Delver Magic I: Sanctum's Breach - Jeff Inlo (the best motivational books .txt) 📗

At Sanctum’s peak, the spirit of the elfin sorceress Shayed peered to the east. Her translucent face revealed neither joy nor desperation. Growing winds from the west passed harmlessly through her transparent form. Even as small amounts of dust and debris swirled about the ground, she floated unaffected by the gusts. The growing clouds in the far west seemed of even less concern to her. The air remained dry, though the temperature had fallen from its unseasonable highs.

“They are together. They know what they must do, and they will soon be here,” she murmured to herself with a nod. Again, it was impossible to read any emotion from the spirit. It was as if she simply acknowledged the inevitable, as if she never doubted this moment would arrive.

She could see them, although seeing would not truly describe the basis of her awareness. It was more like understanding, or the completion of a thought. It was as much like searching for an elusive word or melody that escapes until it finally comes free in voice or in song. It took no special sorceress power for her to reach this point of comprehension. Simply being a spirit allowed her greater awareness then when she had walked upon the land as a mortal. That awareness grew sharper, crisper when it centered upon all things connected with the sphere.

Such was her link with the talisman. What was of importance to the orb was important to her. The two intertwined so tenaciously, her very presence upon this plane of existence was attributable solely to the peril created by the sphere. Anything relevant to the matter became as clear to her as stars on a cold, crystal evening.

Shayed could sense each of them. Even at this moment, she knew they remained gathered in the basement of the ancient church, although they hastened to leave. There were none missing. All that were required, all that were needed, were there. Each now intended to help save the land; that was now clear to her as well. The doubts had been lifted, and nothing was left to obscure the cause.

The image of the church remained crisp in her mind. It brought with it echoes of Connel. Memories of her last living days in Uton flooded back to her. Even now, she could still remember the great conflict between the forces she aligned and the magic casters. The stone church, where people prayed when the Wizard War reached its fury, served as sanctuary for many during the last terrible night of pitched battle. With the knowledge obtained upon her own death, she now knew how important those prayers were. Beyond the steps of the church, she could sense the ancient wall. She could almost feel the solid, powerful stones the dwarves labored to build around Connel. To this day, it remained mostly intact, just as the church stood upon its very same foundation. The image of the church and the wall allowed her a moment of confidence. If they again served in some way to aid those that battled the sphere, so much the better.

Her resolve to defeat the sphere never waned, even in these moments of reflection upon the past, even as she realized how much of her life, how much of her essence, was intertwined with this horrible device. It was during these moments of self inspection, however, that she accepted the link between herself and Ingar’s sphere.

It gave her purpose in life, and again in death. It brought her fame and a place in the legends during her mortal existence. Now, it allowed her to return to the land, even as a spirit. Such moments in history were rare in themselves, reserved for angels and messengers of greater power, but again she found herself at the forefront of a battle where all life hung in the balance. Again, her link with the sphere made her very existence as important as any in the land.

Still, her purpose remained as if forged in steel. She would see to it that the talisman was finally destroyed, removed as a threat forever. However, in the conclusion of that joyous moment, she knew within herself that her own importance to the land would diminish as well. She could not help but wonder what its final destruction would truly mean to her. Certainly, she would savor the victory, relish the knowledge that the threat to the land was defeated. But would there also be emptiness in the face of final success? Could she be so vain that it might bring her sadness to see the end of that which brought her glory? She knew she could not avoid the pride which would accompany destroying the sphere. That, in itself, brought her no shame. It was the void which began to open when her thoughts latched to a time beyond the orb. She did not know if she could find fulfillment without purpose. The sphere offered purpose, but only as long as it existed.

Troubling thoughts.

Troubling enough to keep her from noticing, or even sensing, the stir behind her. The very fabric of time and space dwindled and unraveled in an area no bigger than a large man’s fist. During a time when tainted magic spilled over the land and the destinies of all living creatures were in the balance, even such a small disturbance held the potential for enormous consequences. It afforded an opportunity for the essence of another to take hold in this existence, one who was also long connected with the orb.

