The Sword and the Flame: The Forging

by CP Bialois

  As the crunch of bone signaled the end of one of the Nursk Brothers, the fight between Narsa and Berek developed into a match between skill and speed against brute force and savagery. The two danced in the moonlight, knocking aside thrusts, sidestepping slashes, and countering death blows. The force of each strike sent shivers up Berek’s arms as he deftly blocked and deflected them. The one certainty being that should one connect, Berek would be finished. Somehow, he managed to stay one step ahead of the Ogre, feigning backwards to get Narsa to overreach or sidestep to reach an exposed flank. The Ogre surprised him by maintaining some control over his blood lust and defending any advance by the human.

  Their struggle situated Berek’s back towards the fallen brother and Galin. The sounds of their battle rang loud in his ears, forcing him to block them out, warning or thinking about a fight besides his own was the quickest way to fail.

  Narsa hadn’t been as professional in his thinking for when he heard Kruge’s agonized scream he looked away giving Berek the opening he’d been waiting for. Before the Ogre could react, Berek sliced upwards with his sword, its sharp edge cut a line through the leather armor from Narsa’s right hip to his left shoulder.

  While it was strange for Ogres to wear armor, Narsa’s was double thick, protecting him from the cold steel. Surprised, Berek lunged to follow up his attack but the Ogre recovered and met his thrust. Narsa knocked the blade aside and caught Berek on the side of his head with his fist. The blow dazed the human, nearly rendering him unconscious.

  With Berek on his knees, Narsa turned his sword over in his hands measuring the final blow. As he was about to strike, Kruge’s death scream caught his attention. Furious, Narsa turned to charge his brother’s killer.

  Berek fought to regain his senses, all he could see were multiple blurry images before him. In desperation, he lunged with his sword at the nearest image from his knees. The Ogre’s scream, filled more with rage than pain, echoed in his ear as the image turned back to him.

  Gilliam watched in horror when the second Ogre felled his nephew and was relieved to see he was only dazed. He summoned his magic but when he tried to cast the disarming spell he was horrified to find it wouldn’t work. He only prepared it for a single use and couldn‘t recall the words. Terrified at failing his nephew, he sprinted across the road as the nearest Ogre fell. Grabbing his mace from its sling, he struck at Narsa with all of his might. The blow meant to kill missed when the Ogre reared back in pain from Berek’s desperate attack. His mace struck Narsa’s right forearm, his sword arm, shattering the bone. In a rage, Narsa back handed him with his broken arm with enough force to send the cleric onto his back with a heavy thud, then turned back to Berek.

  Cursing, Galin struggled to free his hand from Kruge’s death grip. He tried his hammer but the only damage done was to break some of the Ogre’s bones. Even smashed, they remained as tight as in life. Out of desperation after seeing his comrade go down, Galin grabbed one of Kruge’s knives and threw it at Narsa’s back trying to get his attention away from the woozy Berek. Knife throwing was never Galin’s strong suit and he missed with all three knives he could find. Fuming, he thought about throwing his hammer, but decided against the action as he preferred having it instead of no weapons should the Ogre take him up on his taunts. “Where you going you slime covered Minotaur? Come on, I’m right over here!” As hard as he tried, the Ogre continued ignoring him. If he could reach it, he’d use the Ogre’s blasted sword to get free. Intent on getting loose, he continued struggling with the dead hand.

  The image stopped, standing over Berek for a moment saying something the human couldn’t make out before a hand closed around his throat, lifting him from the ground. “You will suffer, Berek!” The words assaulted him as he struggled for air. The weight in his hand made him aware he still held his sword. A phrase, litasweapos, came to his mind unbidden. A red glow appeared just below his line of sight and he knew to thrust with his sword. A gurgled, surprised scream filled his ears as blood splattered on his face.

  The powerful hand released him, allowing him to fall to the ground gasping for air. Off to his side he heard a chant of some sort before his vision cleared and the throbbing in his head disappeared. He looked up into Gilliam’s bloody and bruised face smiling at him.

