Welcome To The Age of Magic

by C M Raymond et al.

His sister was using magic. Possessed by some demon, she had conjured evil itself to work on her behalf. To save him.

  She was in the air one moment, beside a sorcerer the next, clawing at his face with what appeared to be shadow claws. Blood splattered and, before he could react, she had been engulfed by shadow and was at his other side attacking one of the others while her shadow remained to deliver the next blow.

  All that was holy within Alastar said to be done with her, to flee and never look back, or destroy her before the evil fully took hold. This was no longer his sister, a voice said in the back of his mind. This was evil incarnate.

  Yet, when one of the sorcerers reached out a hand and caught her in a grip that sparked with electricity, causing her to writhe in pain, Alastar’s heart broke.

  And suddenly, the ice broke away, and he was free.

  “Get your hands off my sister!” he shouted, and charged.

  The sorcerer had barely turned his gaze when the sword connected with his arm, severing hand from wrist, and Rhona fell to the floor.

  All the shadows converged on her and, with a spasm, she fell, unconscious.

  The sorcerer was screaming as blood gushed from his arm while the one with the power of fire lay writhing in pain, and the third had stepped back, eyes wide as they fixed firmly on Rhona. He reached for her, even mumbled something, then collapsed to one knee and curled on the floor.

  Everyone in the room was staring now, too, unable to move.

  Two things were clear in that moment—the first was that Alastar’s sister had used magic, meaning that she could no longer stay here or she would risk death. The second was that, if that was the case, Alastar wouldn’t stay either.

  He prayed for strength of will and body as he spun, sheathing his sword, and strode over to his sister’s side.

  The warlock was there, too, slowly recovering, but not too badly hurt.

  “What’s your move?” the warlock whispered, eyeing him intently.

  “Escape,” was the only word that came from Alastar’s parched mouth.

  The warlock nodded, eyes warily assessing the room. “Best hurry then.”

  Alastar lifted his sister in his arms without a response, then made for the stairs leading back to the servants’ quarters. The warlock followed him, which still made little sense in the clouded state of confusion he now found himself. All he could process was that he needed to take his sister far away from this place that hunted and persecuted magic users. He made it down the stairs before the commotion started up again from behind, and even saw the servants’ entrance before the first sound of pursuit came. He could only imagine they had been even more stunned than he had been.

  “She’s evil,” the voice of Sir Taland said from the base of the stairs. “You cannot let her live.”

  “I will,” Alastar shouted as he kicked open the door to outside. “Anyone who tries to stop me will taste my steel and breathe their last breath.”

  He didn’t even turn back to see the paladin’s response, but stepped out into the night air, vaguely aware of the warlock still following close behind.

  3

  Alastar cursed his luck as he ran from the castle as best he could while cradling his sister in his arms. His armor clanked and his muscles ached, each breath bringing a new agony to his ribs.

  He had abandoned the Order of Rodrick for a magic user. An evil, horrible, magic user… even if she was family. He was a traitor to his brothers in arms.

  Everything and everyone he knew and loved was behind him now, and they would turn on him if he ever went back. Everyone, that is, but the one thing that mattered most in his life—his sister. There would be no more grand feasts, no more early morning sparring with his brothers in arms, and certainly no holy quests in hopes of earning the High Paladin’s favor. He hadn’t even been able to go on his first mission.

  His sense of honor and duty and everything else ingrained into him in his training had been tossed aside.

  Instead, he was now a fugitive, no better than the warlock running at his side.

  At the tree line, Alastar paused to catch his breath, lowering Rhona to sit up to rest her back against the great spruce. She groaned, eyes moving under their closed eyelids, but she remained fast asleep.

  The castle behind them was in flames. Though the foundation was built of stone and would last it out, wood had been easier to use in the rebuilding over the years since the end of the Age of Madness. Distant sounds of battle could still be heard from within, and occasionally blasts of red or blue lit up a window.

  “Which clan?” Alastar demanded. “I need to know!”

  The warlock shook his head. “We went over this. Those men and women in there? They aren’t from any clan, not in Roneland, anyway. I would know.”

  “They weren’t the Storm Raiders, that’s for damn sure.”

  “Unless they’ve adopted a new look, but it’s possible.” The warlock shrugged.

  Alastar considered this. The Storm Raiders had been attacking Roneland by ship from the north for years now, but often in small raids. Nothing like this. As far as he knew, they didn’t have the power to call on ice and fire.

  Only the mindless roamed the large island of Sair Talem to the west, and the king would never allow such madness in his lands to the south.

  None of it made sense.

  “Regardless of who they are,” the warlock said, “you need to get her out of here. If they win, they’ll come for her. But if the paladins win, so will they.”

  “I fail to see what the sorcerers would want with my sister.”

  “Really?” The warlock gestured to her. “After everything she just did, they’ll label her a witch for sure. I’ve never seen magic like that, have you?”

  Alastar shook his head. He had to admit that he had no idea what was happening with his sister. She had always been the normal one, amazed at the first time he had prayed for the Saint to bless his sword, and it had glowed ever so faintly. Although, now that he thought of it, there had been that time when they had first learned the news about their parents, something had been off then.

