Origin Mage

by John Forrester

  “A young princeling whelp. Trained by all the right blademasters. You know all the moves and your footwork is solid. But you lack any flair. You’d be dead if I hadn’t purposefully aimed to the right. Let’s see if your wench does any better.”

  The soldier turned to face Devonia. She crouched, stepping into a defensive stance, and eyed her opponent with disdain. But there was caution and a newfound respect in her gaze. With a sweeping flourish, the man brought his long sword up and stabbed down at her. She stepped aside, dodging the blow. In a quick step forward, she reached out to grab his sword arm, claws extended, but found only air. How had the man dodged so quickly?

  Devonia struck out again, slashing and striking with her claws. The soldier batted the blows away, his laughter taunting. She pressed her advantage as he switched to a defensive stance, claws high, left, right, and slashing forward. With the man focused on her blur of torso and head strikes, he failed to see her armored foot come up and kick him in the groin.

  The soldier cried out, falling to his knees in time for his jaw to connect with Devonia’s scaly fist. He flew back and slammed against the hard stone. But before she had a chance to land another blow, the soldier vaulted himself up to his feet and snatched up his sword.

  She charged forward, trying for a kick to his chest, but the man twirled around her, one hand clasped around her waist. He yanked her close to him, his sword tip positioned at a weak spot between two scales along her neck.

  “Thank you kindly for the entertainment… and the pain.” He sniffed, groaning. “A quick thrust through here and you’d bleed to death. All this fancy armor won’t stop this kind of attack. I’ve slain too many dragons to be bothered by a mere human dragon. Feared as you might be on your own world, here you’re nothing more than an inconsequential pup.”

  But instead of continuing his attack, the soldier retreated and looked back at the balding leader. “Cren?”

  “Oh, I suspect they’ll shift to casting spells now. They can’t even give little Berg a decent workout.” Cren sighed, shaking his head. “Why do our leaders insist on meting out punishment in the form of common street duty? I can’t wait to get off this world and join another expedition. It’s an utter waste of time.”

  “You did insult the Regent’s daughter,” said the younger soldier.

  “She invited me into her room.”

  “But she was drunk.” Berg arched an eyebrow at the leader. “You know better than to let your guard down around the spoiled nobility. It’s like playing with fire.”

  “I love to play with fire. You know that. It’s what we do and why we’re so damn good at it.” Cren turned to study Rikar and Devonia. She had returned to human form, fear settling in her eyes.

  “Now the fun begins.” Berg grinned.

  Rikar sheathed his sword and handed Devonia hers. As the men advanced, he pressed out his hands, feeling the power of the star fragment surge through him. He always kept it in a pouch at his side, available whenever he needed it.

  “It’s unwise to cast spells against us. My advice is for you to surrender and avoid the unpleasantries that will result from your continued opposition.” The leader wagged a finger at Rikar as if he were a child being scolded. “But if you won’t listen, you’ll provide us with a perfect excuse to enjoy more violence. The decision is yours, but whatever you do, please don’t be predictable.”

  Rikar studied the man, noticing several rings adorning his fingers. Strange, for a sword-wielding soldier to wear rings. His armor was also marked with strange symbols, possibly glyph wards. And there was that metal ring he wore around his neck. All the other soldiers wore necklaces, though some were tucked inside their shirts. The leader noticed his gaze.

  “Yes, we wear artifacts to protect us against magic. We’re immune to most spells, at least the ones that are known to us.” A broad smile played on the leader’s grizzled face. “And our collective experience and knowledge here on the Origin World is vast.”

  An idea struck Rikar. If he couldn’t cast a spell directly against the soldiers, then perhaps another kind of attack would work. He aimed his finger at a stone fountain of a unicorn rearing up on its hind legs. Water spewed from its mouth. With a quick pull using his magic, the statue cracked and came loose at the base. Rikar swung his arm over and brought the unicorn flying towards the balding soldier. It stopped in front of the man, but he seemed unperturbed by the move.

