Stolen Souls Chapter 1

"What have you gone and gotten yourself into this time," mumbled Graden, hoisting his book-laden backpack over a jagged rock. A small parchment floated away in the breeze, but Graden barely noticed. He was nearing his journey's end, a tall, somewhat foreboding tower carved from the very stone of the surrounding mountains. If he hadn't been told what he was looking for he would have passed right by it. A long sliver of granite jutted into the sky, slicing through the low laying clouds above. Flickers of orange candlelight dotted the top of the tower, blending it into the starry night sky. The sides of the tower were covered with powdery snow, tall evergreen trees, and several shadowy figures. Squinting through the darkness, Graden could make out the shapes of several great rams foraging for food on one of the tower's slopes. He shuddered, recalling his last unfortunate encounter with the large beasts. Pausing for a moment, Graden fumbled through his beltpouch and pulled out another parchment, this one crumpled slightly and folded along one edge. He unfolded it, took a quick glance at the makeshift map, looked around a bit, then folded it up and stuffed it back into the beltpouch. "Yes, yes this is the right place," said Graden, "but where to look..."

The moon, Vartash, was beginning its slow ascent into the evening sky, casting a pale yellow hue over the landscape below. Graden dropped his pack by his side and sat down on a flat slab of granite that has sheered off the mountain. "Ahh, that should help things a bit," said Graden, noticing the glow of Vartash on the mountainside. Again he pulled the folded parchment from his beltpouch, this time running his finger back and forth along the scribbled notes on the map. He studied the parchment for several minutes, groans and grumbles coming with each pass of his finger. Graden sighed.

"Needles in a haystack, needles in a haystack," he mumbled, "these things can never be simple can they? No, of course not Graden, if they were simple then you would be at the pub in Storm's Helm instead of..." Graden's words trailed off. A glint of silvery light was sparkling from one of the large rocks at the base of the tower. A thin smile appeared on Graden's face. "Ahhh yes, that's it. Just needed to wait a bit, Graden," he remarked, hoisting his backpack up onto his shoulder while sliding the parchment into one of his pockets.

Vartash and its twin Palan were directly overhead by the time Graden reached the silver light. He was far from the adventurous type being the scholar that he was, so much so that he diverted around a group of black rats for fear of disease, adding three days to his journey. Graden approached the light, now noticing it was a flicker of flame coming from an ornate lantern hanging from a granite boulder. Suddenly the light swung up into the air as a large form rumbled to life. Graden jumped back. Two red eyes opened and stared down at Graden. Pebbles dripped down the side of the massive form as it began to move towards the cowering man. Graden recognized the creature from one of his tomes as a granite golem, a large rocklike creature that was bound to do the bidding of its master until it was dispelled or destroyed. Graden could do neither. He stumbled backwards, trying to hide behind rocks and small bushes but the golem continued its advance. The golem crushed a small boulder under one of its feet and swatted aside a decaying oak tree.

Graden screamed, "I am a friend, I was told to seek the light!" His own words rang in his head, triggering a memory of one of the scribbled lines of text on his map: Give the key to the guardian of the light. He quickly rummaged through his beltpouch. "Here!" he yelped, thrusting his hand into the air. In it he held a long, notched piece of rock that looked like someone had crudely chiseled out of the side of the mountain. The golem stopped, eyes still fixed on Graden. A large rubble hand swung forward, in which Graden could see a small, square hole. Hand trembling, he shoved the key into the hand of the golem. Graden began to tingle and saw a purplish glow begin to trace down his arm. "Oh wonderful," he groaned.

Graden had been teleported by the golem to a long, narrow passageway lined with silver-flamed torches. Large, rough rocks lined each side of the hall and the floor, with several roots from the trees above broken through. He glanced over his shoulder. No exit. "Well that's that," Graden said. "Forward you go, Graden." He began down the passageway, stepping over puddles of a dark liquid that he hoped was water. His footsteps echoed through the halls, accompanied by drips of water, squeaks of small mice, and a low rumbling sound that Graden supposed might be thunder. As he walked, Graden noticed a few small trails of the dark liquid heading in the opposite direction. He was definitely heading up, most likely towards the tower he had stopped at earlier that night. Graden walked on. The once straight passage had begun to curve slightly to the left and was becoming steeper as he continued up it. It had also begun to widen, and the rough rocks that formed the bricks in the walls had transformed into a smooth, polished marble surface. The dark liquid had disappeared and the rock floor had given way to a brick surface with a golden hue. The silver flames were now housed in lanterns similar to the one the guardian golem had been carrying, and Graden noticed there were no candlesticks attached to them.

