“You are here for me then, boy. So come, fight me fairly, and let us see who is the better!” His voice was deep and practiced at being heard over a battlefield.
The sheer command in it was evident to Fenix, and he was glad for the training at resisting compulsion at that moment. He knew that the man was a more accomplished fighter, that he had decades of practice and experience in actual combat.
Fenix stood up straight and tall and planted the staff by one pointed end with a thunk into the wood to stand upright before him. The older warrior took this as a sign and smiled ever so slightly, believing he had the advantage now.
But Fenix squared his elbows, cupped his hands together, and wrought a mighty gathering of flame. The single seed grew into a convulsive burst of coalesced energy before the warrior could react, and by then it was too late.
He drew in every scrap of magic he could conjure at once, and from his training, they had learned that it was mighty indeed. The warrior realized his only chance was to avoid or attack.
He chose to attack.
Fenix swept his cupped hands forward, the spark of gathered energy no bigger around than his palms, and let it loose right into the warrior’s charge. For such a small ball of energy, it carried significant force, enough to sweep the man back off his feet and carry him through the far wall where the conjuration exploded.
Within a protective shell of wreathed flame, Fenix watched as the blast flattened the inside of the house around him. The metal walls were knocked from their rails and fell with a clamor against one another.
The warrior himself disintegrated within the nucleus of the immense outpouring of flame, while only a short distance away, Fenix laughed with joy.
**
The night air cooled his skin, though with the raging inferno he had summoned, the heat inside was enough to send wisps of condensation floating up from the snow around the building.
It made for an eerie backdrop to his exit out the front door, feet light on the wooden planks and then depressing the snow into neat compact prints that steamed in the trail he left behind.
Faint wisps carried the smell of smoke past him, where the breeze twisted streamers around Her form.
He didn’t wonder that She was there to greet him, it was a given that She would want to see to his success or failure. Battle fever still roared with the bloodlust in his veins, and exhilaration from using so much of his magic still strained through the core of his being.
Seeing Her there, dressed only in a slight white shift that clung to Her female form, Her lips as red as the blood staining the pristine snow that was itself as pale as
Her own skin, he did not see the sharp intelligence in Her eyes. His moment of madness pushed his desire to the forefront. Fenix’s stride changed from a triumphant walk to a hunter’s stalk between one step and the next.
Unconsciously, he understood that She was not to be taken lightly, but nonetheless, his own sense of self-preservation missed the glint of predatory intent that flashed through Her eyes when he changed.
Or perhaps he knew, somehow, that the quirk to Her lips still held slight amusement and it goaded him to take the chance. Aurelian’pur’Lonuria did not need to wear armor or gird herself in protective charms and trinkets to ward off harm.
She was powerful beyond the measure of most entities, and through Her innumerable years of life had accrued protections that were bent within Her very flesh.
She did not wait for Fenix to get close enough to try forcing himself on Her. A twitch of a finger and the larger gray-skinned man was sent tumbling in an arc through the air to be deposited in a frozen pond. The ice cracked and split, suddenly dousing him in the frigid water.
His senses returned with crystal clarity, and the shock of the dunking threw his thoughts back into order.
The proud fighter, who had just bested over two dozen of the most impressive his kind could offer, gathered his feet and stood. He reared up to his full height, then crossed his arms over his chest, bent his knee, and sank back down into the pond in the pose of humility.
In that position, the shallow pond came up to his chin, but he did not breath or even shiver from the cold; he held perfectly still for Her answer.
Bare feet slid over the snow, and nary a trace of Her passing was left behind, not one footstep, no imprint, not even the slightest mark from the hem of Her shift. It was almost as if She were there just as an image, and yet a certain solidity was present in Her, a strength in Her presence that went beyond the pure perception of matter and movement.
Aurelian was both a lot more than She appeared to be and untouched by Her environment at the same time.
Her amusement crinkled up the corners of Her lovely red lips just that little bit more. She bent a finger, and the pond turned to ice. Just like that, in one single moment, it went from deep cold water to a turgid flow of solid ice trapping Fenix in its frigid grasp.
He did not stir, but waited, his entire body bent to Her will and subservient to Her wishes. Every fiber of his being showed the humility he pursued with the intent to earn Her forgiveness.
But She looked for something more. Where She stopped, on the edge of the pond, the mighty woman looking down on her warrior. A second passed, and then another. By the third, She was almost ready to turn and leave him there to expire within the makeshift cell of ice.
Then Fenix looked up at Her with his clear eyes.
The moment froze; the very instant their eyes met took on a longevity that defied every explanation of the concept of time. In that one look, She saw within him not only the humility he displayed but why. It was not to earn a reprieve, and it was not to save himself from torture or death.
It was because he respected Her and believed that he could earn Her attention in other ways. He was ashamed of losing himself to the bloodlust and the excitement, of forgetting himself.
But not because of his intentions for Her, but because of what he wanted for himself. This man, this specimen of a race She had crafted through the centuries for Her purposes, had an ambition that surpassed all of Her designs.
