Samual

by Greg Curtis

  “I understand that Elder. I am working hard to purge it, and to control what I cannot get rid of, but for what was done to Ryshal I can neither forgive nor forget.” Be honest Ry had told him. And watching the reactions of the elders now he knew her advice was good. In any event the elders would have known if he had lied.

  “I hope that time, together with my wife's improving health will help to lessen the rage that still burns within me. For now though I live with it, and I would not have you believe otherwise.”

  “We know of your rage. And of your frustration and fear. Some days it hangs over you like a thundercloud, making all elves avoid you. And we agree that it will pass in time, though it may never leave completely. But the cost to you while it lingers may be higher than you know.”

  “Anger is a two edged blade for a spell caster Samual, as I'm sure you know by now. In the short while it may make you stronger in magic as well as body. But in the longer while it may weaken you, as well as making it difficult to learn that which we would have you learn.”

  Sam had already worked much of that out for himself. The anger that had allowed him to advance to such power so quickly had also held him back for years. Because the other side of anger unable to be released was frustration and despair, the very things that had held him back for years. Maybe if he had kept those at bay he would have been able to rescue Ryshal even sooner. And maybe too that was where the impossible increase in his magic had come from – frustration finally released.

  “But worse, it hinders your judgement. It can make you squander too much magic where less would achieve better results. These things we all saw in you in the testing realm. In fighting the golems as well as in our test you showed them as you used your full power. Too much power. A true master in full control could have defeated both enemies without resorting to such dramatic spells such as the fire ring. Even with your limited knowledge of the other shapes of fire, you could have too. Arcs and chained fire could both have worked better.”

  “Instead you destroyed a large area of our forest, and then left yourself drained for the next attack. You had nothing left. Had the enemy behind the steel rats had a second force, you would be dead.”

  The Elder was right of course. The soldier in Sam knew that even better than the wizard telling him off. It was just that he'd had no other attack available. He hadn't practised those spells as much as the others, choosing instead to concentrate on the most attacking spells and so when the time had come he'd had no choice available. But even if he had had one, he suspected he would still have gone for the most powerful attacking spell he had. It was his nature. He nodded in agreement.

  “It was an unwise attack Elder, but it was all I could think of when facing such a large and powerful enemy alone. Also, when I used the fire ring spell against the steel rats it was the first time I had done so. It turned out to be much more powerful than I'd expected. And it proved to be even more powerful in the test. I had never before drawn such power, let alone shaped it. I hadn't even known I could. And when I released it, particularly the first time, it was all I could do not to lose myself in the spell.”

  “We sensed that. You have quickly gained the strength and control of the strongest fire masters, but the knowledge of only a student. We will help you with that, teaching you new shapes and better control. But you will have to commit yourself to the training.”

  Sam nodded, knowing that that had always been the case. To learn the intricacies of spell casting was a long and difficult task. Thus far he'd avoided much of the work by concentrating only on those magics useful in combat. But they were only the smallest part of shaping even fire. He predicted years of study ahead if he was truly to become worthy of the title of master. But then he had Ry back with him after so many bitter years. Now he felt as though he could do anything.

  “I am more than willing to do so Elder. I must protect my wife, her family and our people, and that is surely the best way I can. On my honour and soul I give my word that I will train as hard as I can.”

  “And that is all we could ask of you as a spell caster. But as elders we must ask one thing more. We will train you gladly, and our people will welcome you as you have now been told many times. But as elves trying to guide our people in this crisis we also need your support.”

  “Your pardon?” That caught Sam by surprise. They weren't expecting to go into battle again? So soon?

  “In this last month our people have lost not only friends and family, but also their homes. They have witnessed sights that no elf should ever have to see, and they spend their days torn between grief, loss, anger and fear. But worse than that, they have lost many of those they look up to. Those they want guidance from in this terrible time. The elders. Half our Ruling Council is dead, as well as many other elders. Those of us who survived must now try to keep their spirits up. We also need to keep them moving – sometimes we have to stop them from fighting – while at the same time they keep asking us how we could have failed them so badly. It is a question we ask ourselves, and for which we have no answer.”

  “Against such an enemy –”

  Sam was going to say that there was no way they could have triumphed without warning, but the Elder cut him off as she raised her hand. She knew all that he would say. She had probably said it herself, and failed to find comfort in the words. He knew from experience that it simply didn't help. He had not foreseen what his brother would do and he had always known him to be a monster.

  “We do not need, want nor ask for any excuses. We only want answers so that we may do better in the future and our people may once more have confidence in us. You however, are not tainted with that failure. Moreover, you are seen by many as a defender. A soldier and wizard of tremendous strength. A guardian.”

  “There is a legend from our most ancient of tales, a story from our people's childhood which speaks of one similar to you. It resonates with our people and they have cast you in the light of this tale. They believe you to be the Fire Angel.”