  They had both lived in the south then, in the King’s lands. It was different down there, closer to the old days, elders claimed. The days before the Age of Madness. People mostly lived civilized lives, going about their day at a factory or selling goods at the market.

  Everything seemed so simple then, so safe. That only lasted until the witches and warlocks came, though, slipping past the northern defenses and wreaking havoc on village after village until the King’s guard beat them out.

  This unending war was all the lands in the north knew. It had seemed so simple—root out evil and defeat it. Evil meant anyone using magic.

  Unfortunately, his dearest sister had just thrown all of that on its head.

  He turned to see the warlock staring, one eyebrow raised.

  “What?”

  “I could take her,” the warlock said. “If you want, I could take her to the clan, see if they’ll accept her. You return to your paladin friends and keep your honor, say you killed her, and no one’s the wiser.”

  Alastar took a step toward him, fist raised. “How dare you? This is my sister we’re talking about, not some pup to be handed off.”

  He held his hands up in defense. “I’m only offering solutions.”

  “There’s only one solution here, and that’s what I’m working to achieve.”

  “Which is?”

  Alastar thought about this for a moment, realizing the warlock had a point. Where were they going?

  “It doesn’t matter, as long as we’re together.”

  “Is that so?” the warlock laughed. “You’ll just wander the countryside until you fall down dead? Is that it?”

  “Me, dead?” Alastar shook his head. “Not until those sorcerers have paid for what they did here. I will avenge my brothers and reunite with those that made it out alive… after I find a safe spot for her.”

  The warlock considered this, then added, �
��Donnon.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “That’s my name. Since we’ll be traveling together, I thought you should know.”

  Alaster frowned. This was a magic user standing before him, a warlock. They were at war with the paladins. But since Alastar wasn’t sure where he stood with the paladins at the moment, seeing as he’d stormed out of there with not one, but two magic users in tow, this might be all the help he could get.

  “Alastar,” he said with a curt nod.

  With a heavy groan, part of the palace collapsed, sending stones and stained glass flying.

  That was the northeast side, where the High Paladin had his room. Where the main paladin defense would have been formed just outside of the armory. If it had fallen, he didn’t want to even think about what could be happening in there right now.

  “I swear on the Holy Saint and the Sword of Light, this will end with my sword through each one of their hearts,” Alastar said, eyes locked on the crumbling building.

  “That’s all fine,” Donnon said. “But right now, how about we get the hell out of here?”

  A cloaked figure appeared at the base of the fortress, bald, and it seemed he was looking up at them. The sorcerer reached out a hand, there was a spark, and then he seemed to lose his balance, wavering with a hand to his head.

  “He’s exhausted himself,” Donnon said, almost cheerful. “The little rat’s arse has used too much of his power. Now’s our chance! Go!”

  Alastar didn’t need to be told twice. He turned and lifted his sister in one quick movement, and then they were off again.

  They ran through forests, crossed streams, and had crossed their second hill before Alastar’s legs buckled, and he nearly collapsed.

  “I… I can’t do this.” He cradled his sister, eyes closed tightly as he tried to pray for the Saint’s blessing, but none came. “What’s wrong with her?”

  Donnon stood tall and proud, but a look of concern smoothed out his normal frown. “Like the sorcerer back there, she’s worn herself out.”

  “My sister’s nothing like any sorcerer!”

  “Be that as it may, or may not, the fact remains that she used magic, of a sort, and it drained her energy.” He looked up at the paladin. “That’s all I meant by it.”

  Alastar pulled back on his emotions, telling himself to calm down. Losing it out here, like this, wouldn’t help anyone.

  “How do we get her back?”

  “You mean her energy?” Donnon’s frown returned, and he shook his head. “That’s not how it works, it’s about rest. Recovery. There’s never been another way to get one’s spirit back, far as I can tell.”

  “Spirit?”

  “That’s what we call it, whatever it is that drives our ability to call on such power. You didn’t notice that it often manifests itself in the form of an animal or some other spirit? A familiar some call it, pulling on one’s spirit, others say.”

  “The dark arts.” Alastar nodded. “Call them what you will, but anyone who uses magic is evil.”

  “Including your sister?”

  “That’s not… I mean…” Alastar’s breaths came short and heavy, his nostrils flared.

  He noticed his sister’s eyes flickering and dismissed the comment with a wave, then knelt beside her.

  “Great Saint, if ever there was a time to heed my call for healing, now would be the time.” He placed his hands on his sister’s head and closed his eyes. “Drive these evil forces from her body, heal her and let her never use magic again.”

  He waited… but nothing happened.

  “If I may?” Donnon stepped up behind him and Alastar opened his eyes to look back.

  “You know the healing arts?”

  “I couldn’t heal a lizard’s tail, not even the kind that regrows.” Donnon tucked his thumbs into his belt. “But I know a thing or two about magic and you’re going about it all wrong.”

  Alastar took the warlock by the neck in one fluid motion that involved standing and darting over to slam him against a tree. The action sent sprinkles of water down on them as Alastar said, “Don’t you dare lump me in with filth like yourself!”

