Journey to the stars and worlds of imagination

Magic animated the golem. Can someone without powers stop them?

A snippit from Windmaster Golem. To set the stage, this takes place the morning after Relliq tried to kill Brodie. Despite spending the night worrying about who broke his spell and whether the archmage would come to punish him, Relliq hasn't learned his lesson and tries another spell which results in another first meeting.

To see what started Relliq's angst, check out "Dark."

Anger at his failure raised his pulse. His magic surged out of control. Across the room, tinder laid out on the hearth for the night’s fire burst into flames. Surprise at the strength of his power shocked Relliq. The fire in the hearth flickered into nothingness. Grasping control of the spell, he encouraged the glowing coals to relight.

For a candlemark he sat and pondered the dancing flames. Contrasting thoughts danced with each spark that flared up the chimney. Ysbail always preached keeping emotions under control, he mused. The ease by which I brought fire to cold wood proves she is wrong. Anger boosted my abilities.

Now just learn how to control them, reality added.

A snatch pulled a bowl from the shelf. He had bartered a love potion for the bowl from a caravan passing through town. “Which will have an unexpected surprise attached to it,” Relliq laughed. “The wielder of the potion may find achieving his desire is not the pleasure he expected.”

The sound of his voice returned Relliq’s focus to why he wanted the bowl. Untouched by food or drink, it was perfect for casting a spell. A splash of water to form a mirror and to consecrate the vessel and he whispered an incantation.

“Nothing happened,” he snarled. There is no anger, no surge of pleasure or lust, he realized. Once again he called forth the rage that he could not control the living fog.

“Vision near, vision far,
Show me a caster of power.”

The water in the bowl shimmered. A solid wall of stone replaced the reflection of the room around him. Relliq leaned in closer. What had appeared as the mortar between stones now revealed itself as the outline of a door. The perspective shifted to the other side of the wall and the slender figure whose arm raised as if to knock on the hidden door.

At first he thought his spell had centered on the man from the night before. “No,” he hissed. “It’s not the smith. The image isn’t the chamber room of the wizards’ council. It’s not any place I’ve seen in my scrying stone.” A ray of sunlight penetrated the gloom of what he realized had to be a narrow alley. Braids of brown hair formed a crown in which crystal pins danced.