  Gilliam shrugged, “We each use our gifts when needed.” Berek returned the smile then glanced at the dead ogre. Narsa fell onto his side with Berek’s sword buried to its hilt in the Ogre’s chest. Such a death blow would have astounded many had it been the sole incident. But as fate regularly cast its shadow over one, it chose to do so once more. The part of the blade protruding out of Narsa’s back was on fire.

  Magic. Why’d he have to help someone with magic abilities? Dwarves were notorious for their mistrust of magic users, a trait popular the world over, but this was Galin’s first time seeing one in battle. More surprising was that Berek didn’t seem to know what he did judging by his look of astonishment, which increased once he pulled his sword free and the flame disappeared. Galin saw the whole thing and wondered about his luck. “My beard’s in the forge fire now.” It came out louder than Galin intended.

  At the sound of his voice, the two humans turned towards him, relief spreading across Berek’s face. “Galin! Are you hurt?”

  The look on his friend’s face when he saw Galin warmed the Dwarf’s heart, his luck was solid gold. “I’m fine, but er… I could use a little help here.” Raising his right hand, Galin showed them the bloody, pulpy mess that, at one time, was an Ogre’s hand and arm. “Can’t um… quite get loose.” At the sight of Galin’s depressed and embarrassed face both Gilliam and Berek burst into laughter. Galin let them go for a minute, even joining in himself. “Alright that’s enough now. Blasted Ogres smell worse when they’re dead, if that’s possible.”

  Berek wiped tears from his eyes which only smeared yellow Ogre blood over his face. “Alright Galin, hold still.”

  Galin closed his eyes as the sword flashed. When he opened them he couldn’t help but shiver as a cold chill went down his back. “Thank you lad, but there’s still a problem.”

  Berek looked at him for a moment, “What’s that?”

  The Dwarf raised his arm; the severed hand still clung to him. “What to do about this?”

  Berek tried to contain his laughter while Gilliam, doing the same, spoke. “War trophy?” Under normal circumstances, they both would’ve burst into laughter again at the absurd scene but the look on the Dwarf’s face gave them reason to stifle their laughter. Instead of tormenting their companion further, they began prying the fingers loose, a task that was far easier said than done.

  It took them the better part of ten minutes to get the Dwarf free. “Thanks lads, I wasn’t looking forward to carrying that around with me for the duration.” Glancing at them, both were now covered in yellow Ogre blood, he doubted he looked any better. “Now that we’ve broken any ties to Renard, how about telling me what this is all about?” The two humans glanced at each other then, by an unspoken agreement, they began relating their adventures since the previous night.

  Their tale took only a few minutes for the two to share with their newfound ally. Throughout it, Galin let his gaze go from one to the other then back again. He paused for a moment, thinking through the possibilities of them finding what they were searching for. He knew how rumors such as those started, humans always imagined treasures of all sorts and sizes hidden behind some wall or in some underground maze designed to test one’s abilities and drive them insane. Nothing but a chest full of fool’s gold, as his father used to say. Those managing to stumble upon a treasure exaggerated their find until it was the largest ever found. Those that failed, or were lost to some unseen horrors slumbering in wait, became legends themselves throughout the years. After a few minutes he came to his decision, “Well lads, I believe you’re following your hearts.” Galin paused for a moment, “I’ve come this far, may as well see it through to its end.”

  Berek smiled, “You don’t be
lieve any of it, do you?” Gilliam cleared his throat, surprised the Dwarf shared his belief.

  For his part Galin shrugged, “Some of the finest adventures come from the most unlikely of places.” His tone changed to one of grumbling. “If it means following a pair of foolish humans, what’s that say of me?”

  Gilliam forced back a chuckle, while he didn’t like being called foolish he felt the same and patted the Dwarf’s shoulder, “A good friend.”

  Galin eyed the older human for a moment before letting out a sigh of resignation. “Is that what you call it then?” He turned his gaze back to Berek, “Lead on lad, I’ve had a good life, though I fear it’ll be shortened by this endeavor.” Without another word the three companions made their way to the meeting place that had been agreed to the previous night.

