by Gregory Heal
“Oh, so you want to see what I’ve learned? No thanks to you?” Sarcasm dripped from his voice as Malcolm began to circle his master.
“Draconex is manipulating you, like all of other Dark Watchers! There’s a reason why he was expelled from the Guild!”
“Because he had more ambition! He understands my frustration with the Guild . . . and with you! He isn’t afraid to push the boundaries.”
“There are reasons why the Guild has those rules. We’ve been over this.”
“And that’s why we are still stuck in the past,” Malcolm spat, “exiled to Azumar instead of taking our rightful place on Earth as rulers!”
Victor could see that Malcolm’s temper was starting to boil. He knew him well enough to expect a fight; he could smell it coming in the air.
“Malcolm, it’s not too late. Come with me. Forget Draconex and his false promises. You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into. I’ll help you get through this. It will be okay . . . if you just follow me.”
But Victor knew that Malcolm had made up his mind.
“You’ve had your chance, Mystra.” Malcolm shook his head. “I’ve been limited under your thumb for the past eight years.”
Without warning, a blue beam shot forth from one of Malcolm’s rings, straight for Victor. He twirled his staff and deflected the attack, sending it to the ground. A hiss erupted from the blast and after the steam evaporated, a deep crater gaped in the Pit’s sandy floor.
The commotion in the ring stirred the crowd and once more they were cheering, but for who it was anyone’s guess. Victor adopted a fighting stance, holding his staff behind his back so the tip pointed diagonally toward the ceiling.
Malcolm flung another volley of spells Victor’s way, which were either deflected or masterfully evaded by the veteran sorcerer. Malcolm was beginning to feel true irritation as he saw Victor start to move. He cursed as his spells missed their mark one after another; Victor deftly maneuvered closer and closer to Malcolm until he was within reach for a sweeping staff blow.
Sensing his master’s tactic—a tactic he had once been taught by this very sorcerer—Malcolm pushed off the ground and flipped gracefully over Victor, landing softly on the opposite side of the ring.
Sweat started to bead down Victor’s forehead as he looked at the distance Malcolm had put between them with just one leap.
I’m getting too old for this, he thought.
Just as Malcolm and Victor were powering up their rings and staff respectively for another bout, a nauseating wave slammed into both of them, seeming to slow down time. Victor had trouble swallowing as his eyes searched for the new threat. The silver staff slipped from his grasp, slowly falling to the ground, and once it did, a crash loud enough to burst eardrums shocked the ring and everything else in the Pit. Malcolm looked dazed as he fought to remain upright.
Gliding down from the rafters was a dark figure, hands stretched to his sides and rings glowing blood red and sickly green. The yellow ceiling lights shrouded the newcomer in a silhouette. His tall, lanky body was covered in a thick cloak which came to a point on each shoulder, like talons of a killer hawk. With ease, the tips of his boots kissed the ground, and in two steps he stood between Victor and Malcolm. He turned his head and looked straight at Victor, who couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Eyes like lava met his and all Victor could think of was his old friend—but much time had passed since he could call this creature a friend.
Immediately the nausea lifted, but Victor’s legs still felt like they were made of lead. Blinking, in a haze, he said to the dark figure: “Orin—”
“Ah-ah-ahhhh,” the figure chided, shaking a finger. “I don’t go by that name anymore, Victor. Say my proper name.” He inclined his head, waiting for Victor to respond. When nothing came, he shot Victor a death glare, which looked more menacing with those red eyes. He turned to his new apprentice instead. “Malcolm. Say my name.”
“Lord Draconex,” Malcolm said haughtily.
Draconex slowly inhaled, like he was drinking in his name.
“Yesssss.”
He reached outward and clenched his fist. Immediately, a bystander came hurtling from the crowd and into the ring, bringing shattered Plexiglas along with him. It was the same boy who had been dueling Malcolm before. He grimaced in pain, as if trapped in an invisible coil.
“It’s not nice to interrupt a duel, Victor. We should let them finish.” Draconex’s fist was still closed as he looked across the ring, a malicious smile plastered on his face.