A desire to survive, to recognize faults and learn from them, to realize he would need to adapt.
Even if it meant overcoming his essential nature and instinct, he must change and learn.
The humility was an act, a very intentionally and carefully crafted one, to show that he had learned, he would learn, and as quickly as he could.
And She was pleased.
So very pleased with him, Her ongoing creation.
Day 34…
It was amazing how durable Torn was.
The goat man had taken quite a beating and kept on going. Fenix was surprised the strange being had been able to endure all the punishment he had dealt. Some of his most potent magic had been used to little effect.
My most potent that I know of.
Torn was quite possibly as invulnerable as he claimed.
Fenix had noticed there were only minor wounds and smaller injuries. It was those that had given him the hope to continue, if he could mount just one more attack, one more strike, then he could break through the defenses of the massive man being.
But to no avail, the protection granted to Torn by the Warlock’s magic and creative devices was impressive, and more than Fenix could overcome. He had pushed so hard that the armlet had warmed again, burning against his skin as he threw out bolts of fire.
Now he had been saved by an unexpected source.
Torn had walloped him, so hard his bones groaned from the impact that sent him tumbling over the ground helplessly. Another strike like that would probably have severely injured him, and then the goat man would have been able to take out every sadistic desire that his eyes promised.
That the final blow didn’t land had been a saving grace, one brought by the old man Convenient, living up to his name once again.
The strangely armored figure in his dirty tabard held the sword aloft from before, but now, instead of steel, the blade was made of light.
A power emitted a white so pure it almost hurt the eyes, and yet was dark enough not to blind, although it should have.
An outpouring of the light sheltered Fenix, and Convenient, who stood over him, in a dome of silvery argent energy. Outside the dome, Torn pelted the shield with blows.
As Fenix caught up with events, his head still ringing slightly, he realized that Torn had now been trying to break in for several seconds. Convenient looked down at him with concern.
“Art thou all right, my friend? Have you regathered your flock of wits?” he asked.
Fenix’s head hurt.
The ground was shaky, he assumed it resulted from his head trauma.
“I…need a moment.”
Convenient grunted as Torn slammed his clenched hands on the shield overhead.
“Take your time.”
Strangely, it wasn’t a sarcastic comment.
Instead of pausing to wonder at the respect Convenient showed him, Fenix pulled at the pouch around his neck and touched a finger to the Vitae. A moment of concentration, his own magic rising up, and the restorative energy flowed into him, channeling first to his head, where it cleared the ache and the dizziness at once, then to restore the stamina he had used in flinging wild magic at the goat man.
Limited, all source of power from just the Vitae.
Fenix got his feet under him but stayed in a crouch. He looked up at Convenient, who still held back the mighty Torn’s attack.
“I am recovered. What now?”
“Now, lad, now we make good on our escape. Doth thou have the energy to run for a while? I would rather that we make some distance from this monster before I employ our means.”
“Escape?” Fenix looked past Convenient at Torn.
Fury enveloped the creature, his anger radiating off him in waves. Maddened like that, the goat man would not be thinking clearly—an advantage.
“We can defeat him together.” Fenix hoped to take this opportunity while it was still available.
The old man knight shook his head.
“Perhaps we could, my friend, perhaps. But not before the Warlock arrives. Even now, I expect his master is on the way, knowing that Torn is engaged in battle. The magical drain will be evident.”
It made sense, an abrupt and practical insight that he just couldn’t ignore.
“All right, let’s get out of here.”
Fenix observed the start of some self-pity and squashed it; he had tried and failed to beat the Warlock’s greatest servant.
But he was not dead, and not dead meant he could continue.
Convenient waited for Fenix to stand, then gave him a firm nod which he understood to mean he should be ready to move. Convenient drew in a deep breath, and the shield disappeared between a set of blows, leaving Torn striking out at nothing but air.
The goat man swung and staggered, off balance by the lack of resistance, and then Convenient struck back.
The sword had reverted to its simple steel form when the shield was removed, and now it lit up again, fiery and bright. The darkness was driven back in submission to the sword’s radiance.
And Convenient swung, down at the ground and across in front of Torn. The white fire blazed, argent power flowed, and the ground exploded outward and upward, a veritable torrent of soil engulfed in silvery magic that flooded over Torn.
Fenix was caught up in the awesome display when Convenient yelled at him, “Run!”
Then he was following the old knight. Together they ran off in a dead sprint, away from the falling rubble where Torn had collapsed into the earth. It took just over a minute before the bellow of the goat man echoed out behind them.
“That should be far enough. Besides, Torn will catch up quickly.” Convenient came to a stop, Fenix slowing beside him. “Take my hand.”
“Sorry?” That surprised Fenix.
“Just do it, man.” Convenient had sheathed his sword, and he held up the hand he wasn’t holding out to Fenix, flashing an inscribed blue stone.