  Chapter 14

  “Are you sure about this?” Janessa watched her friend. “Won’t this drain you?” While never understanding the reason behind fatigue striking mages after casting their spells, she did see Viola cast until she passed out from exhaustion once. Knowing the price the magic demanded, Janessa often wondered why anyone would practice such an act.

  Their discussion centered on Viola’s reasoning over the use of magic when she awakened a day after succumbing to exhaustion from overuse. Janessa had been irate, part of her wanted to reach out and violently shake the young mage to the point tears flowed at the fear of losing her friend.

  With those memories fresh in her mind, Janessa pleaded with Viola. “Why do you want to use this… thing if it hurts you so?”

  Viola tried to quell the Halfling’s fears, but it was a battle neither one wanted to lose. “It doesn’t hurt me. It drains me in retribution for the ability to cast the spells. The more I do it the more tolerance I build.”

  “Is it worth it? To be helpless and weak like that?” Janessa tried as best she could to understand but the trade off didn’t seem fair.

  “Yes it is.” Viola didn’t want to argue but it seemed to be the only way to educate Janessa on what it was like. After a moment she was sure she found a way. “Do you remember what you said it was like being with those men? How wonderful it felt for a brief moment that left you yearning for more in its absence?”

  Janessa eyed her not liking where their argument was heading. “That’s different.”

  “Is it?” Viola pressed her advantage. “Afterwards, you’re exhausted and needing to rest but you accept that to feel the ecstasy of the moment. My art does that for me.” Viola paused, throwing her legs out of bed with her eyes wide in excitement. She motioned to everything around them. “From the moment I begin to cast a spell, to the point of it leaving me is pure ecstasy.” Her expression changed to one of longing, as if it’d been years since she’d seen her closest friend. “We’d do anything to get that feeling back.”

  Janessa stood and watched her friend throughout her narrative. The Halfling understood what she was trying to say, but she doubted magic could be as rewarding as sex. Only the look of longing on the young mage’s face gave her reason to pause and question her own beliefs.

  It was then, with her previous experience, that Janessa questioned her friend. Viola smiled, she knew Janessa was concerned, but she knew her own limits. “Don’t fret Jenny. We have to make sure you’re right on the location of the tunnel entrance.” She raised her right hand and called the spell to mind, an easy feat considering how many times she scribed it at her master’s command. Viola focused on what they wanted to find while preparing to recite the spell. Timing was important; if her concentration slipped in the slightest the spell would lead them astray at worst, and fail at best.

  Janessa stood grim, hurt as if Viola had struck her. “I checked it out myself.” She muttered to herself. “Don’t you trust me?” Although she spoke under her breath and it usually took quite a bit to disturb Viola’s concentration, Janessa proved to be up to the task that time.

  The look of concentration left Viola’s face and she turned to the Halfling. “What? Of course I trust you.”

  Janessa’s face twisted in agitation, “Do you?”

  “Damn it Jenny, if I didn’t would I be here with you now? I just want to be certain that we’re not making any mistakes.”

  “Really? Seems to me you want to experience your magic.” The hurt and scorn in Janessa’s voice was unmistakable.

  Viola prepared to say something in rebuttal but stopped herself. Something inside urged her to cast the spell anyway, to spurn Janessa. She ignored that voice, though it was more difficult than she could’ve imagined. “I’m sorry, you’re right.” Viola lowered her hand, clenching it into a fist to stop her trembling. “We have to hurry; it’s nearly time for us to meet Berek and his friend.”

  Janessa’s face changed when she smiled, she won a battle she hadn’t realized she’d been fighting. The two made their way to the wall where they felt safest performing the levitation spell. Somewhere deep inside Viola, a voice muttered “so close”. She didn’t recognize the voice, and that caused her to tremble all the more.

