Dakesh launched at her suddenly, and thoughts fled her mind as she settled into combat. He swept his sword in a horizontal arc at her throat. She swayed underneath it and returned the attack, slicing his thigh in a shallow cut. He grunted and rolled away, landing on his knee with his sword in both hands. He rushed at her again, this time leaping at the last second, flipping over her and slashing down. Aella blocked with both her swords crossed, then aimed a kick where she knew he would land. It connected before his feet were completely on the ground, and he fell in a heap. She backed away a few steps, her eyes on him.
He rose, and shadows drew around him again. The cloudless desert sky somehow became harder to see through. She glanced at the gleaming black blade in his hands, and suddenly knew how to rid him of his power.
She rushed at him this time, sprinting the few steps between them and slashing with the sword in her right hand. He took the bait and as he moved to block her first attack, she swept her other sword at his blade, near the hilt. His sword suddenly disappeared. Or rather, it seemed to actually become shadow; she saw it, and her right hand sword was still holding it in place. But her left blade simply passed through it. Off balance and in shock, the momentum of her second attack twirled her too far away from Dakesh. In that instant, too fast for her to comprehend, a sudden sharp pain lanced her side.
She slashed at him in defence, leapt away and rolled back her feet. Her blades were up in a ready stance and she was facing the spot he stood a second ago; but he was gone. She wasted no time wondering; she dived just in time to hear the thump of him landing behind her and the whisper of his blade missing her by less than an inch.
She found her bearings again, and they fought viciously. His blade was everywhere at once. He knew where she would attack before she did, and he moved almost easily around her. She felt rage bubbling up from her core, fighting and scratching and clawing its way to the surface. She didn't try to push it down again. Instead, she embraced it and fed that flame until it roared throughout her entire body. She screamed, and unleashed the fire in her soul.
It was devastating. Dakesh was thrown backwards on a wave of unstoppable fire. It didn't stop there; several rows of watching Thearans were thrown back too, leaving a scorched circle around Aella at least twenty metres in every direction. The only thing still standing within that circle, other than Aella herself, was Kerberos. He stood in a braced position, knees bent, feet wide, forearms crossed at the chest. Once the explosion dissipated, he uncrossed his arms and stood normally, appraising her with a seemingly blank expression.
Dakesh stood unsteadily, shaking his head. His sword had flown out of his hand, and he was searching the ground in a daze when Aella appeared next to him with her swords levelled at his throat. He blinked when they touched his skin, and when he realised what happened his eyes flew wide open. She kicked him to the ground, still holding her blades angled towards his neck.
"Yield," she said calmly. She was still wreathed in flame; her every nerve electric, every muscle bulging with new strength. For a moment, he looked as though he was going to try to keep fighting; but as she predicted, his movements were far slower without his sword in hand. He didn't stand a chance. Still, she remained alert and braced for another battle until he lowered his head and yielded to her.
She sheathed her blades, extinguished her fire and helped Dakesh onto his feet. Several of the Thearans surrounding them started sneering and shouting insults. They wanted to see blood and death. Aella was glad; she would have hated to be forced to kill Dakesh. He dusted himself off, ignoring the shouts, and they started walking to a nearby campfire.
"Aella."
The voice was deep and loud enough to carry without shouting. Aella's spine chilled instantly hearing her name come from that voice. She turned. Kerberos was standing in the fighting ring, his sword already drawn. Trying not to show her fear, she left Dakesh and walked back into the ring.
Atillus
Tarsius was a small Tarsi settlement on the Eastern coast of Omas, north of Omatus. It was right on the coast, and although technically in a different country, the Tarsi still maintained control within its borders. Atillus stayed here for a little while, waiting for the opportunity he knew would come. After a week and a half, it did.
