Welcome To The Age of Magic

by C M Raymond et al.

  With a shout of frustration, Wodain stepped back, holding his head, and tears of black fell down his cheeks.

  “That witch!” he shouted, pulling up his red shirt to reveal long black lines on his skin, moving like internal snakes. “Look what she’s done to me!”

  Even she didn’t know what she had done, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that, so she stared him in the eyes and said, “See what happens if you try again.”

  “This isn’t working,” Master Irdin said, standing over her, his eyes weighing her. “Wodain, you’ve failed.”

  “Excuse me?” the mystic asked.

  “When we return to Her, she shall know of your failure.” He frowned at Rhona, then the other two. “This is sickening.”

  “And you’d be any farther along without me?” Wodain cocked his head. Eyes turning white.

  “Stay out of my mind, child,” Master Irdin said, turning on his companion. “Or I’ll remind you why She named me head of this campaign. It won’t be a pleasant reminder.”

  Rhona watched all of this, intrigued. Infighting was always good, when it was amongst the opposing side.

  As they continued their bickering, she glanced back to see Donnon and Kia whispering, but gave them a stern glance and a nod of her head toward Wodain. If he could read minds, planning an escape wasn’t likely to work. However, he was distracted, and if she could keep that distraction going, it just might work.

  She held up a finger to signify for them to wait a moment, and then turned back to Wodain and, instead of simply releasing her powers, she focused. She had no idea what she was doing, really, but she imagined his mind and focused on the shadows, almost like she was pushing on his brain.

  His voice rose as he said, “She would cower before me if she knew what I was truly capable of.” He spun on Master Irdin, hand held out as if he expected the man’s heart to fall into it.

  “AHHH!” Master Irdin shouted, grabbing his head. He spun, moving his hands in motion before his chest and then pushed out with fingers extended. The air surrounding them grew cold and Wodain was wrapped up in a whirlwind of snow and ice that suddenly froze, holding him in midair as if time had stopped.

  “Don’t let them into your head!” Master Irdin commanded, and then spun on Rhona, pointing so that one of the spears of ice redirected and shot at her, stopping an inch from her throat.

  It was so close, she could feel the cold from it.

  “And you,” he said, “don’t go about thinking you’re invincible.”

  “Do it then!”

  His eyes burned with hatred, and his hand shook. “You are valuable to a certain someone, but you try something like that again… just remember that I can cause a lot of pain without killing you.”

  With a wave, he released the spell that held Wodain. The mystic fell to the ground with a grunt.

  “What the hell happened?” Wodain asked, pushing himself up. When his eyes moved to Rhona, they went wide. “That little birdy… how?”

  “Just focus on keeping the remnant in line,” Master Irdin said, then raised a fist as if signaling someone. Sure enough, a light appeared in the sky, growing close. He stared at Rhona, moving his jaw as if he wanted to bite her head off. “I’m going to assume you’re drained after that little stunt. How convenient for us.”

  With a flash of light, the other two sorcerers who had been with him appeared, one on each side of Rhona as they dragged her off.

  “No, Rhona!” Donnon said, standing, ready to pursue.

  One glance from Wodain’s white eyes sent him to the ground, screaming. Kia collapsed over him, screaming for Wodain to stop, but Rhona didn’t see what happened next, because the two sorcerers had pulled her forward and over the crest of a hill.

  Master Irdin paused, then went back. He followed a moment later with Kia kicking and screaming in his clutches, then tossed her at one of the other sorcerer’s feet.

  “Why?”

  “So you don’t try anything stupid,” he replied, and joined her to look back over the remnant. They seemed to be staggering about in confusion, some regaining their focus now that Wodain was putting his spell back on them.

  A distant look came over Master Irdin’s eyes, and his hand went out as if to grab hold of something. A weapon, maybe? Then Rhona realized it wasn’t a weapon he was reaching for at all, but something to balance on.

  He was weak!

  “So, you’re like the rest of us after all,” she said.

