Wielder of the Flame

by Nikolas Rex

  “Silence, insignificant vermin! I take no orders from the likes-of-you!”

  The figure lifted his hand and there was a flash of yellow light and a bolt of energy shot towards Marc.

  Marc dove backwards, barely missing the attack.

  A large chunk of the roof where Marc had just been standing, exploded inwards, leaving a searing, smoking hole in its wake.

  Marc stood up hastily, pointing the Sword of the Phoenix at the floating platform.

  “Steady yourself!” Marc cried out softly to Laura.

  Laura got down on her back, leaning against the incline of the rooftop.

  Marc charged a quick but powerful fireball and let it loose from the Phoenix Blade with bullet-like momentum. Some of the tiles on the roof rumbled from the small shockwave.

  The moving fog-platform veered away at the incoming projectile, narrowly missing the blast, though a few of the taller monsters got hit and fell from their place next to the dark clothed figure. They made long guttural cries as they fell, before they splattered on the ground, far below.

  “You will pay for your insolence!” The figure cried and let a volley of searing energy loose, aimed at Marc and Laura.

  They ran across the roof, dodging the blasts.

  Marc ducked as he felt hot air pass just behind his neck. Roof tiles and shattered splinters of wood exploded around them, clattering off their armor.

  Marc brought the Phoenix Blade to bear and fired ten fireballs in a row, aiming at the floating enemy.

  They exchanged attacks, both missing their marks.

  Finally, one of Marc’s fireballs hit the side of the platform, burning part of it away and taking down seven of the undead.

  Belator screamed with rage, infuriated. Green light surrounded his arms and he moved his hands in large sweeping motions, gesturing to the ground below.

  Marc watched as large portions of the army on the main road below began to glow with green light. He pointed it out to Laura and she acknowledge it.

  The glowing hordes began to move from the main road through streets and alleyways, marching obediently towards the building that they stood atop the roof of.

  Marc took the opportunity to shoot another blast of fire at Belator while he was distracted, controlling his armies.

  Belator dodged the blast.

  A large force of undead reached their building. Marc and Laura felt the building shake as the horde pressed against the walls, bumping into it.

  Marc glanced down and saw some of the more agile zombies begin to climb the walls of the structure, though most simply moved inside the building.

  There was a loud creak and crack of wood as the roof strained under its weakened state.

  “We have to get off the roof!” Laura said, also noticing the climbing monsters.

  Marc nodded, “Do you think you could teleport us onto that floating cloud with him?”

  Laura looked and gulped.

  “I can try,” she replied.

  “We’ll run to the end of the roof there and jump off. I have faith in you.”

  Marc saw yellow flashes of light and streaks of energy arcing towards them, Belator was firing at them again.

  “Now!” Marc cried and began to run.

  More chunks of the roof exploded behind them and Marc could feel the roof begin to crumble where they had just been standing. The collapse was followed them, threatening to overtake them and pull them down, right up until they both launched themselves off the roof.

  Belator laughed at their action, knowing they had given up and jumped to their own demise.

  Laura grabbed Marc’s free hand, and the moments their fingers interlocked, and their skin touched, Laura transported them up to the cloud.

  Marc saw only the briefest of magical tunnels as they traveled and suddenly he was atop the platform, directly behind Belator and the rest of the undead minions on the cloud with him.

  Marc and Laura acted immediately, cutting down and kicking off Belator’s minions.

  After four of his body guards had been hewn down he finally turned around and had a look on his face that was both one of surprise and lividness.

  Now face to face with Belator, Marc and Laura were able to see and take in his features up close.

  He appeared mostly human, though his ears were elongated, Marc thought, like an elf, and his skin was a sickly grayish white. His body and facial structure were bony and his nose nothing but nostrils. His naked upper torso was muscular in places and bony in others. Around the cloth and his waist was a sizable black belt with a large two horned skull as decoration in the front. The armor on his shoulders, legs, and arms were similarly adorned. In one hand he wielded a long metal rod with a long scythe attached to its end. His eyes were black with little white rings for pupils.

