The War of the Pyromancer

by P D Ceanneir

  ‘NO!’ shouted the king. ‘I will not fail. Harlequin get rid of it, stop this now!’

  The image of the Blacksword disappeared and Telmar sighed with relief. Harlequin floated towards him. ‘Forgive me, master. Your father added preventative subroutines into my persona. If you were to try and use the Mastirton Maelstrom, then I was to deny you three times.’

  ‘Clever of him, he almost succeeded with the last one,’ said the king, who was now standing on the dais.

  ‘I agree, the Blacksword can be quite persuasive,’ said Harlequin as he landed on the emerald cradle of Basilisk. The standing stones flashed into life again and Telmar felt the pressure build. Then the scene around him changed and he was instantly transported to the sixteen tall stones of the Mastirton circle that surrounded the Archway. He had appeared in front of the Arch and its light still illuminated the dark chamber, casting his tall shadow on the far wall. Again, the continual flick from one time scene to the next was still going on within the Arch, although his mathematical mind recognised that the viewing time of the images was now slightly less than the last time he had saw them.

  ‘I judge the windows to the time scenes have deteriorated since the last time you were here, they had lost one point seven three seconds,’ said Harlequin who had also noticed the subtle change.

  The king only nodded as he recovered from the pain that always followed Driftwalking, he was staring into the Arch, looking for a particular scene in time.

  ‘Should the scenes displayed in the Arch lessen then a catastrophic Time Infraction Event will undoubtedly occur,’ continued the Powerball.

  Images in other time events flickered into view and then faded from sight, they lasted for about eight seconds. Telmar remembered the last time he was here; he had seen the Door sitting in a large panelled room next to a high-backed throne that sat on a dais, surrounded by a circle of wooden pews. At the time he had no idea where it was, but now, since his time in Dulan-Tiss, he recognised the Royal Assembly Room, one of the largest in the Halls of Parliament, and it sat at the centre of the citadel.

  ‘If you are attempting, what I thing you are attempting,’ droned on Harlequin apprehensively, ‘then it goes against the laws of the Principle Edict.’

  ‘Damn your Principle Edict!’ growled the king. The scenes shifted from a grassed hilly landscape to the futuristic city, and then to a burning plain and the dead forest.

  ‘This is it,’ he said and braced himself to leap.

  ‘I’m sure I’m going to regret this,’ added Harlequin as the scene changed and the Royal Assembly room came into view.

  Telmar leapt through the Arch.

  2

  Now he realised why the Elder Styx called the Lifespan Conduit a Maelstrom. It was as if he was falling through the eye of a hurricane, but the rushing tunnel of wind around him spun as a colourful cloudscape of amalgamated hues that swirled like thick oil on water. There was a sense of time and movement, but he knew from the Elders’ writing that this was only his perception of the trip, which would be instantaneous, like Driftwalking.

  No sooner had he thought this, when he felt solid ground under his feet and then stumbled on the oak floorboards in front of the Door.

  No pain followed, which he was grateful for, but he was dizzy and disorientated. Behind him, a tall split in the air was slowly closing, blocking his view of the Vault Room. It closed with a sigh.

  He judged it was late evening he could tell this from to the dim light coming through the glass dome of the circular room’s roof, and he sensed he was not alone. He turned quickly and saw about a dozen royal guards pointing their ash poled spears at his chest.

  One of them recognised him, ‘Sire? How did...?’

  ‘What day is it?’ asked Telmar faintly.

  ‘Twenty first of Augraniar,’ said the guard with a questioning tone in his voice.

  ‘Year?’ said the king.

  ‘2984 YOA, your majesty,’ the guards were all looking confused.

  ‘Two days ago,’ whispered Telmar as he looked at the Door. It was turning a dark red. ‘Not much time left.’

  ‘Sire?’ asked the guard.

  ‘Where is Joaquin Ri?’

  ‘He’s in the Principal State Room at the far end of the corridor, majesty.’

  ‘Take me to him, the rest of you will leave,’ said the king.

  ‘But sire,’ said the guard, ‘the Ri’s orders were for us to watch that…thing,’ he said, pointing to the Door.

  ‘I understand, but I’m ordering you all to leave, now!’ They did not question his orders any further and shuffled quickly out of the main doors. They made such a racket that Joaquin Ri stormed out of the state room with a dark frown on his face, but when he saw the king it changed to genuine surprise.