  “I’m nothing like you,” he said, regaining his composure. “For one, I will live beyond tomorrow. You? You’ll have your brain harvested, your magic learned, and then your vegetable of a body tossed to the remnant for feeding.”

  There was no way to digest that idea, she thought with a gulp. But instead of showing him her fear, she forced a laugh and said, “Then what the hell are we waiting for?”

  “You’re new to this whole magic thing, so I’ll ignore your ignorance—this time. We just teleported here. When magic is used, especially such magic for long distances and based on hearsay, a bit of a recovery time is required.”

  She turned back toward the trees that now blocked her view of the area where they had left Donnon. He had come all this way to find a healer, and succeeded, only to end up like this.

  “The man, did you… kill him?”

  Master Irdin raised an eyebrow. “He meant something to you? Well, I hope it was purely physical, because his mind will be no better than a remnant if he survives what Wodain sent his way.”

  “You’re a monster,” Rhona spat.

  “I’m a product of my upbringing, as are you. The difference is that I’m a survivor and a conqueror. You? You’re simply a means to an end.”

  “Yes, your end.”

  He laughed. “Unfortunately for you, child, I’m destined for greatness. Divinity, as a matter of fact. So, tell me… how many gods have you slain?”

  “Any world that would allow you to become a god would be one I’d happily leave behind, and anyone willing to worship you would deserve that poor excuse for a world.”

  His smile faded and his brow furrowed as he assessed her. “Troth, please remember that the girl dies if this one tries anything. I’ll be resting.” With that, he walked off to disappear behind a rock formation with gnarled trees growing out of it.

  Rhona looked at Troth and then Wodain, wondering if she’d be able to make a move before those two were able to stop her. Or more importantly, before they were able to hurt Kia.

  She couldn’t take the risk, so instead, she sat down, cross-legged, and closed her eyes. When the moment was right, she wanted to ensure she had every ounce of strength she could possibly muster, and that meant resting right now.

  She awoke as a shadow fell over her, and she looked up to see Master Irdin, his gray robes flapping in the wind.

  “It’s time,” he said, and then formed a square with his fingers, which he extended and then twisted so that a gushing of wind sounded around them and then suddenly, their surroundings were gone.

  She blinked, confused by the purple glow that lit an otherwise dark, great hall.

  “Welcome to my home,” Master Irdin said, stepping forward to reveal Kia nearby. “The two of you can get better acquainted. We’ll need you close, after all, if we’re going to bet on you not wanting to see her killed so that you can give us your mind and powers.”

  “That’ll never happen,” Rhona said.

  Master Irdin stared with his icy glare. “When She arrives, we shall see.”

  His robes flowed as he spun and walked up the nearby stairs to join his companions. They all left, leaving Rhona and Kia alone in the room. Now that he was gone, it was clear this was some sort of dungeon. They weren’t constrained, but judging by the clicks and clanks on the door after the others exited, they were locked down here.

  Kia looked up at Rhona, eyes wide with fright. “You were with my father?”

  The words didn’t come, so instead Rhona nodded and held out her a
rms. Kia ran to her, accepting the embrace, and the two stood there like this for a few minutes.

  Finally, Rhona said, “Don’t worry, child. I’m going to get us out of here. You see, this place is full of shadows, and shadows are my friend.”

  Kia looked up at her, hopeful, and then smiled. “I can manipulate fire.”

  “Can you?”

  Kia nodded.

  “Well then, it looks like we’re well on track to finding your father. Let’s make every step count.”

  17

  When Alastar found himself tied to a tree and noticed the others putting up camp, he knew they were out of the immediate danger. They, but not him.

  His first thought was to pray for a blessing of strength, but when he tried, nothing happened. He clenched his fists, eyes closed as he focused, but it was no use. His faith was at its lowest. And how could it not be, with the conflicting emotions about the war on magic, and his former brothers in arms turning on him?

