Battle Mage

by Peter Flannery

  ‘Who is that?’ asked Falco as the five knights led the cadets away.

  ‘That is Sébastien Cabal,’ said the emissary. ‘Lord Commander of the Knights of Wrath.’

  Falco felt suddenly fearful for his friend and the emissary could sympathise. He had met Sébastien Cabal on the tournament field. It was one of the few times in his life he had been beaten in a fight. Smiling at the memory of the epic contest he turned to look at Falco.

  ‘You should be on your way,’ he said as the would-be knights disappeared from view. ‘You do not want to keep Master Cruz waiting.’

  With a faint smile he turned and walked back to the tent.

  Falco gave a sigh of resignation. It seemed there would be no moral support for him today after all.

  He would enter the crucible alone.

  The sky was clear and the sun was shining as Falco approached the curving rim of the crucible. With his heart thumping in his chest he looked down into the great sunken arena but there was no one to be seen, the crucible was empty.

  Falco found himself wondering if Aurelian had forgotten or changed his mind, but it was far more likely that he had just not arrived yet. There were, after all, a few more minutes before the bells of the city sounded the first hour of the afternoon.

  Steeling his nerves Falco made his way down the sides of the arena until he stood on the sandy floor and still no one appeared. He walked over to one of the four upright pillars and ran his hand over the glossy black stone. In contrast to the scarred walls of the crucible the five-sided pillar was barely marked. There was just a scattering of chips and marks upon its smooth dark surface.

  Looking around, Falco felt a reassuring sense of enclosure as the walls of the crucible rose up around him, but then his eyes fell upon the dark archway at the far end of the arena and any feeling of security evaporated. The gaping portal seemed to pull at him and Falco found himself walking towards it. He stopped maybe ten yards short of the threshold and his mind was suddenly filled with whispers as if the passage led to all the terrors he had dreamed of as a child. He felt the urge to back away, to run, but Falco had learned long ago that you cannot escape your dreams. Nightmares are in you, part of you, always waiting for the moment when you close your eyes to sleep.

  ‘Think of nice things,’ Fossetta used to say. But thinking of nice things never worked and so with a child’s reasoning Falco had done the opposite. He would imagine the worst of all his nightmares and then he would think of ways to defeat them. Only with the image of a shining sword held tight within his mind could he close his eyes to face the terrors of the night. And so Falco did not back away. His green eyes burned and his lip curled in something approaching a snarl. The nightmares had not claimed him as a child and they would not claim him now.

  ‘Not many people have the courage to stand where you stand now.’

  Falco started at the sudden voice. He turned to see Aurelian Cruz standing behind him, a fire-blackened sword hanging from a belt around his waist. The old battle mage frowned, looking at him with a wary expression in his eyes. With his single hand he motioned for Falco to come away as if he were a potential suicide standing on the edge of a precipice.

  With one last look into the darkness Falco turned away from the archway.

  ‘What is that place?’ he asked. ‘Where does it lead?’

  Aurelian did not answer at first. He drew Falco a short distance away as if even he felt uncomfortable being too close to the tunnel.

  ‘The people of Clemoncé call it L’obscurité, or ‘The Darkness’, others call it the Labyrinth or the Oubliette. Either way it leads to your fate.’ He led Falco to the north side of the crucible where a sword and shield had been laid out and the sun was shining on the lowest tier of steps. ‘That’s where you will attempt the Rite of Assay.’

  Falco looked back at the dark tunnel entrance. Despite his earlier resolve the thought of actually stepping into that impenetrable darkness sent a shiver of fear down his spine.

  ‘So, you’re Aquila’s boy,’ said Aurelian with an appraising eye.

  Falco nodded.

  ‘Heaven help us!’ muttered the maimed old battle mage, shaking his head and laughing softly.

  Falco felt a prickle of embarrassment.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry,’ said Aurelian when he saw the indignation on Falco’s face. ‘You’ve your father’s height, and something of his looks.’ With a large calloused hand he grabbed Falco’s chin and forced him to stand up straight. He nodded as if he approved of Falco’s more upright posture. ‘Besides, the Chevalier has spoken for you and that’s good enough for me.’

