'I need to get out of here,' he thought, gritting his teeth. Eager to be free, he lowered his head, and shouldered his way through the crowd. A gap in the people quickened his step, when a sharp pain poked his side.
"Ouch!" Cyrus straightened his back, and whirled around. His movement caused him to trip over a raised slab, and he tripped, tumbling backward until he crashed into a stall. All around him, baskets of spices flipped into the air, scattering their wares to the wind.
A cloud of pepper air hung around the stall, and Cyrus fought back the urge to sneeze as he spotted a small boy darting away. Narrowing his eyes, he climbed to his feet, when a thick hand grabbed his arm.
"Oi! I hope you don't plan on running off, now do you? You've gone and spilled my wares!"
Cyrus turned around. A middle aged man glared at him, his brow arched high on his reddening face. A carpet of red and orange spices laid around his feet, now speckled with dirt and dust.
"Of-of course not. Here, I'll pay for it. How much did this cost?" Cyrus asked. He started patting his hips as the merchant studied him.
"Well. I buy most of my spices from Tulmuth, in the Erath desert, so they cost a decent coin," The merchant released Cyrus, and rubbed the back of his thick neck. "Almost… hmm, a silver, no, two, per basket. So that'd be about… eight silver. For all of it." The man grinned, though his eyes flickered with a sly glint.
Cyrus gritted his teeth. "Very well. Let me just find the coin…"
He patted his hips, then frowned. He lifted his cloak, and stared at the torn rope where his coin purse once hung. His clothes were also torn, and a line of blood glistened from a scratch on his skin.
Cyrus cursed inwardly, and glanced in the direction the boy had run off.
"Well? Where's my coin?" The merchant asked.
"I- I don't have it," Cyrus said, his heart racing. He knitted his brow, and lowered his cloak. "I believe that boy just ran off with it. If you let me go, I'll be certain to bring it back."
"I have a better idea. Why don't I call the guards, and let them settle this."
The merchant grabbed Cyrus's arm again, and tightened his hold. Cyrus winced, and tried to break free, but the merchant's grip was stronger than steel. By now, people around them stopped to watch, whispering amongst themselves.
'No, no, no… This isn't good,' Cyrus thought, frantically looking back and forth in the hope that an escape would prevent itself. 'Come on. Anything?'
"Guards! I need the guards over here!"
The crowd shuffled apart as the guards' silver armor appeared, pushing towards them. Cyrus's thoughts whirled as he yanked against the merchant's unyielding grip again, panic swelling inside him. His chest grew hot, and heavy as his surroundings blurred, and his fingers tingled as he flexed.
'I need to go. I need to go now!' Cyrus thought. A faint whisper played in his ears, followed by a low rumble.
He froze, his eyes widening as the cobblestone street cracked, and swelled. Around him, the citizens of Galeden cried out, and stumbled back, their faces paling as the cracks widened, revealing roots writhing beneath the stone.
"Ma-Magic! It's magic!"
The cry came from an old man, who whirled around, and pointed a gnarled finger at Cyrus.
"He's a warlock! A warlock has come to-"
The old man's cry was cut off as a torrent of roots erupted from the street, and crashed into a nearby stall, shattering it to pieces. In an instant, chaos enveloped the market, with cries and screams as people pushed and shoved each other to get away.
"You- you're a warlock?" The merchant said, his eyes widening. He dropped Cyrus's arm, and scrambled back, slipping and sliding over the spices until he gathered his footing enough to run away.
Without his support, Cyrus staggered forward, losing his strength with each passing second. He grabbed the merchant's stall for support, but the moment his fingers touched the wood, it sprouted branches with leaves, and grew roots, which dug into the cobblestone.
'Gods above… What's happening to my magic?' Cyrus thought. He shook his head, trying to regain his composure, but his knees buckled instead, dropping him to the ground.
From there, he watched as the roots rose from the stone, and spread across the street, twisting around the stalls, and climbing the store fronts. They were accompanied by patches of moss, which carpeted the street, and budding plants, which rapidly grew large enough to be considered small trees.
Nearby, a father grabbed his son, and yanked him into a building, while a mother dragged her two daughters down an alley, away from the rampaging plants. A small boy ran past, frantically shifting his eyes in a search for an escape. He tripped over a root, and fell face first to the ground, unable to even utter a cry before a wave of foliage encased him.
