by Awert, Wolf
Prince Sergor-Don was having trouble keeping his balance. He was shaking and vibrating all over, ripple after ripple hitting him from beneath his feet. He bent his knees, trying to keep his balance. In that very moment the ground split between his legs. With a short bark of a laugh he saw a chance. He thrust one hand into the freshly-opened ground and raised the other to the sky.
The hand held aloft changed. It went white and cold, then slowly blue. Nill prepared himself for a jet of ice, but it was not ice the prince had chosen. From a tiny transparent point in the blue hand another bolt of lightning shot forth that Nill managed to redirect a fraction of a heartbeat before it could harm him.
The fellow’s got power, I’ll give him that, Nill thought. With no time to lose he tried using Wood now. It was the weakest against Fire and Metal, he knew that. With one hand he dragged tendrils from the earth that wrapped around the prince’s arms and legs; with the other he sprouted seeds in the prince’s body.
With a quick gesture Sergor-Don burned his bonds, but then he keeled over, coughing and retching. He had attempted to burn away the seeds and seedlings inside his body, but was having difficulty getting rid of the remaining ash.
“Not bad, muckling. Now witness my fury,” Prince Sergor-Don coughed. He raised both arms to the sky and pulled a wall of Fire from the ground, twice taller than his own height. He pointed forwards and the wall raced towards Nill like a stampeding herd. The sides were faster than the center, closing in on Nill, who had only a few moments to decide how to avoid the fiery embrace.
Nill shouted a few hoarse words. The edges of the wall collapsed inwards and the wall became a ball without definite shape. It hit Nill straight in the chest.
The ball burst into sparks and died down. Nill’s skin was fizzling, the hair on his body seared. He began to convulse. Shaking, he keeled over and fell in the dust.
The prince drew himself up to full height. “I could squish you underfoot like the worm you are. I won’t. I’ll let you live, forever in the knowledge that you’re just a pathetic, barely magical runt with no chance against a true sorcerer. You lost after only a few attacks, you know that. I told you I’d put you in your place; here it is, at my feet. On the ground, in the dust or in the mud, the way it should be for a muckling like you. And when someday you’re tired of life, done with being a pathetic nothing, come to my kingdom. For the next time we meet, I will destroy you.
“And you two,” he addressed Brolok and Tiriwi. “He will come. He will enter the Fire Kingdom. He will do so because he is a stupid, impudent, insolent and unteachable little boy. In all likelihood we’ll never meet again; my subjects will probably pick you up and hang you on the nearest tree like any other vagabond.”
The prince laughed a villainous laugh and sent forth a last shock wave to roll Nill’s body about on the floor as a parting insult. He gave a sharp whistle to call his horse, leapt up and galloped down the slope. His companions, who had watched the short, heated battle from a distance, were hard-pressed to keep up with him.
Tiriwi and Brolok rushed to Nill, whose body was still twitching. From his mouth came small gurgling noises. Tiriwi bent over him and Brolok could not make out his face past her hair. He saw singed hair and burnt clothes, but mostly just Tiriwi. He was suitably surprised when Tiriwi’s face lost all hint of worry, replaced by an angry scowl.
“He’s got us worried to death and he’s just lying here, laughing! Do you have any idea what I’d like to do to you right now?” she stormed, half enraged, half relieved.
Nill was grinning across his scorched face. “Did you hear that pompous idiot? ‘I’ll let you live’. As if he could ever kill me!”
“How did you block the firewall, though?” Brolok asked.
“I didn’t. But there’s nothing quite as easy to fight against as a single elemental spell. Fire needs something to feed off, and I took the air away around me and pushed it out of myself. You could have fried an ox in my hands, though; it was hot.”
“But why didn’t you just beat him, if it was all so easy?” Tiriwi asked.
“He’s too strong. I think neither of us could beat the other in a fair fight right now. But we both have reason to be satisfied. Sergor-Don wanted to see me lying in the dirt because I have no respect for him or his name. He managed; I didn’t throw myself at his feet of my own free will.”
