Spell Fade

by J. Daniel Layfield

  Norrick dropped his hand into his lap and looked up at Alain, his memory stirred. “Yes, the scribes,” he said, rising as he spoke. “I must check on their progress.”

  “Don’t be too harsh on them.” The wizard leaned back in his chair, throwing some firelight on his features. Norrick froze in place. He would have sworn the old man had aged another decade in the short time he had been here with him. “Then again,” Alain added with a weak laugh, “time is not exactly on our side.”

  “I will see to it,” Norrick assured him.

  Alain nodded his head, then added, “Please also see to it that I’m not disturbed for the rest of the day. I need to rest if I am to guide the heir on his journey.” He slid the box across the desk, and, after a moment of hesitation, Norrick picked it up.

  The contents inside shifted again, and his mind raced as to the possibilities of what lay inside. Then again, he thought while looking at Alain, why guess?

  “What’s in here?” he asked as casually as he could manage.

  Alain looked up at him, expressionless, long enough for Norrick to wonder if he had been heard. Then, just as casually, he answered, “The future.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Fireballs, as it turned out, were very easy to produce. Deceptively easy. Almost everything, including the air, seemed to have some degree of a desire to burn. The problem, Dartan soon realized, was extinguishing that desire.

  By the time they stopped for the night, Dartan had managed to produce a flame from nearly everything they passed, including himself. The concentration necessary to keep from burning down the entire forest had left him with a slight throbbing in his head. He rubbed it absently as he gathered wood for their campfire.

  The rest of the group gave him a wide berth to practice in as they travelled, but now they all drew close together. Marcus had not stopped until near darkness, and with the sun dropping, so too did the temperature. Dartan shivered as a breeze from the north blew by, carrying the chill of ice.

  Marcus leaned over the pile of tinder he had meticulously built, flint in hand, but Dartan stopped him before he could produce the first spark. “Let me do that,” he insisted, throwing a small ball of flame at the pile of wood Marcus had built next to his tinder. A shower of sparks and flames flew into the air, and Dartan relaxed his focus as he felt the fire take hold. It wasn’t until then that he noticed Marcus, hand still holding the flint, eyes wide, and smoldering beard.

  “I’m so sorry,” spilled out of Dartan’s mouth as he rushed over to extinguish the tiny embers. Marcus quickly shrugged him off.

  “No, it’s my fault,” he grumbled. “I should have known ‘let me do that’ meant ‘back away’.” He poured water onto his face, wiping it down into his beard.

  Defeated, Dartan sat back down, and stared into the fire.

  “Well,” Logan said, moving closer and rubbing his hands together. “I thought that was a rather good bit of magic.” Unsure he had heard correctly, Dartan turned towards Logan with a slightly dropped jaw.

  Logan saw the surprised look and smiled. “Come on,” he explained. “How long does it normally take for the fire to get this big and warm? Your way,” he snapped his fingers, “instant heat.” He stretched out, warming the entire length of his body. “Very nice.”

  Dartan felt his own smile before he saw the one on Aliet’s face. It felt good to share it, but it didn’t last.

  “Yeah,” Logan added with half-closed eyelids. “It’s certainly a nice little trick you’ve got there.” Then, after a short pause, “It’ll certainly be helpful in the cold mountains, but not very useful if we stumble on any dragons.”

  “What makes you think we’ll see any dragons?” Aliet asked.

  “I’ve decided it’s the most likely reason for including me in this little group,” he answered without even opening his eyes.

  Having not been privy to Aliet and Logan’s conversation earlier, Dartan took an interest. “So, you think whatever Alain has planned, dragons are a part of it?”

  “You got it,” Logan nodded, eyes still closed.

  “What about your dragon parts theory?” Aliet pressed.

  “That’s the problem,” he answered, sitting up to face her. “It’s just a theory. Nothing I’ve seen or learned makes me believe it will work. It’s just too much of an unknown to have involved me.”

  “Because you’re such a busy guy, with all the dragonslaying.”

