“Possibly,” agreed Lorian, “but the staff usually facilitates spell casting and does not replace it. There might be more needed still.” He frowned. “Since you have it, and the rest of you have their remaining items, they clearly do not also have them. It does not bode well for them.”
“Maybe the spell is in one of the books.” Matt pulled out one bound in red and silver and started flipping through it despite the unfamiliar language. Archaic-looking symbols graced many pages amidst probable directions and maybe ingredients for potions, identifiable by the quantities listed. Depictions of dragons, unicorns, monsters, and other mythical beasts – or maybe not so mythical – adorned the pages. Most of the text was in one of two scripts, the first aggressive and somehow suggestive of being ancient, the second smooth, elegant, and flowing, beautiful to look at even if not understood.
Lorian, who sat next to him, said quietly, “It is written in elvish.”
“Why elvish?”
“It is common among human wizards to write spells in another language so that ordinary folk cannot understand them, whether it be the incantations or the accompanying descriptions. Most humans cannot read elvish.”
“Yes, it’s working, because I can’t read any of it. These books aren’t going to help me much.”
“I can teach you both elvish and the language of magic, Nu’Eiro.”
Matt perked up. “Really?” Then his face fell. “How can I learn anything useful in a few days?”
“There are magical means to acquire the ability quickly,” replied Lorian.
“That reminds me,” Eric began, “I’ve been meaning to ask how we can all speak English, our language back on Earth, and you guys do, too. I know the worlds are connected, but it seems a huge coincidence.”
The elf nodded. “You are not speaking English. Just as I can cast a spell to allow you to speak and understand another language, the summoning spell has this built into it. Soliander added this to make it easier for them. Otherwise they might often arrive somewhere and be unable to communicate. The summoners must specify what language is expected and the spell adjusts accordingly.”
“This summoning spell sounds incredible,” Matt remarked.
“It is, and among the most sophisticated spells ever cast. It is one reason the soclarin ore was needed to enable it.”
Eric asked, “So then what language are we speaking?”
“Vortunon, the common tongue of this continent, of the same name.”
“But I feel like I’m speaking English.”
“That I cannot explain, but I would imagine that, now that you are aware of the difference, you could speak in English and switch back to Vortunen if you tried.”
They exchanged a look, with Matt the first to say something in English. The others followed suit, then switched back to Vortunen.
Eric asked, “So if we’re summoned elsewhere, we might gain the ability to speak that language?”
“Yes.”
“Is this permanent?”
“I do not know.”
“So if elves summon us…”
“You gain elvish.”
Matt said, “Wow. That’s awesome. I want to learn how to do this kind of spell.”
Lorian chuckled. “As would many. First, I must test your affinity for magic to see whether you have anything more than the rudimentary powers everyone possesses. Otherwise there won’t be much point in instructing you. I brought materials to administer the test.” Lorian looked around the inn and added, “Now would be a good time if you are agreeable to it, but not here. Let us go upstairs.”
Matt nodded and rose, taking the books and staff with him. Eric got up to go, too, gesturing for the others to remain. Matt looked at him inquisitively.
“No going off by ourselves, remember?”
Matt shrugged. Lorian appeared trustworthy but being cautious didn’t hurt. Neither would a witness. Minutes later, Lorian and Matt sat facing each other in the elf’s room, Eric watching with his back to the closed door. The floor creaked as he shifted to brighten a wall lantern. They weren’t used to it being so dark inside at night. They needed to maximize the daylight hours, rising early. Being a night owl lost its appeal when there was nothing to do and you couldn’t see anything.
From a woolen bag, Lorian retrieved a rectangular tray of black metal divided into four recessed squares, a split, recessed circle in the center. The elf placed the tray on a three-legged stool before pulling six glass vials out, one holding a deep red sand he poured into one corner, where it flattened by itself to form a level surface. That got Matt’s attention. They had yet to witness anything supernatural after the summoning. Sparkling light danced from within the next vial as Lorian poured it into an adjacent space, where the liquid softly glowed. Another bottle of clear liquid seemed unremarkable until he poured it and it ignited into a low, golden flame. The next glass held a swirling, smoky atmosphere that drifted down to the fourth quadrangle, softly stirring as if alive.
“The four elements,” realized Matt, wanting to touch them.
“Yes,” Lorian approved.
“And in the center?”
“The essences of magic and spirit.” Lorian held up a glass with a thick, glowing, golden liquid. It wasn’t smooth like a fluid, but multifaceted like crushed foil. It slowly oozed into one half of the center circle, looking for all-the-world like solid gold. The last vial held a similar, shimmering liquid like molten silver.
“Which is which?” Matt asked, staring.
“The silver of the moons is of the spirit, which is why silver weapons hurt the undead. Magic, the fire of the soul, is golden.” He took the tray in both hands and uttered several phrases that didn’t sound elven from they’d heard today as the elves spoke among themselves. The tray glowed briefly. Then Lorian pulled out a small knife and gestured for Matt’s hand, which the techie warily extended. “I need six drops of your blood, one at a time for each test.”
“Why?” Matt asked, feeling lightheaded as the blade approached his fingertip. He’d seemingly been born averse to the sight of blood.
“It is the gateway to the soul,” Lorian answered, “for how is the soul released except by