  “How dare you!” He roared and swung his scythe at Marc.

  Marc blocked with his weapon, the two metals clashing with a shower of sparks.

  Belator attacked again and again, each time Marc deflected with the Phoenix Blade.

  Laura severed the head of the last monster on the platform and turned to see how she could help.

  Belator brought the scythe down once more and Marc caught the curved blade with his sword and locked it in with the winged hilt of the Sword of the Phoenix. Belator was physically strong on a level Marc had not encountered before. Marc strained under the pressure of their deadlock.

  Belator sneered.

  Then suddenly Laura disappeared, and reappeared behind Belator.

  It took him a moment to realize what she was doing but was too late.

  Laura drove her one-and-a-half-hand sword upwards at an angle through his chest cavity.

  Green blood-like liquid shot from the puncture and Belator let out a cry that was more surprise than pain.

  Marc felt Belator’s strength in the deadlock lessen and he thought.

  Good job Laura, we did it!

  Then Belator let out a laugh and leveled a hand at Marc. Belator’s hand flashed with yellow light and Marc felt himself suddenly surrounded by a searing wave of heat and he was blasted free and clear of the platform.

  Chapter Fifty Two

  Sesuadra’s Secret

  “There it is again!” Puck said, his voice happy.

  Sesuadra nodded.

  “It must be Marcus, it is just like the light in Kolima.” Sesuadra added.

  The two were riding swiftly down a dirt road traveling towards where Adoressa had said the Sulendald scouts that they met with had arrived from.

  Sesuadra had gotten on Syril’s saddle as usual, ready to leave.

  Since Redmor had saved Puck, Puck had first attempted to mount Redmor for the journey. But Redmor had not allowed him. Redmor had seemed to desire to stay with the other aldoms and wait for its rider’s return. Puck had instead settled with Tandur, who had been willing to allow the young man to mount up. After saying goodbye, the two riders and steed had quickly left, racing down the road.

  All throughout their ride they had seen pillars of light burst through the immense fog that surrounded the area in the distance.

  “He must be in Sulendald then,” Sesuadra said, “For that is where the city would be, if we could see it.”

  “I wonder where the others are,” Puck commented. “Is Laura with Marcus?”

  Sesuadra shrugged, “We can only truly find out when this is all over.

  Puck nodded.

  The road they were on followed the river for a while, until it broke away and rose up on a hill.

  They stopped at the crest of the hill to survey the valley.

  The fog made it impossible to see much. The river made its way zigzagging around the many hills to finally enter the thick mist. They could see the figures of men, small, like dots, moving down by the river. They seemed to be moving in and out of the fog. Ballistas and trebuchets launched fiery projectiles into the mist at hidden enemies.

  “Looks like quite the battle,” Puck said, “Cannot make out the opposing army thou
gh, all hidden within the fog.”

  “There,” Sesuadra said, “Do you see it? That collection of tents there, upon those hills.”

  “I see them.”

  “That must be where the Sulendald command post is. Let us head there.”

  They took off, urging their steeds forward at a quicker pace.

  “There, look, another light,” Puck said.

  They watched as yet another pillar of fiery burning light pierced the fog.

  They were soon approaching the tents.

  Barricades and trenches and long wooden pikes surrounded the tents, but not a single soldier or archer stood to defend them, at least not the ones that Puck and Sesuadra were approaching. They slowed when they arrived at the defenses, making their way carefully and slowly through them.

  When they reached the top of the hill they saw several small piles of naked bodies lined up at the edge of the area where the tents no longer occupied space. They were all men, most of them older, but a few that appeared to be as young as eighteen. The stink was horrible.

  The bodies of the heads had been removed but they could not see the heads anywhere.

  “Gruesome,” Puck said.

