Passage 46: The Watcher

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I wake up and sense my surroundings before opening my eyes or stirring. It feels as though someone is watching me, but my ward has not alerted me of any trespassing. Either it was dispelled or something else is going on. I’m on my back, so the dagger under my pillow is out of reach. I shall have to remedy that in the future, I realize. Having a dagger at one’s belly while sleeping seems much more advantageous in this moment. I can even train myself to sleep with one hand resting always on the hilt.

Drawing on the surrounding arcanum, I feel for my ward—it’s still there.

I listen carefully for movement or breathing—nothing.

Doing a quick mental inventory, I have some simple spells prepared, but none can be cast without speaking and some require a material focus. Since my component pouch is under the bed, I will need to rely on magic without the need for any foci.

Without giving any indication that I am stirring, I mentally prepare my sequence of actions. Speak the incantation to open the door to my room at the same time I open my eyes to see who, or what, is in the room. If it is a person, the door swinging open will distract them, alert others in the inn that something is going on, and allow me to quickly rise and back the person out of the room at dagger-point or, if they have the upper hand, allow me to escape unhindered. If I am being watched by something arcane instead, such as a scrying, opening the door won’t have much of an effect, but I’d need my pouch to have a chance to counter or dispel it anyway.

In one instant, I open my eyes and utter the incantation, flinging the magic toward the door with a snap of my wrist. My other hand has reached my dagger and I bring it around in front of me before sitting up. I don’t see anyone in the room initially, so I stand up on the bed and evaluate the room. The window is shut and appears to still be latched. The ramshackle room seems to be in the same state I had left it in; my staff and crossbow resting against the wall behind the swinging door which groans on its hinges like a wounded swine.

Something could still be under the bed or be invisible.

I leap into the center of the room from the bed, hoping to avoid a slash to the ankles if someone is lying in wait. I glance back under the bed but see nothing, so I slap the door closed, practically in the face of a curious patron wandering up to see what the noise is about.

I grab my staff and use it to retrieve my pouch. As I kneel to pick it up, I reach intuitively into it and feel for the small, silver sphere I need. My fingers grasp the orb and I focus the arcanum I have been gathering through it and whisper an incantation. The room glistens with arcana, now visible to me, and I scan for unusual concentrations of it.

My warding is readily apparent: a film of wind and earth arcana against the room’s bare walls. Earth so that any body that passes through it will be detected, and wind so that my mind will be alerted when it is.

I do not detect anything that makes me think that illusory or cloaking magics are at work, so I appear to be alone. Yet around the bed and the center where I stand are concentrations of wind and water arcanum—mind and spirit—that are not of my creation.

The magic is quickly fading which tells me that it is no longer active. Most likely the caster ended the spell shortly after I was shown to be awake. That I leapt from the bed, and that there is arcana where I stand, is indication enough that the target of the spell was me so it stands to reason that it was some kind of detection spell. Had the caster been trying to harm me, earth arcanum would be needed.

I do not like the knowledge that someone, or something, was spying on me.

Perhaps it is merely Val Maxis trying to check up on me, to see if I have become despondent without his sage guidance. If so, he’ll be sorely disappointed.

Perhaps it is Voella, whose anxious behavior could be interpreted as interest, which can include fear as well as desire. It is possible she desires me. I’ll have to watch for that.

Beyond that, I cannot think of anyone who would have interest in me and means to use magic. Still, I cannot permit it to happen again and, unfortunately, I don’t yet possess any spells that are a shield against it.

I’ve got decades of survival experience, know how to make poisons and remedies from plant and animal components, have experience using my dagger in skirmishes, carry a crossbow, and have magic to assist in any number of situations. Protection from magical scrutiny, however, had never seemed important. Largely, I don’t associate with spell casters—or anyone, for that matter—and, the handful if times I had, I was too young or ignorant to think of it.

Now, in retrospect, I can recall several encounters where I might have been scryed upon, and several more where defense against it would have been useful.

I need more spells.


The Wordbearer Chronicles is a dark fantasy web series with new passages on Tuesdays. 

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