Nenewyn

  I spent some time studying, speaking to teachers who remembered me, meeting new people (chiefly in the library), and I even got into a magical duel - gah, I lost. Some young buck had managed to pierce my ward and knock me square in the sternum with an arcane bolt. I healed myself, pouting as I did.

  There was one event where a human child called me beautiful; ah, the way humans looked at even the plainest of us as though we were angels, the wonder in their eyes, I always found that to be quite cute. I wonder what happened to that little scamp, for I never saw him again.

  Eventually Merlinda did return, having dropped her family off back at their home. She seemed troubled about them actually, especially about the moral character of her son-in-law, but we didn't pry. Sylfaena attempted to inquire further once, but was rebuked - oh well at least she enjoyed the tea we brought. It was a vibrant green variety from across the Dragon Sea through various long trade routes and was favored by eastborn elves for its mentally restorative properties.

  More time passed, and then, something happened. Many more people acquired that same persistent cough, the one which healing magic never seemed able to touch. Then, the conditions of the selfsame individuals who had been coughing took a turn for the worse: it started with a fever and fatigue, then it progressed to coughing up blood, for those with spell-casting abilities it also caused mana drain.

  The symptoms continued to get worse, none of the healers nearby knew what was going on, and at some point they stopped being able to suppress even the weakest symptoms. Then the healers themselves started getting sick, and the townsfolk as well - there was a disease of some sort spreading throughout the vale.

  Then one day, Master Tarian was found dead in his bedchamber with a pool of black bile that he had coughed out; by none other than I, his former student. That is when the school was quarantined, no one was allowed to leave or enter, but even so people outside the town were also dying.

  As time passed, I can not recall how long exactly, the university had devolved into a hell-hole. True I could have easily scooped up Sylfaena and taken us away from there but we'd been helping the sick and at the time we thought that there was a very real chance we were infected as well.

  Then we found out that Merlinda was infected, too. It had progressed pretty far in her; but she was able to stay standing thanks to her transmutation magics. Indeed, the only reason why it seemed to progress more slowly in her was entirely because of a spell known as iron stamina; a bodily enhancement that improves one's physical health and resistance to such things as disease and poison.

  However, neither Sylfaena or I had gotten sick, despite repeated contact with the infected. Which begged the question, how was it even spread between persons? A magical plague; yes, this had to be a magical plague, and not a normal disease - the symptoms resembled devouring despair, what humans call consumption in their tongue, but they were far worse and seemed to especially hurt arcane magic-users. The bodies kept falling, a malaise hung over everyone. The reek of death was a thick fog spreading throughout the university.

  Then one day we figured out the mechanism of spread: touch spells. Had Sylfaena and I not been there, it may never have been figured out: neither of us had cast a touch-range spell on any infected individual, nor had any of them cast a touch-range spell on either of us.

  By the time the healers started getting sick it was clear that our meager in-born healing magics couldn't do anything so we hadn't even been approached to try - we'd been helping out by cleaning bandages and bringing food.

  Merlinda hadn't cast any of her bodily enhancements on either of us because I was capable of casting them, too, and had enough mana reserves to cover Sylfaena as well. The only other time that either of us had been subjected to any spell at all was a ranged attack during that due.

  My erstwhile opponent, that poor young wolf-ears boy, had already expired from his illness. I shuddered - I thought he had so much potential, that perhaps he might rival Sylfaena some day, but that was no longer possible.

  Viewing one of the infected with a distant magic detection spell also confirmed the presence of an aura of death and decay aspected magical energy, of, Elianora forfend, Magister-Grade! Which meant that there were none here who could cure it, not for hundreds of leagues! Sylfaena knew someone who could expunge the plague, as did I, but where was she? Upon our discovery of how the disease was spread, Merlinda's face grew pale and grave. I, too, realized the horrid implication, but it took Sylfaena a few more moments.

  "N-no, it can not," she said, eyes wide, fingers digging into the flesh of her face, "I-" she coughed up a storm of blood; it had gotten so bad that she could only manage wordless casting. Then her arms moved wildly, a glowing white circle formed under her feet - teleportation! In a flash she was gone.

  "Wait, teacher, no!" cried Sylfaena, tears in her eyes, so many. But she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and reopened them - they were full of resolve. "I-I know what I must do."

  The princess began focusing magic onto her index and middle finger - blue magic glowed at the tips, forming into a ball. "At grand magic university many dying, magical plague magister grade, spread by touch spell, none here can cure. Spruce, larch, pine outside beech in garden". There was a flash and the energies dissipated.

  "I…it's a gamble but…it's the only hope we have now," said Sylfaena.

  Just a handful of minutes went by before Merlinda returned, and immediately collapsed. Her face had lost all its color, blackened blood was leaking from her eyes, but she was smiling. Why? Before she left she had been full of terror, but now she seemed to be at peace.

  "...yet lives," she managed to croak out, weakly, and then she was gone.