Brolok shook his head in disbelief. In his world a duel ended with a victor and a loser.
Nill looked at Brolok’s face and saw what he was thinking. “Brolok, there would only have been a winner once one of us had died. I don’t think my power’s enough to kill someone. Or…” He stopped.
“Or?”
“I would have had to strip him of all magical power, without destroying his human form.”
“That’s impossible,” Brolok protested.
“I don’t know about that,” Nill said, thinking of Esara. “But it’s useless to think about. Destroying a person’s magic takes knowledge I don’t have. And I don’t think I want it.”
“So your troubles are at an end?” Tiriwi asked.
“Nothing’s at an end just yet. I got rid of a small hurdle. My troubles with Sergor-Don were an idle argument between two people. It changed nothing about the prophecy. The Great Change is coming, and we know no more of it than we knew when we arrived. And I still need to find my parents. I need to find out who they are, or were. And I can only do that here. I need to stay and learn and study. I need to read every scroll, book and scrap of parchment they have in the library; I need to understand the writing in the halls beneath the catacombs.”
“How do you plan to do that? Nobody stays after finishing their education. Sorcerers must gather experiences in the outside world, or return to their homes to use what they have learned. To get to know what they know. Magic needs practice like everything else; just knowing the spells isn’t enough.”
“There is a way,” Nill said. “Brolok’s way.”
“That was a joke!” Brolok cut across him. “You’re mad, Nill. Tiriwi, say something. You know what he plans to do? Nill, you know what wanting to stay here means?” He was frantic.
Nill nodded thoughtfully. “I have to participate in the tournament, and I need to win it. That’s the next step I have to take. It seems I always know the next step without seeing the whole road. I don’t have the time to increase my power and gather experience. I have to contend as soon as possible. But I think I stand a chance.”
Tiriwi smiled, shaking her head. “You are an idiot, you know that. You’ve always got a chance, but even if the chance is miniscule you’re prepared to risk your life for it. That can’t work forever.”
“You may be right; it’s not clever, but it’s the only way I’ve got to get where I need to be. There’s none less dangerous.”
Tiriwi shook her head again. Then she took Nill by the arm and said: “We didn’t finish our walk.”
Brolok stayed behind. He had the feeling that whatever Tiriwi wanted to tell Nill was something special; something his ears did not need to hear; something she was only saying because she was afraid for his life.
Tiriwi and Nill walked around the outer wall of Ringwall for a bit. They strolled along casually, they talked and gestured. Their faces were serious, but suddenly they lit up with smiles. It was like seeing the sun break through a cloud front, but it was soon concealed by more clouds. It took a while for them to vanish from Brolok’s sight. Brolok stood still, looking after them. He felt excluded, left alone, but there was a hint of happiness in it. Deep within him, so deep that even he himself could barely reach it. And so it stayed as a bittersweet emotion, born of loneliness and experience. He knew that something happened in that moment, for the wind carried it to him, the birds sang it to him and the earth grumbled it to him.
“At first you asked me to help with your magic a lot,” Tiriwi reminded Nill. “I always refused; I had my reasons to, even if you never understood. This time it’s different, and I’m breaking a promise I gave the wise w
omen. I’ll show you some of the Oas’ magic, and I hope it’ll help you in the tournament.”
Nill smiled. “You mean you’ve changed your opinion and you don’t think any longer that I’d abuse your magic?”
“No,” Tiriwi said. “I’ve changed nothing. You’ll never use it correctly. But that might be because you’re a man. It’s…” she hesitated. “It’s the magic of light and shadow, the magic from the catacombs. I think it’s the magic you will learn and speak in, once you have understood it. It’s very similar to the magic of the Oas. That’s why I’m teaching you.”
Nill nodded. He had suspected something like this for a while. “The magic of light and darkness is so simple. There are only two forces, not five.” Nill was already able to summon light and darkness, although he was not entirely sure what it did. Feeling and moving a magical power that pre-existed was one thing, but changing parts of the world was quite another.
“I’m going to show you how a mage can turn invisible,” Tiriwi interrupted his thoughts.
