Prophecy of the Flame

by Lynn Hardy

  Why does a dwarf seem so right for Darren? Jerik has morphed from a six-foot-tall brunette to a four-and-a-half-foot-tall, black-bearded, ax-swinging dwarf. Still, I have no problem associating the new Jerik with the old Darren I met this morning.

  Breathing deeply to focus my mind, the world becomes clear as a crystalline lake. “Call me Reba. I’m an archmage. I’ve also mastered the dagger and the staff as well as all known martial arts. I can communicate telepathically too.”

  “Jerik, can you hear me?” I send a tendril of thought to the dwarf. His bushy brows shoot up to his hair line. “That might come in handy if we ever split up. I have a base level healing skill, but I have above average empathy points and extremely high intuition points. Having said this, let me tell you why I should be our leader. I feel like these people are good people, and I feel like we should help them. I also have a strong feeling I should act as our leader.”

  Allinon steps in front of me. “Now that we know who we’ve become, who do you think should be leader, me or her?” The elf arches an eyebrow at me. “Remember the period we appear to be in is a Medieval society; men are usually dominant.”

  Jerik grunts. “Elf, you have a point. You’ve got my vote.”

  “I have to agree with Twigs.” Charles apologizes. “I haven’t ever heard of a woman leader unless she’s a princess.”

  A feeling of unease winds its way up my spine. “We can act like a democracy, but forget equal rights?”

  Allinon cuts off my rebuttal. “Then it’s settled. I’ll address the prince. Reba, if you’ll remove the mirror?”

  Man, I want to blast him, but we might need him later. Growling, I stalk over to the mirror muttering,

  “Abracadabra and alakazam,

  Turn back to a staff,

  for this irritating man.”

  I lock my knees to stay upright, as power flows from me. I grasp my head at the temples, squeezing it to try and contain the pain as the mirror begins its metamorphosis, shrinking back to its original shape. Even with my back turned, their simultaneous intake of breath cannot be missed. Cracking my eyes open, I time the retrieval of the stave with the completion of the spell.

  “Nice.” The elf smirks as if he had personally cast the spell. “Now what’s your secret to learning this language so quickly?”

  Not trusting myself to speak to the man, I close my eyes and brace myself for the confusing jumble of pleasure and pain I know will accompany the spell. Through gritted teeth, I begin to chant.

  “The language of this land I have gained

  Shall be passed to the rest of my gang.

  Heroes of this world you are destined to be,

  So I must pass to you what’s inside of me.”

  Even with the ambiguous words, the meaning is clear. Tickling energy races from my outstretched arm to surround the four men: goose bumps to surge to life. Before the sigh of pleasure inside can ease outward, a knife slices into my skull. The world goes back around the edges and my knees collapse.

  Jamison appears by my side. A cool river floods the pain, bringing relief for a moment. A stab of pain begins to build behind my eyes. Wiping sweat off my forehead, I turn to our leader. In a hoarse whisper, I croak, “I’m not sure how much longer I can hold the slow-time spell. You ready to meet these guys?”

  “Not quite yet.” Allinon fills us in on some courtly details then insists on a final arrangement. “Form a half circle behind me.” When we are in place, he jerks his head at me. “Now release the spell.”

  Unable to focus my eyes, I am surrounded in a haze of pain and colors. The knot of unease hasn’t yet left my middle as I intone, “One, two, and three…”

  Chapter Two

  “They look impressive, Merithin, but still, they are merely five men.” Looking in our direction, He-man adds, “How long ago did you summon them?”

  “Not even a candle-mark has passed, milord.” The robed elder studies our group as he muses, “I thought the transfer would have been much harder on them.”

  Thank God the pain ebbed with the release of the slow-time spell. At least I can see where I’m going. I bow low before the prince along with the rest of our group.

  Allinon’s pious voice rings out, “Your Highness, may I approach?”

  “You have leave to continue.” The hulking blond gives a slight dip of his chin.