"Magic flames, how interesting," he remarked as he pulled out a small book and scribbled down a quick note. Graden put the book under his arm and continued through the hallway, stopping to make more notes at a small statue of what looked like a warrior and an intricate tapestry depicting a battle between two rival wizards. Graden forced himself to look away from the items and continued down the hallway until he reached an ending of sorts. A set of stairs rose from the hallway , curving upwards in a tight spiral. A purplish portal hung in the air at one side of the stairs. "Hmm, that must be the exit then," he said, "which means I am heading up." Graden put his book back into his beltpouch and began up the stairs.

After what seemed like hours, Graden had reached a landing with a large wooden door which was propped open with a statue similar to the one he had seen in the hallway below. Graden gasped for air for a few moments, looking out one of the small windows in the room. The warm glow of sunrise met his face. Thin clouds drifted past the window, birds darting in and out of the breaks between them. The landscape below was dotted with pine trees, small bushes, and bits of mountain that had fallen off over time. Rams and sheep roamed near a large, blue lake sprawled at the base of the tower, some taking drinks from the icy water. Two great rams were locked in an intense battle with one another, presumably over mating territory. Graden tried to make out the spot where he saw the golem the night before, but the rubble surrounding the mountain looked largely the same from the height he was at, and he was unable to find the tree the golem had destroyed on its charge. Graden was about to pull out his looking glass when he heard a low voice.

"Enter, I have been expecting you."

Graden slid past the statue and through the opening into the room. The room was spacious, with several long tables along the walls that held alchemical items and spell components. The smell of ginseng mixed with burnt hyssop floated through the room. The ceiling was over twelve feet high, and held a chandelier burning the same silver flames as the other lights in the tower. Books were stacked in piles along the tables and on suspended bookshelves along the granite walls. The floor was a dark black marble with veins of white streaking across in lightning patterns. A narrow staircase was at the far corner of the room, and looked to spiral downwards. Seated in a large oak chair by the room's fireplace was a dark, robed figure. Reflections of the fire sparkled in the eyes of the man, but his face was hidden by shadows and the hood attached to his black robes. Graden cleared his throat.

"I... I am Graden Frest... I received a summons to meet someone here regarding a translation of an ancient tome, I was told..." The robed figure gestured towards a table with a lone candlestick, a quill and inkwell, a small box, and a simple chair tucked underneath on one side. Graden quickly shuffled to the table, pulled out the chair, plopped his backpack of books on the table and sat down.

"I brought the items requested in your summons," Graden continued, "books on ancient history and legend, and also some of my notes I have made over the years." The figure sat motionless. "I, ah, also wanted to discuss the payment for my services. Normally I would ask only a coin or two, but with the long journey involved I..." Graden stopped as the figure pointed at the small box on the table. Graden reached to it and opened it. Inside he found hundreds of gold and silver coins, a few glittering gems, and several heavy copper bars. His eyes lit up at the sight of this; the treasure in this box would fund his research for quite some time. "You are most generous, sir," he said, taking the items out of the box and placing them in his beltpouch. "Most generous indeed. What would you have me do? I am anxious to get started."

The robed figure rose from the chair, walked to one of the many bookshelves in the room, and pulled down a large, worn tome. He proceeded across the room, placed the book in front of Graden, then returned to the oak chair by the fireplace. Graden inspected the covering of the book. It was a pale red covered in faded gold letters, and several of the pages were frayed and slipping out of the tome.

"Read," said the robed figure, "read and understand."

"I'm not sure I follow what you mean," said Graden, a puzzled look on his face. "You had me come all this distance just to read? I can translate and write it down if that is what you..."