  “Exactly,” he recognized sarcasm, but didn’t acknowledge it. Instead he laid back down and closed his eyes.

  “Well, I’m convinced,” Aliet said with an eye roll.

  “Believe me now, or believe me later, sweetheart.”

  Dartan had barely even noticed the exchange, still thinking on Logan’s comment about meeting dragons. He leaned in, and asked hesitantly, “So, what’s wrong with my fireball?”

  Logan opened one eye and looked Dartan up and down. “Dragons breathe fire,” he said, as though it answered the question. Dartan nodded and waited. Logan opened the other eye and sat up with a small, irritated groan. “Ergo, it would not be advantageous for them to be vulnerable to it.” Dartan nodded again, but remained silent. “Besides,” he added, “according to my father, there’s only been one wizard who has ever defeated a dragon using magic.”

  Dartan would grant Logan’s argument about fire was plausible, but surely there was some magic to defeat them. What else could they use against such a beast? He noticed Logan carried a pair of short swords on his back, but they appeared ordinary to his eyes.

  “More than just magic?” Dartan pressed. “Do you have some sort of special weapon, then?”

  “Anything in my hands can become a weapon,” he said. “Even this cloak,” he added, spreading it out over himself.

  “You could kill a dragon with your cloak?” Dartan did not look impressed.

  “Believe me now, or believe me later.” Logan closed his eyes again, and pulled the cloak tight around himself.

  What did he believe? Dartan’s life now bore little resemblance to the one he had led just two weeks earlier. Dragons had always been nothing more than a story to frighten children. Now they were discussing the possibility of meeting one in battle. And then there was the magic.

  How could he have been so ignorant of such power for so long? Even now, without using it at all, he was aware of it. It was like discovering an entirely new sense or appendage, which brought with it another way to experience and interact with the world. He found himself wishing the wizard would return soon. He was sure his training started later than most, and he was acutely aware of how little time remained.

  Maybe he could somehow summon Alain. He closed his eyes, and focused on the image of the wizard. He called out to him, trying to make himself heard over the vast distance between them, pleading with him to appear. He could almost feel the wizard draw near, his presence producing a sensation not unlike when a physical body comes close to your own. It was then, no surprise, he nearly screamed out when he opened his eyes, and found Aliet standing next to him.

  “So, what do you think?” he somehow heard her say over his pounding heart.

  “About what?” he answered, pausing to ensure the tone was even.

  “About him,” she whispered, with a nod towards Logan. “What he thinks about the dragons, do you think he could be right?” She hadn’t made up her mind either.

  Dartan shrugged. “Haven’t given it much thought,” he confessed. “I’ve been a bit overwhelmed with being shown how to use magic, and discovering I’m the heir to the throne of Pavlora.”

  Aliet moved closer. Dartan thought of the many nights they had spent talking and laughing together. There was no smile on her face now, though, only more questions. “That’s another thing, how could you be the heir? And why not bring you into the safety of the city?”

  “Queen Elainya wasn’t the first ruler of Pavlora,” Dartan reasoned. “She was simply the last. I’m sure there were indiscretions among Pavlora’s earlier rulers. As
for going to the city – I’m probably safer lost in the wilderness, than in a castle that can be surrounded and laid siege.”

  “Alright,” she nodded slowly. “Now what about our slayer over there?”

  Dartan looked the bundled figure up and down for a few moments. “As much as I hate to admit it, he’s probably right. Whatever Alain has planned, his part in all this must involve dragons.”

  “Agreed,” she said with a firm nod, but her brow was still troubled. “I still don’t trust him, though.”

  “Neither do I,” Dartan agreed. “But remember Alain’s advice – don’t trust anyone, until you have to.”

  “My ego can hear you, you know,” Logan said without moving.

  “You don’t really expect me to believe it capable of being bruised, do you?” Aliet asked.

  “No,” he answered, sitting up. “I suppose you’re right. I just thought I should let you know I could hear your conversation.”

  “How courteous of you.”