  Falco did not know what to say. Here was yet another person who seemed to have known his father.

  ‘But we’re gonna to have to build him up a bit, eh Dwim?’ said Aurelian, glancing up to Falco’s right.

  Following his gaze Falco saw a man sitting half way up the side of the arena, and stretched out on the broad steps beside him was a dragon, its scales a deep iridescent blue. Falco recognised the man as the other ‘Crofter’ they had seen the other day. And after a moment he recalled the name of Aurelian’s dragon, Dwimervane.

  The dragon looked at Falco with a kind of guarded curiosity and Falco shifted under its scrutiny but he did not look away.

  ‘So, what can you do?’

  Falco looked at Aurelian blankly. He had no idea what he was talking about.

  ‘What can you do?’ repeated Aurelian. ‘Can you generate heat or fire, move stuff or break things without touching them?’

  Falco shook his head, still none the wiser.

  ‘But you have defensive skills?’ insisted Aurelian. ‘You couldn’t have survived that fireball yesterday without being able to defend yourself.’

  Again Falco shook his head.

  ‘Balls of a hog!’ cursed Aurelian. ‘You mean you can cast a protection like that without even realising?’

  Falco just shrugged.

  ‘Stand over there,’ said Aurelian bad-temperedly.

  Not sure what he had done wrong, Falco did as he was told, standing about ten feet away from the annoyed battle mage. Aurelian picked up a handful of gritty sand then without warning he flung it hard at Falco. Falco closed his eyes as the sharp pieces of grit stung his face and hands.

  ‘Defend yourself,’ snapped Aurelian, unleashing another fistful of grit.

  Raising his hands Falco winced and ducked as Aurelian pelted him again and again then without warning... Whoosh! Instead of grit a fireball streaked towards Falco before exploding around him. Once again Falco felt a burst of intense heat and then it was gone, replaced by the acrid smell of burning hair and scorched clothes.

  ‘Hah!’ cried Aurelian as if the whole thing was a bad joke. ‘Instinct! Nothing more.’ He looked away from Falco, scanning the sides of the crucible as if he were looking for something. ‘Now, where the hell is that mage? He’s got a cart load of work to do and he’s already late!’

  ‘Not late,’ said a voice. ‘Just observing.’

  They all looked up as Meredith Saker suddenly appeared, descending the steps towards them. He gave Falco a nod of acknowledgement before bowing to the two battle mages

  ‘Master Cruz. Master Dusaule.’

  ‘Dusaule,’ thought Falco, looking at the man sitting beside the dragon. So that was the other Crofter’s name. He was tall and broad shouldered with shoulder length brown hair. He acknowledged Meredith’s bow with a slow dip of his head, the expression in his eyes wary and suspicious.

  Meredith then bowed to the dragon, which responded by tilting its head as if it were surprised to receive such courtesy from one of the magi.

  ‘Just ‘observing’, eh?’ said Aurelian with a meaningful look in Dusaule’s direction. ‘The Chevalier said you had a gift for concealment.’

  Meredith said nothing. He was trying to maintain a semblance of composure, not easy when you were in the company of two battle mages and a dragon.

  ‘So maybe you can tell me why this little toe rag can o
nly cast a protection when he thinks his life is in danger.’

  Meredith glanced at Falco who seemed completely oblivious to Aurelian’s insulting term.

  ‘Instinct, as you say,’ said Meredith. ‘Falco has never learned to channel his ability. It is only on a subconscious level that any powers have made their presence known.’

  Meredith had spent most of the night reading up on the training of a battle mage. It appeared the term ‘guide’ was quite appropriate. The mage’s role was not so much to teach the would-be battle mage, but rather to help them recognise the abilities that they already possessed. Meredith had been watching closely while Aurelian pelted Falco with small stones, but more than this, he had been observing Falco’s mind. At first all he had sensed was surprise, pain and mounting irritation but the moment Aurelian summoned his fireball something had stirred in Falco’s mind, a dormant energy like a beast quickly roused from slumber. The force had flared to life, suffusing Falco’s body as the fireball engulfed him but it was gone the moment the flames disappeared.

