Wolf Awert - Ringwall's Doom

As quickly as he had entered the Other World he left it again and laid a protective barrier of Wood energy upon his body, then he flitted back into the Beyond. The ball had followed each of his leaps and had stopped attacking.

Nill and the ball leapt at lightning speed between the Here and the Beyond, and it was difficult to see who was hunting who. Nill could feel that the ball had even more substance and strength in the Other World than in Pentamuria, and so he made a desperate decision. He had been stuck in the strange in-between that bridges the Here and the Beyond once before, and he decided to try and get there again to observe his opponent from the safety of the mid-realm. It was dangerous – for a moment body and soul would be parted. The soul led, the body followed. Would his body follow to the mid-realm or stay corporeal and unprotected? He did not know, but he decided to risk it.

He leapt.

He felt the resistance and searched for his body. It had not followed him and Nill prayed it would remain safe out there. The mid-realm was small and separated from the Here and the Beyond with nigh impenetrable magical walls. It offered a view into both worlds and was an unwelcome afterlife to the dead, and something that had left the world to the living. Nill remembered far too late that he had once before tried and failed to leave the mid-realm of his own accord.

Too late!

Frantically he attempted to return to the world of the living as the mysterious orb appeared before him. Nill stared in disbelief at the gray flicker. In the Other World the ball was substantially larger than he was. Taller than a man, there was a magical field that distorted his view, and in its middle stood an imposing figure, dressed in a misty-gray robe.

“Who are you?” Nill asked.

“I am magon. So my brothers call me. I am the first of the same. The first and the lord of Ringwall,” the figure answered.

“You,” Nill struggled to find his words, “you are Amargreisfing?”

“I had that name once.”

“You were the one who put the falundron on the lock to the Walk of Weakness.”

Amargreisfing seemed surprised. “Walk of Weakness? What an odd name. In my time we hadn’t named it. So you met the falundron? Then there is hope. Yes, hope.”

The last word sounded oddly hollow and anemic behind the walls of mid-realm. Nill waited expectantly for an explanation, but the magon said nothing.

“Why do you follow me?” Nill broke the silence.

“To kill you.”

“But why? Why do you want me dead?”

“I do not know. I know only that I must.”

Nill considered this for a moment.

“You are banished, correct? Tell me how other forces could come to banish a mage as mighty as you were.”

“In the Other World there are different laws than in the world we came from,” Amargreisfing replied. “Whatever we once were, any power we had, is meaningless here. No more than a faint memory.”

“Can I free you from your banishment?”

“You could. You’d have to destroy me though. Here in the Other World you would not succeed; who could, given that you would have to rid the world of my very memory. In your world, you would not kill memories, but break a mere spell.”

A mere spell , Nill thought desperately. He had fled to the mid-realm because the strange magic was superior to his own out there. And now his only chance was to succeed where he already considered himself beaten.

“I do not mean to kill you. I would never wish to destroy the first master of Ringwall, the paragon of all mages. And even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. I have neither the strength nor the knowledge,” Nill admitted quietly.

Amargreisfing laughed, and Nill noted with some surprise that memories had some sense of humor.

“Memories do not simply die. They follow people for generations. But some arcanists know how to reach the memories of others. As long as there are people who remember us, as long as legends are told about us, as long as our names exist on dusty parchments or weathered stones, some who know how can reach us and ask for our counsel. And some can banish us.”

I want to know everything about the founding of Ringwall , Nill thought. But first I have to return to my world and stay alive.

“I cannot stay long,” Amargreisfing called. “You were not the one to call upon me. When the mid-realm releases you and you enter the Other World, nothing but my death can save you from me.”

Heavens and earth! Nill thought despairingly. How am I to defeat a creature from the Other World whose magic I neither know nor understand?

The walls of the mid-realm began to dissolve as Amargreisfing disappeared.

“Back!” shouted Nill and he felt Amargreisfing’s pull. The walls broke and Nill found himself under a merciless hot sun. A last sliver of the Other World ran after him.

Remember the Falundron, a toneless voice cut through his thoughts.

The falundron. What about the falundron? Nill’s thoughts began to chase each other as he tried to remember and keep an eye on all directions at once, as he anticipated a new attack from the dead magon.

What use was his knowledge of the falundron? He was not fighting a being from the Other World. Neither did he oppose a magon of ancient times as his pursuer wanted him to believe. And it certainly was not a demon, a creature he feared above all others. No, behind the figure of the first magon stood a mage or sorcerer of this world. This did not comfort Nill; he was no match for such an enemy.

And yet he felt a certain curiosity. Whoever was hunting him had to be powerful enough to summon a shade, and must also revel in the humiliation of others. Why else would he have picked Amargreisfing as the victim of his magic – the First, of whom even Gwynmasidon only spoke with reverence? That meant that his invisible foe cared nothing for the traditions of Ringwall. Bar Helis was certainly not behind the attempt on his life, and Nill wondered whether it was actually an archmage at all.

I am fighting against the power and strength and magic of the Other World as commanded by an Arcanist of the Here. Whoever summoned the dead magon will try to touch me with his magic and will stop at nothing to tear my life force from me. Just as Mah Bu once did. And he will not be stopped by elemental magic .

Or he will bite, sting and poison me like the falundron, and attempt to destroy my aura. In any case, he will have to use Amargreisfing as a conduit. But why does me meeting the falundron mean there is hope?

Nill observed his surroundings. He was prepared to dodge away at the first sign of Amargreisfing. The falundron had touched him. The resulting poison had nearly killed him. At the same time, it had built a bridge between him and the ancient magic. Darkness and light, hard and soft, august and docile.

The only way to find out if I’m right is to let Amargreisfing reach me. And the best defense against the Other World is a strong presence in this one , Nill thought, so he held out his arms and yelled:

“I am! I am! I am!”

Out of nowhere the flickering orb reappeared, once again shrunken down to head-size. For a heartbeat it took on human features and Nill saw the fleeting image of a contorted grimace. It bore little resemblance to the old magon he had encountered in the mid-realm. The image faded, first the eyes and nose, and finally the gaping mouth.

Now I know what you intend, Nill thought, but then he was hit by the force of the translucent ball. He stumbled back a few paces under the might of the blow and felt the pull again, then he held tight to the orb with both arms. He made his aura grow denser, yet he could not stop Amargreisfing from tearing it apart.