Malachi turned to a wizard that Timothy didn't know. "Get the battle robes ready. We're going to war."
18
The isle was quiet, waves quietly lapping the shore. In the past fifty years, palm trees, grass, and other shrubs had begun to grow amongst the ash and dried lava. The isle had once sported a small stone hut in the center of the mile long island, but after the eruption that destroyed Malcommer's army it had been covered in ash and lava, and now resembled a small black hill. Normally, seabirds and other fowl chattered to each other amongst the trees, but on the day that Aidan's griffin gracefully landed on the black ground the air held a heavy silence, as if waiting for the life that had just begun to grow to be mercilessly destroyed again.
Aidan felt like he was stepping on a grave as his foot touched the earth, and the ring on his finger reminded him that he was, in a sense. Marcus's spirit had lived, but his phoenix had died, and his body likely still rested under the black rock.
The place where the griffin landed was close to the hill, in a flat, barren area. Aidan hadn't pushed the beast nearly as hard as he had on the ride to the elven encampment, so the journey had taken two days. For the first hour he had tried to turn the griffin around so that he could talk to Aeron about his father, but to no avail. Somehow the elf must have caused the creature to disobey Aidan and fly straight in the direction he started for a certain amount of time. Besides, Aidan somehow doubted the elf would give him any more information about his father. How Aeron knew anything about the man, Aidan could only guess.
"Bartemus?" the boy called. His voice seemed small on the empty island.
"I'm here," a voice said from behind Aidan.
The mage spun around, staff in hand, to see his master, the dragon on his forehead glowing slightly.
"What happened, Aidan? And where is the amogh?"
So Aidan tried, in broken sentences and stutters, to tell his master all that he had left out when they spoke through the crystal. When he was done, his master was silent for a few moments, before slowly nodding his head.
"Very well. Follow me."
Aidan was bewildered. "That's it? No disappointment?"
Bartemus shook his head. "No, I have faith that you did everything in your power to come here, and to bring an amogh with you. Now come, I must show you something."
They walked to the side of the hill, which Aidan suddenly realized was the only non-flat surface on the isle.
"Do you remember the word for earth in The Sorcerer's Tongue?" Bartemus asked.
Aidan nodded.
"Remove the lava here. I've already prepared the earth so it will be easier to break."
The young mage raised his staff. "Terrack."
He frowned, as the spell took far more effort than he had expected, though the ground did break and crumble, revealing a door.
"It's the amogh you've been travelling with. She has been slowly pushing the magic out of you. Don't worry, you'll be recharged within three days. Come inside."
He cracked open the door and ushered Aidan into the dark space. From behind him, the mage heard his master say ingo, and the entire room was filled with light from a small candle the warlock was holding.
For a moment, Aidan thought he had somehow gone into the Phoenix Ring again. The room was certainly the same as the one inside the ring, except for the absence of Marcus and a thick layer of dust that had settled over everything.
"You look like you've been here before," Bartemus said.
Aidan nodded. "It's the room inside the ring. How is that possible?"
Bartemus smiled. "I'm not surprised. By the time his phoenix died, this was the only place that Marcus ever called home. He likely designed the spell that created the inside of your ring inside this very room. Marcus, Malachi and I were staying here when Malcommer's armies attacked Gurvinite. Malachi and I were on a supply run when it happened. Marcus contacted me through a crystal to tell me goodbye, and then we saw black clouds of ash rise from the sea. How they kept the eruption from reaching the mainland, I will never know." The warlock's eyes were shining. "Marcus's power was untouchable. Even Malcommer didn't expect such strength to exist in any other warlock. I have to show you something."
Bartemus walked to the back of the room, where a locked chest rested against the wall. Aidan had seen the chest in the ring, but had no idea what was in it.
Bartemus touched the lock and whispered the word "reklatorr." There was a click as the top of the chest swung open, powered by spring loaded hinges.
Inside were the two broken halves of a wooden staff, a wand, and an old blue wizard robe. Bartemus pulled the robe up and held it in the air, letting the dust fall off. It was, surprisingly, mostly undamaged, except for a tear in the shoulder.
"Give it some power," the warlock said.
Aidan had barely pushed any magic into it when the runes in the robe, which Aidan hadn't seen before, began to light up, one at a time.
"This was Marcus's battle robe. It guards against basic enchantments and curses as long as it has sufficient energy, and is one of the most important tools of a sorcerer going to war. He chose not to use it during his last stand because he planned to slay the enemy before they came close to shore, I assume. Now, it belongs to you."
Aidan took it before realizing the full implications of what had been done.
"Master, why are you giving me a battle cloak?" he asked.
Bartemus sighed. "Aidan, come outside. I have a lot to tell you."
The boy followed his master out of the hut, where they sat down on the ground. "What do you know about dragons?" the old warlock asked.
"I know they live in the Dragonback Range," Aidan said, "and that they are related to wyverns. That's all."
"Then it's time you learned," Bartemus said. "Before the inhabitants of Sortiledge first invaded the Nefarious Lands, dragons and their close relatives, wyverns, ruled the skies. Wyverns, unlike dragons, are not intelligent creatures and have no ability to speak or use magic. For a very long time, dragons and wyverns terrorized all of the races in the Nefarious Lands, until one day, when a young boy befriended and bonded with a dragon, creating a heartsoul link not unlike the one you and the amogh girl now share. But that is another story.
"After humans learned how to bond with a dragon, they began to ride them. Soon, dragons and their riders were the guardians of the Nefarious Lands, slaying any that threatened their people. This was considered the golden age of dragons. But then, in one moment, we destroyed their peace.
"When the three races of Sortiledge began to invade the Nefarious Lands, naturally the dragons and their riders were the first defenders. At first, they won. Their scales, flame, and magic made them nearly invincible. But soon, all three races began to find ways to slay them. Elven archers, dwarven engineers, and our own human knights began to earn the title Dragonslayer.