A sapphire, and a big one at that, it was the size of a goose egg, filling about half of the man’s palm. Fenix caught a glimpse of the runes on its surface and immediately grabbed the proffered hand.
Magic blazed out and wrapped up the two men, then folded together around them in swirls the color of the stone and whisked them away.
**
The prison’s world swirled back into focus, revealing brush and scrub dotting a narrow defile outside a small cave.
Inside, behind a pile of rocks and scree covering most of the entrance up to a fair height, Fenix found they had arrived on a ledge. It was obviously a secluded place, and a shallow cave as well, with the inside narrowing down dramatically just behind the ledge.
He blinked twice, the night’s darkness preventing him from getting a good look around, at least so quickly, with the poor lighting from outside.
The dim light created by the planar barrier inside the prison’s dimensional space created enough light during the nighttime hours to be seen from the inside through the small gap between the rock fall and the cave rim.
Enough for Fenix’s superior eyesight to see that Convenient had landed next to him.
The men were lying down on the rock ledge, and it was a good thing because the small size of the cave meant that if they had appeared standing, the cave would have removed two feet of him. Either both of his actual feet or from the chest up where he would have appeared in solid rock.
So the recall spell had been a good one, and it was a recall spell, of that he was sure.
How am I sure? More knowledge lost in my memories.
A groan from Convenient brought his thoughts back to the cave, away from where they wandered through his snatches of memories and thoughts on magic. How best to use his knowledge against Torn in a rematch was secondary at this point.
“Are you conscious?” Fenix asked the old knight.
He got a grunt in reply, then a bout of coughing from Convenient sucking in some rock dust which billowed up from the expulsion of his breath. Once the gurgles and hacking subsided, Convenient managed a more coherent reply.
“I am, yes. Although that was quite a ride, don’t you think?”
Fenix raised an eyebrow, which the mousy-brown haired humanoid would probably not be able to see. “In its own way, yes. Have you not done that before?”
“Me? Ah no. I kept these stones for emergency use only. Rescuing you counted as sufficient need. First time I’ve been whisked about the Prison like a ghost returned to the grave.” He coughed some more.
Fenix understood the analogy.
A ghost would likely be absolved of a permanent hold on the world where it was buried. When that happened, it was pulled back to the remains, where it could be contacted or destroyed. He had the understanding of the activity, but no memory of if he had ever done so himself, although he felt he probably had.
“Well, we should get out of here, lad. No sense hanging about when we likely have Torn and every servant of the Warlock looking for us even now.” Convenient got carefully to his feet, crouching under the ceiling.
Fenix got to his haunches as well. “Where are we anyway?”
The old knight scuttled up to the rock fall in a crouch. “We are on the plateau above the Warrens, in a cave set to receive the recall spell. I don’t know how, but something done within the cave means the stones bring us here. We are on the south side of the plateau, midway between the bridge and the far eastern edge.”
Convenient turned to throw a gap-toothed smile at Fenix.
“Enough space to remain hidden in, aye? At least until the search is spent.”
While the old man began to push rocks out from the inside, Fenix looked around the cave. The two men couldn’t both fit at the entrance, so he left the knight to enlarging the opening. He didn’t want to create a fire in case the sudden flare gave away their position. Officially on the run—not such a good situation—but he was alive, and that mattered.
While rocks went thudding about w
here Convenient worked, Fenix searched the interior carefully. It took him a while, but after removing some dirt from the base of the ledge, he found it. The sigils were carved into the rock.
As an anchor stone, the rock ledge went deep enough to be a good source of strength for the spell. The sigils were the attractor, while the stone, when used, would be drawn here with whatever people were in tow.
He recognized the design and how it accounted for the arrivals and the space allowance of the cave itself.
More than two people would be a problem, so the sigils allowed for three, although they would not be comfortable when they awoke. What troubled him was the neat form of the design. In small details, the way a spell was constructed could tell you something about the caster.
This one seemed familiar as if it had been taught in the school of magic of his people.
Perhaps there had been others of his kind in the Prison at some point. His race was certainly dangerous enough.
“How did you come by this recall spell, Convenient?” he asked in between falling rocks.
The old knight gave a look over his shoulder, then turned back to his work. “A friend gave it to me. A good friend who helped me survive in this Prison.”
“Is this friend of yours still around?”
“Nay, he has been gone for many years now. I don’t know what happened to him.” The words rang true and carried a bit of sadness with them, strangely. But Fenix wasn’t sure about the old knight’s tone, it was off.
Perhaps a mystery to be solved another time.
Convenient had opened enough of the cave entrance and gestured for Fenix to follow him out.
**
The two men covered up the cave entrance again, then headed out.
Convenient led the way, off to the west, toward the bridge where they could see if the arrivals area was clear. Although Fenix tried to get some more information from the old man, he was remarkably recalcitrant about sharing more on the recall stones. He was happy to give Fenix two of the four he had left, each one disintegrated when used; the component consumed as fuel for the spell.
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