  Our hearts sank. More time passed. What had once been a whimsical place full of mirth, the laughter of students and the frustrated grumblings of old professors had turned into a cavern of horrors. The wails of the dying and the bereaved howled throughout the days and nights in a symphony of sorrow and despair. Even we, who weren't even ill, began to feel the creeping claws of hopelessness clutch at our hearts - the cold fingers of death threatened to strangle us even as we huddled together, unsure whether we would ever see the halls of Tor Anaura again.

  But Sylfie never stopped praying, never gave up, and it was her hopeful little smile alone that kept me from curling up into a ball and never rising again. The princess had faith in one person, the one who she believed, whom she knew, could put an end to this nightmare.

  Then it happened, the one Sylfie had been counting on, arrived. First, in the form of a gust of wind landing at our feet, and then in a blinding flash of light she appeared in the flesh right before our unexpectant eyes. She was as beautiful and as perilous as I had remembered her to be - she was tall, fair beyond reason, she within whom life flowed abundant, she whose mere presence stoked fertility and virility both. Long golden tresses flowed voluminously about her and she regarded us with bright emerald colored eyes that were a perfect match for princess Illiana's.

  Sylfie, with, tears in her eyes, rushed to embrace the frightening woman, crying, "mother!"

  Yes. Her royal majesty, the supreme chosen of Elianora, Queen Varielle Alastra til Anaura. Indeed, if there was anyone who could cure this magical ailment, only she could. Naturally I kneeled, who wouldn't kneel in the presence of such beauty - men and women both, none could contain their awe. The aura of majesty that she possessed was the stuff of legends, and usually she would suppress it, but having recently cast a windwalker spell and presumably others, it was presently shining as bright as the sun though without the damage that would usually cause one's eyes. Outwardly, she appeared aloof and emotionless, but one could tell that hers was an unmatched kindness, and she stroked Sylfie's hair with the care only a mother could give.

  "I apologize, sweeting," she said, "it took me many days to seek out the appropriate tree."

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Ah, woodstrider - a powerful nature spell that allowed the caster to jump from tree-to-tree provided that both trees were similar. That must be why Sylfaena had listed those tree names at the end of her spell - a Transmission. Greater versions of the spell did exist that allowed for longer messages, but the basic spell could only allow a certain number of words. The advantage is that it has no range limit and all you had to do was know the name and general description of the recipient.

  The queen must have windwalked to find the right species of tree, then used woodstrider to get close, and then windwalked again. I wondered how far along her majesty was on her pilgrimage, and how far back we'd set her progress.

  "Lady Nenewyn," she said to me.

  "Y-yes your majesty?"

  "Have all the sick been gathered near?"

  I nodded, "the grand hall where we hold commencement ceremonies has been turned into a makeshift hospice. Even people from town have been brought there."

  The queen nodded, "very well then," she turned to Sylfaena, "it is by touch spell spread?"

  The princess said, "yes."

  She nodded again, "take me to the hall, I need not touch anyone in order to expunge this scourge."

  I believed it. The healing abilities of her majesty were so powerful that they reached a level beyond the archmage - the aptly appellated "super-archmage". The commencement hall was a dreary place on a good day, and now it looked like one of the hells.

  Holding out her right hand she channeled, and her white wood staff crowned with an icy blue orb manifested - The Branch of the Mother, an artifact, a powerful magic item crafted in the depths of time by methods forgotten by even the higher dragons themselves.

  The staff twirled, an oppressive amount of mana began to fulminate, rays of white and green began to emanate as something built up. Then she began to incant a spell, a spell I had only heard of in legends - she was the first priestess in a really long time who had been granted the ability to cast it, that super-archmage grade spell, no, in that moment it felt like an ultimate miracle of ultimate hope.

  "O - Elianora, hear thy humble daughter's plea,

  Let thy holy light flow as a river into me,

  Yay though for those we have lost I can do naught,

  Empower me to, for those we can yet save, do aught,

  Banish the wounds, the pain, the sickness, and decay,

  Mend the heart and mind of madness, despair and dismay,"

  At this stage, her entire body glowed with an even greater aura, her irises vanished leaving behind pools of pure radiance, the room filled with a whirling wind as the magic continued to swirl.

  "Light brighter than the golden sun, green deeper than the primordial wood,

  Let all who who bathe in your light be restored, by the power that you and I possess"

  There was a flourish, and she struck the ground while crying the name of her spell: "Ultimate Massive Heal".

  A tremendous explosion followed, and my vision went green/white as the furious display of epic sorcery enveloped not only the commencement hall, but the entire campus, no, the entire valley! It lingered for a few moments, and then it faded. Her majesty stumbled, only to be caught by Sylfaena - that must have taken, well I knew not how much mana the queen had, but that had to have been a massive quantity of Mana in order to cause fatigue in her. But that was not of import. It had, beyond all hope, worked. The disease had been abolished in its entirety.

