…
He heaved a sigh, chastising himself. It was his imagination … only imagination. Turning the page he focused on the words. The air tingled. Zorc straightened. Did he really feel it? Closing his eyes, he breathed in the damp air.
Magic .
Zorc swallowed his excitement and hurried to the mirror propped against the far side of the cavern. He bent forward to inspect himself. Still the same, nothing had changed: the same dark eyes, the same widow’s peak, the same ebony hair. Zorc frowned, silently cursing his foolishness. He was too eager, much too eager. Zorc drew a disappointed breath, but before he turned he noticed something glimmering in the torchlight.
“I’ll be staggered,” Zorc said as he gently touched the gray hair above his right temple. He was beginning to age!
Zorc spun with arms wide, waist-long dark hair twirling around him like a war banner. He felt so good he drew up his robes and began to dance the way he had in the Alcazar. For three hundred ninety-eight years he had been waiting. That was far longer than any of the great ones had expected and far longer then he thought he could bear. Waiting wasn’t bad when you had someone to wait with, but only two of those years had been spent with another. Zorc wondered for the thousandth time what had happened to Galor. He could almost imagine the seer’s excitement at the thought of his foretelling coming to life. Zorc felt a pang of sadness as he thought of his friend but brightened at the thought of seeing the sun, feeling the breeze in his hair, smelling a flower, and feeling the gentle ache of hunger.
After almost four centuries in a lonely, dismal cave he would have contact with the outside world, with people, and with the Chosen.
His smile withered. His time in isolation may be over but now he would be faced with challenges too terrifying to dwell on. He needed to consult the crystal again. He needed to be sure.
Zorc glanced back at his reflection. “You’re here because the world is at risk once more, but this time the threat can’t be stopped in the same way. Never forget that. You can’t be the way you were. You must be the way you are, the way you need to be. You’re here for the Chosen.”
He turned and hurried down the dark expanse that led to the crystal cavern. It had been a long time since he had made the trip, years even. He looked down at the impressions in the gray stone. His own footfalls had made them from his frequent pacing and many trips to the crystal in his early years of isolation.
When he reached the darker section of the passage he slowed to appreciate the beauty of the nightmoss glowing an illustrious yellow. Nightmoss had been his only indication of the passage of time. In the summer months the moss was yellow; in the spring, green; in the fall, orange; and in the winter without color.
His mind turned to the issue at hand, the Chosen and the prophecy. Zorc hoped he hadn’t overlooked any interpretation of the prophecy. He had analyzed every contingency he could imagine, and there had been ample time to think. What else was there to do? After Galor had left the silence had almost driven him mad, but he had slowly grown accustomed to the quiet. It amazed him how much he had adapted to being alone. At times he thought he could remain alone forever, and that frightened him more than the quest he had been assigned. Now with magic’s rebirth he yearned to leave the confines of the cave and experience life again. He was determined not to fail.
He entered the chamber where the crystal resided. Large stalactites and stalagmites glistened in the gloom. The Silver Eye sat in the middle of the cavern, glowing a soft silvery-blue, casting shadows over the cave and causing the white formations to glow with a haunting sheen. The crystal had an aura about it, an awareness that caused Zorc’s skin to prickle. Even the base seemed real. Three silver dragons formed it, their sapphire eyes shinning with a rage befitting the silver
He heaved a sigh, chastising himself. It was his imagination … only imagination. Turning the page he focused on the words. The air tingled. Zorc straightened. Did he really feel it? Closing his eyes, he breathed in the damp air.
Magic .
Zorc swallowed his excitement and hurried to the mirror propped against the far side of the cavern. He bent forward to inspect himself. Still the same, nothing had changed: the same dark eyes, the same widow’s peak, the same ebony hair. Zorc frowned, silently cursing his foolishness. He was too eager, much too eager. Zorc drew a disappointed breath, but before he turned he noticed something glimmering in the torchlight.
“I’ll be staggered,” Zorc said as he gently touched the gray hair above his right temple. He was beginning to age!
Zorc spun with arms wide, waist-long dark hair twirling around him like a war banner. He felt so good he drew up his robes and began to dance the way he had in the Alcazar. For three hundred ninety-eight years he had been waiting. That was far longer than any of the great ones had expected and far longer then he thought he could bear. Waiting wasn’t bad when you had someone to wait with, but only two of those years had been spent with another. Zorc wondered for the thousandth time what had happened to Galor. He could almost imagine the seer’s excitement at the thought of his foretelling coming to life. Zorc felt a pang of sadness as he thought of his friend but brightened at the thought of seeing the sun, feeling the breeze in his hair, smelling a flower, and feeling the gentle ache of hunger.
After almost four centuries in a lonely, dismal cave he would have contact with the outside world, with people, and with the Chosen.
His smile withered. His time in isolation may be over but now he would be faced with challenges too terrifying to dwell on. He needed to consult the crystal again. He needed to be sure.
Zorc glanced back at his reflection. “You’re here because the world is at risk once more, but this time the threat can’t be stopped in the same way. Never forget that. You can’t be the way you were. You must be the way you are, the way you need to be. You’re here for the Chosen.”
He turned and hurried down the dark expanse that led to the crystal cavern. It had been a long time since he had made the trip, years even. He looked down at the impressions in the gray stone. His own footfalls had made them from his frequent pacing and many trips to the crystal in his early years of isolation.
When he reached the darker section of the passage he slowed to appreciate the beauty of the nightmoss glowing an illustrious yellow. Nightmoss had been his only indication of the passage of time. In the summer months the moss was yellow; in the spring, green; in the fall, orange; and in the winter without color.
His mind turned to the issue at hand, the Chosen and the prophecy. Zorc hoped he hadn’t overlooked any interpretation of the prophecy. He had analyzed every contingency he could imagine, and there had been ample time to think. What else was there to do? After Galor had left the silence had almost driven him mad, but he had slowly grown accustomed to the quiet. It amazed him how much he had adapted to being alone. At times he thought he could remain alone forever, and that frightened him more than the quest he had been assigned. Now with magic’s rebirth he yearned to leave the confines of the cave and experience life again. He was determined not to fail.
He entered the chamber where the crystal resided. Large stalactites and stalagmites glistened in the gloom. The Silver Eye sat in the middle of the cavern, glowing a soft silvery-blue, casting shadows over the cave and causing the white formations to glow with a haunting sheen. The crystal had an aura about it, an awareness that caused Zorc’s skin to prickle. Even the base seemed real. Three silver dragons formed it, their sapphire eyes shinning with a rage befitting the silver
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