Reapers of Souls and Magic: A Rohrland Saga (The Rohrlands Saga Book 1)

by R. E. Fisher

  As Eod studied the tapestry, he observed that there was no “great” mage in the land to fight this evil; and young clerics were no match for the demons. The demons’ arrival had been unknown to the armies of the king, and so most of the clerics that had been in attendance were there solely for aiding the wounded. None had been prepared to battle this truest form of evil.

  Eod determined that he would become that great mage and rid the world of the Towers, and that he would use the outworlder to facilitate it. He would use this man’s knowledge of warfare to combat those who might stand against him. Eod thought about how to consolidate his growing hold over the mages without the Master of Towers or his cronies interfering in his plans. That could potentially be accomplished by cutting off their access to the components that he alone controlled. They were dependent upon them for the spells they used, and he was slowly enacting that plan already—to drive up the prices and increase his coffers.

  But he knew that they would retaliate against him once the goods stopped flowing completely. He realized that he would need a standing army to prevent that. He had no such army yet; but should he be able to bring this man into the fold, he could become instrumental in Eod’s plans by introducing his knowledge of warfare that the armies of this realm knew nothing about.

  Eod’s reverie was interrupted by the arrival of the prisoner in the hall, flanked by assassins. The trio marched toward the mage; as Dmitri walked onto the tiled, mosaic pattern on the floor in front of the mage, he was stopped in his tracks.

  Dmitri watched as the red-robed figure stated something, and the twins walked from the room without responding. Dmitri turned to watch them leave and noticed the lake past the balcony, realizing he was on a coast or an island. After the two left the room, Dmitri returned his attention to the man in flowing robes, who just stared at him. Dmitri stood there, uncomfortable for several moments. He wasn’t exactly sure how long, but for him it was too long. The mage made a quick motion with the fingers on his left hand. A moment later he began to speak to Dmitri. His voice was deep, rich; it sounded like the voice that kept asking him questions in his mind. “Do you know where you are, Dmitri?”

  “No. In America somewhere,” Dmitri replied, his thick Russian accent manifesting even under the use of a spell.

  “Let’s be honest. Do you believe that?”

  “No.”

  “What do you most desire, Dmitri?” the mage asked as he leaned forward.

  “Power,” the pilot answered, unsure of where his answer had come from.

  “There are many kinds of power. Which would you choose?”

  “Absolute.”

  “Why?”

  “So, I can protect myself.” Dmitri realized his answers were coming without thought.

  “Do you think that if you control those around you, you could do this?”

  “Yes.”

  “You are deluding yourself, outworlder. One cannot control his environment; one can but influence it. Take this, for example,” the mage stated as he extended his arm outward, palm up.

  A small flame lit from nothing and sat in the palm of his hand. Dmitri watched as each time he uttered gibberish, the flame grew. Becoming fascinated, Dmitri watched as the mage lifted his other hand and placed it, palm down, above the growing flame. The flame became a fire that grew hotter and began to spin. The more the ball of fire began to spin, the more compact the sphere appeared to become. The sphere appeared to surge in size, and with a quick word from the red-robed man, it then returned to its compact size. Even from where he stood, Dmitri felt the heat on his face that was generated from that ball of fire. The mage tilted his hand downward, and the ball of flame floated to the tiled floor below, coming to a stop halfway between the captor and the captive. Dmitri glanced at Eod and then back at the ball of fire. Eod began to speak to his prisoner. “You watched me coax this flame from the air around us. You watched me nurture it as you would a plant. You watched as it started to feed on itself...” the mage stated as he pointed his finger at the ball of flame, “...and as it attempted to break free. Do you think I’m controlling this?”

  “Yes. Otherwise you would have been burned, or it’s a trick of some sort.”

  “A trick, yes. Influence, yes. Control, no,” Eod stated as the ball moved to Dmitri. “Once I create it, to unmake it would take much more energy than most would be willing to expend.”

  The heat from the white-hot sphere increased against his face, causing small beads of sweat to begin popping out. The wound on his face was sensitive to the heat, causing a slight increase in his pain.

  “What do you think would happen if I became...distracted?”

  “I...I...I... don’t know,” Dmitri stammered.

  “If I release my influence, do you think it would cease to exist? Something done cannot be undone.”

  Eod stopped pointing his finger at the flaming sphere, and the ball began spinning about the room, staying close to the floor and leaving sooty black streaks on the tiles. The path of the fireball was erratic. It pushed its way toward the far wall, but it changed directions and began moving toward Dmitri. Eod watched his prisoner. The man stood his ground, and at the last moment the ball shot away in the opposite direction. The ball of flame slammed into the wall below the tapestry, bursting into shards of glittery heat. The flames licked the wall, trying to climb upward and even managing to singe the tapestry displaying the betrayal.

  Dmitri looked at his robed captor.

  “Do you understand?” Eod asked.

  “I believe so. You’re aware of what I cannot undo, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “How? Why? What are you suggesting I do?”

  “Learn. I have need of people with your…” Eod paused, and said with a small grin, “...courage.”

