Aid from the Order

      Deep in the twisting depths of the Haunted Woods, that was where the wizards made their home. The Order of the Red Erisim they called themselves. Wizards and witches of the greatest repute and power were selected for membership. Between them, they commanded the greatest magic on the planet. Their headquarters was a castle, gifted to the Order in the early days following the defeat of the Crimson Witch. Long centuries had allowed the woods to creep back in on it, making the place seem almost made from ivy and overhanging branches.

      The grey Techo had a carriage - a fancy thing that was totally inappropriate to the thin moss covered track that led to the castle. He was finely dressed as he stepped out, a long velvet cloak and the trappings of the nobility. He even had the sneer on his face. He walked with a fancy cane more for show than any frailty. The great oak doors of the place where easily three times his size, but he knocked on them with his cane as if they were paper.

      The door opened a creak, allowing the firelight from inside to light the Techo's face. The woman inside was a servant. A Yurble in simple clothes. No mage, no one important. All such castles needed a small army of people to run it. Even ones populated with wizards.

      “I have an appointment with Esteemed Enchanter Voltanis,” the Techo said.

      The Yurble looked him up and down. Eventually, she nodded.

      “This way, good sir,” she said, standing aside to let him in.

      Meetings with those who called the Order their home were rare. Hard to come by. Voltanis was perhaps an exception to that rule. The man was an attention seeker, by all accounts. So full of his own magical importance. Any excuse to inflate his own ego, he would gladly accept. He would reply to correspondance with half a dozen courts asking for aid, but with empty words and no real help. Still, the wizard was a tool to be used. He was a way into the castle. That was all that was needed.

      Voltanis made his home in one of the small towers in the castle's east wing. The serving Yurble knocked on the door.

      “Enter!” came a theatrical voice from inside.

      Esteemed Enchanter Voltanis was a green Nimmo who dressed in robes so outlandishly coloured he might as well be coloured rainbow. A cloak with more stars on it than the night sky sat around his shoulders. His chambers, such as they were, were covered in photographs of famous Neopets he had met and letters from similarly influencial people.

      “Artemis Vandebant,” the Techo announced himself. “I believe you have been expecting me?”

      “Of course!” the Nimmo replied. “Eve, leave us.”

      The Yurble nodded with a bow and closed the door behind her.

      “Now, my dear Artemis, what can I do for you?” Voltanis asked. “I have considerable knowledge of all things arcane, and my web of influence goes all the way to the court of Queen Fyora, no less.”

      Artemis raises an eyebrow at that. His own ‘web of influence’ goes similarly as far, and he's never encountered anyone who values Voltanis all that much.

      “I require only one thing from you, Enchanter,” Artemis said, fishing for something in his jacket pocket. “That you sleep.”

      He finds what he was looking for and takes it out. A small amulet, which he flicks open and points in Voltanis’s direction. It was a statement of how skilled an enchanter the Nimmo was that he offered exactly no magical counterstrike to the bright flash that followed. He simply fell forward on his desk, fast asleep and snoring.

      Artemis made a satisfied snort and pocketed the amulet. That had taken them three months to procure from a cache buried in a Meridell tomb. All in all, they had been preparing a full year for this night. Breaching the Order’s headquarrters uninvited was a perilous task these days, in the aftermath of the Obelisk battles. But once invited within, much of the magical countermeasures became harmless. Voltanis was their ticket to entry. Now it was time for Artemis to turn to the real reason for his visit.

      He silently let himself out of the chamber and snuck further up the staircase. Right to the top of the tower, where the final chamber lay in the attic. He rapped lightly on the door.

      No answer.

      Again, this time with more force. Still no answer. When he knocked a third time a voice within finally lost patience with him.

      “What is it!?”

      Artemis smiled and opened the door.

      Inside was a mess of papers and magical apparatus. Firelight danced over piles as fall as Artemis, and there wasn’t an unused surface in sight. It took a moment to locate the wizard within the mess. The white Mynci was himself almost buried by his moth eaten crimson robes and a bushy white beard.

