The Root

Chapter 1 - 1

"...And sometimes, I have felt a great depression overcome my spirit, and as is natural, I hated the world. Waking up into this world of nightmares in which the whole realm seemed to be against my very self made me want to see the world burn. What made my situation different from all those other souls was the fact that unlike them, I actually had the ability to pursue this dark goal.

...The root of all evil is not greed, but magic."

- Radix Malorum (Author unknown)

Eran closed the musty old book and placed it on the bedside table. The room was dim, and there was only a single candle lighting up the bedside. He rubbed his eyes and glanced out of the window into the darkness of the night, hoping to alleviate the strain caused by reading for too long. Radix Malorum was one of the only books on magic available in the royal library of Dunnow, and even so, mostly influenced by the teachings of the Order. It was not magic in itself that fascinated Eran, but rather, the situation of magic-users on the realm, as magic was mostly vilified. Magic held uncountable power, Eran thought, but the true reason for the hunt quite possibly lay in the political aspects. Each nation hired magic-users for the purpose of waging war against one another. Eran yawned, and figured that it would be the best for him to finally go to sleep. First, he had to return the book. It wasn't exactly by his father's permission that he came across such an important book. Despite the fact that his father was one of the chief scholars at the royal library, not everyone was permitted to read the material.

A cold wind blew through the window and into the room. Eran shivered and closed the window which was next to his bed. The summer was slowly beginning to turn into autumn as rains became more frequent. Eran nodded to himself, determined to return the book without his father noticing again. The scolding he had received last time was still on his mind. He stepped on the floor and shivered again as the stone bricks felt ice cold. He picked up the book and the candlestick and left his room. The house his father owned was empty: his mother was fast asleep and his father was very likely to be in his study. Eran walked silently through the common room, picking up his boots and traveling cloak in the process. He blew the candle out, held the book against his body and left the house.

He left the house and listened for any disturbances. It was late. Eran cursed quietly and started pacing towards his father's study, which resided in the top floor of the Royal Library of Dunnow. Most of the time the library was left unguarded during nights as the vast majority of Dunnowsmen were unable to read. The library was locked, of course, but thankfully Eran had a key which matched each and every lock: one of his father's keys.

Suddenly, he heard the clattering of steel from the main road, and quickly took solace in the shadows of a dark alleyway. He pressed himself against the wall of a building and observed as a patrol of guards walked by, evidently without noticing him. The guards did not take very kindly to strangers past midnight. The laws were strict indeed and the city guard policy was, most of the time, to better be safe than sorry. He held his breath as he noticed that a second patrol was near. The two patrols seemingly convened, and Eran, without a noise, eavesdropped their conversation.

"Anything unusual tonight?"  the guard with a captain's gait asked.

"Nothin' big, sir. Some beggars outside the Citadel, but nothing a bit of canin' wouldn't sort," the gangly guard with a peasant's accent spoke.

"Good work, lads. There was word about a tavern brawl to the north, but another patrol should be dealing with that..."

Their conversation was now harder to hear since the guards had walked away from Eran. He sighed in relief, and continued his journey. Soon enough he arrived at the Royal Library, and as always, the building was a sight to behold. Shaped like a six-pointed star and built from marble and granite bricks, the building defied convention. The darkness of the night did fade the glory of the building, Eran pondered, and started walking to the backside of the library. In the faint light of the moon he noticed one of the many back doors used by the scholars. He fumbled for the key and slowly opened the lock.

The library was dimly lit by torches and moonlight which shone through the colourful windows, creating beautiful mandalas on the marble floor. The sight always captured Eran, but after a short while he realised that he had a task. As silently as he could he began towards his father's study, which was situated on one of the more silent wings on the third floor.

It was quiet, as Eran had expected. The vast majority of the Acolytes tending to the books were lazy, and usually began their work after the sun had already risen. A few times, he did hear a page being turned and a phrase or two being mumbled by scholars, but he was confident that a tiny rustle would not make them question his identity.

Finally, he reached the eastern wing of the library. Despite its humble appearance, the eastern wing was where the studies of crown-appointed scholars were located. Eran peered into the hallway and noticed soft light coming from a few rooms, but most importantly, his father's. The door was ever so slightly open, revealing a faint light. His study was divided into two parts, Eran recalled. One area contained all the bookshelves where he gathered all the material necessary for the research, and that area was exactly where he had to reach. The other area was for personal experiments, which was why not even Eran was allowed to enter.

He held his breath and strained his hearing the best he could, but heard nothing. He snuck across the hallway and as carefully as he could, peeked into the study.

A few candles lit the room, but it was rather dark overall. Slowly, he opened the door and cursed when it creaked. He stopped, holding his breath, but as the seconds crawled by he heard nothing with the exception of silent muttering coming from the inner sanctuary of the study. Eran took a step into the room. And another. And yet another. He noticed that the door to his father's personal study was open as well, and that an unusual warmth was radiating from the room. All of a sudden, Eran noticed a peculiar change in the lighting of the room. The light in the second room turned from warm candlelight into bright yellow, and a wave of hot air poured from the room.

Without a sound, Eran placed Radix Malorum on the table. He could not help but wonder the strange warmth and lights emanating from his father's room. A single peek wouldn't hurt anyone, right? It took him only three steps to reach the door and each still felt like an eternity passed to Eran. His heart was pounding and he feared that his father would burst out of his room at any given moment. Carefully he looked through the opening and was blinded by the light. As his eyes grew used to it he was able to clearly see his father's back. It looked like he was holding something. His father turned and began to write on a piece of parchment with his left hand. It was then that Eran could undoubtedly notice what his father was holding. In the palm of his cupped hand, suspended an inch above his skin, was a flame. At first Eran thought it was a small candle, but to his horror he realized that the flame was fueled by nothing. It couldn't be. Not his father. His eyes grew wide and he covered his mouth, letting out a a muffled scream.

Magic.

His father suddenly turned, the flame extinguished, and locked eyes with Eran.