  “Now tell me, Cren.” Rikar tilted the statue down so the horn was aimed at him. “If I were to fling this at you faster than you could dodge it, what do think you would stop it, your magical artifacts or your soon to be dead body?”

  A hesitant glance from a soldier to the leader brought confidence to Rikar. Perhaps this would be easier than he thought. “If you would all be so kind as to line up. It would make it much easier to kill you all in one go.”

  “Do you think us so idiotic and inexperienced as to not to have planned for such an eventuality? We’ve wards against direct magic and physical attacks brought on by magic. Melee combat we handle fine all by ourselves. We’re swordsmen, by the good graces of Yavreel, and we loathe magic. One of the reasons we’ve survived for so many years is we’re always in search of relics and we spend coin on artifacts. You can take your unicorn horn and shove it.”

  The soldiers broke out into a raucous laughter that turned menacing as they eyed Devonia once again. “Kill the boy first. Then we can have our fun.”

  Rikar released his hold over the statue, allowing it to slam onto the stone street between the soldiers and him. This was nonsense, he wasn’t going to risk her safety for a battle with these fiends. As the men sauntered toward them, Rikar cast the spell of flying over Devonia and himself, and they took to the skies, studying the soldiers far below. It was difficult for him to resist raining down fire and hail onto the men.

  “This expedition is going horribly,” Devonia said, casting her eyes off to where explosions marked the conflict with Caisa and priests. “If their defenders are as powerful and skilled as those soldiers, then the Nameless will lose.”

  “It might not be such a bad thing, at least for us. Caisa is the one who forced us here.”

  “But if she loses, how do you propose we get back home? My people need me. I don’t want die here on this strange world. I really don’t.”

  Rikar followed Devonia’s gaze and studied the battle between Caisa’s forces and the defenders. From what he could tell, no one was winning. They’d been locked in a cycle of devastation that was wrecking the buildings and streets around the point of engagement. Citizens were fleeing all around, trying to find safer havens. More soldiers rushed into the conflict, joined by additional priests and sorcerers. Even the hardened soldiers below left the streets where they had faced off, presumably joining the larger conflict.

  “This is insane. There’s no way we can win.” Devonia shook her head. “We’ve never faced such a powerful enemy as this. Caisa has completely underestimated their strength.”

  “She’s blind. Her time spent under the Ruins of Elmarr has twisted her mind. She’s deluded—”

  A tug on Rikar’s leg interrupted his train of thought. He glanced around, trying to discover what it was. Somehow he was being pulled down toward the ground. In a flourish of strength, he fought back against whatever had latched onto him, but he didn’t find any point of resistance. It was simply some invisible force dragging him down.

  Devonia let out a yelp of surprise. She was also being pulled down. He tried to force both of them to fly away, but something had anchored them to the ground. Rikar whirled around, scanning the streets and rooftops below. There, with several of the soldiers, stood a squad of sorcerers in white robes. Their crooked fingers were aimed at Rikar and Devonia. She screamed this time as they plummeted toward the ground, and despite Rikar’s efforts, nothing could stop their fall.

  In desperation, he called out to Caisa in his mind and heard her answer. Consciousness faded, and as he sensed her coming for him, he still be
lieved there was a glimmer of hope.

  21. Elements of Defeat

  Rikar woke with a blistering headache. He glanced around in the dark, seeing figures illuminated by flickering light and shadow. Where was he? His eyes started to focus, spotting Caisa huddled with her elders. Aurellia was close by, staring at the stars. But he couldn’t find Devonia. Where was she? The last thing he remembered was them both plummeting to the ground.

  He put a hand to his head and winced. Gods, but it hurt. “Where’s Devonia?”

  “Gone.” Aurellia’s voice was flat and distant, uncaring.

  “What do you mean, gone? She and I were flying together, trying to escape, but the priests… the soldiers.”

  “We almost lost you.” Aurellia finally looked at him, his eyes considering. “It was either you or her. We chose you, naturally.”

  “They have her? What are they going to do to her?” The pain flashed again, stronger this time.