  Sesuadra nodded.

  Brighteyes and Gaurdian let out low croaks of disdain at the smell. Puck and Sesuadra quickly steered clear, moving to enter the pathways between the tents.

  They heard groaning and the sound of people moving about inside the tents as they rode by, but they encountered no one until they reached the center of the encampment which was like a sort of open square. People moved about the camp, rushing here and there performing various duties. Some dressed in white tunics were bandaging wounds and pouring water into mugs and giving them to tired soldiers.

  “Pardon,” Puck asked the nearest soldier, “We are looking to speak with Waronen.”

  The soldier shook his head and walked away.

  “Excuse me,” Sesuadra asked another person in armor, “We need to speak with Waronen.”

  They were too busy with what they were doing to answer.

  Sesuadra shrugged and they continued on until they arrived at the middle of the square and dismounted.

  Finally Sesuadra moved to stop one of the individuals wearing white tunics, who seemed like they would be more helpful.

  “Pardon us,” Sesuadra said, “We have traveled from the Order of the Leaf, we come to speak with Waronen, Overseer of Sulendald.”

  “Too late,” the man replied.

  “Too late?” Puck asked.

  “Yeah, too late. Waronen left with the rest of the civilians over a fortnight ago.”

  “What?” Puck replied, “The Order of the Leaf said he would personally escort them to safety. They are back in the valley, waiting for help, for a signal, for direction!”

  “They are an entire encampment of the most skilled and knowledgeable healers probably in all of Lyrridia, and you are telling us that Waronen made them a promise and abandoned them!? They are pacifists! They are waiting for something that will never come, they are waiting for their own slaughter! What kind of true leader does that!?” Sesuadra was letting his anger show.

  Puck had never seen him get like that.

  The man shrugged, “I do not know what to tell you, Waronen and the rest of the officials already left with the few surviving civilians. They stayed as long as they could, but things got bad, horribly bad.”

  “Who is in charge here then, who is leading the military?”

  “That is hard to tell too, most of our commanders fell in battle already. Who are you two anyway? How old are you? And where did you get such fine suits of armor?” The man seemed annoyed that they were taking up so much of his time, and a little suspicious.

  “We are Advocates of the Flame! We have come to help save Sulendald,” Sesuadra stated.

  The man smiled as if they were joking.

  “The command tent is just over there.”

  And he walked away.

  Sesuadra left Syril in the middle of the square and marched up to the tent the man had pointed out.

  Puck followed quickly behind, leaving Tandur with his fellow animal companion.

  Sesuadra grabbed the flap of the tent and whipped it open, striding in with confidence on his face.

  Inside the tent were a half dozen men in battered armor who looked tired and beaten. It was clearly a command tent, where one would convene with others to study maps and war strategies. It was simply furnished, more for efficiency than luxury. Five simple wooden chairs sat before a table strewn with maps and ink bottles and feather pens and parchment both blank and written upon. One man with a thick beard stood at the head of the table with another standing at his side. They had both been overlooking a particular map with the river when Sesuadra stormed in, Puck behind.

  “I am Sesuadra, Jidan of Kolima, Freelander, and Advocate of the Flame, I come to speak with the commanding officer of this army.”

  “What is the meaning of this?” The man with the beard said.

  “You do not look to be a Freelander,” One of the men said, “More like a blue-blood.”

  Sesuadra recognized the term as a derogatory one for those born in Kiohopi, the islanders, the people who spent most of their life on the sea, fishing or sailing the deep blue waters of the Great Western Waters.

  “Did you all hear me, or do I need to repeat myself?”

  Puck was surprised at Sesuadra’s sudden flare of emotions and his expression of them.

  Some of the men stood up from their chairs, hands moving to draw swords.

  “Save the violence for the battlefield,” Sesuadra said, “We are here from the Order of the Leaf.”

  The room fell silent.

  The men sat down.