Cyrus fought to get back to his feet, but his magic spilled uncontrollably from his body, draining him of his strength. Groaning, he collapsed into the writhing roots as his vision faded. The last thing he saw through the spreading grass and moss was the face of a pale man, concealed by a dark cloak, watching him from a distant alley.
Then, the abundance of roots and vines grew, blocking the streets, while ivy draped down the stone buildings, intertwining into a net of roots. Within seconds, a small forest had grown in the center of Galeden, and swept Cyrus's consciousness away.
As the last bits of light faded, a soft voice whispered in his ear, like a summer breeze.
'Come to… Amuriel…'
…
A low thump resounded through the room, jogging Cyrus awake. He groaned, and pushed himself upright, then rubbed his pounding head. A soft bed cushioned his body, while a wool blanket draped over his legs.
As he adjusted to the light, he found himself for the second time in an unfamiliar room, built from smoothed wood and chiseled stone. His cloak hung from a hook on the wall, and his boots were set beneath. An arched window with clear glass overlooked a small forest, in the middle of which towered a large oak.
Cyrus climbed from the bed, and crept to the window. The forest spread out into a kingdom, with trees growing through houses, while vines and ivy clung to the walls. Cyrus studied the strange view with a furrowed brow. It took him a moment to realize it was still Galeden.
"Looks like you're awake." A gravelly voice rumbled across the floor, and Cyrus whirled around. An old man stood behind him, a foot taller, and dressed in a dark blue robe, with gilded runes. He observed Cyrus, though his misty grey eyes swirled with a dark cloud, similar to a blind man. A thick white beard grew along his chin.
"Who- who are you?" Cyrus asked. His eyes flickered to the open hall behind the man, decorated with cluttered desks, and sleek bookcases tall enough to reach the ceiling. "Where am I? Why did you bring me here?"
The old man held up his hand. "One question at a time, if you don't mind. I'm a bit old, you see, and it takes me a moment to think. Now, to answer your questions. My name is Myrel, and this is my home. I wasn't the one who brought you here, but my assistant. As to the reason why, I'm sure you can tell by looking outside."
Cyrus tensed as he glanced over his shoulder. "I'm not quite certain what you mean."
A bemused look spread across the Myrel's face, and he crossed his hands behind his back. "Is that so? I thought it was obvious. Though, I suppose these are dangerous times, so it's best to be on guard."
The old man stepped to the side, and motioned towards the hall. "If you wouldn't mind following me, I'd like to speak in a more comfortable setting."
Cyrus slowly nodded, and Myrel led the way to a pair of cushioned seats, situated near a smoldering fireplace. A better look around the room revealed six wooden pillars, three on either side, and layered with bookshelves between. A grand window overlooked the kingdom below, while an archway stood against the far wall, and led into a room too dark to see into.
Cyrus peered into the shadows for a moment, half expecting guards to come rushing out, before glancing around. To his left, a set of stairs curved down into a dining room and kitchen, neatly adorned by a small table, and a pantry filled with food.
A second fireplace nestled into the wall there, beside which Cyrus spotted a thick wooden door. He eye'd it, wondering if it led outside. Myrel cleared his throat, and settled into one of the seats.
"You may leave, if you wish. Though I advise you to wait until you hear what I have to say," Myrel said. He gestured towards the other seat. "It may very well save your life."
Cyrus stared at the door for a moment longer, then took a deep breath and sat down. Myrel smiled, and leaned back against the cushions, taking his time to watch Cyrus. A minute passed, before Cyrus couldn't take it any longer, and spoke.
"Why did you save me? If you had left me out there, then the knights would have captured me. Now you'll be thrown into the dungeon if they catch me."
"A good point," Myrel said. He narrowed his eyes. "One I fully intend to explain, but first, I'd like to ask you a question or two, to help better our discussion. To begin with, what is your name, and who taught you how to use magic?"
"It's Cyrus, and… and I was never taught how to use magic," Cyrus said. He glanced back down the stairs, towards the door.
"You don't need to be so wary. You're not the only one who can use it," Myrel said. He waved his hand towards the fireplace. "Serifel, denete.'
Cyrus jumped as the smoldering coals burst into flames, which whirled around the fireplace before fading away.
Cyrus stared at the fireplace, then glanced back at Myrel. "You're a warlock?"
