The Written by Ben Galley Page A

elegant lines and spirals
clambering over his collarbone and shoulder blades. Four symbols
ran along his spine, runes with shapes and strange interwoven
words. Elessi couldn’t help notice the dark faces of telling
bruises running through the black lettering., and every time the
magick surged through his body the words flashed and glowed,
sporadically lighting up all over his skin, glittering and dancing
with a bright white light. The chambermaid was transfixed: her eyes
locked in a mesmerised stare. She narrowed her eyes and tried to
follow the lines of script and make sense of the foreign scribbly
words.
    Farden threw yet another bolt
of fire at the target, whose carved wooden face was now charred and
smouldering. If a mannequin could look depressed, then this one
did. The mage paused his onslaught for a moment and clenched his
fists. A whirring, crackling sound hummed through the air, and
Farden bared an open palm and sent tidal waves of sparks and
lightning to wash over the wooden statue. With a crash the topmost
chain melted and the mannequin fell to the floor with a burst of
cinders. The mage cursed and went to find his shirt. Elessi
flinched back from the door and ran back down the corridor with
mixed feelings of relief and fear. That night she dreamt of wounded
ghosts and hulking monsters, of deep caves and fire burning under
her sheets. Sleep ran from her and Elessi awoke with red eyes and
dripping with cold sweat.
     
     
     
    Farden opened his eyes to find
some more winter sunlight jabbing through his open window. He found
he was lying on his front and swiftly pushed himself up and out of
bed, stretching with a new-found readiness. He had rested well, in
a deep dreamless sleep, and now he felt fit and eager to get going.
Whatever the old vampyre had done had worked, and Farden resolved
to ask him about it another time. He finished stretching and went
to find his scattered clothes and armour. He ran a wet cloth over
his grimy face and neck and began to wipe the dirt away. One of his
teeth was loose, probably from the fight, and Farden tongued it in
an investigative way. He pushed a finger to his jaw and muttered
something, and the tooth settled back into its place. It didn’t
move again.
    He moved to the window and felt
the cold breeze of the morning on his face. The winter sun was
still hovering near the horizon behind the trees, hiding behind the
leafless branches of the Forest of Durn. A lonely bird sang
somewhere below in the Arkabbey grounds. The smell of baking bread
hovered in the air, from the kitchens below. The mage carried on
washing until he looked relatively acceptable to society, and then
tried smoothing out the folds and creases in his clothes with his
warm hand. He put on his tunic, his boots, and his armour, and
strode out of his room.
    When he reached the vampyre’s
room the door was unlocked and Farden went straight in. Magick
throbbed and hummed in the air. The fire had long burned out and
only the candles now lit the dim room. In the corner the archway of
black stone and steel was filled with a haze, as if a silk veil
quivered constantly and violently in the centre of the tall
doorway. The quickdoor seemed to be finished and already thrumming
with energy.
    Durnus reposed in a wooden
chair near a desk, eyes closed and dozing. Farden walked quietly up
to him and put a gentle hand on the old man’s shoulder. The vampyre
stirred and his eyelids fluttered.
    ‘Farden…hmm, what time is it?’
asked Durnus hoarsely.
    ‘Just before noon, it’ll be
afternoon in Manesmark by now. It’s time for me to go.’
    ‘Right!’ Durnus slapped his
knees and stood up, all tiredness instantly forgotten, and headed
to the lectern to check on the vibrating quickdoor. ‘It’s ready, it
took me a while to do for some reason, the Albion magick seems to
be weaker than normal. The quickdoor in Manesmark is a powerful one
though, so it wasn’t impossible,’ the vampyre rambled away as he
leafed through the