Battle Mage

by Peter Flannery

  It was a cold and gloomy afternoon with a faint speckle of snow on the air. They had been training for about two hours when Meredith suggested they see if Falco was able to ‘fortify’ his flesh against the steady pressure of a single point.

  ‘Might be easier than trying to fend off a thousand tiny bits of gravel,’ he said.

  Aurelian seemed unconvinced but he picked up the spear all the same. He had brought it along to see if Falco was able to deflect it when thrown at him but Meredith feared that he was not ready for such a risky test of his ability. So now Aurelian stood with the spear couched under his arm and the point pressed against Falco’s chest.

  Eyes closed and concentrating hard, Falco was certain the sharp point was about to sink into his flesh as he felt the pressure from the spear increase. He did not see Aurelian clench his jaw and lean against the spear, his booted feet sliding a little on the gritty floor.

  Meredith frowned in appreciation as he saw Falco’s power beginning to manifest itself.

  ‘Ah!’ gasped Falco, twisting away as he gave up on the attempt and felt the spear cut through his shirt and score the skin of his shoulder. ‘It’s no good. I just can’t do it.’

  Aurelian gave a curse as he stumbled forward before catching his balance.

  Stepping out of his way Falco put a hand to his bleeding shoulder and looked with confusion at the expression of satisfaction on Meredith’s face. Aurelian on the other hand glared at Falco as if he were quite the most exasperating student he had ever had the misfortune to teach.

  ‘Have a look at that shoulder would you, Nicolas,’ he said to Dusaule as he made his way back to the steps. ‘I’d do it myself but I might be tempted to throttle him.’ Shaking his head in disbelief he rubbed the stump of his left arm as if the cold bothered it. ‘How he’s managed to survive so long is a bloody miracle!’

  Dusaule wore a faint smile as he rose from his feet and started smoothly down the steps.

  Confused by Aurelian’s irritation Falco allowed himself to be led over to the side where Dusaule drew back his shirt and wiped the cut with a clean cloth before laying his hand over the wound. Falco winced then sighed as a sharp tingling sensation ran along the cut before suffusing his shoulder with a deep sense of warmth. The pain faded away and he was reminded of the many times that Simeon had used his own healing powers to tend his various ails. When Dusaule removed his hand the cut had stopped bleeding and the minor wound looked as if it had already begin to heal.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Falco, cautiously probing his shoulder.

  Dusaule bowed his head and gave Aurelian a small nod before returning to his seat a few steps up the side of the arena. Aurelian’s mood however, did not seem to have improved. He sat there mumbling until Dwimervane limped down the steps to sit beside him.

  ‘I’ve never known someone so ignorant of their potential,’ said Aurelian quietly as if the two of them were alone.

  The dragon turned its horned head to look at him and Aurelian shifted as if he felt suddenly guilty.

  ‘I know, I know. It’s not his fault,’ he conceded at last. ‘Just damn frustrating that’s all.’

  Dwimervane briefly rested her head against his shoulder, careful not to let the foot-long curving horns snag on his clothing. Then, somewhat stiffly, she started down the steps, the leading edge of her right wing clipping Aurelian round the back of the head as she passed. He gave a soft curse and Dusaule smiled. The slight knock did not appear to be accidental.

  Falco watched as the dragon walked towards him, its blue scales shimmering darkly in the cold grey light. For some reason it seemed unable to stand up to its full height and it approached with a hunched and limping gait, not unlike Aurelian himself. Its wings were deformed and withered, shrunken by burns and thick skeins of scar tissue. The scales on the right side of its body appeared melted and fused and Falco suspected that it was this that prevented the dragon from standing up straight. Even so, Dwimervane stood more than four feet at the shoulder and her great blue head rose well above Falco’s own.

  She looked down on him with a kind of curious intensity as if she were trying to figure out what kind of creature he was. Her flame yellow eyes shifted to the burns on Falco’s neck and raising a foreleg she drew back the neck of his shirt with a sharp adamantine claw. After a brief appraisal her gaze moved back to his face and Falco could read the unspoken question in her eyes.

