Fire Mage

by John Forrester

  Inside, a round opening above allowed moonlight to shine onto the sandy floor. Great two-handed swords and halberds and spiked shields were mounted on the stone wall. Torches flickered in between, whipped by the wind. His cheeks stung from the cold. A red circle had been drawn in the center, marking the boundaries of the contest. The arena was quiet and empty, except for Nikulo and Master Jarvis Numerian, a giant of a man, muscles rippling underneath his banded leather armor, a twisted scar marring his otherwise noble face. Talis felt relieved that Jarvis, who was friendly to House Storm, judged today’s match.

  “We challenge the undefeated for the right to hold the Blood Dagger,” Talis shouted, and glanced around, wondering where Rikar was.

  Nikulo strode forward, his protruding belly waddling from side-to-side, and clapped his leather-studded jerkin. He pointed the bladed tip of his metal staff at Talis and Mara. Somehow Talis didn’t feel so intimidated at Nikulo’s scowling face. Although Nikulo was a fierce competitor, Rikar was the malicious one.

  “Do we have a complete team to battle the challengers?” Jarvis spread his arms wide.

  Footsteps pounded down the tunnel, and Rikar came charging into the arena, face shiny and proud, hair slick and wet as if he’d just taken a bath. His eyes mocked Talis.

  “Do I have to fight these two buffoons?” Rikar snorted.

  Talis gripped his sword so hard his fingers burned. We used to be friends, Talis thought. But after Rikar’s father had died, that all ended. Because Talis’s father had refused to grant the Rite of Royal Blood to Rikar’s dead father, it meant the Lords of the Underworld had condemned Rikar’s father to the torture of the Grim March. And now Rikar hated Talis. It was so unfair. Talis hadn’t done anything to Rikar, but Rikar made him feel like he was responsible.

  Mara stepped towards Rikar and brought a dagger across her throat.

  Rikar chuckled. “This little one can’t wait to get her hands on me. I can’t say I blame her.”

  “I challenge you for the right to wield the Blood Dagger,” Talis said. “And the Blood Dagger we shall hold”—he flushed, trying to remember the words—”we shall hold until the spring bud kisses the maple tree.” He raised his sword and aimed at the zenith.

  Jarvis harumphed. “Then begin…and fight until one of you are wounded—severe enough to require intervention by the healer. From that, the winner.” He gestured towards the shadows so thick that Talis couldn’t see a thing. “Master Healer Nonce…”

  A bald man in a blood-red robe emerged from the blackness and shuffled towards them. He peeled an orange, not even bothering to look up. Although healers cured many wounds with magic, sometimes nothing could be done. The fate of the sword. Talis remembered the boy who’d had his head hacked off. He touched his neck, feeling the blood pulsing through his veins, and swallowed hard. In Naru, law allowed the sword to choose the strong from the weak.

  From the crazed look in Rikar’s eyes, Talis knew he meant to inflict as much pain as possible. And Nikulo twirled his bladed staff so fast it hummed. Rikar whirled his curved sword around in a flourish, raised a finger and summoned a huge, shimmering blade above his head. Talis felt his skin go clammy, wishing he could cast magic like that. Memories of his failed attempt at magic yesterday with Master Viridian flashed in his mind’s eye.

  “No magic in the arena.” Jarvis scowled at Rikar. “You know the rules.”

  Rikar strode towards Talis, spinning his sword deftly. “Your screams will be like honey.”

  Talis gritted his teeth and ignored his taunts. He circled around to his left, and Mara followed his lead, staying close.

  Rikar’s blade sung as it cut through the air, just inches from Talis’s stomach. Talis clasped a hand to his stomach, almost feeling the steel blade lash into his body. A few inches closer and my guts would spill out onto the sand, Talis thought.

  While Rikar leered at Talis, Mara leapt at Rikar’s back and punctured his scalemail armor just above the hip on the side. Blood dripped from her dagger, and for a moment, her face flashed a triumphant look.

  Rikar whirled around and kicked Mara on the shoulder, sending her twirling through the air. She fell hard on her back and whimpered. A cold sweat fell over Talis as he remembered her being injured by the boar. He charged Rikar, hoping to catch him unaware, but Rikar just riposted and deflected his sword aside.

