The Spirit Wilds: Magic of the Green Sage (Fall of the Sages Book 1), стр. 24
But she was getting ahead of herself.
When she first came through the portal, she couldn’t see a thing. She was in a pitch-black cave, one that left her with no sense of direction. The place was powerful and ancient, just as the basement in the great Library of Anganar had been. When Bishta emerged from the portal, she felt nauseous, uneasy, her head spinning. The trip had lasted a second and had been as simple as walking through an open door. And yet, the power of the portals took their toll.
She took one step, then another, before she fell to her knees, her head pounding. It took all her willpower to fight back the urge to vomit. Her throat burned from the bile trying to force its way up, but she kept it down.
I forgot how much of a pain portals are, she thought with a scowl.
True, portals were very convenient when you found one, though they only spit you out to their sister portal and nowhere else, and they left you feeling drained. So if you didn’t have any knowledge, you could be put in some random location feeling like death.
Luckily, Bishta was a sage, and as such was equipped to deal with situations like these.
She took a few deep breaths and steadied herself until the nausea and the headache passed. When they did, she ran a hand through her hair and sighed. Now I just need to figure out where I am.
It didn’t help that she was in complete darkness, save for the dim glow of the portal behind her, which did little to illuminate the space. But she knew she was in a cave, which meant she was probably deep underground, accompanied by who knew what manner of creatures. Bad things lived in caves. She was a sage, but a bear or a troll could kill her just as simply as they could a regular human.
Bishta lacked the knowledge or ability to conjure flames, whether they be for light, warmth, or combat, but magelight was another matter altogether. She muttered a spell and the tip of her iron staff suddenly flared to life in silvery light.
Her suspicions were correct—she was in a cave—and it was very deep. The top of the cavern was so high that it was beyond the range of her light. Thankfully, as she walked and turned her staff around her, there didn’t seem to be any signs of less-than-friendly creatures. That didn’t mean there wouldn’t be any in the other parts of the cave, but she got the sense that this place was abandoned.
It was ancient, like the library, a place of old power, primal. Nothing came down here. She couldn’t stay, so she cracked her toes against the moist floor and started out.
The cave was long and winding, with so many twists and turns that after an hour, Bishta was sure she was lost. Up and down, left and right, she had no sense of which direction she was going, and there wasn’t a spell that could help her.
She was about to turn right back around and go back to the portal—if she could even find it—when there was distant roar, one that had to be from outside. With renewed hope, she followed the sound. Still, the cave wound and wound, but the roar came again and this time, it was louder.
Her path curved and sloped up until she came across what had to be steps. Not natural but made by man or some other race from the world’s past. She took them two at a time, eager to be free of the dark and the damp. It went straight up, steep and slick. Going on forever, for so long that her legs tired and groaned and sweat dappled her skin and her lungs ached and heart pounded. How deep am I? Much too deep. Several times, she slipped, fell back on the steps, and banged her knees on the cold stone. Which made her curse worse than the sailors that frequented the ports of the great human cities.
But finally, finally, she saw a glimpse of light ahead. The roar sounded again, so close now, like a beacon, beckoning her forward. Closer and closer. She smiled. She was almost there.
Twenty more steps. Ten, nine, five, four…
Three, two, one.
Bishta the Black burst forth from the cave, out of breath and out of sorts, and lost her breath completely when she glimpsed the land around her.
The world was a blaze of fire, the sky orange. Volcanoes littered the horizon, and fire geysers dotted the landscape like fireflies in the night.
The roar sounded again, this time so loud and so close that Bishta yelped and jumped, something she was ashamed of. She was a sage after all, she had to be strong, resolute, fearless. But in that moment, she failed on those fronts. Her heart screamed and nearly gave out on her.
She found the source of the roar. On the nearest peak, maybe a quarter-mile away in the valley, perched a mighty dragon, with green scales and yellow whiskers running down its snout like a beard.
She’d been right. This was Ragvarral, the Land of Dragons.
The volcanoes rumbled in the distance as lava flowed in rivers of fire. A high dragon as large as a galleon flew overhead, red-brown scales glinting in the light, each flap of its wings like a thunderclap.
Though she’d spoken to dragons before, Bishta had never been to the Land of Dragons, at least not in her current incarnation. She had memories of past sages. Fields of golden grass and mountains and cities that glittered like crystal, the ancient cities of the dragons. Here, though, was the Valley of Fire, the range of volcanoes at the