Storm's Apprentice

When I got to the gatehouse the portcullis gate was shut and the nearby wooden door was locked.

It made sense that the departing Antorxians had wouldn’t leave such a useful facility open behind them, but I wished Master Antonyx had had the foresight to tell me, or give me a key. If they even had a key. The relationship between the Antorxian military and the Reeves seemed cloudy at best.

I rattled the gate and tried kicking the door, but even after years left alone in the swamp they both held firm.

In the end I resorted to magic, raising my hand and hitting the door in with a ball of Force aspect maja. The energy rolled down my arm, shifted in my hand, the flew threw my fingers like a storm-tossed boulder.

It hit the door with a crack, splintering the wood and caving in the lock.

I moved forward and pushed the door, breaking it the rest if the way and forcing myself inside.

It wasn’t much more than a strong leg and a boot could do, but I was pleased with myself as I stepped inside.

There was almost nothing of worth left in the main part of the fort. Broken furniture and rotting supplies littered the rooms. The scraps of curtains and drapes hung from the walls, stained black and green with mold. I couldn’t help but imagine I was breathing in toxic spores the whole time.

I came across one treasure in an abandoned guardroom. A sword. It was a short sword, fifteen inches long from pommel to tip, with a wooden handle and a blade half the width of my hand. It was rusty, with a chip in the blade just below the point.

It was obvious why it’d been left behind. It probably wasn’t worth the time of a skilled smith to repair, but to me it was a priceless artifact.

I picked it up before I left and kept it in my hand as I continued to explore.

After a few minutes I started losing hope that the fort did still have an intact records room. I found one office filled with books so infested with mold and fungus I felt dirty just looking at them, and I spent the next hour certain I was going to have to go back and try and read them.

Then I found the staircase. It was at the end of a corridor, behind a door that seemed to be made of solid lead. A wave of cool dry air rushed out as I opened it, revealing a stone staircase descending into darkness.

The air flowing out from the passageway felt exactly the same as the air in the acacdemy library. I was sure I’d found the fort’s records room, and if there was magic maintaining the air down there, then it was more likely than not the books would still be intact.

I improvised a light source from a broken table leg wrapped in a scrap torn banner and lit with the firebox from my scout’s pack.

With my flickering makeshift torch in one hand and the rusted sword in the other, I started down the steps.

I found what I was looking for at the bottom of the staircase.

My circle of dim torchlight fell on shelves that held scattered books and scrolls.

It was clear that the place had been cleared out. Some shelves were completely bare, and the ones that still had books were disorganized.

It would take some time to find the records I needed. But I had time. I had enough food to spend two days at the fort, and the building above was full of scrap would I could burn for light.

Approaching one of the shelves that still had books I finally put the sword down, pulled down a book, and started reading.

~

Spring 3, 1585

Scout Averdun was late from his route around the southern tip of the mountain. He arrived back without his equipment, a dereliction for which he had no explanation. His words were halting when giving his report, and I found his gaze to have a hollow look to it. When the healers examined him they found him cold to the touch. They suggest he has been affected by some art of the sorcerers of the mountain. I do not consider that to be an excuse for his beheavior. I have sentenced him to the whip, which I will administer tomorrow. Our supplies from Onberron are late as usual, and without a report of the road I cannot guess when they will arrive.

I leafed through the book, evidently the journal of a Commander Ewart from about three hundred years ago. The journal was written in modern Irisian, the common language of Losiris and Antorx, albeit an archaic variant, but I’d found other documents written in Old Irisian and even some in the old Torxan alphabet.

The fort was ancient, and its records stretched back for its entire life. It was a minor miracle to me that the records and even the structure were in such good condition.

The fort itself had been kept in good repair over the years, but the survival of the documents downstairs had to be down to good materials and the magically maintained environment.

I’d spent the afternoon sitting in the filtered daylight of the fort’s main hall, reading through two hundred years of daily logs. I was starting to get a picture of the daily working of the fort and the disposition of historic Antorx at the same time.

Ewart’s journal described a time before the sorcerers of Windshriek mountain had been under the control of the Antorx polity.

The Antorxians clearly still had access to mages during this time, evidenced by the use of air-drying cantograms in the basement records room, but the sorcerers of the peak had been considered a separate, occasionally antagonistc, organization.