  “Thank you,” he said with a slight bow of his head. “And let me just add, I don’t think it’s me you should be worried about trusting. After all, I’m not the one that arranged this little adventure.”

  “You mean Alain?!” Dartan was surprised. “Don’t you trust him?” A few days ago he had pronounced his own lack of trust, but now he was the wizard’s apprentice, and they were all blindly going wherever the ghostly image of Alain bid them. The wizard seemed practically beyond question at this point.

  A small laugh from Logan broke Dartan’s train of thought. “Of course I don’t trust him,” he answered. “But it hardly matters for me. Marcus and I both have been trained to obey, regardless of trust.” He paused for a moment, looking for Marcus. Unable to find him, his brow wrinkled in agitation, but he continued. “If he were here, Marcus would grunt his agreement. It was drilled in to me by my father, and for Marcus, once a royal guard, always a royal guard.” He leaned in close now. “But it also doesn’t matter, because we don’t really matter.”

  Aliet opened her mouth, but Logan raised a hand to stop her. “Remember, my ego doesn’t need defending. And you’re not important either, sweetie. At least, not to Alain,” he added with a sideways glance at Dartan. “No, this is all about Dartan.”

  “I’m not saying you shouldn’t trust him,” Logan continued. “I’m just saying you should be a little more demanding. I mean, he’s told you you’re the rightful ruler of Pavlora, and that the Northern Kingdom wants you dead. So, what has he not told you? And why? No matter what the game, you always protect your king. You don’t send him off on some fool’s errand.”

  The conversation ended with a rustle of leaves and clank of steel beside them. They all turned, hands on swords, but stopped when they saw Marcus emerge from the shadows. He dropped to the ground next to the fire, and sat, breathing deeply, as everyone stared at him. When his breathing slowed closer to normal, he took a long drink, letting the cool water spill over his face and neck.

  “They’re getting closer,” he said. “Less than a day behind us now.”

  “How many?” Logan asked.

  “Five fires,” Marcus grumbled.

  “Over thirty then,” Logan said and Marcus nodded. “Damn. More than I expected.”

  “Me, too,” Marcus admitted. “And we’re still nearly a day away from Kinsley.”

  “Should we push on through the night?” Dartan suggested.

  Marcus shook his head. “There’s no road between Kinsley and this one. If we’re lucky, they’ll miss our departure from the road, but at night it would be too easy for us to get lost.”

  “What if we don’t lose them?” Dartan asked.

  Marcus shrugged, then added, “I haven’t been there in years, but Kinsley was always fiercely loyal to Pavlora, and each other. They’ll know we’re coming long before we get there. They’ll also know about the Northern Kingdom soldiers following us.”

  “We still don’t know for certain they’re from the Northern Kingdom,” Aliet argued. “Logan just said there was a wizard following us, and Alain hasn’t told us if he’s found out anything more about them.”

  “Well, I’ll wager double or nothing on what you already owe me, they’re not chasing us down to shake the soon-to-be king’s hand,” Logan said.

  “Whether it’s a Northern force or not,” Marcus said, “we’re more likely to find sympathy in Kinsley if we claim they are.”

  “It certainly felt like Northern Kingdom magic they were using,” Logan offered.

  Aliet glanced sideways at him with slightly squinted eyes. “Does anyone else find it disturbing that I can’t tell if he’s serious or not?” Logan merely smiled as Dartan raised his hand in agreement.

  Ignoring the question, Marcus stood up and moved to the far side of the fire. “We should all try to get some sleep. We leave at dawn.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Dawn didn’t come soon enough. It was dark, the fire nothing more than ashes, when Dartan heard sounds of Marcus packing to leave. At least, he assumed it was Marcus, even though the figure he saw through half-closed eyes did seem a little too large.

  “Come on, Marcus,” Logan complained from behind Dartan. “I thought you said we were leaving at dawn, not before.”

  Dartan expected a grunt in reply, but it was more of a growl. The figure raised up, and moved towards them. Any illusion this was Marcus was dispelled when the hulking form spoke.