Myrel chuckled. "I prefer to consider myself a wizard these days. I like to focus on the study of magic, rather than use it for war, but yes, I have held that title before."
'A wizard…?' Cyrus furrowed his brow, then jolted upright in his seat. "Are you the scholar Berrodin mentioned? The one who studies ancient history."
"I don't know this Berrodin you speak of, but I do know a bit about ancient history. Why do you ask?"
Cyrus hurriedly retrieved the amulet from around his neck, and held it out. The sunlight bounced off emerald, and the amber glistened beside the gold. When he looked back at Myrel, he was surprised to see the old man's face had suddenly grown serious.
"What is that?"
"I- I don't know. It's been in my possession since I first woke up around six months ago, but I can't remember where it came from, or even where I came from," Cyrus said. He lowered the amulet. "I've forgotten my past from beyond that time, everything besides my name. It's why I traveled to Galeden, to find a scholar who might be able to tell me about this."
"For an amulet so small, it contains quite a bit of aether." Myrel reached out his hand, then hesitated. "May I see it?"
Cyrus handed him the amulet. Myrel held it close to his face, running his fingers along the tree before flipping it over. His eyes widened as he fixated on the root-like words, and he brushed his thumb over the rough edges.
"I've never seen runes like these before," Myrel said, tilting the amulet back and forth. "Do you know what they say?"
"It says, 'May the arbor sanctum never fall," Cyrus said. He leaned forward. "Have you ever heard of such a place? Do you know where it might be?"
Myrel shook his head. "I'm afraid not. This arbor sanctum, whatever it might be, has never been mentioned in any of my books."
"I see," Cyrus said. Myrel handed back the amulet, and Cyrus slipped it beneath his tunic. "So you can't help me, then?"
"I didn't say that, now did I?" Myrel asked. "Was there anything else? Anything that may help me know more?"
Cyrus thought back, and recalled the words he heard while falling unconscious. "There is something. Earlier, when I lost control of my magic, I heard a whisper. It spoke of a place called Amuriel."
"Amuriel, you say? The name sounds familiar, though I'll need to go through my books to find out why," Myrel said. He rose from his seat. "While I'm doing that, you're welcome to rest in your room, or go downstairs and find something to eat. Sylven, my apprentice, should be back soon, with news of the kingdom."
Myrel paused, and studied Cyrus. "Of course. You're also free to leave if you wish, though I warn you to be careful. The whole kingdom of Galeden is looking for you right now, and the last thing they'll want to do is help you."
"I'll- I'll stay, for now. I doubt the tavern would allow me to sleep there anymore anyway," Cyrus said. He hesitated, then motioned towards the books. "Do you mind if I take one? To read while I rest."
"You may, though I ask you to be careful. They are quite old, and prone to damage." Myrel turned and scanned the books. He grabbed a few off of a shelf, then went and sat down at one of the desks.
As the old man flipped through the first book, Cyrus hesitantly approached the shelves, and ran his fingers over the time-worn bindings. A thick black book caught his eye, as its name mentioned beasts. The edges were frayed, and cracked, but held firm as he flipped it over.
'The Alchemical Properties of Aetheric Creatures; By Icarel Ashlocke'
Cyrus flipped open the cover, and skimmed through the words. The book spoke of a variety of beasts which roamed the lands, their habitats, and their behaviors. Included with each one, there was a list of ingredients one could harvest from the creature, and the potions they could be used to create.
…
The next few hours flew by while Cyrus rested on his straw cot, turning through the faded pages of the alchemy journal. The variety of creatures, ingredients, and potions impressed him, though the methods used to extract the parts appeared a tad bit outdated.
Still, the new information helped pass the time. At the moment, he studied a section on ogres, which read a bit different from what he knew due to his recent encounter with the beasts. He frowned, and returned to the top of the page, wondering if he missed something.
He paused as the door downstairs opened, and clicked shut, followed by a beam thumping into place. The floorboards creaked as Berrodin rose and approached the railing.
"Sylven. You took a bit longer than I expected. Is all well?"
A younger voice echoed up the stairs, male but with a softness to it. "As of right now, yes. I checked with the physicians, but there haven't been any reports of death, only a few slight scrapes and bruises, and a broken bone here and there. I helped where I could, but the guards barred me from going too deep."