Victor tried to move, but he stumbled. He fell to the ground, his hands braced for impact. Right next to him was his staff, having apparently been dropped from senseless fingers.
Draconex laughed and slowly shook his head. “Your time away from dueling has made you weak, Victor. I can sense you’ve gone soft in your old age.”
“The Pit is a place for no one. Let both Malcolm and the boy go.” Victor labored between breaths, ignoring Draconex’s last verbal jab.
“What’s the fun in that?” Draconex asked. The young boy began to levitate while Draconex walked over to Malcolm. “Finish him.”
“Malcolm, don’t do this!” Victor yelled.
Draconex twisted his fist and the boy let out a piercing scream—his rib cage was being crushed.
“Let the boy go! He's innocent.” Victor said to Draconex. “Your issue is with me, not him.”
“Oh, but you see, the boy is a part of this, whether you like it or not. Whatever happens next will rest on your shoulders,” Draconex shot back. “What’s your name, boy?”
Draconex loosened his invisible grip on the boy so he could speak clearer. “Gavin,” the boy wheezed out.
“Gavin,” Draconex repeated, “you do understand that you deserve to be punished, right?”
The boy didn’t respond; he met Draconex’s gaze with his own and spat on his boots.
Draconex glanced down at his sullied boots. “Seems we have a little fighter in our midst. Too bad he won’t be here for much longer.”
“Malcolm . . .” Victor looked at his tenderfoot with imploring eyes.
Malcolm’s body was stiff with indecision. Clenching his teeth, he looked down at his totem ring, back up at Victor, then to Gavin, then at Draconex.
“You beat him without contest,” Draconex whispered. “He deserves to feel your dominance.”
With a quick exhale, Malcolm took a step forward and raised his hand toward the boy, willing his ring to illuminate. There was complete stillness in the Pit; no one dared to speak or even breathe.
The captured boy shook with fear. “Please . . . d-d-don’t,” he stammered.
Sweat poured into Malcolm’s eyes and his outstretched hand began to waver. Seconds seemed to stretch into infinity and the whole world stopped.
Then it all happened in the blink of an eye.
“Fine, I’ll just do it myself,” Draconex said matter-of-factly. Malcolm looked at Draconex with surprise and right before the dark sorcerer was about to crush the boy’s ribcage, Victor grabbed his staff and cast an air spell that flung sand into Draconex’s eyes, causing him to drop his hold on the boy.
The spell also blew back his hood, revealing a deformed face that told a story of immense pain. Draconex had a shock of black hair that was pulled back into a ponytail, which was held together by a hollow dragon tooth. His face had more scar tissue than healthy skin, including his lips, which were charred, badly burned in some past accident. His left eye, which was intersected by a sharp scar, was a milky white.
Outside of the memory frame, Jen’s breath caught in her throat.
With renewed energy, the Victor from the memory ran to the now-unconscious boy, guarding him from a counterattack that never came. Instead, Draconex smiled, pulling back his cracked lips until filed, pointy teeth glinted in the Pit’s dim light.
It was then that Victor realized Draconex’s true plan. And he’d fallen for it. There was no stopping it now.
“So that’s what spu
rred you into action, Victor?” Draconex yelled. “You would save a random boy over your own tenderfoot!”
Draconex’s words hit Malcolm like a hammer to the chest. His eyes welled up with tears, and he screamed at Victor.
“I hate you!”
And with that, Draconex snapped his fingers and both were gone, leaving Victor and Gavin in the center of the Pit, surrounded by a crowd that dared not to breathe, let alone move.
Victor closed the memory frame as quickly as he had manifested it and looked down at his oatmeal, barely touched and now cold and congealed. He looked up to see Jen’s ashen complexion. “Jen?”
Jen stared at him silently for a while, then said, “I’ve seen Draconex before.”
Victor raised his eyebrows in alarm. “How?”
“I had a nightmare last night. He was in it.”
Victor pursed his lips, hesitant to answer. “It was no nightmare, my dear . . . you had a vision. Your nexus is trying to tell you something.”
