The Elder's Curse Andrew Walbrown (red scrolls of magic .TXT) 📖

it dawned on them that sometime during their conversation she had crossed the barrier on her own. Though she was far away they could hear her cackling quietly, making them both feel like superstitious dolts. She then called for them to join her before heading towards the center island, a place shrouded in the morning mist.

Not only was the old bridge low to the water, but it was far more treacherous than Kona made it appear. She glided across the cobblestones with ease, quickly reaching the other side, while Amantius and Ulam seemingly found every single loose stone. At first, the detached pieces of the bridge were not too frightening, the short drop into the shallow shoals proving to be more of a nuisance than a danger, but the further away from land they were the more dangerous the crossing became. At one point Amantius watched as a stone brick fell from the bridge and sank into the lake’s depths, forever growing smaller until it was swallowed by darkness. Unlike at first, caution became an absolute necessity, because even though both Amantius and Ulam were strong swimmers, if either fell into the lake the weight of their packs would send them to the bottom chasing the remnants of the crumbling stone bridge.

Hours seemed to pass while Amantius and Ulam tiptoed their way to the island, but eventually they reached the other side unharmed. Though they were sure they did not cross any great distance, the mist prevented them from seeing the clearing where the dragonesses Ushokku and Chulzi waited. All they could see was a large, black marble gate in front of them, with glowing symbols of mint green carved into the surface. Behind the gate a sleek, black tower loomed, its very appearance sending chills down Amantius’ spine. He sensed there was something sinister about the place, as though the monolith itself emitted dark magic. And judging by Kona and Ulam’s expressions, they felt the same way.

They stood in silence, mystified by Kuruk’s Tower. No one wanted to take the first step, Amantius least of all. He wanted to run away, to flee back across the decrepit bridge and into the forest, never to return. He told himself he would rather face the wrath of the Matriarch than participate in whatever nightmares lurked inside. But he knew he had to step through the archway and into the courtyard; he had to enter Kuruk’s Tower and find the dark mage’s powerstone. He had to push onward, despite every fiber of his being screaming at him to turn around, because of Nilawen.

“I don’t know what’s in there,” Amantius began as he passed under the black marble arch, “if there is anything in there. But we have to do this for Wen. Her life depends on us.”

One by one they passed under the archway, entering the ghostly remnants of a once beautiful garden, now overrun with slender stalks of pale grass. A few weeping willows stood reticent in the courtyard, their long strings of leaves as still as a dead man’s heart. No birds chirped, nor did any frogs croak, every animal afraid of making a noise. The whole world was as silent as a grave; if it had not been for the thuds of Amantius and Ulam’s boots on pavement, there would have been no sound at all.

At the base of Kuruk’s Tower was a staircase that completely encircled the building, with wide steps carved into its marble surface. A pair of iron doors as black as the rest of the building awaited at the top, with the heads of lions, goats, and eagles sculpted into its façade. Amantius climbed the steps first, his heart beating so hard he could hear it in his ears, and pulled on a great iron handle.

Though the door looked heavy it slid open smoothly, the grating of stone on stone announcing their arrival. A small chamber greeted them, with an open book on a pedestal at the center, flanked by an archway on each side. Like the outside of Kuruk’s Tower, the inside was mostly made of black marble, but the floor was of the white variant, the shine of which magnified even the weakest of light. More mysterious writing was carved in the walls, hundreds of words beaming in all colors of the spectrum. On each side of the room, torches burned quietly, their light and warmth welcoming the trio as they entered the antechamber. Their presence did nothing to ease Amantius’ worries, however. If anything, they made him more anxious.

“Either those torches are fueled by magic,” he stated as Ulam and Kona walked past him, “or someone has been here recently. As in, only moments before us.”

“Those aren’t magical,” Kona said as she inspected one of the torches. “I can smell the sulfur and lime used by whoever made this.”

Ulam pulled out his axe, the sound alerting Amantius. From his boot, he retrieved a dagger, Kona doing the same. Down one of the hallways, a light grew brighter and brighter as everyone took up defensive positions, watching and waiting for whoever appeared. They did not know if the person approaching was friend or foe, but if it was the latter, they were not going to be caught off-guard.

Suddenly the light stopped growing brighter, the soft footsteps they heard vanishing as well. Whoever was on the other side of the archway was being just as cautious as they were. Amantius felt his palm moisten with sweat, his breathing turning shallow. Though he did not anticipate fighting whoever this newcomer was, he was willing to defend himself if he must. I may have taken a vow never to kill again, but I will break it if Ulam or I are in too much danger.

“Mazargo does not wish to fight,” a deep, almost purring voice said from the hallway, “He is only a treasure hunter and carries no weapons.”

“How do we know we can trust you?” Amantius called out. What is a “Mazargo?”

“There is no way