  Dmitri gave him a puzzled look, so Eod continued. “I want you to train with our beasts and weapons, and then adapt your type of warfare to one that will allow me to defeat my enemies. That’s all. Would that position not give you the power you seek?”

  The smirk didn’t go unnoticed by Dmitri. “What’s the alternative?”

  “The flames died out without my influence, didn’t they?”

  “That’s not much of a choice.”

  “Perhaps you should learn the art of influence, outworlder. Who better to teach you? The twins?”

  The pilot paled at his mention of them. “I see.”

  “I believe you do, Dmitri; I believe you do. Now return to your quarters. Your lessons begin tomorrow. The man who brings you your dinner will be your guide. His name is Daelock, not Robin Hood.”

  In a daze, Dmitri turned and walked from the room, wandering down the hall to his cell. As he entered the room, he realized that there had been a couple of changes. The closet door was open and inside was a new wardrobe. The curtains had been pulled aside and the window framed a pale red quarter moon. There was a wooden valet with a dagger and sword hanging from the side peg. The rest of the valet was covered with a hunter-green jacket trimmed in a light brown. To Dmitri the coat looked as if it had been cut for an eighteenth-century Cossack. Matching trousers were folded over a triangle that stuck out and down at an angle. He opened the dresser and saw long shirts of various colors and stockings. He thought that he’d rather look like a peasant than be caught dead in that stuff.

  He walked over to the valet and lifted the sword and scabbard. He pulled the sword free and hung the scabbard back onto the valet. He walked around the room, attempting to remember the fencing classes he had taken in college. This sword wasn’t a foil, but rather a longsword. Its balance wasn’t well suited to the styles that he had learned, but with practice he figured he’d get it down. Now if he could just figure out what his captor wanted from him. That thought also made him realize that his captor knew much about him, but he knew nothing about the red-robed man. Now he had to change his plan. He wasn’t in America, and his plan no longer meant anything. He would have to come up with a new plan.

  He thought
about what the mage had offered; although he realized he would still be a prisoner, acceptance might give him the chance to escape from this madman. How could he teach them his form of warfare without firearms? He would have to convince the mage that he would need his belongings back and figure out why his gun had failed him. If he could get that to work, he would be able to escape, he thought, while waiting to see what plans the mage held for him.

  Dmitri swiped at the blood and sweat from above his left eye, then adjusted his unadorned helm. He dodged the lighting-fast swing of the wooden training sword that Daelock wielded. The pain from the last strike had taught him that his opponent was very fast. He circled Daelock, watching for some sign that he was going to strike. The man was as quick as a snake. The first few times that Daelock had struck, he hadn’t even narrowed his eyes. Dmitri knew that his own tendency was to curl his lower lip inward as he tensed to strike. He also knew that Daelock had picked up on that right away, which helped explain why he was constantly prepared and able to counter Dmitri’s attacks. The blunt point of Daelock’s training sword wedged its way through a seam in the light chain mail that Dmitri was wearing, gouging its way painfully to his ribs. Daelock stepped back, smiling. “Your need to concentrate on what you’re planning to do next will get you killed. Had this been a real sword, it would have slipped between your ribs and into your heart.”

  Dmitri looked at Daelock. Anger born of frustration began to build within him, and he stepped back from Daelock, remembering an earlier lesson about fighting angry. That lesson had caused him a black eye and a sprained wrist. It had cost Daelock nothing. Dmitri leaned forward onto the balls of his feet and moved toward the half-elf who watched him. Dmitri was within four paces; he raised his mock weapon above his shoulder, holding the hilt with both hands. Daelock turned sideways and lifted his own weapon across his chest while holding his buckler down at his side. Dmitri rushed the elvish warrior and brought the sword down in a high arc. The elf responded with such speed that he struck Dmitri across his chest with the small, round shield, knocking his breath from him. He realized his clumsy attack had left him defenseless, and now he had to catch his breath in heaving gulps.

  “Had I held a dagger, which I normally do, you would again be dead. Have you learned nothing in these two weeks? You’re worthless as a warrior; what was the mage thinking?” Daelock bellowed.

  “I’ve never trained with any weapon other than a gun or a combat knife, you pointy-eared bastard,” he answered between gulps of air.

  “Well, let’s see what you know about the small blade, then, human,” Daelock spit.

  The half-elf tossed the buckler and the wooden sword to the ground. He reached behind his back and pulled out two long, vicious-looking knives. The blades were thin; they looked to be throwing knives. Daelock grasped one of the blades by the tip and tossed it between Dmitri’s feet, where it stuck in the ground. Dmitri flung the wooden sword to the ground, then reached down and picked up the knife. He tossed it up and down, getting a feel for its weight. The two men looked at one another, choosing their fighting stances. Dmitri took a low crouch, arms held wide, inviting the elf to close in on him. Daelock maintained his side stance, holding the knife blade parallel to his forearm. He circled the human, watching. He slashed at him, extending the blade from alongside his forearm, bringing his other arm up for balance.