“He looked a little different in my vision. Who exactly is this Draconex?”
“He was a . . . is the commander of the Dark Watcher tribe.”
“So he’s the one who converted Malcolm?” Jen asked, no longer hungry.
“Yes. What you saw happened ten years ago. The Elder Synod convened a trial after hearing of my involvement in the Pit the night before—a place forbidden for any sorcerer. After deliberation, they banished me from the Guild and stripped away my rank of mystra.” He got up and walked to the window by Skarmor.
“But . . . it wasn’t your fault. You were there to try and save Malcolm.”
“The Elders didn’t see it that way,” Victor said as he opened up the window and gave his griffin what was left of his breakfast. “Their decision was only strengthened by the fact that there was a comatose boy in the infirmary. In a matter of twenty-four hours, I had lost my tenderfoot and put a stain on my reputation.” He grimaced, still living the pain from all those years ago. When Skarmor finished the oatmeal, Victor took the bowl to the sink to wash it off.
Jen walked to Victor and placed her hand on his arm. “You did the best you could, Victor . . . and you saved that boy. Just like you saved me.”
Victor looked at her and smiled grimly. “I don’t have a lot of regrets in my life, Jennifer, but the one that plagues me the most is losing Malcolm. I should have seen the signs, but I thought I’d prepared him well enough . . . enough, at least, to not be swayed by Draconex and his hold. Now, ten years later, I’m faced with my worst demon: the only student I have ever failed.”
Jen could see how tortured Victor was, and it broke her heart. She wished she could reach out to the Victor of ten years ago. Instead she squeezed this Victor’s arm. “You’re not to blame for the path Malcolm chose.”
“Thank you,” Victor said, “but it still hurts. Back then, it made me realize that the Dark Watchers were growing in size. I pleaded with the Elder Synod to listen to me, saying that they had infiltrated the Guild. If they could get to Malcolm, there were sure to be others who had been or were currently in the process of being turned. The Elders scoffed at my claim, defending that the Guild could never be compromised in such a way and that they had their sentinels, called the Shepherds of Watercress, in charge of hunting down any Dark Watchers and keeping the Guild pure. Right away, I knew that they were ineffective and that Dark Watchers had slipped through the cracks. This realization led me to form the League of Light, an anti–dark magic unit independent of and unknown to the Guild. Our members are called Light Seekers and our ranks have swelled to over two hundred, which has helped in successfully forcing Draconex and his Dark Watchers deep into hiding, all the while keeping an eye on their movements.”
“That’s how you knew that I was in trouble on my birthday,” Jen realized aloud.
“Yes, though I shouldn’t take all the credit. One of my best Light Seekers was responsible for giving me the intel. His name is Gavin Kingsland.” Victor put the plate on the drying rack and looked at Jen. “The boy I saved in the Pit.”
Chapter Twelve
After breakfast, Jen followed Victor outside to prepare Skarmor for the flight to Watercress Castle. “So, what happened to Gavin?”
“After that night in the Pit, Gavin fell into a coma that lasted four months,” Victor said as they worked. “Once he awakened, he searched for me. Through perseverance, Gavin found me here, living on the outskirts of the Great Highlands. Since then, he’s become a loyal friend and a trusted Light Seeker.” Pride momentarily flashed across his face.
“Where’s Gavin now?” Jen asked, feeling the need to thank him.
“Gavin studied with Mystra Mangstrom for years as a Light Seeker. He has since become quite the adept paladin, strong in astromancy.” Victor began strapping the riding saddle onto Skarmor’s back.
“Astromancy? What’s that?” Jen asked.
Victor brushed Skarmor’s feathers with his right hand and chuckled. “Never run out of questions, do you, Jen? A sorcerer’s nexus can manipulate one of five Mancy planes.” He counted them off on his hand. “Astromancy, terramancy, chronomancy, animancy, or telemancy.”
Jen focused, committing them to memory.
“Gavin is an astromancer, giving him the ability to tap into the astral plane and connect with cosmic forces. I, on the other hand, am a terramancer and can control natural elements like air, earth, water, and fire.”
