“A wizard!” Kazen blurted out, his jaw gaping open.
Ilagon nodded. “The word is still sharp on your tongue, but after thinking about it for a few moments I do not believe you will find the idea quite so shocking.”
And he was right. With the headaches gone, a flood of memories and images rushed through Kazen’s mind. Once clouded dreams were now clear recollections. Like a story unraveling before him, bits and pieces of his childhood fell into place. Images of green grass and white walls laid out in his mind like paint on a canvas. Where once there were only blurred, unrecognizable forms, now were the faces of a white-haired man and soft-cheeked woman.
“My parents!” Kazen gasped, a warm tear falling down his cheek. “I can see them!”
“And long overdue, I’m afraid.” Ilagon nodded sadly.
“How could I forget?” Kazen moaned. “What has happened to me? How could I have forgotten my own parents?”
“There was much at stake. Many sacrifices have had to be made over the years.”
Pain and confusion marked Kazen’s face as he searched Ilagon’s eyes for answers. “Were they wizards? Were they both like you?”
“There are no female mages, but the man you knew as your father was a fine wizard.”
“The man I ‘knew’ as my father? The man in my head . . . The man I remember is not my father?”
Ilagon did not answer, turning his stricken gaze to the glowing light of the fire.
“My parents did not die of fever, did they?”
“No. I should have told you the truth about your parents years ago. But how do you tell a child . . .” His voice trailed off for a moment. “Your parents were just ordinary people, Kazen. That, in itself, is extraordinary. Wizards are not born everyday, and when they are it is always to a wizard father. The line of my fathers, for instance, can be traced back a thousand years, with each generation passing on the gift of wizardry to the next. But the quest to sire a wizard son is rarely an easy one. I, for one, am the last and youngest of seven brothers and three sisters, and I am the only one of my siblings to carry on the way of the wizard. But, even so, my family has so far been fortunate. With every generation passed, more and more bloodlines wither from magic, never again to bear another wizard into the world. One day, I suppose, wizards may likely disappear altogether. But then there is you, who, whether by miracle or misfortune, were born into a home without magic. In another time or place your birth might have been celebrated properly. But, it was not long before the fires started.” Ilagon stopped for a moment and ran his hand uneasily over his face. “Your parents did not understand, Kazen. They were afraid. At first, they kept you hidden away, hoping whatever curse they believed you suffered from would pass. But the fires persisted, and the townspeople quickly learned of your powers. Before long, the villagers convinced your parents that you did not suffer from any affliction, but that you were, in fact, a demon sent to burn the crops and village, and that you would steal the souls of the other children. Afraid for their lives, and the lives of their other children, your parents took you to the forest and abandoned you at the entrance to a wolf’s den. It was only by fate that a wizard from my order found you and rescued you.”
Kazen’s jaw locked and twitched with anger. “They tried to kill me?”
“Fear and ignorance can drive people to do unspeakable things, Kazen. But Fen and Mora, the people who looked after you until you came to be in my care, loved you as much as any parent can love a child. They gave their lives to protect you.”
“I don’t understand.” Kazen wiped the tears from his cheek. “Why would anyone have to give their life for me? And who am I being protected from?”
Ilagon leaned back in his chair and looked thoughtfully at Kazen. “I will tell you all that I know, though I fear it may open up more questions for you than I have answers.
“There are many different kinds of magic in the world. Wizards have the knowledge of just a few, elemental magic mostly. I am what some call a Rock Tamer. I have the ability to sway rock and stone to serve me in certain ways. There are also Air Callers, and Water Benders, and some who have taken to conjuring and the darker side of wizardry. And, every once in a great while, a wizard is born with a most powerful gift, the power of a Flame Weaver.
“Centuries ago, the world was in chaos. A scheming wizard named Gregore had an insatiable appetite for power. As a show of supremacy over all living things, he opened a gate into shadow, releasing hordes of evil creatures upon the naked land. Darkness fell upon the world, and Gregore’s minions preyed mercilessly upon the innocent.