  *****

  No matter how many times she experienced the feeling of floating through the air, Janessa never grew tired of the experience. The feeling and sight of her feet leaving solid ground was one of the most amazing things one could witness in their lifetime. She assumed she’d get to experience it multiple times that evening, if she was lucky. As their feet touched down on the grass outside Hope’s wall, Janessa glanced at her friend. Janessa’s excitement during a spell like that was always countered by a guilty feeling at the toll it took on Viola.

  The instant rush of fatigue swept through Viola at the moment the euphoric feel of the magic left her. As she explained on several occasions to Janessa, the sudden feeling of loss drove her to cast more spells, the more power she wielded, the more the euphoria grew. At least that was her perception of how it would work. While most mages wished only to become powerful and have their names passed through the centuries, Viola wanted to feel the warming glow of her magic, the prestige would be a natural offspring of her work with the legacy of her name. She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to stand straight to let Janessa know it wasn‘t too much of a strain.

  Janessa watched Viola for an anxious moment before nodding her understanding. Then, with that settled for the moment, she turned her attention to the trees and bushes standing thirty feet away. “We‘d best get moving.” Janessa hated being exposed after the events of the previous night. Through the force of her will, Janessa kept her voice steady. Of all the experiences of the world, she felt it’d be safer facing an army of Ogres rather than being surprised by another group of bandits. Irrational as the thought was, it made perfect and complete sense to her.

  Sensing Janessa’s urgency to leave the wide open killing field by the city’s wall, Viola agreed though at least there they had a chance of the city’s guard hearing them. She shook her head at the thought. After dark, Sherriff Tavers and his men didn’t care what happened outside their walls so long as the city itself wasn’t under attack. As flawed as Janessa’s reasons seemed to the young mage, they were safer in the forest. Assuming they hadn’t been seen yet and walked into another ambush. With little choice, the two made their way into the protective cover of the forest.

  *****

  Unseen against the night sky a winged figure circled until landing at the last bend in the road leading to Hope. Fech’s red eyes glowed as he inspected the corpses of the Nursk Brothers. Such a shame, Fech mused, that I hadn’t been able to witness their deaths first hand. While the three of them were under the employ and care of Renard, they had no love for one another. Mortal enemies, the Ogres and gargoyle races often clashed, even devouring each other after a conflict. Gargoyles did so because many believed them to be nothing more than brainless beasts. Ogres did it because they were brainless beasts. At least so far as Fech believed. Truth of the matter being, Gargoyles did so for sustenance, but also as the ultimate insult. What could possibly be worse for one’s enemy than to know t
heir fate was as excrement?

  Fech eyed the two corpses, since he hadn’t taken part in the battle he wouldn’t lower himself to feed off of something he didn’t kill. Besides, Ogre flesh had a strange slimy taste to it. He was impressed with the skill the two humans showed to best the Nursk Brothers. Fech liked to believe he would’ve held his own against both brothers, and even though he most likely would’ve lost, it would’ve been a fight the survivors would remember the rest of their lives.

  His thoughts stopped short in his assessment when he spotted a third pair of footprints in the dirt. Though they were difficult to make out, they didn’t belong to the Ogre’s and were too small to belong to either Gilliam or Berek. The impression left told of a weight about that of an adult human. Fech sniffed the air before lowering his head to the footprints. The smell of the Ogres covered the other scents in the area, leaving his question unanswered. A shame, he was curious as to who helped them.

  Knowing he would face Renard’s anger for not knowing more as he was expected to, Fech stretched out his wings and leapt into the air. He would claim he arrived too late to aide the Ogres, such a pity, and then decided to search for the humans. A lie of course, despite what his master believed, Berek and his uncle weren’t as great a threat as the mage turned merchant was.

  Fech’s wings caught the prevailing wind and lifted him high above the forest canopy so he could turn his attention to the city of Hope. Renard wasn’t concerned about Mern since he was no longer of use, but Fech knew better. Until he could prove his feeling about the mage was correct, he planned on not informing his master about it. It pained him to lie to one that treated him with so much generosity, but in the end he knew he’d be rewarded.