  Mara pushed herself up and grabbed her daggers, nodding as if she was okay.

  Rikar clapped his sword against the bloodied spot on his armor. “You barely pricked me. Next time shove your dagger in a bit harder….” He scoffed, and motioned Nikulo towards Talis.

  Nikulo charged, spinning wide, causing Talis to leap back. Talis thrust his sword at Nikulo’s chest, but Nikulo swatted the weapon aside, spun, and slammed his staff into Talis’s shins, knocking him face-first onto the ground. Stars spun wildly in his eyes. To the side, Talis could see Rikar raising his blade. Rikar struck down at him, but Talis rolled aside. Mara this time jumped on Rikar’s back and tightened a dagger against his throat. A line of blood trickled down his neck as he sank to his knees, face red and sweaty.

  Rikar growled. With one lightning-quick move, he yanked her dagger arm and sent her tumbling over his shoulder and onto the ground.

  Talis jumped up, and quick-stepped away from Nikulo’s bladed staff. Talis parried and spun around, then slashed, but Nikulo knocked the blade away. Nikulo grinned in satisfaction. Talis leapt at Nikulo, swinging his blade at Nikulo’s head. Nikulo raised his staff to block, but Talis kicked his chest and knocked him onto his back.

  Mara and Talis charged Rikar in unison. Talis sprang at Rikar, while Mara circled around. We can win, Talis thought. He aimed his blade towards Rikar’s chest, but somehow Nikulo had managed to get up quickly, and drove right through Talis and Mara, his bladed staff spinning wide. Talis jumped back, only to feel Rikar’s sword grating along his ringmail chest, issuing a shower of sparks. Talis retreated fast, smelling metallic smoke from the sparks.

  Grinning, Rikar pressed his advantage, slicing and pushing him towards the arena’s edge. Just when Rikar was about to land a blow on Talis’s neck, Talis felt a dizzy sensation. All movement around him stopped, and the light in the arena went gold. The sky was filled with dancing stars.

  Like the world had frozen, Talis could see the entire scene at once. The weakness in Rikar’s defense. Rikar’s frozen face shone with hate and bloodlust and madness. Talis felt a wind whirling inside his chest.

  He knew suddenly where he had to strike.

  Before time rushed on, Talis danced aside and landed a blow hard on Rikar’s hip, breaking through his armor, sending blood spurting, a red stain on his leg. Rikar sank, gripping the wound. That was it. The pain shot up to Rikar’s eyes and across his face. He bit his lip hard and sank to the ground.

  The healer cried out and raced forward. He placed his hands on Rikar’s hip and the armor glowed white-hot, and Rikar’s face was filled with light. Rikar’s reddened eyes glared furiously at Talis.

  “The winner of this year’s Blood Dagger is Talis of House Storm and Mara of House Lei.” Master Jarvis lifted Talis’s and Mara’s arms, and nodded to the victors.

  Talis found a smile coming to his face. They’d won. They really won. Father would finally see him as worthy to carry on the Storm family lineage. He couldn’t wait to run home and tell his family. They’d won the Blood Dagger and won the right to fight in the Arena of the Sej Elders, in front of all the crowds that gathered to watch the fights. Talis remembered his father’s beaming face after his older brother Xhan had won his first Blood Dagger competition.

  The healer finished casting the binding spell to close Rikar’s wounds. Talis offered a hand to help Rikar to his feet, but Rikar slapped his arm away. “Don’t touch me.” He picked up his weapon and limped down the tunnel.

  Talis looked over at Mara, and gripped her hand. “I didn’t think we had a chance. But you were so amazing.”

  Mara blushed, and waved the idea away. “You fi
nished him. What got into you anyways?”

  “It was nothing. I got in a lucky strike.” Talis could feel a redness wash over his face.

  “You’ve improved.” Nikulo stared at Talis, as if puzzled. “That was an incredible move at the end.”

  Master Jarvis Numerian tromped up. “That was a good fight. They outplayed you both at first”—he studied Talis—”but your final blow…deadly fast and accurate.”

  Talis bowed to Master Jarvis, still feeling lightheaded over the win. After Jarvis left, Talis turned to leave with Mara, noticing the air was somehow warmer now. Mara reached out and held Talis’s hand, and they strode down the narrow cobblestone street, tall shops pressing in from either side.