During that time period, the fort’s role had been to give the Antorxian government a fortified outpost as close to the academy as the Reeves had allowed.

To the ancient Antorxian government the Reeves had been a powerful internal faction, useful during times of war, but always dangerous.

Commander Ewart had been a mundane military man himself, with no magical skill, but I’d picked up a little about the sorcerers’ abilities through his second hand reports.

The movement of a single Reeve was seen as cause for a alarm, triggering letters to the capitol and increased scout patrols. When several moved together, it was cause for armies to be moved elsewhere.

Spring 4, 1585

Scout Averdun made no sound during his punishment. At any other time I would have commended his discipline, but Averdun didn’t seem to be feeling the pain that a man should feel. I confess I extended the punishment beyond what was reasonable, attempting to draw some reaction from him. He remained unmoved right up until the moment of his death. When the healers examined his body, they found a strange hollow space in his remains. His stomach and his gut were missing, they claimed, and in their place they found an empty silk sack. They fear some sorcery, but cannot elaborate on what. Our own mage Eurises is useless. He says he must consult his books, as always. I’ve never known him to come to a conlusion on any question of magic. I suspect that he may be sympathetic to the sorcerers of the mountain. I haven’t been able to prove it.

I’ve doubled the scout patrols of the area south of the mountain. It’s possible Averdun’s condition was related to something he encountered on his route. If the sorcerers are up to something, I will find out what.

Something made a cracking noise in the undergrowth outside in the courtyard.

I looked up from the book, then got up and shuffled over to the window.

I couldn’t see anything in the dappled light that made it through the trees or hear anything past the thudding of my own heartbeat.

I grabbed the sword from the floor and slipped my legs over the windowsill, dropping down onto the overgrown grass.

It only took me a few minutes to find the cause.

The vulture spirit sat in a tree just outside the window.

It cocked its infant’s skull head at me and clacked two rows of perfectly white milk teeth. Its jaw fell open, and it spoke. “Soon.”

It must have been following me through the swamp. I was in a lot less trouble than when it’d first tried to take a bite out of me, but apparently it was still hoping.

“Get lost!” I said.

When it didn’t move I raised my hand and launched a wave of Force maja at it.

The spell knocked it off its perch. It flapped its feathered arms to stabilize in the air, then it turned and flew away, cresting the fort wall before disappearing.

I held the sword out ahead of me as I backed up, returning to the window.

I watched the sky for a few minutes, then climbed back through and went back to the journal.

Spring 5, 1585

More scouts are missing. Ilwen, Iron, Adara, and Flock. Flock hadn’t even been out on a mission. A rock fall broke his leg in the winter and he was still in the care of the healers. Neither the custodian or quartermaster can explain their absence. The gatehouse guards haven’t reported them passing out through the walls since their last mission. I suspect treachery. Even seemingly loyal soldiers can be bought for the currency a Reeve can offer. What were you promised, Ilewn? Power? What was your price, Adara? You were always fond of coin. If I ever see them again they can face my justice. But I doubt that I will.

Spring 6, 1585

The late watch reported a fell sight overnight. Two red stars appeared in the sky above the peak. Eurises claims not to know what it means, of course, but it can only be some kind of sorcery. To put stars in the sky, it must be a major working. Clerk Addikins can’t find any record of such a thing in the Empire’s histories. New stars. The thought upsets me.

Our disappearances continue. Now Cook Jerol is missing, along with one of the healers and Addikins’ sub-clerk. My feeling is no longer that we are being betrayed. Why would the sorcerers try to tempt away Jerol. He was useless. I don’t know what to make of it. I’ve implemented a curfew and put guards inside the fort itself. Whatever is happening, I will find out.

I’ve also sent a messenger to Fort Serakas, with orders to see how far the stars are visible. With luck they are only here. I can’t imagine what sorcery could change the sky for the entire region.

I looked up from the journal slowly.

Was this it? The report didn’t localize the change within the constellations of the Vance Trigon, but it certainly seemed significant.

Ewart was wrong to pin the new stars on sorcery, I thought. It seemed more likely that they were comets. Shooting stars were common enough, and I’d read accounts of comets that had hung in the sky for days.

I didn’t know how to interpret the commander’s slow attrition of troops. That part did sound like sorcery, or maybe the actions of a spirit native to the swamp.

