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Codex entry: The Creation of a Phylactery

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Codex text

We let the boy rest, the first night they brought him to the White Spire, I convinced Knight-Commander Belrose to delay the ritual 'til the morning. The journey was long, and the lad could barely keep his eyes open, poor thing. I was certain escape was the furthest thing from his mind. Medine found him a clean cot in with the other young apprentices, and when I came in with his supper, he was already fast asleep.

In the morning, I showed Medine how the phial was to be prepared. First, a simple charm to preserve and protect the glass. Then a spell that to keep the blood from forming dark clots. The last step could only be completed with the apprentice present. I sent a young templar recruit off with the message that we were ready.

The boy was escorted to the chamber by Belrose himself. I could tell he had just been awakened. There was a smear of dirt from his face, perhaps from the road. I called the boy to me and cleaned his cheek with my sleeve as I explained the ritual. "We have to take your blood," I said. "Because you're special and we don't want you to be lost. If it happens, the blood will allow us to find you and bring you home again."

I let Medine take the lancet this time. The tremor in my hands was worse that day, and I didn't want to make too deep a cut. I held the boy close, and Medine made a small, neat incision on his palm, exactly as instructed. I felt the boy struggle and start to cry. He tried to pull away, but Medine gripped his hand firmly, letting the blood run into the phial.

Then Medine cast the spell, like we practiced. Within the phial, the blood churned, and grew bright in the presence of the mage to whom it was bound. It was done. Another phylactery, another link forged. He was leashed to the White Spire.

The boy could not look away from the glow. He was enthralled, and the pain and the tears were forgotten. "See? This is magic," I said to him. "When you are older, I will teach you." Belrose let the boy hold his phylactery for several minutes before he locked it away in the chamber.

—From The Memoirs of Enchanter Reva Claye, 8:72 Blessed

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