  ‘I could cast a basic protection by the age of seven,’ said Aurelian. ‘By nine I could shatter stones and splinter wood.’

  ‘But Falco has been ill since childhood,’ said Meredith. ‘He has always perceived himself as weak.’ He glanced across at Falco, who conceded the truth of Meredith’s words with a shrug. ‘The casting of any force requires self-belief, unless it is done by instinct.’

  Slowly Aurelian nodded as if he were beginning to understand.

  ‘But why only protection?’ he asked.

  ‘Conjuration or fortification would require intent,’ replied Meredith.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ interrupted Falco, who had never heard these terms.

  They all looked at him, realising just how little he knew about the magical arts and the powers of a battle mage.

  ‘These are magi terms,’ said Meredith. ‘Categories for the different ways that magical force is manifested.’ He looked at Falco with a sudden intensity.

  Communication

  Falco flinched as the word echoed in his mind. He did not ‘hear it’ exactly. It was more like the thought of the word sounding in his mind.

  ‘A fireball would fall under the category of conjuration,’ continued Meredith in a normal voice. ‘But it also refers to any tangible force or energy that is created external to the caster. Alteration is the affecting of objects without any visible contact.’

  Falco nodded, thinking of the various attacks that Darius had performed against the dragon.

  ‘Fortification refers to anything that strengthens or fortifies the body. A battle mage might use it to resist a blow or absorb the impact when jumping from a height. Resolve is used to resist fear and any assault on the mind.’

  Aurelian gave a growl of impatience.

  ‘A battle mage doesn’t think in these terms,’ he said. ‘In a way, everything we do is instinctive. It’s just that we can do it at will.’ He swung his fist and an arc of bluish energy shot across the crucible before cutting a deep gash in a block of stone on the far wall of the arena. ‘If you’re to become a battle mage you must learn to do all these things with nothing more than a thought. It takes effort, and doing too much will leave you weak with exhaustion, but there’s no time for categories and rules when you’re fighting the Possessed.’

  He sounded angry and, wandering over to the nearby step, he picked up the sword and shield.

  ‘So, how are you going to help him?’ he demanded of Meredith as he handed Falco the sword and shield. ‘How are you going to take instinct and transform it into a deliberate act of will? How are you going to save him from certain death?’

  With a distinct sense of apprehension Falco gripped the sword and settled the shield on his arm while Meredith shot him an anxious look. He had not expected his ‘guidance’ to be put to the test so quickly.

  ‘There was a moment,’ he said. ‘When you summoned the fireball, a flash in Falco’s mind. I would get him to focus on that.’

  Aurelian seemed unimpressed as he drew his own sword. The blade was notched and discoloured by fire but still it shone with a lethal edge.

  ‘Guard,’ said the old battle mage in a voice that was suddenly cold and hard.

  Falco felt a sudden rush of nervous energy. Even one-handed, hunched and limping Aurelian made an intimidating opponent. Meredith took a few steps out of harm’s way; not at all sure what Aurelian was expecting him to do. Suddenly Aurelian surged forward with an attack that would have killed Falco if he had not blocked it with his shield. Falco staggered under the force of it and struggled to keep his feet.

  ‘What are you going to do, mage?’ snarled Aurelian driving Falco back with a series of vicious attacks.

  Falco was literally fighting for his life and Meredith was paralysed by a desperate sense of responsibility.

  ‘He’s going to die, mage,’ gasped Aurelian. ‘The Possessed are going tear him apart and rape his soul.’ With a savage charge Aurelian knocked Falco over, stamped on his shield arm and kicked the sword from his numb fingers. ‘Now what the hell are you going to do?’

  His sword came down in a killing stroke and Meredith was certain that Falco was dead. But at the last moment some invisible force knocked the sword from Aurelian’s grasp and sent it spinning through the air. It landed with a skittering clang some twenty feet away and a tense silence filled the arena.