  “Your pardon Elder?” Sam was getting used to the title. Elder Bela had even used it in the wagon and Ry had said the same. However, other than as a mark of respect he'd had no idea that they meant anything more by it.

  “According to our most ancient legends, when the elves and even the world were new, our ancestors were raised, taught and protected by four angels. They were the angels of earth, air, fire and water and were sent by the Goddess herself. Others say that they were ancients, the last survivors from the Dragon Wars. These angels kept our people safe from the terrible demons that then ruled the lands.”

  “Their power was unimaginable and yet even greater than that was their goodness, as they fought day and night to protect every single elf, until no demons remained. They fought so hard that at the end they died of exhaustion, their magic and their very souls consumed in the battle. And yet even at the end, when the lands were finally cleansed and they were breathing their last, they cared only that our people were safe.”

  “Though the story is surely just that, they still call you Fire Angel. It is a sign of our people's respect, and the hope they place in you. A sign that we must use.”

  “Ryshal has told me something of this. But I am only a man.”

  “As are we all. But in the people's hearts and souls you are more than that. Half elven, half human, you are the most powerful and unpredictable of all people. Vero eskaline the most wild and dangerous of storm bloods. A soldier who rides alone into battle covered in fire when all others are fleeing. You are a fire mage of strength as powerful as any master, yet with the years of a novice. And a man who will rescue his wife from any enemy, even an entire kingdom.”

  “Our people whisper all of these things about you and far more. Indeed the gossip fairly flies around the campfires at night. More than even your power it is your spirit that impresses them most. You show such strength and loyalty as only the best among us do, the bravery that can only come from love and a pure heart. You more than any of us, carry their
hopes.”

  The strange thing was that Sam had the feeling he carried the Elder's hopes as well and that worried him.

  “How may I help you?”

  “Simply by supporting us. We are charged with bringing our people safely through this nightmare, no matter how unworthy we may be for such a responsibility. All we ask is that you do not oppose us in front of others on any important matters. If you did it would divide our people as sharply as any knife. And this is a time when we must remain as one.”

  “You know much of the lands through which we must pass, you have the training of a soldier as well as a mage, and we must respect your opinion. All we ask is that if you believe we are making an error, that you raise it with us in private. We will listen.”

  Looking at the Elder and seeing her staring directly back at him Sam knew that she was serious in her offer and that she spoke for the entire Council. Though it seemed inappropriate for him to lead the elves in any capacity, it seemed that the Council was willing to offer him much of that responsibility. But then he realised, they were desperate.

  It was at once frightening and flattering. It was surely unacceptable for a knight, and yet it was also his sworn duty to help. For a brief time Sam struggled to say anything at all as he tried to make sense of the conflict. Finally though, his father's lessons in statecraft came back to him as well as his grandfather's lessons in the knighthood and he knew what he had to say.

  “Well over a hundred and fifty years ago, my great, great grandfather Hanor of Melniborn, a battlemaster betrayed by his lord, began the school and the Order of the knights of Hanor. I am proud to be a member of that Order as were my father, grandfather and my great grandfather before me. Our vows were always to the people rather than the King. This is why it was such a surprise when my father was made king by the people.”

  It was also why he had not wanted the position, but had also been unable to put it aside. The people had needed a king to protect them from their own nobles, and his father had understood that. Even though it had cost him his life when an assassin sent by one of them had felled him with a poisoned dart.

  “We are sworn to protect the people, with our lives if need be. To bring them justice tempered always with mercy, and to ease their suffering where we may.”

  “Though as a knight of Hanor I may not offer you my sword to the Council, any more than I could offer it to a king or an emperor, I freely give my sword to the people. I give it to all of them including yourselves. I take their defence as my sworn duty, as I take yours. And it is clear to me that these elves are a people badly in need of guidance and wise counsel in the months and years to come. Your guidance and your wisdom.

  “I Samual Hanor, knight of Hanor, give our people my word that I will support the Council both publicly and privately, in bringing the elves of Shavarra to safety. I will give you whatever knowledge I have of the lands ahead.”

  And though he didn't speak it, he silently vowed that he would destroy this new Dragon, whoever he was, and bring Ryshal's people home. But that was ambition beyond reason, and he did not speak the words aloud. Only in his heart.

  Chapter Thirteen.

  Tyne Keep was the first of the Fair Fields fiefdoms to cause trouble for the elves, which came as something of a surprise to Sam.

  By then they had already passed the Barony of the Fallbrights and the Principality of Griffin Dale without incident, which was unexpected given their mercenary ways. Then again the black flags prominently displayed throughout their towns told him that the Fallbrights were in mourning. Under those circumstances a bunch of elves crossing their northern lands didn't really concern them. They had revenge to plan. It appeared that Heri had won his duel after all, though Sam didn't ask any of the locals about it. He didn't even show his face anywhere outside of the elven caravan.