  But most of all, he was discouraged by the fact that he had been unable to stop the sorcerers from taking his sister. He had seen her fend for herself, but he had just healed Kia. How long would it take the girl to regenerate her powers without his healing to assist her along the way?

  Taland approached and stood over him, sneering.

  “You’re making a mistake here,” Alastar grumbled. “We have no idea what we’re dealing with.”

  “Perhaps you don’t, as you’ve lost your way.” Taland sneered. “But we do. It’s evil, plain and simple.”

  “The only thing plain or simple about this whole situation is you, if you think that’s the truth.”

  Taland’s jaw jutted out, but then he flipped his hair back and laughed. “Oh, I’ve missed you, Alastar. You know, none of the other paladins could ever even hope to stand a chance against me when it came to sword play. But you? You made it fun.”

  “This isn’t a game, Taland.”

  “Isn’t it, though?” He shifted on his feet so that the sunlight glinted off of his armor. “The dance we all dance. Temptations, little harlots like your sister weaving their magic in the world until we bring them down… All of it. And I’ve won.”

  “Leave my sister out of it, or I’ll tear out that tongue of yours and use it to wipe my arse, you piece of shite.”

  “Whoa, the language on you since going rogue.” Taland’s eyes narrowed as he glanced around to ensure no one was listening. “Did I ever tell you about the time she tried to seduce me?”

  Alastar struggled, snarling, but the ropes were too well secured.

  “It’s true,” Taland continued, “one day when she was bathing, and I happened to be passing. She called me in and presented herself to me, as naked as the day she was born. It was a sight, let me tell you. The most perfect, perky little breasts you’ve ever seen. Naturally, I turned her away out of disgust—disgust that she would attempt to sway one of the holy knights of the Order of Rodrick. But she pleaded, can you imagine that? She ran at me from the bath, water dripping down her body like tiny fingers caressing her every inch, and knelt before me, begging that you would never find out from me.”

  “Let me guess, you made her that promise.”

  “After she… earned it.” Taland’s eyes sparkled with spite-filled humor.

  “Two problems with that story,” Alastar said, focusing on controlling his temper. “First, I don’t believe she’d ever stoop to your level. Second, if that’s true, that means you just broke your promise. So, either you lied about the story, or broke your promise to her, meaning that either way you’re immoral. You don’t deserve the armor you wear.”

  “At least I still wear my armor,” Taland growled, then punched Alastar across the jaw with his gauntleted hand. The blow caused a sharp pain and ringing in Alastar’s ears, bringing back memories of a similar time when he’d lost in the sparring ring and yielded, but still been struck by this same guy. He should have known at that moment that Taland wasn’t pure of heart.

  And now that he tasted blood, he thought back to other moments in his upbringing. The time when two women had left Sir Gildon’s chambers, blushing. He had never even considered what possibly could have been going on in there. When the servants had gossiped about strange chanting in the night, and Alastar had been tasked with shutting them up. Or the time he had walked past the baths to find his sister join him, still damp, and give Taland a slight, secretive smile.

  Had it all been a lie?

  Taland was laughing, but it seemed so distant at that moment. Everything Alastar had dismissed as ridiculous came flooding back into his memory at that moment, and he found himself questioning everything he knew about the Order of Rodrick.

  And if the Order could be doubted, maybe all of this talk of the prayers actually being magic were true, too?

  He didn’t need faith or prayers, in that case. All he would need was a belief that he could call upon this energy, whatever it was, and make the spells happen. Right?

  A light appeared before his eyes, and for a moment, he thought he was simply seeing spots due to the hit he’d taken. But then he saw it had a shape like a human and was nodding its head.

  Wait, was this thing telling him he was right? Answering his internal thought?

  He forced his eyes wide, blinking, and saw that it was certainly not an illusion. There was a spirit of light, like a little angel, or maybe a fairy, hovering in the air inches in front of his eyes.

  “What sorcery is this?” Taland demanded, and a moment later Bale and two others ran up, but froze in their tracks.