  “I am Allinon, the druid elf. This is Charles the paladin, Jamison the master healer, Jerik the dwarf master smith, and the Archmage Reba.” We each sketch an elegant bow as he calls our names.

  “Having summoned us from a vast distance, I know your need is great.” Allinon uses the information I gave him as if it were his own personal accomplishment. “We sense a growing force of malevolence outside the walls of this place and goodness within. For this reason, we freely pledge our services to aid your kingdom.” He brings his hand to his side. As one, our right knees hit the chamber’s stone floor.

  “I am not king nor crown prince that I may accept this as a formal pledge to the kingdom of Cuthburan.” My new empathy is blank; I am unable to read any emotion from the prince. His stoic face also refuses to divulge what lies beneath the spoken words. “I will, however, accept your offer as a request to join the forces, which I, Prince Szames of Cuthburan, command. Before we proceed, may I see all the faces of those who are pledging themselves?” Turning to me, he explains as if teaching a young student, “For this oath to be binding, I must know from whom it comes.”

  I set my staff on the ground beside me. I reach with both hands to remove the forgotten hood; the silver material is translucent to my vision. Slanting through the narrow window, the warmth of the sun strikes the top of my head, providing a halo as I rise. I couldn’t have choreographed that better if I were making a movie!

  “The Prophecy…” mumbles the guard, turning a ghostly shade.

  “The One…” gasps someone farther up the stairs.

  The mutterings seem a bit over the top, but the shock is justified, what with my being a woman and all. However, the fleeting look of hope stealing across the face of the prince makes me frown in puzzlement.

  Allinon clears his throat, taking a step forward to draw the attention back to himself. “Prince Szames, may I inquire, Your Highness, how stands the condition of your army?”

  Prince Szames looks back to Allinon. “The king’s army stood five thousand strong until last night. We lost three hundred men and another two hundred were wounded in the solitary battle so far.”

  Dismissing our leader, the prince turns to me, giving more than the requested intel. “My brother, the Crown Prince Alexandros, took a mortal wound in the skirmish.”

  Jamison steps up beside Allinon, his concern for the injured overwhelms his sense of protocol. “You have wounded? How many healers are in your army? I am a master of healing with a large resource of magic available.”

  Prince Szames’s head swivels to Jamison. “You are a Sorcerer-Healer?” Words tumble out in his excitement. “If you are a physician who wields magic, then you have come at Cuthburan’s desperate hour. All efforts to cure Prince Alexandros of the jarovegi wound have been ineffectual.” He nods in my direction. “Perhaps it is magic that is needed. Come with me.”

  His entourage flattens itself against the wall as Tall, Blond, and Hunky does an about-face. The prince charges up the stairway with Jamison at his heels. Long strides bring me to the physician’s side as he attains the landing at the top of the circular staircase. We turn into the hall with the rest of the group following behind.

  My comrade elbows me, whispering in English, “Du-ude, you should see your hair! It’s awesome, man.”

  “My hair? We are God knows where, rushing to cure the heir to the throne when we don’t even know if you can use magic in this world and you want to take time to discuss my hair?” Men! And they call us vain! “Jamison, what if your magic doesn’t work? Then what? Not exactly the great first impression we’d hoped to make!”

  “But did you see the look on thei
r faces?” Jamison persists as we turn into yet another hallway. “It has to be your hair. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “Maybe you’re onto something. We are in a world of magic and scrying. These people are facing what seems to be a horde of demons. Some prophet in the past must’ve caught a glimpse of this future. Our coming could have been foretold. Maybe my hair color is being used as a way to distinguish the true allies they need to win the war. What is it, purple?” I give a shake of my head, dismissing the thought as frivolous. “No, don’t answer that. Forget I even asked. We need to concentrate on healing, not hair! Do you use herbs? Can you use my power to augment yours if we establish a link? Have you even tried activating healer’s sight?” That should give him something to think about other than the aesthetics of my mane.