  “You should rest. Don’t think about it. I’m sure she’ll survive. Those idiot friends of yours are alive, I can feel it. Perhaps Devonia has a chance to live.”

  “I have to find her—”

  “No, you have to rest. Damnation, boy, be reasonable. Don’t be stupid. Today was a difficult day, but don’t make it a far worse one.”

  Rikar leaned back down and stared at the sky filled with brilliant stars and hazy clouds of silver lights.

  A difficult day? What a massive understatement. Nothing ever seemed to work, not here on this cursed world. Every time he had tried some new tactic, something went wrong. It brought no end of frustration. They were supposed to win. And after victory, he could return home to Carvina… with Devonia.

  He sighed, angry again. It was all going horribly wrong. Caisa had lost two more of her priests, but the enemy had only lost a few. At this rate, they were doomed to fail. There were far, far more of them.

  The enemy worked well together, as if they’d been raised to fight as a team. No matter how concentrated their attacks were, the enemy joined in to rally a weak position. Their line was a constantly repairing mesh.

  Once, in a wild lashing out of power, Rikar had blanketed a mass of enemies with a spell of deadly poison, one he had stolen from Nikulo. What should have happened was for their skin to break out in angry pustules until they fell dead of disease. It was supposed to have been a horrific, painful death. Instead, something counteracted the disease—like an opposite plague fighting the disease—and the enemies’ skin sloughed off in large clumps as new skin formed underneath.

  That’s how their magical defenses worked. It wasn’t about deflection or negation, it was about redirecting a spell’s power into creating something new. A fire spell cast against an enemy would be transformed into fire pixies bathing the gray world in wondrous, luminous shades of red. Ice spells, instead of freezing an opponent, would form into beautiful ice statues. The most interesting of them all was when Caisa had sent a cloud of ravaging beetles against a foe and the beetles turned into colorful, harmless butterflies. Devonia had laughed in surprise and delight at witnessing the sight. But the laughter didn’t last.

  No matter what spell they tried, the priests seemed to have a way of dealing with it. It was as if they were biding their time, studying them, playing the strong defense. They only lashed out with deadly force when the clear opportunity arose. Hence the slain elder sorcerers.

  Caisa and Aurellia must have opened a shadow portal and forced the group to retreat to some unknown part of the city, thankfully, a place of solitude and peace. But Rikar refused to give up on finding Devonia. She was all he cared about.

  He looked over at Aurellia. The dark lord’s face was filled with frustration and irritation. They locked eyes for a moment, then Rikar looked away. He kept his voice low, hoping to avoid drawing his master’s ire.

  “This is the second time we’ve fled from the enemy,” Rikar said.

  A quick glance at Aurellia showed the dark lord’s red, bloodshot eyes fixed on him. The sorcerer was a monster, Rikar thought, now that he really studied him. His skin was the color of death itself. The lord of the dead seemed to surround Aurellia’s very existence.

  Rikar continued, “Is there a way for us to win? We’ve only killed a few enemies, and for those few gains, we’ve lost—”

  “Cease your defeatist words and I won’t have to silence you.” The dark lord looked off into the distance, where Caisa was conferring with the three remaining sorcerers in their group. “Let her come up with a plan of either victory or escape. I doubt she’s foolish enough to invite death to take her so easily. She’s been testing our foes. It’s your place to support her, no matter how hopeless the way seems.”

  “It’s difficult for me to pretend to enjoy following fools.” Rikar huffed, drawing a scowl from his master. “What does she have over you, anyway? You came running so fast across the universe for her. Why did you leave Vellia and your brother? I thought you wanted a life of peace.”

  “Peace is rarely found by monsters and murderers. When I was exiled to your world, I had done terrible deeds and deserved the punishment. But when I discovered the Nameless underneath the Ruins of Elmarr, she led me down to the deepest depths of evil. I owe her for much of my power and knowledge, but it came with a stiff cost. She owns me. I’m at her mercy, every moment of every day. No matter how hard I try to block her influence over my mind, she finds a way to break through. If I could, I would pray to any god who could curse her with amnesia. Forgetting me would be the best gift ever.”