  “Like me and your sister, you mean.” Donnon laughed, then coughed as Alastar squeezed. “All right, you’ve made your point. But…” With a quick thrust of his hands, Donnon had broken free and stepped away from Alastar. “If you’d try listening to me, she could be healed faster. At least enough to walk and escape those monsters back there.”

  Alastar’s chest heaved as he considered this, but the man had a point. They needed to move, soon, and he wasn’t going to be able to carry his sister the whole time.

  The words came out forced, each stress of a syllable dripping with contempt as he managed to say, “What would you have me do?”

  “Seeing as you’re not smart enough to understand what’s happening here, I’d say to start with clearing your mind. Forget about me, and focus on two things—her, and your belief that this magic, er, blessing, will happen.”

  “That’s all? Belief in the power, but not in a higher being?” Alastar asked.

  “You’re distracted with this and doubting your faith, now that it shines a red light on you and your sister. So, just assuming this is magic or something else, like pulling energy from another dimension, say, wouldn’t it make sense to you that, if you don’t focus and believe, it can’t happen.”

  “For the sake of idiotic hypotheticals, aye.”

  The warlock grinned. “Great. I accept it. Now, simply do it.”

  Alastar turned back to his sister and closed his eyes again.

  “No need for that,” Donnon said. “The whole prayer thing. If it’s just closing your eyes to concentrate, sure.”

  “How about, since I still consider you the enemy and want to see you burn, I do it my way until I’m certain it won’t work.”

  “Suit yourself, lowlander.”

  Alastar scoffed, but when he bowed his head, he secretly didn’t close his eyes. In fact, he focused on the black and gold necklace around his sister’s throat and imagined his energy flowing through those stones. He imagined energy coming down from all around him, entering her with great healing strength.

  But nothing happened.

  “A curse upon you!” Alastar said, standing and turning on the warlock. “Why am I listening to you, anyway? You, who I found attacking an innocent woman and her father!”

  Donnon raised an eyebrow. “That what the ‘ell you think I was doing?”

  “What?” Alastar stared, dumbstruck. “You cast fire, that was fire. You attacked me as soon as I arrived!”

  “I could’ve killed you.”

  “Not helping your case!” His eyes narrowed at the warlock.

  “I have no case other than this—I was helping them, not hurting them.”

  Alastar frowned, confused. “That… doesn’t make sense.”

  “Ask your sister when she wakes. See if what she saw was different from what you thought you saw, and then come to me with accusations.”

  “You were on paladin territory, why?”

  Donnon looked away, his jaw set firm and a hardness coming over his eyes.

  “Tell me!”

  The warlock’s fists clenched and he spun on Alastar, but then his eyes settled on the form of Rhona, and he sighed. “Healers?”

  “What about them?”

  “There’s a clan not far from our own, as the crow flies, but to travel around paladin territory would take too long.” His furrowed brow let up as his gaze became distant, lost in thought.

  “Someone you know is hurt,” Alastar said in realization. “All of this… they must be very important to you.”

  Donnon nodded, then snapped his head back toward the direction they had come. “It seems you and I are both in need of the healer, at least until you gain your ‘faith’ back, or whatever you want to call it.”

  “Clansmen would never help a paladin,” Alastar spat.

  “It’s not you who needs the bloody help, is
it?”

  Alastar turned back to his sister. He breathed deep as he tried to pray for energy, but none came.

  “Help me,” he said, barely a whisper.

  A quick breath from the clansman’s nose gave Alastar the impression the man was about to laugh, but instead Donnon knelt beside him, gave him a look that said he couldn’t believe he was about to do this, and then heaved Rhona up and over his shoulders.

  “Get the hell up,” Donnon said as he started walking. “We take turns until we get there. I’d wager by sunrise at the latest.”

  Alastar pushed himself up and followed, wondering what he was getting himself into. As uncomfortable as the situation was, however, he was doing it for Rhona. The Holy Saint had abandoned him. His paladin brothers would hunt him down for betraying them, and it seemed the sorcerers who had attacked had a special interest in them.

  But he and his sister would always be there for each other, no matter what. Nothing else mattered.

  4

  Birds chirped, one making more of a whooping sound than a song, and a cool breeze touched Rhona’s cheek gently. Wake up, it seemed to be saying, and so her eyes fluttered open.

  The sky was gray with a touch of purple at its edges. Leaves drifted past as the wind picked up, and she was reminded of her father carrying her on a day long ago, by the small lake near their childhood home. She had tripped and scraped her knee and, even though it wasn’t bad, her father had treated it like an emergency, even carrying her the whole way home and making her a cup of warm cider. She had laughed when he winked, showing that it was all a game.

  Wait a minute… Someone did have their arms around her. A man with the very distinct smell of goats and campfire.

  “Unhand me!” she shouted as she lashed out. The result was that she quickly found herself in open air, falling. The ground smacked her on the backside, and she let out a groan.

  “What the hell did you drop her for?” Alastar said, darting over to her side and helping her up.

  The other man was the warlock, she now saw, and he was wiping blood from his cheek, where her fingernails had connected.