A tribe of Thearan warriors set up camp outside of the settlement and a handful of them entered the gates, meaning to trade and restock essentials for their journey. Thearans were nomadic, and although they were great hunters and made their own clothing and weapons, they liked to trade with the Tarsi. They maintained a respectful peace and could acquire unusual weapons and armour that would be impossible to build in the Omasi deserts. Atillus had read that the Thearans accepted any warrior into their tribe, provided the warrior could prove themselves in battle. He also read they had no structured royalty or noble families, and that their leaders were chosen based on strength, only allowed to ascend if they could defeat the current leader in a fight to the death. The ancient Thearans devoutly worshipped Sithares, although it seemed almost every tribe had forgotten it. They worshipped no gods now.
Atillus left Tarsius and wandered into the camps. There was no hostility, as he expected, merely idle curiosity. There were even a few polite greetings, which he returned. The Thearans were oddly relaxed about a stranger wandering through their camp. He walked and observed until a warrior hailed him.
"Stranger!" he called. Atillus glanced in his direction and walked over.
"Greetings, warrior," Atillus said.
"And to you," the warrior returned. "I am Nikolas. You are joining our tribe?"
Atillus nodded. "I am-" he realised he was about to give his full name out of habit. "-Yes, I am joining this tribe."
Nikolas laughed. He had an honest, good natured laugh. "Very well, traveller. I look forward to watching you fight."
The other warriors introduced themselves. None of them pressed him for his name.
Nikolas, the friendly warrior who welcomed Atillus with such enthusiasm, lay dying in the grey sand, Atillus' dagger sunk deep in his heart. There was a wild cheer from the watching Thearans, and Atillus knew he had them. He smiled at the simplicity of these people; your value was your strength and skill in battle. That was it. They were warriors, nothing more and nothing less.
I no longer need to hide who I am, he thought suddenly. To feign stupidity or play any of those useless political games. These people don't care about overthrowing their leader unless they know they are strong enough. There are no noble families, no petty squabbling.
Atillus wrenched his blade from the dead man's chest and wiped it on the body. He sheathed it and walked to his new tribe, smiling and letting them embrace him.
Thearans were considered savages by many. They travelled the harshest terrain in Pandeia, attacking villages and cities wherever they found them. They hunted, and ate, some of the most dangerous animals in the world. They had no formal command structure beyond a single leader who was chosen by combat, and even the separate tribes fought each other.
Atillus loved them. He felt a primal connection to these people. And he knew he would be their leader. A few days after the tribe arrived in the Tarsi settlement, they set off again, straight into the desert.
The tribe was small, maybe only a hundred warriors in all, and could travel quite quickly. They made surprisingly good time through the unforgiving landscape. Every warrior carried everything they needed on their person; bedroll, spare food, weapons, water, and to Atillus' surprise, flints to make fire. When he first noticed them, he asked one of the warriors about it.
"Why do you carry these?" he asked, gesturing at the flint.
"To light our campfires, of course!" replied the Thearan, staring at Atillus as though he might be trying to trick him.
"Are you not able to wield fire magic?" Atillus asked, frowning.
"Not for a thousand years or more, warrior," replied the man, "Sithares is dead. All Thearans know this."
Atillus was shocked into silence. When Sithares
stopped talking to him, Atillus assumed it was building followers in the deserts of Omas. Thearans were perfectly suited to worship the fire god, even if they believed it was no longer alive. Then he remembered what Sithares said to him: if you will serve me, you can restore my power. And the passage from Sithares' book:
Sithares gains strength from destruction; from the burning of objects, buildings and (perhaps most of all) of people. Like all Gods, it also gains strength from the prayers of those who follow it.
He saw what he needed to do in a flash of understanding that felt like a sudden bonfire in his heart. But first, he needed to be the leader of this tribe. He left the warrior and headed straight for the tribe's leader.
The leader heard his approach and turned, nodding a curt greeting. Atillus stopped a metre from the man, standing directly in front of him. He spoke up so his voice would be heard by as many of the Thearans as possible.
"I challenge you for leadership." His hand rested on the hilt of his sword. The leader looked around him, taking in the warriors who were watching. Partway through turning his head a second time, the leader lashed out with his sword. He was fast; but Atillus was faster. He ducked under the blade and drew his own. And the stranger and the leader fought on the grey dunes of the Omasi desert. By the end, the entire tribe was gathered around them, and when their leader was engulfed in magical flame, screaming and clawing at his skin like a madman, they each wore the same awed expression. Not fear, Atillus noted. No fear of fire from these warriors; but awe. And when their old leader stopped screaming and lay as a burning corpse in the sand, they each dropped to their knees and bowed their heads before their leader.