“There were many who opposed the evil blight, but they were weak and lacked leadership. Then, a wizard named Kelric rose above the darkness. A powerful mage with a pure heart, he possessed the power of a Flame Weaver. He gathered many strong men and wizards, and even dragons to his side, and formed an alliance of these different races called The Order of Silver Dragons. They fought back the darkness for nearly one hundred years until finally the last remnants of Gregore and his evil plague was cast back into the shadows.
“The age of Kelric came and passed, and for many ages the world lived in peace. Surely there were squabbles of men and of kings, but the lurking evil did not dare to peek its monstrous head out from the dark shadows, not as long as the Guardians, which the mages of the Order came to be called, watched over the land.
“But the Guardians became comfortable and complacent as the centuries passed. The far corners of the world were patrolled less and less. And, under a veil of illusion, Gregore clawed his way out of the shadowy depths and nested himself in the land of Rassadoth. He grew stronger day by day, and his thirst for revenge grew and grew. The Guardians were oblivious to his presence until it was too late.”
“Too late?”
“You have probably never heard of a healer, Kazen. Not a person who tends to wounds with bandages, but a being who can mend the body and soul of a man with just the touch of their hand. They were a peaceful people, and perhaps the most righteous to ever walk this world. Their numbers were small, only a few hundred, and they lived together in small villages along the Fleet River. They did not take up arms, and their villages were open to all in need of healing, without question.” A quiet, sorrowful breath escaped Ilagon’s lips. “Perhaps it was their virtuous nature that brought Gregore’s wrath down upon them. Whatever his reason, Gregore released an army of darkness upon the defenseless healers. Their cries could be heard from miles away. In that one night, the life force of an entire race was extinguished forever.
“So great was the atrocity that the world itself churned and quaked with outrage. It was on that night that the Guardians realized, for the first time, what company they had in their midst. The small, frail boy, who they had adopted only four years earlier, fell to the ground at that very moment and wept in agony, as if the loss of such innocence somehow reached out across the land and seized his heart. And as the sadness and pain overtook him, the stone walls of the surrounding courtyard ignited into a blaze of fire. So did the fires burn, not to be doused by any amount of water until the last tear fell from the boy’s cheek. It was then the Guardians knew that the battle of light and shadow was about to begin. The Flame Weaver had returned.
“The Guardians vowed to protect the child until he was strong enough to face the coming darkness. They hid him away within the white city of Graffis, arrogantly believing that the eyes of shadow could not penetrate the Guardian’s stronghold. But Gregore’s spies were many, and he learned of the child’s existence. He sent his army of mercenaries and atrocities down upon Graffis. The defenders of the city were too few, and the walls could not hold back the tide set against it. Graffis was destroyed, along with all who defended it.
“The siege on the city left Gregore drained, though. Many, including myself, thought the strain of war had been too much, and that he too had perished at Graffis. But it was not so. Thinking he had destroyed the last of the Guardians and the child as well, he gleefully retreated back t
o his hole in Rassadoth to regain his strength. Now, nearly thirteen years later, he has resumed his plan to cast the world into a realm of shadow. And only when the last living thing has died, and he looks out over his dead world will his eyes be unblinded by his lust for power long enough that he might see what he has done.” A sad kind of smile touched Ilagon’s lips as he paused for a moment. “I wonder what comfort he will take in the company of his demons then.”
Turning back to face Kazen, Ilagon’s gaze turned hard and solemn. “But Gregore, too, had been deceived, for the Flame Weaver did not perish at Graffis. He has remained hidden for these thirteen years, awaiting the time to rise up and meet his destiny, and end the siege of darkness, once and for all.”
Kazen stood up abruptly from his chair, knocking it to the floor. “If you are referring to me, we can end this discussion right now. I do not have a destiny, and I certainly have not been waiting to rise up against anyone! You have the wrong person.”
“I am sorry, but it is time for you to learn who you really are.”
