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

Little by little the golden formula trickled into his mouth, until all that remained was the few droplets embedded in his scraggly black hair and beard. As he waited he discovered he still had minimal control of his tongue, just enough to lick the drops staining his upper lip. Suddenly his left eye opened again, his vision filled with the warm, golden glow that was spreading throughout the room. As Ulam looked around he regained some feeling in his neck, which then continued to his chest and torso. Within seconds he was able to move his arms again, the throbbing in his elbows from the scrapes the most refreshing sensation he had ever experienced. Eventually, he had full control over his upper body, though from the waist down he was still paralyzed.

“Thhhhe currrrrre,” Ulam slurred as he held an empty vial in his hand. Even though the golden liquid was the antidote for the poison, Ulam realized one vial was not enough to reverse all of its effects. After sitting up he wrapped a massive green hand around the nearest mahogany leg, pulling so hard he toppled the table, snatching the box full of glowing vials out of the air before it crashed onto the floor. Quickly he consumed two more doses of the antidote, the warmth from the liquid melting away the icy paralysis that remained within him. With newfound strength, Ulam climbed to his feet, took a brief moment to steady himself, and with the box under his arm he rushed towards where he left Mazargo.

As Ulam stumbled across the room, he started to worry his rescue was too late, that the poison had claimed Mazargo’s life already. He found the Mwai mage in the same spot he had last seen him, as still as a corpse. Ulam fell to the floor, wincing as his bleeding knees came in contact with the hard marble, and reached for one of the glowing vials of gold. He then tipped back Mazargo’s head and poured the antidote into his mouth, watching as the glowing liquid vanished. It seemed like an eternity passed as Ulam waited for any signs that Mazargo was still alive, even holding his hand over his companion’s chest in an attempt to locate a heartbeat.

“Come on, wake up!” Ulam grumbled as he poured more of the antidote into Mazargo’s mouth. “You did not leave me behind earlier, and I will not leave you behind now!”

He tossed the empty vial into the darkness, the glass shattering somewhere out of sight. Only one more antidote remained, the rest having already been given. Ulam wondered whether or not to administer the last of the glowing liquid, as a cloud of despair hung over them both. Since the first two seemed to not affect Mazargo’s well-being, Ulam did not expect the last would miraculously cure him. But, he also did not see the point in giving up, either. Why would I not give him the last antidote? Even if I am to encounter poison in the near future, there is no guarantee this liquid will save me. I do not even know what kind of poison we ingested, let alone the proper cure.

Ulam unstoppered the vial and then poured the last drops of gold down Mazargo’s throat, his hand shaking so much he even spilled a little on the mage’s lips. Silence settled in the room as he waited, watching for even the slightest of movements. But as time passed, Ulam started accepting that Mazargo would never open his eyes again, that his soul had already moved on to the Otherworld. And although Ulam had only known Mazargo for less than a day, he already felt the cold fist of bereavement wrapping its fingers around his heart.

I am sorry I could not save you, my new friend, Ulam thought as he held Mazargo’s head in his lap. He looked aimlessly around the room, wondering what to do with the body. I cannot just leave him here, but I am not sure if I will be able to carry him with me as I ascend the tower. Perhaps I can carry him to the stairwell and then come back after I rejoin Amantius and Kona, assuming we reconvene. Gods, I hope they are still alive and well.

As Ulam planned what to do next he heard a drawn-out moan, like one given by someone who tastes something scrumptious. His heart nearly leaped out of his massive chest as he looked down and saw Mazargo’s eyes still closed, though his mouth was moving.

“Tastes like honeysuckle,” Mazargo said as he smacked his lips. “Yes, so good.”

“Thank the Gods,” Ulam muttered. “I thought you died.”

“No, but Mazargo dreamed of a world of obsidian with silver and white ribbons. He was about to go through a gate when he woke up. Mazargo guesses he will never know what was on the other side of that gate. Oh well.”

The imagery Mazargo described felt familiar to Ulam, but he could not place why. Somewhere in the far depths of his mind, he remembered seeing a realm of darkness, with slivers of light forming a myriad of structures. That was all he could remember of the place, though he knew there was far more his mind could not recall. It was as itch Ulam could not scratch, at least not yet.

As time passed Mazargo regained feeling in the rest of his body, the antidote tirelessly working to dissolve the paralysis caused by the poison. His first few attempts to stand on his own met with failure, though with Ulam for support he was able to cross the room to the stairwell. By the time they reached the end of the hall Mazargo no longer needed assistance, and together they climbed the stairs to the next room.

At the top of the stairwell was a room that contained only a lever and a door, neither of which were engraved