  ‘Sire, how in the name of the gods did you get here so fast?’ he said.

  Telmar waved away the question. ‘No time to explain. Have you made the evacuation preparations I had ordered?’

  ‘Yes, sire, the Hub is deserted and my men have cleared the population from two thirds of the Citadel, I spread the word that plague had struck; now they are like rats leaving a sinking ship. Only those guards, I and the High Steward, Selwin remain.’

  Telmar frowned. ‘Where is Lord Selwin?’

  The tall Ri pointed along the corridor. ‘In the Steward offices, by the Parliament Libraries cloister, packing the last of his law notes, I will take you.’

  ‘No. Leave now, I will fetch him, evacuate the rest of the city.’ said the king.

  Lord Joaquin nodded solemnly. ‘That thing, the Door, I had a look at it and it just feels…wrong!’

  ‘I know, if I cannot stop the Helbringer then…’

  Lord Joaquin nodded into the silence that followed the comment, ‘May the gods protect you, Telmar!’

  ‘Thank you. I just hope that they are listening.’

  They shook hands quickly, and then Telmar watched as the Ri gathered his sword and ran down the corridor to catch up with his men. Telmar raced towards the Library cloister at the far end of the main row of halls. He found the doors open and entered a small library room. Candles were lit, casting shadows over the wooden floors. The flames in the huge fireplace roared, books and scrolls lay scattered all around. The room was silent.

  ‘Uncle Selwin?’ the king shouted into the stillness of the room. He received no answer.

  He walked quickly to the far window knowing the steward had a writing desk there, stopping short when he saw the blood on the desk and the puddle on the floor. His heart leapt, ‘Selwin!’ he shouted again. He followed the drips of blood, which lead him to a slick of drag marks on the floor. He found his uncle’s body face down next a small table in the far corner of the room, now overturned, a black dagger in his back. He clutched a small framed cameo of his daughter in his hand. Telmar realised that he must have dragged himself to the table to get it before death took him.

  ‘Oh, Selwin,’ said Telmar as he closed his uncles eyes. He felt numb with emotion. The dagger had no markings on it, an assassin’s dagger.

  ‘Damn,’ said the king. Selwin’s body was still warm; the assassin could still be close by. He drew his sword and ran back to the Royal Assembly Room. If his plan was correct, then the Helbringer now had no humans to leach their life forces to make it stronger. He was also counting on the fact that his unique curse made him immune to the creature, but that was just a theory. Now, if someone else was here that might scupper his plans.

  He burst through the double doors of the assembly room, and then started down the stairs in between the rows of pews. It was then he noticed the Door was now black.

  ‘This is it,’ he whispered to himself.

  Suddenly, he felt the use of the Rawn Arts close by. He dived to his right just as a large Fireball sailed past him. It struck the row of wooden seats behind him and exploded into sheets of orange flame and black smoke. Large chunks of wood spun in all directions. The explosion hit the king as he leapt, it slammed into his back and h
e went hurtling through the air and landed on the circular floor at the centre of the room, ten feet from the Door.

  Something dark flitted through the smoke. Some of the pews behind him were aflame and spreading quickly. He looked around him, found Basilisk a few feet away to his left and he used the Wind Element to lift the weapon, summoning it to his outstretched hand. A tall shape burst from the flames as the sword descended towards Telmar. He quickly gripped the hilt as his assailant swing his own weapon. The king caught the sword blow on the forte of Basilisk, but the force of it jarred his arm, and he stumbled backwards from the attack. Another quick darting flash of steel from his attacker caused searing pain down his left side and the assailant’s sword wounded him there. He backed away and his attacker followed with nimble steps.

  Now, no longer silhouetted by the fire, the assassin stood in full view, and chuckled. ‘Hello boy,’ he said cockily.

  The man was tall and once had dark hair, but most of it was gone. One side of his face was a mass of white, badly healed, burns. Despite the disfigurement Telmar recognised him.

  ‘Hendrix!’ he gasped. ‘I thought I killed you.’

  Master Hendrix walked forward. ‘I barely got out of that mill with my life. Nevertheless, you left a lasting impression on me,’ he rasped, pointing to his face.

