to do.’ She glanced up as Loras and Tarent; blankets wrapped around them, shuffled in and sat down.
‘With the storm blowing I couldn’t do more than explore the sheltered side of the island, but as I was flying, all sorts of memories came flooding back to me; some good, some not so good. The real name of this island is The Isle of Skills, not the Isle of Skulls; this was the home of the Academy of Magicians.’ She smiled at Loras. ‘It was here that the apprentice magicians were brought to learn their skills and to study under the greatest magicians of the day. The Academy was ruled over by the four most senior magicians, they were known as the ‘Council of Four.’ My master, Magician Pew, was one of the four. Then there was Magician Clement, he was a nice old man, always doing magic with flowers and nature.’ Mahra stopped talking as she remembered the old magician for the first time in centuries.
After a few moments Loras cleared his throat with a polite cough. ‘Who else Mahra? That’s only two so far.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she answered. ‘Yes there was Pew and Clement, then Magician Barrick and then…’ she drifted again but this time without the smile. ‘And then there was Magician Credence Bleak. Credence Bleak was in fact the highest ranking of the four and he ruled the Academy with a will of iron.’ She shivered. ‘Not a nice man as I recall. I do remember that he and my master never saw eye-to-eye on very much; they were always arguing - naturally he championed Chaos. Anyway, eventually the magicians fought and death rained down upon the island. From what I can remember Magician Bleak survived for a time, plotting his dark spells, but the Academy was no more. Please remember that this was all a very long time ago.
Magician Bleak would have known that one day the heroes would be walking the halls again in a bid to complete the great spell on the eve of what Chaos is claiming as its time of triumph. He understood that in this distant future the heroes would have to be stopped for Chaos to reign alone. He would have known the skull we seek and will be trying to stop us, even from his grave.’
****
Thankfully Mahra’s report only dampened their spirits a little and they were eager, after drying out their clothes, to explore the island and do their best. Loras placed some protective spells on The Griffin with a warning to the others that if they returned before he did, they could undo the spells by naming the boat three times.
‘If you don’t and you forget…well, you don’t want to forget, all right?’ Loras seemed pleased with the spells he’d placed and no one doubted that they’d be effective in keeping the boat safe.
They made their way to the little beach huddled down in the small rowboat against the ever-present drizzle and gazed through the mist and rain at the walls of dark grey granite that loomed up ahead.
‘There’s a narrow path cut into the cliff that runs to the top,’ started Mahra, but her words were carried away on the wind. ‘I remember one of the biggest worries of anyone coming back to the island,’ she continued a little louder, ‘was that they had to climb the path to get to the Academy.’
Loras peered up from under the hood of his cloak at the huge storm-lashed cliff, imagining himself as a newly arriving apprentice and despite the circumstances, felt a thrill at being here. The place where magic was born and taught to the gifted. He sighed and pulled his cloak a little tighter around him.
The boat crunched up onto the sandy beach and the crew jumped out with Mahra making a fuss that she’d got her feet wet.
As always, it felt strange to have solid ground under them rather than the steady motion of The Griffin and they trudged off after Mahra, crunching through the sand with their heads bowed against the rain. The climb was every bit as perilous as Mahra had warned. The slick rain-lashed path sometimes disappeared into the cliff’s shallow caves,
‘With the storm blowing I couldn’t do more than explore the sheltered side of the island, but as I was flying, all sorts of memories came flooding back to me; some good, some not so good. The real name of this island is The Isle of Skills, not the Isle of Skulls; this was the home of the Academy of Magicians.’ She smiled at Loras. ‘It was here that the apprentice magicians were brought to learn their skills and to study under the greatest magicians of the day. The Academy was ruled over by the four most senior magicians, they were known as the ‘Council of Four.’ My master, Magician Pew, was one of the four. Then there was Magician Clement, he was a nice old man, always doing magic with flowers and nature.’ Mahra stopped talking as she remembered the old magician for the first time in centuries.
After a few moments Loras cleared his throat with a polite cough. ‘Who else Mahra? That’s only two so far.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she answered. ‘Yes there was Pew and Clement, then Magician Barrick and then…’ she drifted again but this time without the smile. ‘And then there was Magician Credence Bleak. Credence Bleak was in fact the highest ranking of the four and he ruled the Academy with a will of iron.’ She shivered. ‘Not a nice man as I recall. I do remember that he and my master never saw eye-to-eye on very much; they were always arguing - naturally he championed Chaos. Anyway, eventually the magicians fought and death rained down upon the island. From what I can remember Magician Bleak survived for a time, plotting his dark spells, but the Academy was no more. Please remember that this was all a very long time ago.
Magician Bleak would have known that one day the heroes would be walking the halls again in a bid to complete the great spell on the eve of what Chaos is claiming as its time of triumph. He understood that in this distant future the heroes would have to be stopped for Chaos to reign alone. He would have known the skull we seek and will be trying to stop us, even from his grave.’
****
Thankfully Mahra’s report only dampened their spirits a little and they were eager, after drying out their clothes, to explore the island and do their best. Loras placed some protective spells on The Griffin with a warning to the others that if they returned before he did, they could undo the spells by naming the boat three times.
‘If you don’t and you forget…well, you don’t want to forget, all right?’ Loras seemed pleased with the spells he’d placed and no one doubted that they’d be effective in keeping the boat safe.
They made their way to the little beach huddled down in the small rowboat against the ever-present drizzle and gazed through the mist and rain at the walls of dark grey granite that loomed up ahead.
‘There’s a narrow path cut into the cliff that runs to the top,’ started Mahra, but her words were carried away on the wind. ‘I remember one of the biggest worries of anyone coming back to the island,’ she continued a little louder, ‘was that they had to climb the path to get to the Academy.’
Loras peered up from under the hood of his cloak at the huge storm-lashed cliff, imagining himself as a newly arriving apprentice and despite the circumstances, felt a thrill at being here. The place where magic was born and taught to the gifted. He sighed and pulled his cloak a little tighter around him.
The boat crunched up onto the sandy beach and the crew jumped out with Mahra making a fuss that she’d got her feet wet.
As always, it felt strange to have solid ground under them rather than the steady motion of The Griffin and they trudged off after Mahra, crunching through the sand with their heads bowed against the rain. The climb was every bit as perilous as Mahra had warned. The slick rain-lashed path sometimes disappeared into the cliff’s shallow caves,
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