  “You did amazingly well, Talis.” Mara glanced up at him, pride and wonder in her eyes.

  Talis squeezed her hand and grinned at her, his head bobbing from side-to-side. “I’m starving.”

  The air smelled of sweet pies from the baker’s oven, with wafts of apple and honey and pear stirring in his nostrils. His stomach complained.

  As they rounded a corner, a small, dirty boy in shoddy clothes ran up to Talis.

  “Please sir, have pity on an old lady and her grandson.” The boy gestured to a frail, wrinkled woman crumpled against a stone house. Her hair looked windswept and tangled, and her skin was sun-burnt and dry.

  Talis wanted to go home and celebrate with his father, but the boy wouldn’t let him pass.

  “Wait,” Mara said, and held Talis’s shoulder. She turned to face the boy. “Where are you from?”

  “We’re refugees…from the city of Onair. Please, sir, just a few coppers?”

  “Onair?” Talis said. Father was from the western coastal city of Onair.

  “She looks hungry,” Mara said.

  “I wouldn’t ask for myself,” the boy said. “But my grandmother is so cold. I’m afraid for her life.”

  “We should help her… Give her some coins.”

  Talis nodded, glancing at the woman. She cringed as they approached.

  Mara put out her hand. “Please, we mean no harm.”

  The woman blinked, breathing in and out haltingly.

  “You see,” Mara said, “my friend here has a few extra coins…we wanted to share them with you. It’s cold out.”

  Opening her mouth as if to speak, the old woman coughed several times instead, wincing as if something hurt inside. She took a long breath, lifting her moist eyes to stare at Mara. “It is cold outside. Cold, cold, so cold…” A tear spilled down her cheek, but she remained motionless.

  Talis placed some coins in her hands. They were like ice, as if nothing could ever warm that flesh. The woman stared at the coins for a while, then smiled at Talis. “You’re a kind boy. I’ve not had such kindness since”—she glanced off—”since before…” Her voice trailed off, and her eyes glazed over.

  Turning to the boy, Talis said, “What happened in Onair?”

  “We came with the others that escaped. All is lost now, lost to the waves.”

  “To the waves?” Mara said.

  “Aye, to the fury of the sea. When our rulers refused to yield to the Jiserians, their sorcerers sent a tide such as has never been seen to destroy our walls.”

  Jiserians? Naru was allied with the Jiserian Empire. He thought of his father telling stories of his childhood in Onair, along the beautiful sea. What would Father do if he knew that Onair had fallen to the Jiserians? Surely Naru would break the alliance.

  “And then the necromancers came, sending hordes of undead into our city, killing the innocent and foolish. We were all fools for not leaving earlier.”

  A cold shiver swept through Talis as he imagined an undead army. He’d seen drawings of them inside books of legend and myth. Ghosts roaming the frozen forests to the north, animating slain humans and animals, their lifeless bodies filled with demonic spirits. Those stories still terrified him.

  “You must come and stay with my family, until you’re well—”

  “We cannot. I thank you, I do. But we cannot bring curses upon your house.”

  The old woman gazed at a shadow scarring the cobblestone street, her head shaking like she was possessed by a fit of terror.

  Despite any words Talis said, she just stared at the ground, ignoring the world around her. The shadow of darkness did seem to cast over her, and nothing could lift it.

  “I want to go,” Mara whispered. “Take me away from here….”

  As they left, Talis stopped a moment, watching the spot where the old woman looked. In the dark form, where the shadow merged with the light, he swore he noticed a shape: a wraith. Its eyes seemed to pierce his soul.

  6. THE ANCIENT STRUGGLE

  In the fires of the great kitchen of his house, Talis pictured the image of the wraith he’d just seen. Although the room was warm, he felt a chill so strong his arms trembled. He gazed at the flames, remembering the story of the siege of Onair. His mind drifted off, and all he could see was hideous scenes of his nightmares. The ones where fingers gripped his neck so hard he’d wake up coughing. Darkness and fire intermingled. The sound of wicked laughter ringing in his ears.

  “Are you alright?” His mother, Nadean, ran her fingers through his hair.

  Talis snapped his attention back and smiled at her. What was he worried about? He’d just won the Blood Dagger competition. He couldn’t wait to tell them the news, but he had to do it right.