  ‘Who sent you, was it Cinnibar?’

  Hendrix shook his head. ‘My old master, Lord Sernac actually. I was to kill Joaquin Ri, but that fool Selwin got in the way. Ah, but joy of joys, instead I find you. I suspect my master will like your head even better than the Ri’s.’

  ‘You will have to try and take it first.’

  ‘Gladly.’ Hendrix stepped forward and raised his sword. Telmar used the Fire Element to lift a sheet of flames from the burning pews and throw them over his attacker. Hendrix was quick. He waved a hand and the fire broke into embers as a blast of wind shoved them away. He then swung his sword in an arc that would have taken the king’s head off if he had not stepped away from it. Telmar moved around his opponent, blocking lunge after lunge, and he quickly learnt that Hendrix was far more skilled with a sword than he was.

  Just then, a creaking noise to his left distracted him and he chanced a glance towards the Door. He saw it was opening. The darkness beyond was foreboding.

  Hendrix saw the hesitation and spun on his heel while his sword clashed with Basilisk. His boot kicked Telmar in the chest and the king went sprawling on his back for a second time. Telmar struggled to his feet. He realised he was close to the stepped isle between the pews and he quickly climbed the stairs to the main entrance. The wall of heat from the burning oak seats to his right sapped his strength and he felt a wet trickle down his side. Faintness overcame him and knew he had lost a lot of blood from the wound delivered by Hendrix’s sword.

  ‘Where are you going, boy?’ shouted Hendrix, and he summoned a powerful blast of wind that ripped up the wooden seats on either side of Telmar to send them crashing towards him. The king concentrated and used the Earth Element to shatter them, but a large chunk crashed into his left shoulder and he hit the floor hard. Basilisk was wrenched from his grip as he fell.

  Hendrix rushed forward and raised his sword high above his head. ‘Too weak to burn me now, eh?’ he chuckled.

  Just then, Harlequin spun on his cradle and then zipped through the air with such speed that he resembled a long stream of light. Both Telmar and an obviously startled Hendrix watched as the ball of white light circled around the room at astonishing speed. He then changed course to hit Hendrix in the centre of his chest. The impact lifted the Rawn over the remaining seats to land heavily on his back just a few feet from the Door, where he rolled about in agony clutching his chest.

  Telmar struggled to stand, he knew he had to heal himself, but that meant growing weaker and he needed his strength. Already he could see a dark shape moving beyond the threshold door.

  Hendrix was getting to his feet also. He used his sword to steady himself and he clutched at his chest. Telmar surmised that his enemy’s ribs would have shattered and his lungs may have ruptured, but the big Rawn was already healing his damaged body. He looked up at the king and grinned with teeth covered in blood, it looked evil and menacing on his scarred face.

  Then a small form leapt out of the Door and gripped his leg.

  Hendrix yelled in disgust as he looked down at the small ugly body of the Helbringer. He thrust his blade into the things guts, but the creature did not flinch and just climbed up the left hand side of the Rawn until it was level with his ravaged face. Then it clamped his hands onto his head and Telmar heard the shriek of pain as the creature sucked Hendrix’ life force out of his body. The Rawn Master became a shrunken husk of dried flesh within seconds as the Helbringer grew to the height of a man.

  ‘Harlequin!’ shouted the king. ‘Drive it back into the Door!’ The Powerball obeyed and with incredible speed, he slammed into the Helbringer’s head with such force that the monster wobbled on his weird legs. Harlequin hit it repeatedly, the sounds of the thumps echoed around the room. Telmar healed himself and tried to summon a Pyromaniac Surge, but he felt too light-headed.

  The Helbringer was franticly waving his hands, trying to catch the Powerball, but it was far too fast even though the beast moved with surprisingly quick reflexes. Telmar stood up, gripped Basilisk with both hands and charged the thing; the long blade skewered the monster’s chest just above Hendrix’ sword, which still protruded from its stomach. Telmar felt a shock of electricity run up his arms and he fell backwards. The creature moved so fast that the next thing he knew was the burning sensation on his wrist where the thing gripped him.

  The Helbringer leered as if it was doing some parody of smiling, showing long white teeth behind black lips. Telmar felt the energy within him resist the touch; he felt fear and anger at the same time and a surge built up in the pit of his stomach.

