Rhaegar gently declined Sam's greeting and began to explain, "There was an incident on the journey, but it did not impede our progress."
Sam's eyes darted between Rhaegar and the marsh marigold, his curiosity evident. "What happened? And why do you have our family crest flower with you?"
With nothing to hide, Rhaegar recounted his experiences, from deciphering the Forest Witch's notes to finding the marsh marigold.
As they listened, the faces of those gathered grew increasingly tense. It was amazing how much could change in just ten hours of separation.
Sorrel focused intently on the marsh marigold. "Prince, magic has been absent for so long. Are you sure the spells the Forest Witch left behind still work?"
Rhaegar replied unperturbed, "There is only one way to find out. We must try. The steps of the Deadman's Murmur are not overly complex; it's a matter of having the right ingredients and perhaps a touch of talent."
"If I fail, perhaps one of you can try."
He climbed the stairs to the attic, his anticipation palpable. "The key to activating spells lies in the mind. I may not have high hopes for success with the Deadman's Murmur spell, but we won't know until we try."
"You speak wisely, Prince," Sorrel acknowledged, exchanging a glance with Bart before following Rhaegar to the attic.
Sam trailed behind, his gaze fixed on the marsh marigolds with unbridled curiosity.
...
In the cellar, the Shadowbringer's head remained in the center of a circle of candles.
Rhaegar stepped carefully over the candles and placed the marsh marigold atop the skull. He instructed his servant to fetch some dove's blood and follow the procedure outlined in the Forest Witch's notebook to paint the skull.
Then he took out a piece of paper with the translated spell. Though he despised it, he recited it anyway, driven by the hope of vanquishing the shadow monsters.
"Atala... Gugino..."
His recitation was strange, but his demeanor remained calm, as if he was reading from an ordinary book. The skull before him, however, showed no reaction.
"It didn't work?" Rhaegar frowned, glancing back at Sam and the others before attempting the spell again.
This time, as he recited it, Rhaegar's eyes narrowed slightly, his focus unwavering as he recited the spell with reverence.
Buzz...
The marsh marigold began to flicker with a shimmering light, coinciding with the cessation of Rhaegar's voice.
Suddenly, an intense heat surged through his limbs and his body temperature soared. His pale skin flushed red, wisps of white smoke curling from his body as if he were emerging from a steaming basket.
Whew...
A flash of fire engulfed Rhaegar's hands, reducing the paper to ash in an instant, the remains drifting to the ground.
His eyes widened in shock, and he stepped back as if recoiling from the sudden heat coursing through his body.
"Is my blood boiling?" He muttered, the realization dawning on him as he felt the intense heat coursing through his limbs.
Sam's voice broke through his confusion, tentative yet filled with wisdom. "Prince, I once heard my grandmother say that magic is a manifestation of choice. With dragon blood coursing through your veins, it's only natural that you would reject the necromantic magic that seeks to raise the dead."
Rhaegar looked at him skeptically. "Do you know the laws of magic?"
"No," Sam admitted, shaking his head. "I have never been exposed to magic, only the legends of the witches of the forest, passed down through generations."
"Would you like to try, Lord Sam?" Rhaegar challenged, stepping out of the circle of candles. Magic was a fragmented puzzle lost to time, and his expectation of failure left him unfazed. But Sam's answer hinted at something more.
Sam hesitated before answering, his expression a mixture of eagerness and uncertainty.
"Old Sam, if you are willing, try. You carry the blood of the Forest Witch within you, perhaps it will respond to your touch!" Sorrel interjected, his tone cool and commanding.
Sam reluctantly agreed, his eagerness barely concealed beneath his facade. "Fine, I'll try it."
Observing his demeanor, Rhaegar couldn't help but see through Sam's true intentions. Nevertheless, he gave him a new translation of the spell and urged him to memorize it.
As a nobleman from Crackclaw Point, Sam's reading skills were lacking, so he needed Rhaegar's help to learn the short incantation.
The trial began.
Sam stepped into the circle of candles, holding the skull and marsh marigold in one hand and the translation in the other.
With cracked lips, he began to recite the incantation. "Atta la ... gujino ..."
His voice, thick and trembling with excitement, filled the attic, but when the incantation ended, there was no response.
Disappointment clouded Sam's expression as he stood frozen, the weight of failure evident in his posture.
He rested his head on the floor and sighed heavily. "Prince, it seems I have failed as well."
Rhaegar offered words of comfort, acknowledging the dormancy of magic over the years. "It's all right, Sam. It's only natural for ordinary people to struggle with magic."
Turning to Sorrel with a wry smile, he continued, "We need to explore other avenues."
Sorrel nodded in agreement, his expression grim.
Just then, a chilling voice pierced the air, sending shivers down their spines.
The Shadowbinder's head stirred, its pale skin glowing with an eerie reddish hue. His closed eyes fluttered open, revealing a glazed, disturbing gaze as he muttered incomprehensibly.
At the same time, the marsh marigold wilted, its vibrant petals fading until only the rhizome remained, attached to the skull, sustaining its life.
Sam, pale with fear, stumbled backward, nearly losing his balance.
Bart, visibly shaken, trembled in silence.
"Lord Sam, you did it!" Rhaegar exclaimed, taking a cautious step back to stand behind Sorrel.
He had had enough of these bizarre events and wanted no part of whatever the talking head had in store.
Enough was enough.
Sam stared at the living skull, disbelief etched into every line of his face. He slapped himself twice, as if seeking confirmation of the truth, before turning tentatively to Rhaegar. "Prince, is it possible that it was I who brought this skull back to life?"
Even as he asked the question, Sam found it hard to believe that such a miraculous feat could be accomplished with just a few words of magic.
Rhaegar, avoiding Sam's gaze, offered a speculative answer. "Who knows? Perhaps you have a latent talent for magic."
Then he gave instructions. "The Shadowbinder's head retains memories of his past life. Let's ask how to resolve this situation with the shadow creature."
Nodding shakily, Sam stepped to the edge of the candle circle, his voice trembling as he addressed the skull. "Tell us of your origins and why your remains have become a curse upon us."
The skull rattled its mouth, its eyes fixed on the small group as if delving into forgotten memories. After a long silence, it uttered a faint, barely audible murmur. "The ebb and flow of magical tides, depleted yet potent..."
Impatient for answers, Sam continued his questioning, urging the skull to provide clarity on the curse's invocation and its resolution.
"I am a servant of the Lord of Light," the skull began, his voice weak. "A priest charged with predicting the fluctuations of magical energies. I sent my most elite Shadows to observe the changing world..."
Increasingly frustrated by the cryptic answers, Sam interrupted tersely, "Get to the point, what's the solution to the curse?"
As Sam kicked the skull in frustration, a shiver ran down the spines of Rhaegar and the others. The skull's unsettling words, combined with Sam's actions, created an atmosphere of eerie dread that chilled them to the bone.
(Word count: 1,289)