"Sithares has awoken!" He shouted to the small tribe. "You will worship him, as the old Thearans did in the age of heroes!"
The Thearans cheered, still kneeling. They started chanting the name of the fire god.
"We will spread the fire as far as it can go! Burn Shadow from the world! Burn the world, and remain unburned!" He was screaming now, his eyes wide, and his tribe were screaming too. As the final touch, he raised his arms and a cloak of flame rushed over his body, engulfing him completely. He stood that way for a moment, and knew that the tribe of Thearans, though small, was utterly his.
Aella
Dakesh had been inhumanly fast. Kerberos was faster. Aella dodged and blocked desperately, searching his movements for a weakness. She was drained, and not just from the battle with Dakesh. Using that much Fire Magic was taking its toll. Breathing hard, she retreated under Kerberos' relentless attacks. She felt her strength fading. Kerberos, even though he'd already fought several intense battles that day, seemed to possess limitless energy and strength. He stared into her eyes as they fought, and despite the Fire Magic bubbling under the surface between them, his own eyes remained as cold as ice.
They fought for what felt like hours. Kerberos didn't let up, and Aella refused to yield. She blocked everything he threw at her. She was beginning to think she would slip up when he slightly overextended a thrust; she cut his forearm and kicked his hand as hard as she could. His sword flew out of his hand, and as she swept her blade towards his throat, a roaring sound filled her ears. For a single instant, she thought she might be about to kill Kerberos. Her blade passed through his neck, deep enough to kill; but his neck, along with the rest of him, had already been enveloped in flame. He punched her face, hard, swinging his arm down from above. His strength was unbelievable; before she felt the hit, her head thumped into the hard packed dirt of the fighting ring. There was a ringing in her ears and her vision was clouded by pulsing white with streaks of bloody red. She couldn't tell if her weapons were still in her hands.
She blinked, trying to stand, and what felt like a gigantic steel hammer smashed into her stomach. She went tumbling over the dirt, scrabbling to steady herself. Over the screams and cheers of the warriors around her, she heard a painful, chilling cry. Her heart skipped a beat and her eyes flew open. She would recognise that voice anywhere. Her mother was screaming at Kerberos to stop. For a second she forgot where she was, and who she was fighting. She forgot she was the one in danger. That scream pierced her very soul, stabbing right into her core and awakening a beast she didn't know existed. In that second, she somehow thought that Kerberos was attacking her mother. The woman who raised her, taught her to fight, taught her how to take care of herself and how to be safe. The woman who would give anything for her in a heartbeat.
Aella was on her feet instantly. She growled, her voice suddenly unrecognisable. Her fists clenched; her swords were in the dirt between her and Kerberos. She burst into flame, and through her mindless rage she was dimly aware that she had controlled the fire; there was no explosion this time. She launched herself at Kerberos, screaming like an animal. He hadn't bothered picking up his sword. They fought with their hands, knees and feet. Aella couldn't even feel his attacks. She hit him everywhere she could reach, slamming her fist into his throat, her knee into his groin, her foot into his knee. She hit his side, and felt him shrink away a little. She pressed her attack, hitting harder and faster. Her energy was being fed by the fire, and the fire by her rage, and her rage was endless.
He lashed out desperately, connecting with her chest. Instead of falling she jumped with the force of his attack, flipping backwards, landing on her hands and cartwheeling away. She landed low, in a ready stance, and saw her swords laying close by. Kerberos was sprinting towards her. She sprinted and dived, snatching her swords from the ground just as Kerberos reached her. He tried to kick her as she landed. With the swords in her hands, she reached into them and touched her fire to theirs. Kerberos' foot connected with her neck, hard. It had no effect on her. Lost in blood-lust, he lifted his foot and slammed it into her neck even harder. He may as well have stomped on the grey dirt of the plateau. She felt nothing. Nothing but rage. She stood, and though she realised now that she could kill him easily if she wanted to, she didn't.