"Read and understand what you have read, that is what I require of you," the figure responded bluntly. Graden, not one to argue, opened the tome and began to read. Hours passed while he flipped from page to page, reading through each quickly. Sections on magic and herbs blended together in Graden's mind. Graden glanced up. The robe figure remained in the oak chair and seemed to have frozen in place. He quickly looked back down and continued to read. A large section on Denarian legend and historical figures followed, which he skimmed past, and a final section on several rules and formulas for magic. Graden noted nothing of great interest in the tome, closing it with a sigh.

"Well, I have read this tome. It seems to be the standard type of Denarian historical document, although some of the subject matter seems to be a bit dark at times," Graden stated. "I really don't understand why I was summoned this far north and in such conditions to read this."

Graden heard nothing from the robed figure for a few moments. "Page one hundred twenty four," the robe figure said. "Read and understand why I have brought you here." Graden opened the tome and flipped to the page. This was one of the sections he had skimmed over, legend and historical figures, but was written out in a different style than the other pages in the section. He began to read:

"Research on the soulstones goes well so far. Although some who have used them have had some unfortunate side effects, the majority seem to be reappearing intact after death. Remarkable! Lord Albren has enlisted the assistance of several lesser mages and arcanists to speed up the research. Entry by Graden Frest, court scribe."

Graden paled. He frantically tried to remember this tome, it did not look familiar to him at all. Unable to remember, he read the next passage.

"One of the mages has stolen a fragment of one of the soulstones! Lord Albren believes the mage may be able to create a powerful wand from it. A search is ongoing. Entry by Graden Frest, court scribe."

Graden remembered what had transpired years ago. A mage had stolen a broken piece of a soulstone and had somehow created a wand that was able to drain the life force out of a person and focus that energy back into the holder of the wand. Several mages and townspeople had been slain before Albren was able to defeat the mage and destroy the wand. The mage had disappeared in the battle; some thought the mage was entrapped in the wand, others believe he had escaped somehow and was plotting his revenge somewhere. Before the final clash with Albren, the mage had vowed to return and destroy all those who assisted Albren in his defeat. Graden remembered that he had seen the mage after one of his attacks and told Albren of his location. He was the main reason the mage had been found. He flipped the pages of the tome closed and read a small note he had written to himself years earlier.

"Oh no...", Graden gasped, his face ashen. He looked up. The robed figure was now standing, his eyes flashing violet from the glow of the wand clenched in his right hand. Graden stumbled to his feet, knocking over the oak chair and sprawling several loose pages of the tome across the granite floor. He turned towards the staircase and lunged for the first stair. The air cracked. Thick streams of violet-green light burst from the wand and met Graden, hurling him through the air and slamming him against the bookshelf on the far wall. Books fluttered off the shelf in all directions, some encased in violet flames, others trailed green sparks on their descent. The streams from the wand held Graden tight against the wall and were quickly turning the wisps of energy surrounding him a deep shade of blue. Green, violet, and blue light clashed and bounced throughout the room as the streams began to merge. The robed figure had not wavered in the slightest by the events around him. His eyes were fixed on Graden as if they were holding him against the wall's smooth surface. The wand was engulfed in the violet-green light, and was emitting a piercing tone that shattered many of the glass vials on the alchemy table and a large mirror resting in one of the room's dark corners. A sudden burst of blue energy shot down the stream towards the robed figure, knocking him backwards slightly while tearing the wand from his grip.

Graden crumpled to the floor, lifeless. The room went silent. Pools of red potions had formed on the marble floor near Graden giving the appearance of a bloody battle. The robed figure moved through the room, past the remnants of a lantern Graden had destroyed on his flight. Moving silently, the robed figure located and picked up the tome Graden was interpreting. He glided across the room stuffing some of the loose pages back into the tome, using his finger to flick blue sparks off of some. After placing the pages back into the tome the robed figure shifted his attention back to Graden. He stopped above Graden's body. Graden's eyes were open, staring blankly at the ceiling above. The robed figure lowered its hood.

"Alsharel..." Graden whispered with his last breath.

"Yes...it does understand."