  “We meant to send scouts days ago, but we have no one left to send, we do not even have troops to defend our own encampment as is clearly evident.” He gestured at Puck and Sesuadra’s presence, “No one stopped you on your way here. Our leaders are killed, the army’s morale is all but gone as well.”

  One of the older men sat up, “Did you say Advocate of the Flame?”

  “Advocates,” Puck corrected, “we both are.”

  “The light, from Sulendald, we have been seeing it since this morning—”

  “Yes,” Sesuadra answered, “It is the same light as from Kolima. The Wielder of the Flame is in Sulendald now, defeating the enemy. Which is what we must do here, help fight.”

  “What is the plan of attack? What did we interrupt, what were you talking of before?”

  The men exchanged glances.

  “We were not planning another attack. We were planning a retreat. Sulendald is lost, the Overseer gone, our commanders slain, we cannot reclaim the city. There is no one with the military expertise to lead us.”

  “Yes there is,” Sesuadra said and he stepped up to the table.

  They looked at him in disbelief.

  “I have read several hundred manuscripts and ancient scrolls on military tactics.”

  “Reading is not application,” One of the men said.

  “It will have to do.”

  “At least he can read,” another man said to the one who had complained.

  Puck stepped forward too.

  “What is the situation? What do we need to know to proceed forward?”

  No one moved.

  Sesuadra let out his breath in frustration.

  He began to unbuckle his gauntlets, placing them on the table with more than needed force, pausing his sentence as he did so.

  “I—” He said, “do not— have time— to waste.”

  He took off his gloves, revealing carefully wrapped white cloth all the way up to his forearms.

  He proceeded to unravel the cloth.

  His hands and arms were covered with markings, like ink on his skin, that slowly shifted and moved.

  He opened his palm and a symbol appeared there in soft glowing light.

  “He is a sorcerer!” One of the men said, taking a step back.
r />   Puck watched in surprise, he had not know Sesuadra could wield magic.

  Sesuadra positioned his hand in front of him and pressed the air, leaving the symbol floating in front of him.

  The air around the tent began to flutter and then move quickly in a circle.

  The clothes and hair of everyone inside the tent began to whip with the swiftly moving wind. The maps on the table shifted and the men moved to stop the parchment from gusting onto the floor. The wind moved faster, growing louder.

  “I have much greater power than this!” Sesuadra cried over the roar. “And my friend here too can wield magic!”

  “All is well!” The man with the beard shouted.

  Sesuadra dropped his hand and the wind immediately ceased.

  “Ok,” The man said again, “All is well.”

  They straightened the maps.

  And Sesuadra stepped forward again to the table.

  The man with the beard did so as well.

  “Here,” he said, “The river runs through here. We have been able to hold them here. The enemy is one like we have never before seen. A dark enchantment corrupts the bodies of the fallen, bringing them back to life. From what we have learned, and at a great cost, they are linked to the fog and prefer not to come out while the sun is up, though they do fine under the cover of the mist, or at night. At night they can attack unhindered. The only way to truly stop one of them is to separate their heads from their bodies. They never sleep, and it appears they have no need to eat but prefer to feast on human flesh. We destroyed the bridge leading across the water and that held them off for a long while. But then a young woman appeared, a sorceress, she froze the water and lead the monsters across the ice. The young woman disappeared again soon after a large force crossed the river, leaving the monsters to take care of us. We lost many men that day but held our ground. When the sun was up we constructed ballista’s and siege weapons to launch fire into the mist, it burns it away temporarily, but every day the fog grows larger. Our best tactic so far is to run into the fog in small forces, cut off as many heads from the creatures as we can, and run quickly back into sunlight. We started to do very well doing this, until recently the young woman appeared again. She used her magic to specifically target our leaders and took them out one by one. She is down there now, fighting against our troops. We are next in line in leadership, but none of us has commanded more than ten men at a time. We convened here to plan out our retreat.”