  Did a dragon really do this?

  Falco lowered his gaze, his mind filled with guilt. He knew the truth would only bring the dragon pain.

  After a moment however, Dwimervane lowered her head and, just as he had with the yellow dragon in Toulwar, Falco pressed his forehead against hers. He closed his eyes and felt again that deep sense of trust, marred only by questions to which he had no answers.

  Slowly Dwimervane removed her head and with a last searching look at Falco she approached Meredith who took several steps back as the great beast came closer. Finally he stood his ground and allowed the dragon to observe him, her gaze seeming to delve deep inside his soul. Then once more Dwimervane bowed her head.

  Out of the corner of his eye Falco saw Aurelian give Dusaule a sideways glance. It was clear they had never seen her behave this way towards one of the magi before.

  ‘Press your forehead against hers,’ said Falco. ‘It’s how they greet each other.’

  He had no idea how he knew this but there was no doubt in his mind that it was true.

  Clearly unnerved, Meredith slowly bowed his head until the cool skin of his forehead made contact with the warm scales of the dragon. Falco could see the tension in his body but then he let out a long sigh and relaxed. They came apart and Falco was not surprised to see tears in Meredith’s eyes. He seemed embarrassed but Falco gave him a nod of reassurance. He knew the overwhelming sensation of being close to a dragon for the first time.

  ‘Right,’ said Aurelian, getting to his feet. ‘Now that you’ve been properly introduced let’s talk a bit about dragons.’ He limped over and placed a hand on Dwimervane’s back. ‘You ever met a dragon before? Except for the one at the summoning,’ he added quickly.

  Meredith shook his head.

  ‘I met Dominic Ginola’s dragon in Toulwar,’ said Falco.

  ‘And what did you make of her?’

  ‘Beautiful,’ said Falco and finally Aurelian smiled.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘She is.’

  Dwimervane looked at each of them in turn, perfectly content to be the focus of their attention.

  ‘Are they all female?’ asked Meredith.

  ‘No,’ said Aurelian. ‘Many are but it makes no difference, male or female, they all fight like devils.’

  Once again Falco was entranced. He did not see Dwimervane’s injuries and disfigurement. All he saw was her beauty. From the sinuous line of her neck to the lethal spear point at the tip of her tale, from the armoured plates on her chest and shoulders to the perfect tiny scales around her eyes. Her talons were as long as his fingers and her white teeth shone with the lustre of polished metal.

  ‘Is it true their scales are stronger than steel?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ said Aurelian. ‘But they also seem to have some form of fortification. It’s very hard to damage a dragon in its prime but if they become exhausted or disheartened they seem more susceptible to injury. It’s okay, you can touch her,’ he added when he saw Falco reach out then stop.

  Falco extended his hand to touch the scales on Dwimervane’s shoulder. They felt hard and warm like some kind of glassy metal that has been heated in a fire. There was a slight ridge down the centre of each scale and the edges were almost sharp. As he pressed against her he felt the scales move beneath his hand.

  ‘Here,’ said Aurelian. ‘Climb onto her. Don’t worry she won’t bite,’ he added with a laugh when Falco hesitated.

  Following Aurelian’s instructions Falco moved to stand at Dwimervane’s shoulder.

  ‘Just swing your leg over as if you were mounting a horse.’
<
br />   ‘I thought you used saddles,’ said Meredith, still standing a little way back.

  ‘We do,’ said Aurelian. ‘Although it’s more of a riding harness. But you can ride a dragon without one. Look...’

  As Falco settled himself onto Dwimervane’s back he felt her scales move as if they were moulding themselves to his shape. But more than this they also seemed to grip him slightly as if she were actually holding onto him.

  ‘Trust me,’ said Aurelian. ‘When you drop into an attack dive for the first time that feeling of being held will be the only thing stopping you from filling your pants.’

  ‘So why do you use a harness?’ asked Meredith.

  ‘That grippy thing doesn’t work so well on armour,’ said Aurelian.