“Invisibility?” Nill stared, impressed. “You mean nobody on the battlefield will see me, no matter how powerful? Do the other sorcerers not know about this spell?”
“There are without doubt sorcerers who know of invisibility and have experience with it. And it’s not a really powerful spell, either. But its success comes from its weakness. Any mage who cares to look will see you. But in the tournament all the mages are busy fighting, thinking of powerful spells and magics. They’re afraid of being injured and losing. They want to fight, kill, and win. They won’t have the time to look around carefully. Just run to a spot nobody’s standing in, and blend into the surroundings. Turn into grass or a rock or the earth. You need to stand or sit completely still, and you must not move.”
Nill nodded gratefully. “Nobody will like it, but it’s not always the strong who win.”
“Avoid any confrontation, Nill. You’re not up to a fight.”
Nill and Tiriwi stopped and turned around. They walked back the way they had come. Once they had almost reached Brolok, Tiriwi broke into a run, hugged Brolok and planted a kiss on his cheek.
“Thanks, Brolok,” she said.
“Thanks for what?” he grumbled.
Tiriwi poked him in the side. “For waiting, what else?” She gave an impish grin, and Brolok found himself grinning too. Laughing really was contagious, it seemed.
Now it was Nill who was left to stand sheepishly beside his friends.
“What are you going to do now?” he asked Brolok.
“Easy question. I’m going back to my father, and in his workshop I’m going to craft two very special magical weapons. I’m going to sell one in the capital, that should get me enough money to live off for a while. I’ll move from city to city. I want to work in the different forges and ore-huts. Someday I’ll be famous enough for a king to ask me to work at his court. I’ll not just make magical weapons, but also magical tools. My hammer is my tool and my weapon in one. Even a farmer’s flail can be used to fight – and better than a sword, I might add. Trust me.”
“I know, the blacksmith often knows the weapon better than the warrior who wields it.”
Nill looked at Tiriwi.
“I’ve already begun to pack my things. Tomorrow I’ll return to my sisters. I don’t know if the wise women will be happy. I’ve learned much in the time I’ve been here, and mostly I know now how mages think. I think we Oas ought to change quite a few things we do in future, but I’ve found out nothing about the plan of the mages to confront the future.”
“So you’re going back home to your village” Brolok asserted.
“Yes.” Tiriwi’s voice was quiet. “I’ve grown older during my time in Ringwall, and I’ll no longer be able to live with one of my mothers. I’ll need my own house and my own life. It’ll take a while until I get used to it. You leave home as a child and come back a changed person. And I don’t think my home is unchanged either. Maybe I’ll not be able to live among the Oas and will have to find another place in the world.”
Nill looked a little blank. “You mean you’re not welcome at home?”
“I’ve learned of a different magic, that of the five elements. And I learned of another one recently, of light and darkness or soft and hard or whatever you want to call it. I’m still an Oa, but somehow I’m not completely. I don’t know what to expect. Come visit me sometime. Just follow the forest’s edge and then go right.”
Nill had to laugh. “Sure. Just follow the forest’s edge and then go right; I hope I can remember that.”
Tiriwi set off. She was in a hurry to see her sisters again, for she knew that the time was ripe for a great change.
Brolok shrugged, smiled a crooked smile and said: “To a blacksmith, a time of change merely means that he’ll have to make more weapons than tools.”
He would have liked to stay to witness the result of the tournament, but he was not allowed. He had graduated – the first ever half-arcanist to become a sorcerer – and with that, he had to leave the city. He considered going to help a smith somewhere in one of the villages around Ringwall. He would probably hear soon enough if a neophyte managed to stay on as a mage in Ringwall; people would talk of nothing else.
And so Nill was the only one remaining in the city of the mages. The Hermits’ Caves were cold and unfriendly without his friends’ voices. Still, he stayed underground. Without attracting attention he was able to cross the Walk of Weakness and study the ancient symbols down there.