“Whoa! There’s a lot more to sorcery than I realized.” Jen scratched her head. “Where do you think I fit in?”
Victor mounted Skarmor, then said with a smile: “You, Jennifer Lancaster, are an omnimancer.”
Jen cocked her head slightly to the side. “Omnimancer? That’s not one of the five Mancy planes you mentioned, though.”
“You’re right. Omnimancers have the rare ability to tap into all five planes.” Victor looked down at her proudly. “Let’s go. We don’t want to be late.”
As Skarmor carried Victor and Jen through the skies toward Watercress Castle, Jen listened in rapture as Victor told her more about her heritage.
“There have been hundreds of thousands of sorcerers over the millennia, living across multiple realms.” He sat facing Jen so he could be heard above the rushing wind. “But there were only five omnimancer clans: the Goldammers, the Dwins, the Scymarths, the Castleberrys . . .” Victor put a hand on Jen’s shoulder “. . . and the Lancasters. They were known as the First Five. For generations, the First Five were the entrusted guardians of the five known MystiCrystals: the ChronoCrystal, TeleCrystal, AniCrystal, AstroCrystal, and TerraCrystal. They were formed from the Big Bang, and together they created life in the universe and the Mancy planes. At the same time, the ShadowCrystal was formed from the five MystiCrystals’ residual energies. It remained lost in the universe for billions of years until Lord Ferox discovered it. Unlike the MystiCrystals, the ShadowCrystal is radioactive, making anyone who touches it turn insane.”
Jen could see the palpable fear in Victor’s eyes.
He continued, “Unleashing what he called the Dark Purge, Ferox used the volatile power of the ShadowCrystal to help him obtain the MystiCrystals by ruthlessly killing off each clan of the First Five, ending with the Lancasters. That was when Genevieve Lancaster sacrificed herself by using the Ring of Lancaster to trap Ferox in the Halostone, stopping his destruction. She left behind an only son, Philip, who would continue on the Lancaster heritage. Genevieve’s stand would forever be remembered as the Great Battle, which ended Ferox’s attempted coup that would have enslaved the eleven known realms and caused the disappearances of both the MystiCrystals and the ShadowCrystal—something with such dire consequences as the sorcerers could only guess. Since then, the Ring of Lancaster has been sought out by the Dark Watchers, which is the only thing powerful enough to release Ferox from the Halostone,” Victor finished.
Jen looked down at the ring around her neck. “It’s hard to believe that something as small as this ring holds so much power . . .”
&nb
sp; “Jennifer, your family has done an honorable job in keeping it away from the Dark Watchers,” Victor said, “but now they are more desperate than ever since Draconex usurped the throne from Gehennon the Wicked and became their undisputed commander.” He paused, making sure Jen was looking at him. “That’s why you shouldn’t place your trust in anyone at Watercress. I’m convinced that more Dark Watchers have infiltrated the Guild than ever before, so we have to be careful when we arrive, even though the only one who knows what you look like is Malcolm.”
“I will,” Jen promised.
“It is inevitable that your true heritage will come to light, though. I was able to get counsel with the Elders without telling them your true name . . . but once they discover your powers, once they see that you are an omnimancer, they’ll know.”
Am I ready for this? Jen clutched the ring, pondering what Victor had just said as he twisted back around to face the front. She was surely awestruck, but her determination to save her parents and train to fight this war against Dark Watchers never once waned.
Jen lifted her eyes from the ring and stared at the back of Victor’s head, only able to imagine what he must be feeling, given that he was risking his reputation—or what was left of it—by bringing her to the place that had so diffidently banished him from the Guild all those years ago.
Unable to find the right words to express her gratitude, Jen slid her arms around Victor’s waist and gave him a squeeze, hoping that would be sufficient enough to convey her sentiments. She smiled sweetly and rested her head on his shoulder when she felt his hand cover hers and squeeze back in return. As she followed the sun’s reflection shimmering across the wind-kissed river, Jen promised herself that she would not let Victor down; she would not let anything stop her from becoming a recognized tenderfoot.
“Jen,” Victor called over his shoulder.