  Dwimervane looked round at Falco as if to make sure he was sitting securely then she reared up on her hind legs and flapped her misshapen wings.

  Falco felt his heart quicken. The feeling of power beneath him was far greater than any horse he had ever ridden, greater indeed than anything he had known before, although something nagged at his memory, a kind of déjà vu suggesting that this had happened before. But the feeling vanished as Dwimervane reached her fullest height and let out a roar that seemed to contradict her damaged form. Then from her jaws a great gout of fire burst forth. It slammed into the stone steps as the sound of her roar echoed around the crucible.

  Meredith flinched and staggered back, hands raised against the ferocity of the display but Aurelian laughed.

  ‘She misses the battle field,’ he said with obvious pride. He stepped in front of Dwimervane and took her head against his shoulder. ‘Showing off, eh old girl?’

  Dwimervane gave him a nudge that made him stagger back but he laughed all the more.

  ‘How can they do it?’ asked Meredith, slowly mastering his shock. Dwimervane’s display had reminded him too keenly of the black dragon in the Castle of the Winds. ‘How can they stand in the face of a demon when all other animals flee in terror?’

  Aurelian looked at him while Falco climbed down off Dwimervane’s back.

  ‘It all comes down to the soul,’ said Aurelian in answer to Meredith’s question.

  He looked up at Dusaule, glanced at Dwimervane then drew his sword before moving to stand before Falco and Meredith.

  ‘In all creation there are but three things that contain a soul... a human, a dragon and the sword of a battle mage.’

  He held the blade out level before them.

  ‘It is the strength of a soul that allows it to stand in the presence of evil, a soul forged in fire or tempered by the nightmares of a child. No one knows how dragons are able to resist the fear, but something has prepared them to face the demons of hell, and you can rest assured that it would not have been easy.’

  Again he looked at Dwimervane and the dragon returned his gaze as if she understood the words he spoke.

  ‘They are our brothers and our sisters, our salvation and our hope. Without them we are lost.’

  Falco heard the truth, and the love, and the sadness in Aurelian’s words. He glanced up to find Dusaule staring down at him, the man’s handsome face made gaunt by guilt and grief.

  ‘Our salvation and our hope,’ thought Falco, looking at Dusaule. ‘And you were forced to kill one.’

  ‘But you’ll learn about all this,’ said Aurelian, blinking as if to clear a certain blurriness from his eyes. ‘That’s if you manage to learn anything at all,’ he added with something of his earlier annoyance.

  ‘Who was it that made your sword?’ asked Meredith.

  In his reading up on the subject he had learned that the sword of a battle mage is made by a skilled weapon smith but the heat is provided, not by a forge, but by the battle mage himself.

  ‘Same person who’s made just about every battle mage sword for the last thirty years,’ said Aurelian. ‘Antonio Missaglias. Mind you he was little more than an apprentice when he made this.’

  He raised his sword again so that the boys could have a closer look. The metal displayed a beautiful pattern, a rippling effect running down the length of the blade. Such patterns were known as the ‘serpent in the sword’ and were extremely difficult effect to achieve, even for a normal blade.

  ‘He always was a precocious bastard, genius some say, which is just as well. My conjuring has always been a little chaotic to say the least. It’s a wonder the metal didn’t just explode.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Falco.

  ‘A battle mage uses their power to heat the blade beyond what a normal forge could achieve,’ said Meredith. ‘But they must also control the heat and be careful to contain it, otherwise they could destroy the sword completely. It’s the only way to produce a blade that can survive the forces that will be channelled through it. A normal blade would be too easily destroyed.’

  Falco nodded.

  ‘It helped that we’d known each other since we were little brats like you,’ he said. ‘Helped him read the metal and match the personality of the sword to the vagaries of my power.’

  Falco was intrigued. Aurelian talked about the sword as if it were a living thing. He reached out to touch it and a high resonant note sounded in his mind as if the sword were somehow singing. He drew back his hand in surprise.

  ‘Pah!’ exclaimed Aurelian. ‘Even my sword knows you’re a battle mage.’ He gave Falco a good natured shove. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s work a bit on your footwork before we finish.’