Nill had heard that the coming tournament was a break from tradition. Not only sorcerers, but also the lost had been allowed to enter. Black Warlocks, Time-Riders and any arcanists of any sort who could prove their worth and had the courage to enter were granted access. But this time there were no mages standing guard to save a fallen combatant. Those who wished to win had one goal above all others: survival. Only a handful of free spots were open, and over two dozen contenders were competing.
Nill took the spot he had been given on the day of the tournament. It was a well-positioned one. He looked around and could see three of the other combatants. One stood in the shadow of the wall, almost hidden from view due to the bright sunlight. Another stood opposite him. His flying cloak looked almost like a challenge. Nill was the third point in the triangle, but he was farther away from the others. With any luck they would decide to fight each other first. The third contender he could see was far behind him. He could not keep him in his sight if he wanted to monitor the other two as well. While that left him open from behind, it was unlikely that this particular contender was without foe near his spot, too.
On the ramparts and wherever they could find a spot around the inner wall, the Mages of Ringwall stood close together. Today’s tournament was hotly anticipated; names such as old Morb-au-Morhg, called Morhg the Mighty, and Infiralior, whom most people had long since presumed dead, were competing. These giants of magic could have been archmages, maybe even Magon, if they had chosen to return to Ringwall earlier in their lives. But they did not care for silent knowledge or political intrigues; they loved the clash of magics, the fight with and against the elements, and most of all they craved the challenge. Both of them had spent many years as First Mage at several different courts and survived all their liege lords. Morb-au-Morhg had not only traversed the Borderlands, but whispers told that he had learned spells and forms of elements there that no sorcerer could counter.
No less dangerous and imposing were the twin witches, Binja and Rinja. Binja was a mistress of Thought and Rinja wandered the Other World. Nobody knew where they had learned their arts. But worse than their skills was the fact that they were twin sisters. They would fight back-to-back, not against each other. This went against the unwritten rules of Ringwall, and in the past mages had interfered when unions became apparent.
Nobody expected them to do any such thing with the twins. They had placed them so far apart that they would be separated for the beginning of the tournament, it was true; but everyone present kn
ew they would either be welcomed into Ringwall together or lie broken on the battlefield.
The knowledge that a newly graduated sorcerer, fresh from his education, was contending had caused general amusement. Nobody took Nill seriously, particularly as the rumors had made the round that he had barely survived a duel with another neophyte. Nill wore the only robe he had: the simple one he had been given at the graduation ceremony. He was clearly the famed neophyte for everyone to see.
He did not expect mercy. Every contender here today wanted to become a mage of Ringwall, and they would fight for their life to do so. No, expecting mercy on the battlefield was as futile as trying to teach Brolok knitting. But they might underestimate him, focus on the strong contenders first, and give him time. That was all he needed.
Time.
The magical wind section stood on the wall and wove a curtain of sound. The shooting star rocketed through their noises and signaled the start of the contest.
Nill slowly moved backwards, in the direction of the rising flank of Knor-il-Ank. A thorny bush stood in a sparsely-grown trough. Nill moved forwards with outstretched arms, prepared to create a barrier should someone attack him. But the fight was going as expected. The opponents in front of him, bathed in shadow and light, attacked one another. Nill prayed to his luck and forced himself not to look back at the other sorcerer behind him. A look was a weapon, and any sorcerer could feel a watchful eye if it was gazing at them. Nill closed his eyes and listened to the air around him, prepared to cast a shield at the slightest change. Beads of sweat were forming at the back of his head, rolling down his spine. That was all. Praising his luck he reached the thorny shrub. A small plant spell and it enclosed him. Nill disappeared among the thorns, leaves and blackened, dried branches. He sat down calmly and turned all his attention to disguising his aura.
Standing on a burnt patch of earth or lying amongst plants was easier than sitting in a thorny bush that changed color at every wind, cloud or sunshine. But Tiriwi had taught him well. Nill felt the changes in the plant, the fire coming from the sun and the might of the earth beneath him, holding all these influences in a steady balance. All he needed to do was keep them balanced until the fanfare resounded again and signaled the end of the tournament.
