shy about such conversations.
– Okay, – Asya quickly agreed, warily glancing at her brother.
However, Zheka was too engrossed in devouring his porridge to pay attention to the surrounding conversations.
Perfect. At least we’ll eat well on Saturday. This endless porridge for lunch and dinner is getting tiresome. I want meat! And a pastry! And coffee!
– You’re right, – the sorcerer began without preamble, unfolding the ley line map on the table. – Look! The pattern has changed again, the intersection over the castle is even thicker. Someone really is pulling magic here.
Well, this was to be expected. Magical energy is weakening across the planet, artifacts and spells are failing. At this rate, people will soon see the true form of the Egyptian pyramids or, worse, gain access to the Library of Alexandria. We couldn’t allow that to happen.
– Why would anyone need so much energy? I know of no spell that would require such a potent source, – I confessed honestly. – Unless…
– Precisely.
The dragon confirmed my unspoken, yet dreadful suspicion. Only one ritual required such colossal magical expenditures. The sorcerer realized it first. Indeed, I had become complacent in my role as a peaceful Guardian. But what now?
Unexpectedly, the castle trembled. Powders and jars tumbled from the long-suffering shelves, shattering on the stone floor. Potions mixed, forming a murky, foul-smelling, hissing puddle. Without a word, the dragon and I dashed for the exit, but before we could take a few steps, everything ceased as abruptly as it had begun.
– And what was that? – the sorcerer inquired.
If only I knew. Closing my eyes, I focused on my inner magical vision. At first glance, nothing in the castle’s enchantment structure had changed, but…
– We’re cut off from the outside world, – I realized in surprise, peering at the barely discernible intricate weavings covering all walls. – A Veil of Despair.
– A Veil? Seriously? – even the veteran dragon was a bit flustered. – So no communication at all? No owls, no mail, no portals, no spatial jumps?
– Not even the Guardians can pass through a Veil of Despair, – I stated grimly. – There will be no help. We must deal with all problems ourselves.
– Should we try to break through? – the sorcerer stared thoughtfully at the wall. – Got enough power?
– The enchantment is powered directly by the ley lines, – I shook my head. – Even if we join forces, we’ll achieve nothing. We’re trapped.
Or, conversely, in an ark. It depends on the intentions of the unknown sorcerer. As long as the castle is enveloped by such a powerful Veil of Despair, it’s the safest place in our world. However, Russians don’t give up that easily. I’ll exert every effort to bore even a tiny hole in this defense. Just for the sake of curiosity.
– I have an idea, – I cheerfully informed the noticeably disheartened dragon. – How are you at developing spells?
The sorcerer laughed. He understood me.
Students of the State Academy of Magic, Sorcery, and Wizardry went about their personal affairs, relaxing after a hearty dinner. Some read, some slept, others cuddled in the dark corners of the castle, and a few quietly drank with roommates in the dormitory. Students, what can you expect?
But in the sorcerer’s office, true, unique magic was being wrought. The creation of magical weavings required knowledge in magical theory, maganalysis, the history of ancient spells, languages, numerology, and many other disciplines. Even with the combined efforts of the Guardian of Secret Knowledge and the ancient dragon, the work proceeded frustratingly slowly.
I tore myself away from the calculations and looked around. The once ordinary lecture hall had succumbed to the chaos of knowledge. Books, ancient scrolls, manuscripts in dead languages, and papers with mathematical calculations were strewn everywhere. We had spent the whole day at work, deriving a new spell formula. Yes, it was far from perfect, but it was finally time for a trial run.
The first application of new spells is the most dangerous stage in enchantment development. The slightest error in calculations could turn the simplest spell into a fiery tornado, an icy hailstorm, or a localized earthquake. In the worst case, the new weaving would do nothing at all. Why is this the worst scenario? Because a spell always does something. If nothing happens to you, it’s quite possible that an entire species of bird has vanished on the other side of the planet, a glacier has melted, or a small town has been destroyed.
I stood up and uncertainly stepped into the center of the runic circle drawn on the lecture hall floor. The dragon nodded encouragingly, but just in case, he crawled under the old teacher’s desk and shielded himself with a dozen protective spells. Some friend he turned out to be.
Casting one last glance at the diagram of the new weaving, I mentally repeated the words of the verbal spell. Yes, unlike the familiar mental-nonverbal form, new spells are always created with words. It’s a sort of developer mode, designed for more complete control over the weaving.
I was getting distracted. My nerves were playing up. According to the plan, this spell should momentarily breach the Veil of Despair and transport me to the old oak in the overgrown park near my home. Well, all calculations were checked, the words learned, it was time to start. Leaning on the staff, which now served as a conduit to the very oak from which it was made, I knelt down and closed my eyes. The schematic of the new weaving immediately appeared before my inner eye.
– Azm ego khranitel vokatus et silam natura. Servus serv quadrum elementa vokatus liberta. Vedi via indespectus eb quae ed quae.
I carefully pronounced each word, fearing to make any mistake in the details. The spell was a blend of Slavic, Latin, and ancient Atlantean dialects. I was invoking the power of nature, the energy of all four elements, asking to pave the way from the existing to the existing. Our idea was as simple as it was brilliant. Using the forces of nature, we wanted to connect two parts of a whole – the oak and the staff made from its branch. Such a connection should pierce a momentary breach in the Veil of Despair and transport me to the familiar park, along with the staff, of course.
The floor began to vibrate slightly, the staff heated up, and the weaving quickly gained power. Unexpectedly, the lecture hall was enveloped in impenetrable darkness, instantly destroying our hard-wrought spell.
– It didn’t work… – I sighed in disappointment.
– It did! – a voice chuckled from under the teacher’s desk.
As the darkness dispersed, I understood the dragon’s amusement. The spell had indeed worked. Only in the opposite direction. A meter away from me stood a majestic old oak. The very one from the overgrown park beneath my apartment windows.
We spent the entire night with the dragon fruitlessly searching for errors in the calculations, but we couldn’t reverse the polarity of the new weaving.
– What shall we do now? – the teacher asked wearily, sitting under the oak now towering in the middle of the lecture hall.
