The Duel
Page 2
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While Beskar and Farrel had been duelling Poppin awoke with a start. She sat up and rubbed her head with a tiny little hand. That was when she noticed the cage. Wood fairies despised cages and Poppin was determined not to reside in this one for any longer than necessary. She looked at the bars of the cage, they were too strong for her to bend, physically or magically, but the door of the cage was locked only with a padlock.
Poppin shoved her arm inside the lock, it was a very tight squeeze and the latch inside was too hard to reach. Giving up Poppin looked over to Farrel for help. It was not hard to tell things were not going well, so with renewed urgency she kept working on the lock. Farrel had fallen to the floor with a mask of water covering his face when Poppin finally managed a firm grasp on the latch mechanism.
Pleased with herself Poppin pulled on the mechanism, but it would not budge. She made several more frantic attempts at the mechanism, yet it still would not move! Poppin glanced back across at Farrel who was now motionless upon the floor with Beskar kneeling by his side. Panic surged through Poppin and in one last concerted effort she pulled on the mechanism with all her strength. Just when she thought it was not going to move the lock popped open. She resisted an overwhelming urge to burst out of the cage. It was difficult, but she thought it wise to decide exactly what she was going to do before she confronted the blue robed one.
Poppin watched Beskar as he leant over Farrel, as soon as she realised all his attention was on Farrel she flung the cage door open and surged from it. After two quick loop-the-loops to celebrate her freedom she zipped past Beskar’s face, startling him. As Beskar turned from Farrel to see where she had gone Poppin flew back around behind him. This enabled her a few seconds to hover just inches from Farrel’s face. In this time she hastily produced a small vial containing finely ground black powder and sprinkled it over his nose.
Beskar was faster than Poppin anticipated and she was caught unawares, still hovering above Farrel, as the back of Beskar’s hand went smashing painfully into her wings. The force of the blow sent Poppin plummeting to the floor some feet away in a limp tangled heap.
Beskar leant back over Farrel and pulled away at his robes to reveal what he had been after all along, the fire stone pendant that Farrel had around his neck. Beskar's mouth watered at the sight of it, he had wanted it for so long. The pendant would finally give him the power he needed to cast the incantation for the crown
Beskar tentatively reached to grab the pendant. As his fingers began to close around it Farrel jerked to life with an almighty cough that purged the water from his lungs and sent it everywhere. Farrel was instantly awake when he saw Beskar’s face in front of him and instinctively his burnt hand went to the pendant. Momentarily stunned, Beskar quickly clasped his hand around the pendant as well and then tried to rip it from Farrel’s neck, but Farrel resisted with all his strength even as he yelped from the pain.
“Let go the pendant and I will spare your life,” growled Beskar, yanking at it again.
“No, never!” Farrel heard himself reply angrily, clasping the pendant so tightly that it began to dig into his burnt skin.
Beskar struggled with Farrel, trying to pry his fingers loose, but Farrel only held on with more determination.
“Enough of this!” cursed Beskar, his face red with exertion. “You will burn slowly until there is nothing left!”
Farrel stared at Beskar wide eyed in fear. Beskar was about to cast a fire spell and Farrel had no counter for something like that. Fire spells were more powerful and more complicated than any other type. They were also the hardest to control. Farrel thought frantically as Beskar spoke the first words of the spell, there was only one chance. He had to try and break Beskar’s concentration.
Farrel knew what he needed, it was inside a small brown leather pouch tied to his the waist cord of his robes. He attempted to free his burnt hand from the pendant, but it would not let go and so he was forced to untie the pouch with the other hand. Meanwhile Beskar was nearing the end of the spell and the flame in the lantern behind Beskar began to glow brighter and dance more erratically.
Farrel fumbled with the draw strings of the pouch until they finally came loose. Then he waited until Beskar was at the very climax of the spell, the most crucial part, before he hurled the pouch at him. The pouch came open as it sailed toward Beskar and from it swept forth a howling wind. The howl grew louder and louder until it became almost unbearable and Beskar was at its centre.
Beskar struggled, not with the last words of the spell, but the complex images he needed to form in his mind as the howling nearly deafened him. It was just enough to bring the spell undone in his mind which meant it was now out of control.
As Beskar lost control he let out a blood curdling scream to match the ferocity of the howling wind. Behind him the lantern flame grew larger and jumped around on the wick until it finally exploded from the lantern altogether and pounced upon Beskar Aarl. His whole body erupted into a fireball. At first he did not move, but then he began to writhe in pain until he lay upon the floor, burning and screaming.
Farrel shut his eyes, but it didn’t help because he could still hear. When finally Beskar made no more sounds Farrel opened his eyes, there was nothing left. Farrel had no time to breathe a sigh of relief as the fire was now feasting upon the rest of the room.
“Poppin!” he yelled racing around the room trying to avoid the flames. It was becoming harder to see every second because of the smoke, but he kept searching. Finally he caught a glimpse of a glowing wing upon the floor not far from him. He crawled quickly to it. Poppin was out cold and one of her wings looked to be bent at an awkward angle.
As a beam crashed to the floor behind him, he gently scooped Poppin up into both hands and carried her towards the door. He had just exited the room when there was an almighty crunch and the entire roof collapsed. Flames surged out into the hallway and it too caught fire.
Farrel shielded his face against the intense heat, it was starting to take his breath away. There was nothing left for it, he had to escape now, so he ran down the staircase and into the night as fast as he could. He never stopped until he had fled the city entirely.
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Farrel stood looking at the ashes before him, it was all that was left of the inn where he had fought Beskar. He continued to sift through the ash looking for the book of the Makers. It was dirty work and after an hour he could taste and smell nothing, but charcoal. The futility of it all suddenly became too much and he threw his arms in the air and slumped down amongst a deep pile of ash. There he found himself sitting on something flat and solid.
Farrel jumped up again and began to dig excitedly until, coughing and sneezing, he dragged out the book of the Makers. The ash and soot seemed to fall away as he held it above his head with joy. Now he could present it to the conclave. He would be a hero.
“I’ve found it Poppin! It wasn’t all for nothing!” cried Farrel.
Poppin had barely spoken two words since she had regained consciousness and discovered that he left wing was painfully broken. She was so engrossed in her own self pity that she barely raised an eyebrow.
Farrel ignored her and gazed lustfully at the great tome. He had the book of the Makers in his hands! He ran his fingers tenderly across the black leather, they tingled as they touched it. With great care he opened the book and found it turned, of its own volition straight to the spell for the crown.
Farrel’s body tingled for just and instant as he looked upon the page. He shook off the feeling, but for some reason he found himself deciding that perhaps the conclave did not need to know that he had the book. How would they even know he had it unless he told them. With a wry smile he looked at Poppin who looked grumpily back at him.
“I think Poppin it is time that we found someone who can do something about that wing of yours.”
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