“I know exactly who I am! And I am most definitely no champion sent to save the world! In case you didn’t notice, that was me hiding behind that water trough when those bandits attacked! I do not have the power, nor the desire to be anyone’s hero!”
Ilagon put a firm hand on Kazen’s shoulder. “I know this is difficult to understand. However, you must believe me when I say the power and the courage is within you. I will help you find it.”
“I do not wish to find it! There must be countless men out there better suited than I to take on such a task. You know me, Ilagon. You even said it yourself. I have no sense of responsibility. This is all a mistake!” Exasperated, he spun on his heels and stormed out the door with Ilagon following close behind.
“You cannot run away from this! And there is no more time! It was no coincidence that those raiders showed up in Napis Fare—the evil has taken notice of you, and it will be drawn to you wherever you go. This is your fate, whether you choose to accept it or not. You alone possess the power of the flame. It is you who must stop the shadow of darkness. There is no other.”
“I have no power!” Even as the words slipped from his lips, a familiar, dizzying sensation fell over him, and the blood, now boiling in his veins, flooded from his head to his fingertips. The night sky was abruptly set ablaze as the surrounding trees ignited in a roaring flash of orange and yellow flames. Snapping and crackling, the dry, brittle branches quickly crumbled to glowing embers, drizzling down over him like a shower of falling stars. Kazen, trembling and frightened, stood silently within the ring of light.
“Let me help you, Kazen,” Ilagon whispered kindly. “I made a promise to you once, long ago, that I would protect you with my last breath. My word is still good. I will not leave your side.”
His legs weak beneath him, Kazen spoke with a quivering chin. “I wish this would all just go away.”
Placing a fatherly arm around Kazen’s shoulder, Ilagon sighed softly to himself. “As do I.”
Chapter 3
Kazen awoke to the sun in his eyes. The smell of fried eggs and bacon filled the air and shook the drowsiness from his head. Rolling out from beneath his blankets, he stretched his arms and made his way to the breakfast table. Sitting down, he noticed that all the cabinet doors were wide open and the shelves empty. Piles of clothes and blankets were stacked by the door, as well as satchels of dried fruit and meat.
Ilagon hurried in through the door, carrying an armful of scrolls. “Ah, good! You are awake!” he said as he tossed the scrolls into the burning fire.
“What are you doing?” Kazen asked, munching contentedly on his breakfast.
“Leaving as little evidence as possible about who we are and where we’re going.”
“We are going somewhere?”
Ilagon pulled more parchment out from under the table and tossed it into the fire. “Yes. We leave after breakfast.”
“Where are we going?”
“To find a very old friend.” Ilagon snatched a piece of bacon off Kazen’s plate and popped it into his mouth. “He is wise and knows much of the happenings around the world. If anyone will know what path we are to take, it will be him.”
“Perhaps we should have sought him out sooner.”
Ilagon glared back at him with annoyance. “Brilliant deduction. However, there’s no map to where we’re going. It’s taken me thirteen years to find it. Even now, it’s only my best guess.”
“How far is it?”
“Very far. And the road will not be easy. It may be weeks until we rest, and hot meals may be hard to come by, so eat your fill now.”
“Weeks? Who will look after things here? When will we be coming back?”
Ilagon looked Kazen square in the eyes. “We are not coming back, Kazen. We are leaving this life behind. It is time for you to start down the path you were always meant to take.”
A wave of nausea swept over Kazen. “Now?” He gulped. “Right this very moment? Should we not prepare first? Should I not learn at least something of being a wizard before we set off?”
“You will learn on the way,” Ilagon assured him.
Having suddenly lost his appetite, Kazen pushed his plate away and sank into his chair. Dreadful feelings of fear and trepidation tightened his chest, and it was all he could do to fight off the impulse to flee and hide. This was all a terrible mistake.
“Come on, then!” Ilagon called out. “Help me gather up these packs.”