Kerberos attacked again, unwilling to concede defeat. She moved around him; he looked as if he was moving slowly, like moving was difficult or painful. She dodged easily. He kept attacking, his face growing angrier as she avoided him effortlessly. When she realised he wouldn't give up, her patience ran out. She cut his thighs, shoulders, back and calves in one blindingly fast, twirling manoeuvre. He grunted and fell to his knees.
She placed both of her blades, crossed in an X, against the back of his neck. His fire went out in a rush, leaving him panting in the dirt. She let her own fire go out.
"Yield!" She screamed at him. He remained silent. She regained control of her heart and her breath, and calmed her voice.
"I don't want to kill you, Kerberos. You are the son of Sithares. You are the leader of our great tribe. I wouldn't take that from you. I will not. I swear it, with all of you and Sithares itself as my witness."
She sheathed her blades before he answered. She stepped back, and waited, ready to die. He stood, unsteadily at first, and then with confidence as he realised his wounds were superficial. He turned, regarding her, and the hatred she expected in his eyes was nowhere to be found. Instead he looked at her with what seemed to be new found respect.
"I yield this fight to you, Aella," he said, "but as the Son of Sithares, I could not have lost. If I were in any real danger, Sithares would have granted me the strength to win."
Kerberos' fanatics cheered. Aella knew in that moment she was in no danger. They knew how powerful she was, but they also knew Kerberos didn't see her as a threat to himself.
"But you have shown great power," he continued, "you are the most powerful warrior I have ever seen. From this day forward, I want you to be my second in command."
After that day, the rest of the festival was just like previous years, and Aella joined in the celebrations and competitions as much as possible. She was trying to keep her mind off the fact that she was now going to be fighting, walking and camping much closer to Kerberos and his fanatics. All of the tribe was like a family, but Kerberos and his band of zea
lots were a family of their own; one that Aella didn't want to be a part of.
Her mother was deeply disturbed by the news. She watched the fight, of course; but when Aella talked to her privately, she seemed to be hearing it for the first time.
"I told you not to reveal your strength, Aella," she said quietly, "now you will always be within reach of Kerberos and his most loyal followers."
"But I have Kerberos' support! Plus they all saw I'm stronger than him; if I can beat him, they pose no threat to me. Surely they wouldn't try anything now." But she knew even as she said the words that she was trying to convince herself just as much as Helene. She would never be safe around them, and they both knew it. She would have to keep her guard up constantly from now on.
Athanasius
Athanasius crouched behind a large boulder. He saw Kerberos summon something from the fire. The thing Kerberos spoke to was unlike anything Athanasius had ever seen. His people, the Thearans, were able to wield fire magic, and could do quite a few amazing things with it; but even so, Athanasius was made uneasy by the sight of the thing Kerberos spoke with. Athanasius was too far away to hear their conversation. The thing stepped back into the flames and Athanasius didn't wanted Kerberos to know he witnessed their meeting, so he ran back to the camp as stealthily as he could.
When he returned to the camp, Athanasius went to one of the small campfires that burned through the night and sat beside it, thinking. Summoning a creature such as the one Kerberos spoke to was unheard of. Fire wights were one thing, and even they were rare; but an intelligent, imposing figure like that gave Athan a feeling of impending dread. Even worse was knowing Kerberos was hiding this magic from him. His past was mostly a mystery, but most people who joined the Thearan tribes after childhood didn't talk much of their past lives. But Kerberos, since becoming something of a mentor for Athan years ago, started to share everything with him. None of that sharing included any mention of a seemingly intelligent fire demon. Kerberos was much more devout in his following of the Fire God Sithares, though, and was an incredibly powerful Fire Mage. Athan realised there were probably many things Kerberos hadn't taught him when it came to fire magic. Besides, Athan knew he wasn't the most talented with magic.
Gods and Heroes- Rise of Fire Page 18