  “He’s one of ‘em,” Bale said in a mixture of awe and betrayal. “Alastar’s turned warlock on us.”

  “Wrong,” Alastar whispered, eyes focused on the little fairy. “I’ve seen the light, and it’s glorious.”

  As his eyes shone, the fairy darted around and zipped through the ropes that bound him, thus setting him free. Others drew swords while he held out his hand for the fairy to alight on.

  If what he understood about the clansmen was true, based on what the visiting mystics Volney and Larick had said, this was more of a manifestation of his magic. A way for his mind to cope with it, and to harness the spells.

  Very well. It was time to get to harnessing.

  With a flick of his wrist, the spirit transformed into a bright light and then exploded outward into intense beams of light that burned through even the paladins’ armor.

  None dropped dead, but all were felled by the intense pain. They writhed on the ground as the glowing beams became light snakes that slithered across their bodies, causing spasms of more pain with each second.

  Alastar walked among them, only pausing to take Taland’s sword and stomp on the man’s outstretched hand. When he was at the edge of their group, he called back the spirit and said, “Find them.”

  It nodded again, and then zipped away. He stood for a moment, unsure what to do, and then sprinted after it to the calls of revenge from his former brothers behind him.

  He was done with his old ways. Now, he would be a new sort of paladin, one that fought for justice and honor, not for some forced beliefs filled with hypocrisy and lies. Now, he would fight for his sister, Donnon, and little Kia. He would fight to ensure their safety, and he would oppose all who stood in the path of righteousness.

  The way ahead was littered with remnant, and the spirit of light was leading him right toward a cluster of them. They seemed to be gathering around something, or someone, writhing on the ground.

  A group saw him and charged, but he quickly learned why Taland had bested him so many times in the training grounds of the castle—this sword was lighter, easier to maneuver, and seemed to have an extra boost to each swing. That, or this light surrounding him was giving him more strength than he had ever experienced.

  He sliced through three of them, their wild eyes sure to cause him nightmares. An ax came from a fourth, which he dodged. Weaving around the creature, he came up with a thrust that impaled two more of them. Kicking them off of his
sword, he lifted one and used it as a shield to charge through the rest to reach the light fairy.

  As he burst through the crowd of remnant, he tossed the body aside and then froze. Before him was Donnon, just now pushing himself to his feet. The man’s clothes were singed, a circle of still smoldering remnant bodies surrounding him.

  “Donnon?”

  The others looked between the two of them, unsure what to do.

  Donnon didn’t seem to process what was going on, his eyes looking crazed as he spun, searching for something. His eyes landed on Alastar, but didn’t recognize him, and he lunged forward with fists flailing. With the light-fueled energy, Alastar had no trouble dodging, but the circle of remnant forming around them was a problem. Since he had given up his armor before leaving the Fortress of Stirling, he kept having to watch his back for their spear thrusts and hatchet chops.

  “Donnon, it’s me!” he shouted while slapping a punch aside and back stepping, “Snap out of it!”

  All he got was a grunt in return, and a lunge that caught him off-guard. No strike came, but Donnon’s teeth came for Alastar’s throat. He barely had time to catch the man, but then, just as he was struggling to keep the freakishly strong clansman from tearing out his larynx with his teeth, Alastar had a thought—this man wasn’t in his right mind, and maybe he could heal his mind? It was a better plan than killing him.

  Instead of fighting him, Alastar grabbed hold of Donnon and turned his head just enough to avoid getting bitten. He had never healed without a prayer before, but the action came like second nature. Gold glowed in his eyes, and he smiled as the energy seeped out of him and into Donnon.

  One moment Donnon craved blood and only saw a monster before him—a man who would do anything to hurt him and everything he cared about in the world, though he himself wasn’t sure what that meant. All he cared about was inflicting pain.

  The next moment, he was in the man’s arms, warmth coming over him like a soothing bath on a cool day mixed with a pleasant spring breeze. All of his senses came streaming back, and a fog cleared from his mind.