After double-checking the cupboards and shelves, they set to securing their bundles onto the horses. They brought enough provisions to last several weeks, and plenty of extra clothes and blankets. All their extra clothes and personal items were carefully strewn about the floor of the building, along with scatterings of dry hay and brush. After a final check of the house, Ilagon somberly plucked a smoldering log from the hearth and tossed it into the middle of the room.
“I suppose that about does it,” he said as he shouldered his sword and patted Kazen on the back.
Smoke had already begun to spill out from the open door as Kazen reluctantly mounted his horse. He wondered what would become of the small town he was leaving behind, and if the townsfolk would heed Ilagon’s warning and abandon their homes as well. Mostly though, he thought about the poor people who had lost their lives yesterday, especially old Glin.
Slumping in his saddle, Kazen was overcome with sudden guilt. I did not have the courage to save even him, he thought with disgust. He wondered if the last thing Glin saw before he died was of him running and hiding like a coward. Pulling his hood down over his face, he tried to cover the tears welling in his eyes. But he was never very good at hiding anything from Ilagon, who had already mounted his own horse and was making his way to Kazen’s side.
Ilagon did not speak for a long while, however. He sat by Kazen, staring off into the distance and listening to the crackle of the growing fire beside them. “There is nothing you could have done for them, Kazen,” he finally said, shifting in his saddle.
Kazen sucked in a shuddering breath and pulled his hood down lower. He did not wish to share his shame with anyone.
“Perhaps the greatest demons you will have to face are the ones you create yourself,” Ilagon continued. “Do not let your spirit die with those people. Their deaths were tragic, but their lives were filled with joy. Draw strength from their courage and goodness. That is the greatest tribute you can give to them.” Ilagon gave Fier a quick nudge and started off down the trail.
Taking a deep breath, Kazen took one last glance at his burning home before falling in step behind his uncle.
Much of that first day was spent in silence. Behind them, the small valley slowly shrank away in the distance until it was lost completely. As they followed the northern trail, the trees gradually became thicker, though most were just as thirsty and lifeless as the ones they left behind. Here and there the land was spotted with clumps of prickly pine trees, their enduring green needles a welcome contr
ast to the dreary browns and grays that had gripped the land for so long. As the sun kissed the horizon, a chilled wind caught the bare, sullen branches of the lofty trees, causing them to groan and creak.
Ilagon scouted ahead and found a secluded spot under a low stretch of brushwood for them to spend the night. After being watered, the horses nibbled halfheartedly on bitter weeds and crab grasses that sprouted out from between the twisted roots of the encroaching briar bushes. Evening was quick to settle over their small camp.
Kazen started a modest fire and brought out their only loaf of bread, as well as half a brick of cheese. Eating silently by the fire, he busied himself looking up at the stars while Ilagon poured over his maps again and again. The night rolled on solemnly as lonely night birds cackled in the distance and windblown brambles rustled in the trees. After hours of staring into the darkened sky, Kazen’s eyes grew heavy and he began to drift in and out of a fragile sleep.
“Tomorrow seems as good a day as any,” Ilagon’s voice broke the still night.
“Good for what?” Kazen asked, suddenly startled awake.
“To put a sword in your hand. We will rise at first light and see how you do. So, let us both get some rest.” And, without another word, Ilagon slipped his blanket under his chin and quickly fell asleep.
Unfortunately for Kazen, he had a much harder time of it. For the first time since they started out, he actually felt more excited than nauseous. He could not count the times he had dreamed of wielding a sword and thrashing down countless enemies. All the recent talk of wizardry and magic had him more than a bit anxious, but a sword, now that was something he could really grab onto. Tomorrow could be a good day.
After what seemed an endless night of tossing and turning, dawn finally crept over the hillside. Kazen scrambled eagerly out from beneath his blanket and devoured the dried fruit and salted pork that had been laid out for him. Ilagon’s bedroll had already been neatly rolled and packed away, and both he and Fier were missing. Kazen guessed that he was probably scouting the road ahead and getting his bearings.
The Flame Weaver Page 4