  The survivors' gratitude was unmatched - her healing had even prevented Dragon Shock from setting in among the non-elves. What is that? Well, it's um. Something that elves are generally immune to, but humans and others can become catatonic after severe trauma - timely healing magic typically prevents this by repairing the brain, which is why adventurers can endure so much peril and not go mad. If left unchecked it can become debilitating. But her majesty's healing is so powerful that even if Dragon Shock had set in, she would have cured it. In addition to the Spellscourge's elimination, the potions master's legs grew back, and the groundskeeper could hear again.

  Speaking of potions, Queen Varielle lingered for a brief period of time to help comfort survivors and to aid the potions master in creating some archmage-grade potions of Cure and Restore. Indeed, keeping high-grade potions became a new policy after that. All told, the tragedy that had come to be known as the Spellscourge had taken the lives of about 20% of the people living at the university and the nearby town; 70% of the dead were spellcasters, many were master wizards, and five were archmages.

  I knew each of those five names, and some had been spoken of in legend.

  Archmage Tarian, male highborn elf, exact age unknown. His loss alone was a catastrophe beyond reason. I truly have no words that can wholly describe the gravity of his death - there does not exist a sufficient quantity of curses to describe its enormity. Oldblood elves like him are rare, very few are still alive; so much wisdom was lost when the light faded from his eyes. This was a tragedy not only for magic-users, but for elves in general. But to me personally? The wound is deep, but now is not the time for me to speak of mine own past when so many others have suffered.

  Archmage Mihoshi, female eastborn elf, age 1289; former court wizard of Emperor Shingen of the Dragon Sea people. A popular and beloved figure among the humans, who knew her by sight and looked to her for guidance. She had been a classmate of mine, though we weren't close - I had always been a loner, while she had been the gregarious sort. I tried hard to remember that cheerful smile she'd always worn centuries ago - but now all I saw when I tried to picture her was her once vibrant jade eyes empty and full of despair, blood trickling out of her mouth. What errand had brought her here, only for her to breathe her last in sorrow?

  Archmage Merlinda, female cat-ears beastfolk, age 300; a wife and mother, unknown whether she had any other family. Although she did leave behind many notes, she took some innovations to her grave and we may never know the extent of her knowledge. Teleportation magic had been a favorite subject of hers, and she was perhaps the best at it.

  Archmage Gandore, male human, age 520; he aided a band of crusaders in order to recover a precious relic from the wastes and was the companion of the hero-king of Andalon during the kingdom's founding. The land itself would mourn his passing, for his mastery of earth magic had shaped many well-known landmarks throughout the continent. I had seen one of these landmarks myself, a monument to his power.

  Archmage Androbas, male human, age 84; beloved grandfather and great-grandfather, favorite teacher to many. I'm afraid that I don't know much about him, nor Sylfaena, for he hadn't even been born by the time she had graduated.

  Over time, news of the tragedy disseminated across the continent, and letters of condolence were sent to the families of the lost. But what had caused it all? The source of the magical infection was a mystery unsolved even more than a decade later - nearly a score of years, actually.

  I think that people did begin to recover, Sylfaena was back to her old self after a while, I suppose her mother's love did a great deal to put her heart at ease - ha, with a mother like her majesty, I would be shocked if that weren't exactly the case. I, too, persevered - and I often wondered about Merlinda's final words. What had she meant? I'd aided Hanzorian in solving many puzzles over the centuries, but this one quandary remained at the back of my mind, lurking in the shadows, refusing all attempts at illumination.

  I sneezed! Curses! This bitter, biting cold. I ought to have had magic robes made! Valyrian drew out Orcslayer and pointed with it, laughing, "there it is! That old Gaian ruin Han wanted us to scope out!".

  Sure enough, over the rise upon which he stood was another down-slope into a dell nestled among the mountains. Inside was a large snow-buried structure of ancient stone. The signature architecture of the old Gaian Empire was obvious to any learned scholar - but I had seen it personally, for I was nigh at hand when it all came to ruin. It had obviously been modified by later inhabitants, including a machicolated curtain wall.

  The first prince, panting, finally caught up. "Brother," he said, "what precisely does Hanzorian hope to find here?"

  Valyrian shrugged, "info about some dead necromancer dude,."

  Ugh, that last word was one he learned from Sir Kirkland of Texas, it sounded inelegant. Male - informal, I had gathered. It had no equivalent in the elvish tongue, and so came through untranslated when utilizing Comprehension. Are we to start adulterating Elvish with jargon from another world? I sighed, never mind, this is just how Valyrian is. Incorrigible, terrifying, but also loyal and brave. Full glad am I that he is on our side.

  Prince Illorien said, incredulously, "and does this vaunted dude, as you say, have a name?"

  I sighed, as all Prince Valyrian did was shrug, and I said, "yes. It is a weak lead, but as it came by way of Princess Illiana's report, Lord Hanzorian believes it to be a sound one."

  Indeed, we had learned through her letter the name of the necromancer whose wand I had identified, and through that, we learned the name of his deceased teacher: "Nurven."