      “I gave specific instructions that I was not to be disturbed!” he boomed.

      Artemis smiled again and closed the door behind him. He knew all about the Mynci's orders. He's not been disturbed in five years now. Getting an audience with him was quite impossible - that was the reason for the subterfuge.

      “You are Archmage Cassius, yes?” Artemis asked.

      “I said that-”

      “I know what you said,” Artemis cut across him. “Are you Cassius?”

      “I am,” the Mynci replied.

      “Good, then I apologise for the intrusion,” Artemis said. “But I feel, if you give me a few moments of your time, you will not be disappointed.”

      Cassius stared at Artemis for a moment, weighing the intruder up.

      “Speak quickly,” he said at last.

      “You are a scholar of Kayannin writing, yes?” Artemis said, moving forward and fishing something else out of his inside pocket. “I have a tome I need translating.”

      “Brightvale is the place for translation,” Cassius replied dismissively.

      “We have exhausted Brightvale,” Artemis replied, producing a pristinely bound book, no bigger than the palm of his hand. “I am reliably told that in the early days of the Kayannin civilisation, they used a different dialect for magical writing than that of mundane literature. And this, let me assure you, is a magical book.”

      He placed the little book on the table, and Cassius opened it to read the symbols inside.

      “You are well informed,” he replied. “This is... Remarkably early. I've only seen a few fragments that use this dialect. No wonder you couldn't find anyone in Brightvale... oh.”

      He suddenly locked Artemis with a stare.

      “You obtained this from the Black Archive, did you not?”

      Artemis gave a guilty smile.

      “I understood that few people knew of the library’s existence,” he said. “Certainly, the number of people we had to bribe in order to access it was surprising.”

      “I have donated books to King Hagan in the past,” Cassius said, going back to reading. “Whispers of what he did with them reached my ears. Of a secret library for forbidden knowledge. But I have never seen it, nor met anyone who has seen it.”

      “This is all frightfully interesting, but besides the point,” Artemis said. “Can you read it?”

      “Yes, of course,” Cassius said. “This is a book on necromancy. The art of raising the dead and summoning of ghosts. It was a dark, taboo subject even for the Kayannin, who considered pretty much all of magic a playground. This... This is a dangerous book. What do you wish to do with it?”

      “I think that should be fairly obvious,” Artemis replied. “One does not desire the power to summon the dead only to spend their days on horticulture. Can you provide me with a translation?”

      “Certainly, but that will do you no good,” Cassius said.

      “Why?”

      “This is a copy,” Cassius added. “Made recently, from the binding.”

      “Of course,” Artemis said. “We had it made - I would not be so foolish to bring the original here. It has been transcribed exactly.”

      Cassius shook his head.

      “I can translate the words for you, certainly,” he said. “But that will do you no good, as I said. The Kayannin did not write books on magic. They wrote magical books. Books of magic. The power woven into the very pages. Without the original book, the translation will be pointless. You will need someone who can read Kayannin to perform the spells contained within, in the original dialect, or they will not work.”

      “In other words, you say we need you,” Artemis said.

      Cassius smiled at that.

      “And why should I help you?”

      “These spells are ones that have not been performed in millenia, since the dawn of a long dead civilisation,” Artemis said. “If the goal of your Order is to curate magical power, I offer you its ultimate expression. After our purposes are concluded, the tome is your's to keep. Along with any other magical artefacts you may have accumulated in the process.”

      Cassius thoughtfully tapped on his desk.

      “If I am to be in your employ, I would need to know the aims of this ‘we’ of which you speak,” he said. “Just who are you planning on bringing back from the grave?”

      Artemis moved his hand slightly, revealing a ring on his finger. On it was emblazoned the crest of a long dead mage.

      “Do you perhaps remember a warlock by the name of Hubrid Nox?”

      The End