The small, wavering opening became a conduit and it crackled inaudibly with energy. Red embers, as deep in color as any rose in the land, pulsated adrift in mid-air. The energy broke free from the spatial rent just as the distortion closed. A crimson ball remained just as would a mystery as to why the distortion occurred at all. Some would say it was the sphere searching for an ally that rent the fabric of time. Others would argue it was the efforts of the ally himself that caused the break.

The energy which first existed as a pulse of red light grew in size. It swirled about, taking shape, forming greater detail with every second. The red tint remained even as the pulsating energy elongated, grew proportionately, creating a body with limbs and a head. As if molded from scarlet flames without heat or smoke, the shape of a man now appeared upon Sanctum’s summit. A cold expression of malice, or perhaps insanity, clashed with the red glow that punctuated its existence. His shaven head glowed brighter than any other part of his form. It held the crimson pupils that now fixed upon Shayed’s back.

With a silent wave of scarlet translucent arms, red chains crystallized from the very air. Like demon serpents, they slithered through the sky with knifing speed and wrapped themselves about the elfin sorceress before she could raise an arm in defense. Another wave of an arm and the very air around Shayed shuddered in upheaval. Just as the red chains restricted her movement, a field of crimson encircled her, blocked her path in every direction.

The sudden manifestation of the magical chains ripped Shayed’s focus from events far away and brought her attention back to the here and now with sudden fury. The chains swirled round and round about her, tightening with every curl. Forged of magical energies, these chains lacked any material substance. Instead, they surged with power and the ability to contain even the movements of one that lacked physical form.

In the wink of an eye, the barrier appeared, completely encasing her. The land before her turned crimson as she peered through the walls of her newfound prison. Unable to move her arms or legs, due to the restraint of the chains, she willed her form forward. Floating on air with the bonds still about her, she collided with the wall of the force field. It would not let her pass. It was as mystically charged as were the chains, and it prevented her movements with the same efficiency.

Caught off guard, confused and angered, she spun herself about inside the bubble of red. With every move, the chains grew tighter. As she faced her attacker and met his face with recognition, her anger turned to fear. She muttered but one word as she recoiled, but her back struck the wall of the force field and ended any hope of escape.

“Ingar!”

The wizard said nothing. He stood with arms ready as he scanned the effectiveness of the restraints he forged. A careful eye probed every inch of the barrier, looking for gaps or imperfections. He then focused upon the chains. He studied each link as he circled her slowly.

From outside the sphere, her clear white shape took on a pink hue, a result of being behind the crimson field. The shade, however, was far from a healthy pink. It manifested itself more as infection, like the swelling, irritated tissue around an open sore.

Ingar cared little about the field’s effect on her appearance. He concentrated upon its ability to hold Shayed. Satisfied, he turned his back upon her, moved away as if she was completely removed from the mountain top. His indifference to the sorceress was replaced with cold disgust as he peered toward Connel in the same way as she had done previously.

“So they do come. An interesting dilemma.” His words vibrated with intensity.

Shayed found her courage and her voice. She bellowed a command with all the strength of her being, though it was severely muffled within the confines of her prison.

“Release me!”

Ingar kept his back to his prisoner. He ignored her. The focus of his thoughts remained squarely upon those at Connel. He was aware of them, just as Shayed was, but he spoke of them with contempt. “I don’t know if I could stop them all,” he mumbled to himself. “I will be weak for sometime. I have already used a great portion of my strength. I do not believe I have enough left to deal with them directly. It will take time for them to get here, but not time enough. Dwarves are very resistant, and the two are of royal blood. They will surely be difficult. There is also something very special about that delver. I sense trouble in him.”

His expression went blank for long moments as he peered off toward the east in a lost daze. Even as Shayed again called to be released, he continued to place his attention on the small alliance which even now was beginning the final journey to Sanctum. One by one he went through all those gathered together. He snapped back to attention with a nod of his head. “And a cliff behemoth! They do come prepared.”

Yet again, Shayed screamed with fury. “Release me, Ingar! Do not be a fool!”

He stood as if he could not hear her. He looked down the face of Sanctum Mountain. “Perhaps a rock slide. That might stop them. Ah, but the delver is quick, both of sense and of foot. He will warn them. At best, I might catch a few at random. The elves are also very quick. They might save those that are slower, and cliff behemoths have been known to stop landslides single-handedly. It is not a good plan.

“Another choice is to eliminate a selected few. It would be within my power by then to kill