  “Get them!” it barked into the darkness, and they were surrounded by movement. Before he even had a chance to reach for his sword, Dartan was snatched up, and held tightly against the creature’s chest. It took only a moment to realize who these intruders were. Ogres.

  Dartan was squeezed so tightly he didn’t even have breath to scream, but he could hear his companions struggling. He only hoped one of them had been able to escape. As the edges of his vision began to darken, and his body became limp, he heard another one shout.

  “Careful with that one! Remember our orders?”

  The pressure eased immediately and Dartan drew a deep breath. “Sorry,” his captor called back. “I didn’t realize it was this one.” More sounds of struggling made it to Dartan’s ears, though he still couldn’t see anything. “What should I do with him then?”

  “Just tie him to that tree,” was his distracted answer. “And hurry up about it,” he added in between what sounded like strikes between wood and metal. “We need help with the others!”

  Finally released from the ogre’s grip, Dartan found himself in the only slightly less constricting embrace of a rope. In what seemed like less than thirty seconds, Dartan was bound to a tree from shoulders to ankles. As the ogre finished his work, Dartan was finally able to catch a glimpse of what was happening.

  Logan sat on the ground, facing one of the ogres, hands in the air, and sword in the dirt beside him. Man and ogre were both out of breath, and they both eyed one another in the gloom. The ogre in front of Dartan joined them.

  “This thing with your sister is just a big misunderstanding,” Logan began trying to talk his way out.

  “What sister?” Slow Brother Ogre (who actually moved very quickly) asked.

  “Remember the story?” Big Brother Ogre (who was actually the smallest of all of them) hissed.

  Slow Brother scratched his head. “Oh, right, the story!” he whispered loudly and winked at his brother. Then to Logan, “You’ll pay for what you did.”

  “I’ve got this one,” Big Brother Ogre said with a shake of his head. “Help our brothers with the girl.”

  Aliet. Dartan strained against his bonds to find her. How could he have allowed himself to be captured? And where was Marcus?

  Slow Brother was headed towards a group of three other ogres standing around a large tree. All three had fresh oozing cuts on various parts of their body, and appeared to be arguing over the fate of the tree and its occupant, Aliet. One wanted to chop the tree down, another wanted to set it on fire, and the third thought a good shaking would do the tri
ck. When they saw their brother approaching, it gave them all the perfect plan.

  “Come give this a running whack with your head,” they called out to him, to which he happily grinned, lowered his head, and prepared to reach ramming speed. There were chuckles and mumbles amongst the ogres as they placed bets on which would split first, the tree or their brother’s head. Odds were heavily in favor of the tree, but the two would never meet.

  The ogre was leaning forward, one hand on the ground, ready to launch himself towards the tree when he heard something swiftly approaching from the darkness. Dartan saw the ogre turn his head and heard him say, “Hey,” just as Marcus materialized from the gloom. His sword whistled through the air, sliced clean through the ogre’s extended neck, and he disappeared back into the forest before its head had even bounced twice.

  There were a few moments of silence before Big Brother yelled, “What are you waiting for? After him!” Shake It Ogre and Burn It Ogre ran in the direction Marcus had gone, leaving Chop It Down Ogre to deal with Aliet. He raised his large axe and prepared to make short work of felling the tree. Big Brother leaned in close over Logan and spat, “I don’t care what the job was, you all die here tonight.”

  Dartan looked from the tree back to Logan and panicked. He had to get free, and his mind would only offer one solution. It wasn’t trying to stretch the ropes, or even loosen the knots, no, there was only fire. In all fairness, it was what he had spent the entire day practicing. He found it a little difficult to focus on the rope, his mind distracted by the peril Aliet and Logan now faced. Luckily, the dry fibers of the rope needed very little encouragement to catch fire.

  Burning the rope was certainly effective, and fast, releasing him in mere moments. The problem was when the fire spread to his clothes. Chop It Down’s axe paused, and Big Brother’s club was still as they both watched the spontaneously combusting human dance around desperately patting out flames, before dropping to the ground and rolling around in the dirt.