  Jamison smiles, “I’m pretty sure I can heal…”

  “That was you!” I gasp. “You healed me…”

  Jamison nods then his eyes lose focus as he concentrates. The hair on the back of my neck prickles. “That’s got it. Switching to healer’s sight is just a matter of concentrating to stabilize my vision.” His smile broadens. “Whoa! Your hair isn’t the only colorful thing. Your aura’s so bright, it’s almost painful to look at. It seems disorganized…” I sigh and he hurries on. “Being new at gaming, I constructed my character according to what made sense. No herbs are required, simply the knowledge of what needs to be done. Using plants will probably mean using less raw energy, though. As for joining powers… why not give it a try?”

  Licking his lips, he asks, “Reba, you feeling okay?”

  “Jamison!” My mouth drops open. “Are you examining me with your gift without my permission? That’s like working on a patient without them asking you to.”

  The healer turns bright red. “My bad. I didn’t realize—”

  “Look, before it was an emergency and you had to act, but now, well, we’re both new at this. Try to look before you leap.” He nods, looking mortified. I squint, trying to block out some of the dim light. “I do have one heck of a headache, more like a migraine. Want to practice your art on me?”

  “Way cool. I could use a warm-up.” His eyes narrow as he talks his way through his first healing. “Looks like blood flow to areas scattered around the brain has been impeded. That’s probably the long-term memory section of your cortex. All I need to do is relax the membrane.”

  Like a monsoon rain on a smoldering forest fire, cool relief floods the pain. “Ahh, that’s so good. I didn’t realize how much pain I was in until it was gone.”

  “Reba, your aura sorted itself out too!” Jamison rubs his chin, bare of even stubble. “Did the headache start when you were using magic?”

  “As a matter of fact, it did.” I nod. “That means using magic affects blood flow to the brain. The headache is probably a warning sign of over taxation.”

  The prince is leading us in what is more like a slow run rather than a stately walk. We’ve come twice as far as we chased those gremlins. I’m not even breathing hard! Two stairways and several turns lay behind us, enough that I will never be able to find my way back unless someone hands me a map, and even then it might be kind of iffy.

  I’ve got a feeling I am going to need magesight. Even though I can see my spells, I don’t want to walk into a magical booby trap. Hmm, this should work for general healing as well.

  “When it is magical work that I am doing,

  Saying ‘sight’ reveals the power I’m using.

  When I am through and done for the day,

  ‘Sight’ again leaves me ready to play.”

  “Wow, dude, that was, like, way cool.” Jamison’s excitement causes him to lapse into surfer speech. “Rhymes? Is that how you access your magic? A blue field of some sort surrounded you then was, like, sucked in through your eyes!”

  The healer reaches out, touching my arm. “Here, let me help you sort out your aura.”

  Soothing power swamps my head as a minor throb begins. My brows draw down. “Jamison, I appreciate the help, but you need to think about what you’re doing. Would a doctor give a patient medicine without their consent?”

  The healer’s face brightens. “Reba, you are, like, so right on. I gotta start assessing the waves instead of jumping right on top of every one. That is, like, a really good way to get tossed by a big one.”

  We make yet another turn, this time into a much wider hallway. Allinon elbows his way up beside us. The elf glares at me. “I’ve been elected leader. I should be in front.”

  I shrug. “Sorry. We were trying to figure out how to help this prince.”

  “I know you haven’t even gamed before.” His patronizing tone makes my hands ball into fists. “But in situations like these, you must defer to the chain of command.”

  Dismissing me, he takes charge. “Most of my healing requires herbs. My power plays upon—in fact depends upon—nature. If there is an infection, I might be able to break it down, but without the right plants, my assistance will be minimal. However, I will be there to guide the two of you with what I know.”

  The doorways grow farther and farther apart, the doors themselves doubling in size. These suckers have to be at least ten feet high.

  Prince Szames comes to an abrupt halt before the next entrance, a set of double doors. I gaze into his clear, blue eyes. Concentrating on my empathy, I try to get a peek behind the royal façade.

  “Princess Szeanne Rose is with Prince Alexandros.” His tone echoes with sadness I cannot sense. “If you cannot cure him, it will not reflect badly upon you or your skill. Our physicians have pronounced his wound as fatal.” If a royal prince loses his composure, how bad off is his brother?