  The smiths had done a splendid job of removing the last of the crest of Hanor from his armour and reworked it to look like that of the border patrols. Now wearing it he felt reasonably sure he could pass as a somewhat oversized elf, though he felt like a clown in the green and silver. He missed his Hanor blue. The elves had even made some adjustments so it no longer pinched in the places where he'd filled out over the years.

  Of course not all the changes to his armour were welcome. In particular, his armour no longer had the full plates along his arms and legs, and it left him feeling distinctly vulnerable. Instead he was wearing the stiffened chain with padded vest and leggings underneath more typical of the elven cavalry. Elves liked to be freer in their movements. But while it was lighter and he definitely had more freedom to move with his weapons, the armour was much hotter than before, and several times a day he had to strip down to his undergarments, just to feel the cool air against his skin.

  The smiths had done one thing though that pleased him immensely. They knew he had to be as inconspicuous as possible, and therefore could not wear the markings of Fair Fields openly. But they also knew he was a knight of Hanor and the son of King Hanor, and that he was proud of both. So they had forged him an arm shield for his trailing sword arm, and a cloak, both with the crest prominently displayed and the blue showing proudly. The cloak was for formal occasions and the shield for battle. Of course as neither of them were normally needed, they were stashed away in the wagon.

  In fact He needed very little in the way of armour. He hardly ever left Ry's family's wagon. There was little for him to do elsewhere, especially when the elders kept coming to him to give him his lessons and check on his progress. Even the Ruling Council sent riders to him rather than sending for him when they needed advice about matters in Fair Fields.

  That suited Sam fine. For the past three full weeks he had been doing little more than caring for Ry and her family, practising with magic and swords, studying the history of the Dragon wars, and above all else celebrating his wife's continuing improvement.

  And she was doing well. In fact by the time they had reached the lands of Tyne Keep she was very nearly back to full health. Certainly a month or more of good eating had returned her weight to nearly what it should have been, while her skin was once again the well-tanned golden colour it used to be. Even her hair while short could finally be called hair. She was still weak, her muscles having done far too little for far too long, but she was starting to sing and dance again, regaining more of her natural grace with every day that passed. Soon, she promised, she would return to her duties, teaching the children the dances of the people.

  Often, and for long periods of time, Sam found himself watching her, overwhelmed by the simple joy of being able to see her again. He wasn't alone. Her parents often did much the same, and he couldn't blame them. Their daughter was once more alive and with them and there was little else that mattered.

  It bothered him sometimes to be so happy in the midst of such tragedy. It bothered Alendro and Pietrel as well, and they often chose to aid others as best they could; their undeserved guilt getting the better of them. Alendro spent her days knitting and weaving rugs and blankets for others, while Pietrel gathered a handful of tools each evening to help others with the repairs to the wagons. A lifetime spent as traders had made them well used to the life on a wagon, something that few other elves were.

  For his part, Sam had started spending his lunch hours assisting the healers as they tended to the sick in the nearby wagons. Heating water for bathing, calming fevers with ice and even cauterising wounds under their careful guidance. It was a welcome break from the continuous study and – as Elder Bela had pointed out – it showed him another side to the magic. A useful and constructive side. It also gave him an opening into elven society that he had previously lacked. A chance to realise that they truly accepted him. He wasn't an outsider any longer.

  In fact they were accepting a lot of outsiders. There was now an entire contingent of priests of Phil the White riding with them. But there was still no shortage of people needing the services of the healers so even with them there was plenty of work to be done and so every additional
hand was welcome.

  Their arrival had surprised him. Not because they were humans from Fair Fields, so much as because they were priests. Normally the elves didn't like the presence of other faiths among them. They followed the Goddess, and to an extent Draco, the Father of Dragons. But those like him who followed The All Father kept their observances discrete and the shrines were few in number.

  Still, they had need of the healers and the elves were a practical people.

  Unfortunately his work also gave him a chance to truly know the horror of what the people of Shavarra had been through, and it rekindled his anger. Seeing the terrible injuries that many of them bore was bad enough. Hearing the grieving for missing relatives was worse. And listening to the services of the priests as they spoke the rights for those who had died as they travelled was truly awful. And still so many of their number died each day of their wounds.

  He was a soldier. He had been trained from birth in the ways of the sword and then raised in the Knighthood. He had been taught the conduct of battle and war until he could recite all its many and terrible rules in his sleep. But what these people had been through was something much worse than war. It wasn't just the enemy's power or numbers that made it different; it was the way this enemy's soldiers had targeted the women and children. They had acted like rabid dogs, killing everything in sight. But no dog even so infected could be organised into an army. Nor could any dog be so deadly.