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The thick and cloying stench of decay hung in the air like fog. Buried beneath miles of rotted matter, Vulgut basted in decaying corruption and fetid pestilence and dreamed of a mountain of rancid meat. Saliva oozed and dripped between slack lips and the foul earth gave way, retreating before his acrid drip. His massive jaw clenched and the moldy slime shuddered in every direction.
Soft bubbles of methane and hydrogen sulfide popped and formed faint and distant words, calling his name from far away.
Undead Bloodletters slashed themselves to fire bolts of energy at the top of the wall. Torqu pointed at the Citadel and every soulless minion moved against the fort. Ghoulish mercenaries and mining slaves moved forward, climbing the surrounding cliffs like ants. There were no battle cries or roars of defiance, no shouts of bravado. Instead, a quiet and obedient mob advanced.
“What is the WitchSea?” Billy asked.
“A myth, until a moment ago. An underground body of water rumored to be as large as the Silver Sea. First mentioned over a thousand years ago in the journal of Stromgrum the Far Traveler, and then not seen again. Somewhere along the coast are the Faelum, a fierce seafaring people, utterly blind, who move by high-pitched echoes. Stromgrum lived with them for a time, as they have no quarrel with the surface people, and recorded their customs. They were tribal and wared constantly. So much time passed without another sighting, most scholars were sure they’d gone extinct. If we can discover they yet live we’ll be famous.”
Also at SeaEnd was Windham Keep, once the world’s leading college for mages. Fear of that tower had allowed the royal family to expand their borders and influence without war. A square pillar of black marble shot through with veins of white, the Keep towered above the harbor, still maintained as a reminder of former glories.
The party topped a rise, their trail meeting a road to the city. They shielded their eyes from the setting sun.
“Remember,” Billy said. “Lander knew our plans. If the Bloodletters caught him, which I hope they did not, they know we’re here. Be on guard.”
When the new Council informed me of the charges and threatened me with arrest, I smothered a laugh.
“The tested cannot surpass the tester,” I replied. “Who among you can sit in judgement of me?”
The college elders huddled to deliberate and agreed to waive the arrest but insisted on a trial. This time I let the laugh ring loud.
“Stop this charade. I could level the prison. I could turn the judges to dust. Accept that my insight rules in matters such as these and move on. Have faith.”
— Ems Fick, the Witch
Study of the Valdmurian Grimoire has proved useful and I am ready to begin the first of the Codices. I suggested we use the Grimoire as a model but Alvert and Philius were hesitant, fearful the presence of a book so dark would taint our work.
— Journal of Haylan Pil, Mage to the High Council