  Mother was preparing dinner: roasted pheasant, walnut and pear cake, spinach and garlic, and chicken bone soup. The delicious smells and the warmth of her smile made him relax, and he slowly felt the heat sink into his body.

  Father stomped into the room, his silver and black Elder’s robes swishing, dark eyes gazing at the floor, and sat at the table with a thud, the chair complaining in response. He stared at the roast and frowned.

  “Problems with the negotiations?” Mother set a plate in front of him, then took his black hat.

  Father rubbed his weathered face brusquely and pinched his eyes together. “Always troubles to deal with….” He sighed, glancing around the table. “A lost caravan, marauders in the desert, prices too high, Viceroy Lei playing politics again with the Order of the Dawn…”

  He studied Talis. ”Someday these will be your concerns, son. To hold high the House of Storm.”

  Father made it sound like he was an ox carrying a burden. Talis nodded, pretending he was interested.

  As if responding to Talis’s expression, Father’s eyes lit up and he leaned in close to Talis. “What we need is a small band of warriors to send those marauders to the Underworld”—he sliced the air with his fingers—”a quick trip to Hell.” He slapped Talis on the back and laughed like it was the best idea ever.

  “I’d like to fight them.”

  “You?” Father raised an eyebrow. “Been practicing your sword techniques?”

  “You could say that.” Talis smiled. “Mara and I won the Blood Dagger.“

  “What!” Father’s face shone. “You two really won?” His brow furrowed. “Who did you fight?”

  Talis groaned to himself. Father hadn’t even bothered finding out who he was fighting, like he believed Talis didn’t have a chance of winning. “We fought Rikar and Nikulo.”

  “Rikar? Madam Cheska’s son? The cruel one?”

  Talis nodded.

  “Didn’t he hack off an opponent’s head in the training arena? He killed the poor chap…what an odd family.” Father shook his head. “And you say you and Mara beat him?” He scoffed. “Well I suppose the gods of luck favored you today.”

  Talis flushed and clenched his fist. How could Father just dismiss his victory so easily?

  “You won all the same. I suppose this calls for a celebration.” Father looked at Talis’s mother. “Let’s plan something. Invite Mara and House Lei, if they’ll come.” He chuckled. “And perhaps a few friends.”

  “A party would be nice. It’s been too long since…” Mother’s voice trailed off as her face held a sad
smile.

  They remained quiet awhile, staring at the flames, until a flurry of pops from the fire startled them to attention.

  “I suppose I’ll retire to the study.” Father stood and smiled pleasantly. “You did well, son. And you surprised me, you did. Not once did I suspect you’d win, but you did it.” He turned, and strode off, nodding to himself.

  Later that night, around the hour that the dead call out to the living, Talis found himself unable to sleep, still feeling a buzzing in his stomach from winning the Blood Dagger. His father’s words of praise echoed in his mind. You did well, son. So Talis snuck out and stalked through the dark streets of Naru. He craved the crisp cold air and the solace of the quiet past midnight.

  A meteor shot across the sky and Talis watched its trail fade into nothingness. Was it a message from Nestria, the Goddess of the Sky? He squinted, barely making out the observatory and the interconnected rings and spheres of the Temple of Nestria high atop the city. He spidered his way up the hill through back alleys and side streets, trying to avoid city guards and prying eyes.

  At the bare temple grounds situated at the peak of Naru, the stars flooded through the blackness. Below, the city shone pale-grey in the light of the four moons hanging in the sky. Talis glanced around, trying to spot any temple priests observing the stars. But only silence possessed the bleak landscape.

  Now was the perfect time to practice. He stared at the leaves racing across the ground, whipped up by the wind gusting in from the Nalgoran Desert far below.

  He lifted his hands and sharpened his mind.

  Remembering his training dreams, he focused on the leaves once more. Remember the wind, remember the feeling of power swirling through you, he thought. He stretched his long fingers towards the leaves, and exhaled a hissing breath through his teeth. There was wind from his breath, but not the kind that laid armies low. He bashed his fist on his forehead. Why couldn’t he do magic?

  He tensed his face and shouted at the leaves, as if the leaves could be moved by the sound of his voice. Would he ever learn?