Ringwall's Doom. Wolf Awert

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.

      The Mage behind the shade must be so powerful, Nill thought. Amargreisfing’s bite cut deep into his innermost self. A spot right beneath his breastbone felt suddenly cold and then blew apart, making space for a lance-tip that froze all around it. The cold spread through his body and made his muscles rigid and his blood clot. His veins filled with ice and his tendons snapped, bones splintered, and above it all loomed the grasp for his self, the most central part of his consciousness. Nill knew the devouring cold. It was the Falundron’s poison that had changed him and his magic. It had robbed his aura of the five elemental colors and left the strange, opaque, milky-white wreath that had so scared Tiriwi.

      Nill took the cold of the Other World inside himself, as he had done before. He had not fought it. How could he? He still lacked the necessary strength. But something had changed. He had learned that the cold was not just cold. It was also a part of the ancient magic. When darkness storms toward you, covering and devouring all, there is a moment when a new light is born. Nill waited for that one decisive moment.

      “I AM!” Nill screamed with every fiber of his being. I stand, I stand in the light! his bones screamed back. Nill took ever more of the dark energy on and noticed that he had begun to falter. Time is not on my side. I can wait no longer. Nill buried his head in his opponent’s aura and now began to drain it into himself. A feeling of bursting fullness heralded the reversal. The magic of light and day, of height and hardness, of giving and speaking started anew with a tiny spark. It mended his bones and made the blood course through his veins and flow from his body, pushed by all the dark magic he had absorbed and that now transformed into light. A thunderbolt split the earth and a shining light tore apart the sphere before him, and Nill left behind an empty shell. He saw nothing, heard nothing and felt nothing. The last feeling of gratitude from a fading memory did not reach him. The slammed door of the Other World remained unheard. Nill stood lifeless under a sun that could not warm him. Then he crumpled. The darkness that now enveloped him had nothing in common with the dark magic. It was the thin veil of mercy that now lay across him and hid him from the world.

      The shockwave of light and the shattered summoning shook great parts of the magical world and followed Amargreisfing into the Beyond. Bucyngaphos the Goat-Legged and Serp the Mighty paused their incomprehensible dealings and raised their ears. Urumir the shaman shook earth onto his fire and could not extinguish it, and in Ringwall a mage stared into the distance and realized for the first time that fear and anger could coalesce. The meeting chamber of the High Council was empty, but lights shot unseen across the Onyx and threw crackling sparks, and the old cracks were joined by new ones. Countless thin lines made the once-smooth surface look like the face of an old woman. But there was no hand there to feel it. Gnarlhand, Archmage of Earth, would have ever more difficulty in holding the stone together.

      The sun rose slowly, reached its peak and continued its journey to the place beyond the horizon where it hid its light and refreshed its strength. Nill lay on the ground, hunched over and motionless. The ram circled around the lifeless body and eyed its surroundings warily. It grew restless, for it had a biting smell in its nose that came not from magic, but wild predators. A pack of leonpedons slunk around nearby, attracted by the thought of easy prey, but held off by the smell of burnt earth. Still they hesitated.

      Their first attacks came as playful feints. They ran off and leapt in, then returned to the safety of the pack. With each feint they seemed to gain more confidence and nothing stood between them and Nill except the old ram, himself an