  Dusaule was on his feet, staring down into the arena. The quiet battle mage seemed unconcerned by the fact that he had just saved Falco’s life. Meredith was trembling with shock. Falco was cowering on the floor and Aurelian Cruz was panting with rage. He stepped away from Falco and walked up to Meredith until his face was just inches from the apprentice mage.

  ‘The Rite of Assay is not some country challenge on tournament day,’ he hissed. ‘It is the attempt to break a man in the hope that he will become unbreakable.’

  Meredith tried to back away but Aurelian grabbed his robes.

  ‘The magi skirt the very realms of hell to test the men and women who will stand against the demons of the Possessed. And you can rest assured that Thrall and your father will not spare the rod in the trial of Master Danté. So I will ask you one more time... What are you going to do to prepare him?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Meredith in a quiet voice.

  For a moment Aurelian maintained his grip but then his face broke into a craggy smile.

  ‘Finally, a touch of humility,’ he said, letting go of Meredith’s robes. ‘Maybe there’s hope for you boys yet.’ He turned away and gave a nod of thanks to Dusaule who sat back down beside Dwimervane. He limped over to pick up his sword and wiped off the dust before sliding it back into its scabbard.

  Still shaking, Meredith walked over to where Falco was getting to his feet. In age the two of them were now counted as men but here, in the crucible, they stood together like frightened boys.

  Aurelian walked towards the steps where Dusaule and Dwimervane had risen from their seats.

  ‘Same time tomorrow,’ he said as he walked past Falco and Meredith. ‘And maybe next time you’ll both be better prepared.’ With these ‘encouraging’ words he climbed out of the arena, the dragon and Dusaule following in his wake.

  Falco and Meredith watched until they disappeared over the lip. They looked at each other warily as if they finally realised what they had let themselves in for.

  ‘You don’t have to...’ began Falco but Meredith raised his hand to cut him off.

  ‘That prickling sensation you felt when he summoned the fireball.’

  ‘That’s nothing,’ said Falco. ‘Just a trill of nerves. I feel something similar with music and stories that move me. Goose bumps, nothing more.’

  ‘No,’ said Meredith with certainty. ‘That flash. That surge of energy. That’s where we shall begin.’

  Falco did not know what else to say as, with a bow, Meredith took his leave and began to climb out of the crucible in the direction of the mage tower. Falco wa
s left feeling dazed by everything that had just happened. His arms felt bruised from blocking Aurelian’s blows and his legs felt heavy as clay. He took a last look around the great arena then slowly he too climbed the deep steps and started down the hill towards the academy. It was still early and he wondered if he should make his way back to the training field but he was exhausted and he needed to think about what Meredith had said.

  ‘That flash. That surge of energy. That’s where we shall begin.’

  Falco knew the sensation Meredith was talking about, that tingling surge that started behind his eyes and swept down through his body, the little death that raised the hairs on his arms and left him feeling cleansed.

  He paused on the slopes above the Academy of War. He closed his eyes and tensed his brow as he summoned the feeling in his mind.

  Could this really be the beginnings of power?

  He opened his eyes and looked at his tingling hands as if seeing them for the first time. ‘Yes,’ he thought... ‘It could.’

  36

  In All Creation

  As the days went on, Falco began to feel that a place at the Academy of War was not so much a prize as an extremely painful punishment. He continued to lose every sparring match in which he was drawn and the physical endurance sessions, which the instructors referred to as ‘conditioning’, left him feeling shaky and nauseous. And that was before he climbed up to the crucible where Aurelian would thrash him around the arena until he was numb with exhaustion and aching from head to foot. But he was making progress. He might not realise it but he was slowly closing the gap between himself and the other cadets. He was also beginning to recognise the sensations in his mind that seemed so obvious to Meredith.

  ‘There!’ said Meredith, one afternoon in the crucible, as Falco was attempting to ‘resist’ the point of the spear that Aurelian was pressing into his chest. ‘Now focus on the point of the spear and try to push it away.’