  “Perhaps that can be arranged.” Rikar glanced over to where the gray temple dominated the distant, bleak skyline. Their escape portal had taken them much farther away from their enemy than the last time. “If you can manage, try thinking creatively instead of limiting your thoughts to bleak ones of failure and sadness. One so ancient and wise should certainly have ideas on how to circumnavigate such a mess.”

  Aurellia raised an eyebrow at that and chuckled. “Ever the dimwitted boy with the cutting wit. Maybe you should concentrate on aiding me with ingenious solutions instead of thinking up insults disguised as praise. Now get some rest or I’ll cast a spell and put you to sleep.”

  The dark lord turned and left, seeking out the consolation of solitude. Rikar released a long, tired exhalation, feeling more alone and desperate than ever before. Devonia was gone, captured by the enemy. Were they hurting her? He remembered the soldiers’ taunts and leering eyes. Angry again, he gritted his teeth, wishing he could have done more to protect her.

  He thought of his friends and wondered what had happened to them. If only he had the Surineda Map or a way to reach them. He looked at the temple far off in the distance and found himself wanting to leave. A glance over at Caisa showed her deep in conversation. Aurellia was nowhere to be found. A moment ago Rikar watched him walking off, perhaps beyond earshot. He had to try.

  Rikar rose to his feet, risking it. Perhaps if he left, stalking through the streets until he reached the temple, he might find his friends. That was where they had gone, wasn’t it? And then Talis could find Devonia with the map. Besides, things were getting worse here, with Aurellia and Caisa. Another day like today and Rikar feared he might end up dead. He couldn’t help but picture the bloodied bodies of the slain sorcerers.

  He hated the idea of dying. Not out of fear of death or what he might face in the underworld, but out of sadness. He felt sad at the idea of never seeing Devonia again. It was strength of will he needed to stay alive. That and a good disguise.

  As he stumbled through the dark street, he somehow managed to slip unnoticed down a side alleyway. He pulled his hood over his head and bent his back, adopting the gait of an old man. Hell, he felt like one right now, so it wasn’t that difficult of a transformation. If he could manage to go quietly, he might have a chance… or not. He could be captured like Devonia, and what, tortured? The enemy had seen him fight, that was for sure. They knew his face. But perhaps, under the cloak of darkness, he could travel unseen and find Ta
lis.

  For all his magic and power, against these aliens, he was nothing but a child hurling sticks at grown soldiers. He had no choice but to surrender. And he would, if he wasn’t killed first.

  He tugged his cloak tighter around himself, hiding his face even more. The air was cool tonight, but not unbearable. As he tread through the quiet streets, he followed the way leading to higher ground, trying to keep himself heading toward the temple. But he was miles off and the way was slow through the narrow, winding streets. He longed to fly but was afraid of being spotted by the enemy.

  He passed through a lush park where strange, knotty trees twisted up toward the stars. The sound of bubbling water drew him in and, feeling thirsty, he followed it until he reached a spring set under the side of a hill.

  Fatigue set in and he rested a moment, sitting on a stone next to a pool where the water bubbled up. The air smelled of fragrant flowers and it soothed his mind. He cupped his hands and took a sip of the water. It tasted sweet, so he helped himself to more, until at last he was satisfied.

  He leaned back and once again stared at the lush field of stars blanketing the dark sky. What a strange life, he thought. A sigh escaped his lips as his mind returned to Devonia. There must be a way.

  Why don’t you ask us for help, a voice said, a voice dreadful and haughty at the same time.

  He jerked upright and glanced around in the dark, wondering who was speaking. But he found no one.

  We’re inside your mind. You should know this. Your friend Nikulo asked for our help and we gave it, both power and knowledge. If you want to find your girl we can help you. Otherwise, she might die. Do you wish her an early death?

  Who was this voice in his head? He knew the answer though, but refused to believe it. How could the Naemarians be speaking to him? Only Nikulo had the curse, didn’t he? Maybe Rikar was losing his mind.