  ‘You can’t harm me, can you?’ he said.

  The Helbringer’s leer evaporated into confusion.

  ‘Pyromancer,’ said Telmar by way of explanation, and then slammed his hand onto the thing’s head, simultaneously sending white-hot fire into its head. Bursts of scorching heat erupted all over its evil face.

  It roared in abject agony. The sound of its painful screech nearly burst Telmar’s eardrums, then the thing let him go and the king stopped the attack. He extracted Basilisk from its body and expertly cut off the things head in one swipe.

  The Helbringer toppled to the ground, its smoking head bouncing and rolling over to the throne platform before turning to white ash.

  Telmar fell to his knees, fatigue washed over him, along with the feeling of triumph.

  ‘I have done it,’ he said in wonder. ‘I have stopped the beast.’

  Harlequin nestled back onto Basilisk’s pommel, but still spun and glowed silvery light.

  ‘To be honest master, I thought your chances were slim,’ he said.

  ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence.’ Telmar quipped as he turned around and waved his hands in front of him, taking the heat out of the burning pews to douse the flames. Smoke filled the room to block out the light from the high dome above.

  ‘Now to throw the body back into the Door and...’ he stopped talking and stared in open astonishment.

  The headless body of the Helbringer was sitting up

  Telmar was rooted to the spot with fear and trepidation. As he stood and watched, he saw the nub of white bone, which was its spine, grow from the wound, arteries, tendons and flesh followed it. The bone fanned out to the sides, becoming thinner, curved in places or shaped to form the skull while the flesh grew over it.

  The head literary grew back on in seconds. The red eyes were the last to bloom into life and they finally fixed on Telmar.

  ‘NO, NO, NO!’ shouted the king and swung Basilisk. He laid into the creature with mad anger, hacking at its body to cause gouts of dark blood to spout over the floor and the pillars of the Door, but its wounds healed before his eyes to leave not on
e single scar to show the trauma its body suffered.

  One consolation to its healing was that the Helbringer was shrinking. Clearly, the absorbed life force of Hendrix was ebbed away with every inflicted cut, and the thing soon reverted to its childlike form with its folds of wrinkled flesh. Telmar thought that if he continued like this he would be able to kill it, but he was tiring and his arms felt heavy.

  The Helbringer roared and lashed out at Telmar, it backhanded him in the chest and he flew several feet from the immense strength of the blow. Telmar, breathing heavily, stood to resume the attack but the thing stretched out its hands and suddenly the ground around them ripped open.

  At first Telmar thought it was an earthquake, and then he saw thin streams of energy swirling above the cracks in the ground. The discharge, mostly a muted white and difficult to see, but others were vibrant hues of yellows with black spots that sparked and shifted in unpredictable patterns. The moment he set eyes on them he knew they were matter streams of volatile energy, the same energy that the Helbringer collected for its master. Telmar watched, aghast, as a caged nimbus of this vibrant light swarmed around the creature.

  Then the thing started to heal and grow.

  ‘It’s regenerating itself, we can’t let it become powerful or it will be impossible to stop!’ shouted Harlequin.

  ‘How do I stop it?’ screamed Telmar.

  ‘Block it; it’s only using volatile energy to grow, the same energy that is inside you.’

  Telmar nodded in understanding. It stood to reason he could link with the same energies within the ground and become part of it, though he had no idea how he was going to accomplish such a feat, so he just trusted his instincts. He concentrated as he stared into the matter streams of sparking yellow that burst all around him. The “Link”, when it came, was instantaneous. He used his mind and his training in the Rawn Arts to fuse his Pyromantic power with the volatile energy and he instantly felt rejuvenated, full of strength and vigour.

  The Helbringer roared in frustration. Telmar pulled the energy away from him and forced the streams back into the cracks in the ground. He was surprised at how easy this was to do and he laughed inanely. The cage of light around the creature became fragmented and it eventually disappeared. The Helbringer stomped angrily towards the king. Its ugly face a mask of fury. Telmar lifted his hand and threw a concentrated bolt of Pyromantic energy at it. A silver lightning bolt of light punched through the monsters chest, it lifted it from the floor and towards the open Door. The thing managed to grip the edges of the doorframe to stop himself from tumbling away into the deep darkness.