  “Let us take a look at what we are facing.” Allinon qualifies our abilities with a smug grimace. “Jamison, Reba, and myself all possess a certain amount of healing magic. There is a chance we can help where your physicians could not. The less disturbance to Prince Alexandros, the better. The three of us will be able to determine what we can do for him.”

  The door swings silently open as Prince Szames holds the colossal giant, motioning for me to proceed. “Archmage Reba, Master Healer Jamison, and Druid Allinon, if you will follow me, the rest may wait in the reception chamber.”

  Allinon harrumphs as he and the others are forced to wait and file in behind us.

  A massive bureau sits a few feet from the wall. Two doorways on opposite sides of the room lead to adjoining chambers. Rows of books line the shelves behind the escritoire. A fireplace big enough for Jerik to stand in occupies each of the sidewalls. Besides several uncomfortable-looking chairs, the room is empty, giving the study a look of intimidating spaciousness. Reception chamber? It looks like Donald Trump’s library!

  The prince, once again, holds open a door, gesturing for me to precede the group. I don’t have a poker face. If I hustle, maybe I can school my expression before they get there. I cross the huge room, stretching out my legs for long, efficient strides.

  I have never seen someone close to death or even badly wounded, but as I study the figure in the bed, I know now I have seen both. Black hair is damp with perspiration. The wavy locks are slicked back from the prince’s brow. The ashen visage of the twenty-something-year-old looks more like a wax sculpture than a living man. Though Alexandros is covered to the neck by a sheet, I know our patient holds on to life by the slightest of threads.

  Jamison takes a steadying breath. He pulls back the sheet, easing off the blood-soaked bandages covering the prince’s shoulder. Braced for the worst, I am nonetheless struck by the extent of the injuries. Serrated flesh is parted as if repelled by its own deplorable condition. Ghastly white bone shines through ruby tissue, swollen and splayed.

  Within seconds I recover my composure. This looks gruesome and highly infected, yes, but fatal… how? Maybe it is something else. I whisper, “sight.” My vision ripples for a second before it clears.

  An inky, writhing mass is latched on to the patient’s aura. Tendrils spread out from th
e wound like an amoeba. “Ho-ly Mary, mother of…” My stomach churns, flip-flopping. Acid boils into my throat. Rocking back on my heels, I grit my teeth and stand my ground. “Jamison, do you see that… that thing? Is it some kind of poison?”

  Jamison heaves a sigh. “Needless to say, I have never seen anything like this, at least not what is shown by healer’s sight. But I will state the obvious to give my brain a few minutes to try and figure this out.” He chews on his lower lip. “The redness indicates the areas of bacterial contamination. My best guess is the inky blob is some kind of magical infestation, not a poison. I can cure his wounds; those will be a cinch—at least with healing ability, they should be. But the prince has lost a lot of blood, and he is dehydrated too. Compound that with the black massed aura virus draining his spirit and you have a mess way too complicated for me to handle.” Jamison closes his eyes for a few seconds.

  With a sense of renewed conviction, the healer continues. “Reba, we might have a chance if you can remove the AV, for lack of better terminology. Severe dehydration and blood loss… well, that is something even a modern hospital might not be able to cure. I don’t know how much of a chance we stand of saving him, but we have to try. You got any ideas, Allinon?”

  “The aura is made up of our essence, spiritual DNA, if you will. Genetically we pass DNA on to our children. For a reason that is beyond me, I know auras work the same way. Our siblings have a little of the substance contained in our aura around them in their auras. Even though each person’s pattern is unique, what it’s made of is similar to the auras of our family members. Perhaps, I can try to reenergize his energy field.” Allinon expels a breath, shaking his head. “This is all theory, of course.”

  I nod, not taking my eyes off the creature in the prince’s aura. “I can handle the AV. I think I may have a solution to the rest of the problem.” I sketch out my idea. The others nod as they see the picture I am painting.