  Meredith returned to the lowest step at the side of the arena to watch. Falco had come a long way from being the sickly servant that people had known in Caer Dour. And while he might not yet realise it himself, Meredith could feel the power rising inside of him. But more than this, he thought, as he watched the two of them battle back and forth, Falco was beginning to look like a warrior.

  As the two combatants traded blows Meredith’s gaze was drawn to one side where Dwimervane was watching the training with a critical eye. He had never experienced anything like ‘meeting’ a dragon before. It was overwhelming and humbling, so different to the blinding fear he had felt in the presence of the black dragon.

  His studies in the tower had started well and he had also found time to learn more about the training of a battle mage. Tonight however, when the Academy of War was sleeping, he would move through to the fifth chamber of the repository where the archives on dragonkind were kept. Somewhere among them, there must surely be an answer as to why black dragons were mad.

  37

  Dalwhinnies, Full Bonnet & The Épreuve du Force

  Meredith was not the only one to see a difference in Falco. The other cadets were beginning to notice it too. After thirty days of training, Falco almost caught the last of his fellow cadets on the run up to the Pike. The heavy-set Acheronian youth was not the nimblest of figures and was often near the back of the group but when he saw Falco closing on the final sprint to the tent he put on a desperate burst of speed to avoid being beaten. Falco had spent the rest of breakfast retching on an empty stomach, but the expressions on the faces of the other cadets said it all.

  The scrawny Valentian could no longer be dismissed.

  He was still the weakest of the group and he had more bruises and cuts than the rest of them put together but nothing seemed to deter him. Despite the constant beatings that he received on the training field he seemed to stand a little taller every day. The grip on his wooden sword was now decidedly strong and he took a stance, not like someone who was learning how to fight, but like someone who was remembering that they could.

  It was now nearly five weeks since they had begun their training and the cadets began to speculate on when the trainee knights would return.

  ‘The épreuve du force normally lasts for four weeks,’ said Alex as they rose from their beds one morning. ‘They should be back any time now.’

  Alex and Bryna were particularly anxious for their return. Over the weeks they had only caught fleeting glimpses of the would-be knights, running in the mountain
s or performing endurance exercises on a higher field when the rest of the cadets were heading down to the barracks for dinner. One of the cooks said he had seen them a few miles down the coast wrestling a cart load of heavy rocks across a stretch of muddy sand.

  ‘Cold, wet and completely knackered,’ was the way he described them.

  Their most recent glimpse had come on an evening four nights ago when the trainee knights thundered towards the stables on horses that looked fit to drop. The trainees looked just as tired but they had been given no time to rest. The stable hands had fresh horses standing ready for each of them and with no more time than it took them to transfer their tack from one horse to another they were off, riding back into the gathering gloom of the night. Falco caught only a quick glimpse of Malaki but he could see that his left forearm was bandaged and bleeding.

  So yes, they were worried about their friends but that was not the only thing weighing on the minds of Alex and Bryna as they woke to another day of training. The initial assessment of the cadets was finally over and today the officers-in-training would learn which military units they would be given to command. Some would be regular units getting ready to return to the front while others would be untrained units from the Queen’s Irregulars stationed here in Wrath.

  ‘I’m hoping for a company of infantry,’ said Alex, pulling on his boots.

  Falco gave a groan as he too reached for his boots.

  ‘Are you all right?’ asked Bryna.

  ‘I’m fine,’ said Falco. He felt as if someone had beaten him up while he was sleeping but he would feel better once he got moving. ‘How about you Bryna? What are you hoping for?’

  ‘I don’t mind,’ said Bryna, ‘so long as they’re not beginners.’

  ‘Why’s that?’ asked Alex.

  ‘You should see what we have to teach them,’ replied Bryna as they made their way out of the barracks and up towards the training field. ‘It’s not just range finding and volley fire. There’s a technique they call suivez. It means follow,’ she added when she saw the blank look on their faces. ‘They have suivez cinq and suivez dix - follow five and follow ten. They use it against heavier targets that get too close.’