  Dmitri had expected this. The blades sang their deadly tune as they struck one other, the metal ringing through the courtyard. The bone handle vibrated against Dmitri’s palm with each countered strike by Daelock. Dmitri then made a quick stab at the elf’s face. Daelock ducked his head, the knife edge narrowly missing him. He moved forward under Dmitri’s knife. As he slashed his own blade toward the Russian’s ribs, the razor-sharp edge cut through the light leather armor, opening a bleeding gash along his right side. Dmitri spun away from his opponent, slashing backward toward his teacher. The tip of his blade once again missed striking the elf. Daelock paused as the outworlder’s knife tip sang past his throat. He stepped back, watching the human. Dmitri’s green eyes were now bright with hatred. He ignored his pain, crouching forward. The two warriors circled one another as others within the keep began moving outside to watch the now-real battle. Smiling, Daelock lunged toward Dmitri, who stepped past the elf’s stabbing hand. As the elf missed his target and shot past his already wounded ribs, Dmitri struck the elf along the back of his neck with the edge of his hand. The elf fell to his knees from the force of the Russian’s blow. Sensing the human turning toward him, the elf rolled to his left and leapt to his feet, again facing him. Dmitri, stunned by the elf’s speed and agility, stopped and waited for another opening from his opponent. The two men, now cautious, watched each other, searching for an opening. Daelock was beginning to realize that the human could fight—with a knife at least—and the human realized that the elf was much faster than he.

  As they continued to circle one another, Eod walked out onto the balcony, accompanied by a voluptuous elf. Her ebony skin and milky, golden-colored eyes accentuated her jet-black hair. Her low-cut white shift was tied around her waist by a gold braided rope. Sandals covered the soles of her feet but little else, as the thin leather straps were wrapped to her knees in a crisscrossing pattern. The mage stood next to the stone rail of the balcony, watching his weapons master and his pupil. He watched as each tried to gain an advantage over the other.

  Dmitri watched, looking for Daelock’s tell—some mannerism that the elf displayed just before he attacked. He watched as the elf wiggled the first two fingers of his left hand and then lunged forward. The sound of ringing metal filled the courtyard as Dmitri knocked the knife away from him. The adrenaline that he’d been riding on since he had been cut had dulled the pain, but its effect on him was waning. He continued watching Daelock, observing him wriggle his fingers once again, and anticipating his next attack. He was not wrong in doing so. He managed to block Daelock’s inward thrust with his knife, performing a leg sweep and knocking his legs out from under him. As Daelock fell to the ground, Dmitri leapt on top of him, his knife at the elf’s throat this time. He was about to thrust the blade into the elf’s neck when he heard the voice of Eod. “Hold your blade, Dmitri. You may have won this battle, but I still have need of this warrior.”

  Dmitri looked up at the balcony. His eyes were drawn to the beautiful Shadow Elf standing next to the mage. He stood and stepped away from his fallen opponent. “Why should I? He would have killed me!” Dmitri shouted upward to the mage.

  “He wouldn’t have killed you, though he could have. I have plans for you!” Eod replied.

  “To hell with you! I want to leave.”

  “Abject humility—that is the lesson you need,” Eod replied as he turned toward the woman next to him. “Illissa, my sweet. Would you be so kind as to teach this to him? A lesson I remember you also having had to learn once.”

  “As my master wishes,” the Shadow Elf replied sweetly as she leapt over the edge of the balcony to the courtyard.

  Dmitri watched in shock as she floated to the ground, coming to land gently in the dirt of the courtyard. Without warning, she raised her hands and began muttering gibberish Dmitri did not understand. A moment later, lightning flew from her fingertips. The electricity arced across the gap between the sorceress and the pilot, striking Dmitri in the chest. The blue-white light singed his clothing and burned the hair on his body where it entered. Dmitri was still looking into her eyes when his own feet suddenly blocked his view of her. He felt the pain of the shock, especially in the fillings of his teeth. He didn’t even feel himself hit the ground, as he blacked out a split second before hitting it. The woman walked over next to the prone figure of the outworlder, studying him. Eod appeared next to her, startling Daelock, who still lay on the ground a few feet from his sparring partner.

  Eod looked to the still body of his prisoner, and then over to Daelock. “You need to teach him self-control; that is what he lacks. Will you teach him, or shall I find another?”


  “I shall, sire,” Daelock stated, still lying on the ground.

  Eod turned toward his lithesome apprentice and smiled. “I see you’ve been practicing. You must be tired, my precious.”

  “No; my lord’s lessons are well taught.”

  “Good. Continue with his lessons,” Eod directed as he nudged the still-prone prisoner with his toe. “And when you’re through with him, give him back to the blade master,” he said.

  Chapter 15

  “Do as thy will, but cautiously.”

  (F.He., 1.1 - Book of Fire, Tenets of Hecca, Chapter 1, Verse 1)

  Jeresette and the wyvern landed on a high mesa that overlooked the lake surrounding the mage’s keep. He climbed down from the gilded saddle, causing the aged leather to creak as he slid down and stepped onto the rocky terrain of the mountains. He slid his gloved hand along the wyvern’s long, black-scaled neck, admiring her strength as he stepped toward the edge of the cliff. The wyvern purred her appreciation at the attention. Jeresette looked across the turbulent water, back toward the small island that was almost invisible even to his unearthly, sharpened sense of vision.