It would have worried me if it weren’t so long ago, with a stack of journals from more recent commanders sitting in front of me the prove the danger had passed.

I had one example of an astronomical change, but the only way to know if it was the thing Antonyx wanted would be to read through everything.

I pulled the blanket from my scout’s pack and wrapped it around my legs before continuing to read.

Spring 7, 1585

Eurises claims we’re under attack. A strange attack, where armed soldiers of the Empire vanish without sign of violence and where no assailant is to be found anywhere. Even a sorcerer doesn’t kill without blood. No. I believe there is a simpler explanation. Desertion. They told me that this was an unpopular posting and now I see that the men they gave me lacked the discipline to see it through. I even learned that some of the missing men were posted here as a punishment for political misdemeanors. I can only hope they died before reaching civilization.

I’ve sent a report of the situation to Fort Serakas. I expect replacement troops to arrive within the fortnight.

The devilry in the sky continues. The red stars are larger than before. My messenger hasn’t yet returned with word of their extent, but I now believe it to be a widespread phenomenon. I am no scholar of the sky, but even my untrained eye can track a moving object from night to night. The stars are not merely in the sky above the mountain. They belong to the realm of stars.

When I turned the next page, there was no sign of the commander’s now familiar handwriting.

There next log entry in a completely new script.

Spring 11, 1585

This is Mage Sergeant Donz Eurises taking command of Fort Msiesetr. Commander Ewart is gone, a victim of the same entity which has claimed most of the staff. I believe it to be a Dark Smoke Gut demon, planted among us by the sorcerers of Windshriek mountain.

I don’t know why they picked this moment to attack us. Unless it’s related to the new stars in the Mephit constellation. They’ve been growing larger by the night. I believe they’re falling directly towards us, here, at Windshriek. Perhaps the sorcerers of the mountain don’t want any witnesses here to see them arrive.

They’ll get their wish. I’m taking the remaining staff and evacuating the fort. The Gut demon disguises itself as food, which means we can take no provisions with us. I’ve ordered the fort’s remaining supplies to be burned. We’ll chance our hunger on the road.

If we don’t make it to Serakas then this will be the only account of what really happened here. For the Empire, always, Mage Sergeant Don Eurises.

I turned the next page, and found it blank. That was the end of this particular journal.

The next book on the pile was another logbook from another commander, a year later.

By then whatever had happened with the red stars had resolved itself. No more mention was made of it. If there’d been any more detailed speculation on the nature of the comets, then it wasn’t recorded here. There were no more mysterious disappearences and relations with the academy slowly normalized in absence of any evidence or motive for what Eurises had seen as an attack.

There was no mention of whether Eurises had made it to Fort Serakas.

All of that was incidental to my mission. I had my answer. The Mephit constellation was one corner of the Vance Trigon. This had to be the astronomical event Master Antonyx wanted to hear about.

I didn’t have any paper to make notes, and Antonyx had expressly told me not to anyway.

I memorized the relevant sections of the log and placed it back in the records room.

Now I just needed to wade through the bookshelves to find some kind of genealogy for my cover story.

~

It was night when I finally climbed out from the records room.

I had the geneology of the Serrato family tucked under my arm, an extraordinarily dry account of the family’s descent from the Torxan invaders that took over the country in Antorx’s pre-imperial history. It was a long list of births, deaths, and marriages in narrative form, written without any mercy for the reader. The only interesting thing in it was that eleven generations ago a wild spirit had apparently crept its way into the Serrato family tree, thanks to the questionable behavior of Count Hugo Serrato.

I wasn’t sure that it would be particularly welcome information to the current Count, but I would carry it to Master Antonyx anyway.

I didn’t carry any notes about the red stars. Antonyx’s paranoia had led him to tell me not to, but I’d memorized what I needed.

I packed up quickly. I still had food for the return trip, and I had the chipped short sword for protection, in addition to the Force aspect.

I was actually looking forward to getting back to the academy. The slim luxuries of somewhere to wash and fresh food delivered daily sounded like paradise. Worse, it sounded like home. It worried me how quickly I’d been bought by the Antorxians’ meagre hospitality as I left the fory.

The vulture spirit was waiting for me when I left. I found it sitting on a tree branch outside the gatehouse.

It watched me silently as I strode past. It didn’t move to follow me, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was with me all the way back to Windshriek academy.