Darius and the Dragon's Stone

by D. L. Torrent

Darius woke to the smell of freshly fried bacon and eggs.

  “Darius! Get up or you’ll be late. Mr. Athus is kind, but you must not take advantage of him that way.”

  Darius sat up in the soft bed. Tears filled his eyes as the feminine voice caressed his ears. They could not have been more stern, but to Darius they were as gentle as a spring breeze.

  “Mom?”

  “Get up!” Miora’s voice rang with finality.

  Darius looked around. In his mind he could see flashes of strange images—strange but familiar—yet the images felt distant, like an old book he’d read that somehow managed to linger in his thoughts. Still….

  He pinched himself. It hurt. A flash of red appeared in his mind, the image vivid and clear, and the book was stolen. The fiery beast grabbed his arm and he almost buckled with the searing pain.

  As suddenly as it had come, it faded, and he was once again sitting in his bed. Darius’s eyes shot to his hand. No tendrils, no bloody red vines adorning his wrist. The images in his mind returned to the distance in which they had originally presided, vague and obscure yet haunting him nonetheless.

  Darius instinctively spoke words that would summon light to his dimly lit room. Nothing happened. He shook his head and rubbed his temples. The distant images were at last fading. He got up and dressed, checking his clothes and drawers in the nearby chest for anything—a staff, sword, books on spells—just to be certain. Nothing was there.

  He walked apprehensively toward the kitchen he knew so well, wondering if…why didn’t he remember his name? But the face…the face was the one thing that was clear in his mind. And he wondered if this man would be sitting beside her, his mother, laughing at his triumph. Triumph? Wait. There was an offer…but he’d refused. What was going on?

  He closed his eyes and stepped through the door. Opening them, he saw his mother, as welcome a sight as any he could remember, sitting alone at the table.

  Darius’s mother looked up and gestured to the chair across from her. “Eat.”

  Her smile was sincere, and before Darius could even sit, he lunged toward her, kneeling on the floor and hugging her.

  “Darius? What’s going on? Have you gone mad?” Laughter filled her words.

  “Have I been gone long?” Still holding her tightly with his face buried in her chest, Darius’s voice choked back tears.

  “Gone? Darius, what are you talking about? You went to work yesterday as you do all days, but then you came home.” She held his shoulders and pushed him up. Staring at him, she asked, “Darius, are you all right?”

  Darius gazed into her eyes. They were hers. Her face was true. A tear escaped his eyes and rolled down his cheek.

  “Darius, you’re scaring me.” Miora’s soft face wrinkled, and her breathing quickened.

  “No, Mom. It’s fine. I…I guess I had a bad dream.” He attempted to smile sincerely. “I guess it’s all the books Mr. Athus has been giving me.”

  Miora’s smile returned, and she cupped Darius’s cheek with her hand. “Are you sure? That spider…”

  “What spider?” asked Darius.

  “Don’t you remember? A few weeks ago, you were bitten…when you were at the well. We never did find out what it was, really, but we’re pretty sure it was some spider. It was horrible. The fever…the dreams. You were in bed for over a week.” Tears glistened in Miora’s eyes. “I thought we were going to lose you. If it hadn’t been for the concoction, I’m quite certain we would have.”

  “Concoction?” asked Darius.

  “Mr. Athus. He brewed it from the wizard’s stores. Are you feverish again?” Miora placed her palms over Darius’s face and neck. “Let me see your hand.”

  Miora grabbed his hand…the same one Darius had envisioned had been grabbed by the beast.

  “I was bitten?” asked Darius, not expecting an answer but as if trying to work out a puzzle.

  “I don’t see anything. Do I need to tell Mr. Athus you need rest? You know, it hasn’t been too long you’ve tried to work again. Perhaps it’s just too soon.”

  “No, mom,” said Darius. “I’m fine.”

  He hated to lie to her, but what else could he do? He wasn’t fine—well, not completely—even if there were no red marks, no spells, no nameless man.

  Miora was perceptive, as always, and concern etched in the crease of her brow. “Hmmm…eat before you head to the tower. And if you begin to feel the slightest bit warm, you come straight home. I mean it—straight home!”

  Darius hugged his mother once again and sat opposite her. Even with the odd disquiet, he couldn’t ignore the amazing feast that lay before him. He grabbed a plate and piled it with the delicious food—bacon, eggs, biscuits with homemade jam—and he ate until he could eat no more.

  “Take your dishes to the sink for me?” his mother asked as she carried a heavy load of laundry outside.

  Darius placed his dishes in the sink, as he had been asked, and moved to the doorway. He looked at his mother as she hung the wet clothes. “It was simply a fever brought on by a bite. That would explain everything. And Brandor was safe. We’re safe,” he thought, but a deep frown joined his eyebrows. He stepped outside into the warm sun.

  “I love you, mom,” he said as he hugged her yet again.

  “I love you, too. And you’re certain? You’re all right?”

  “I’m fine. I’m just…” Darius looked into his mother’s eyes and tried to laugh. “Really, I’m fine.”

  “All right, then. But take it easy,” said his mother.

  Darius smiled and headed up the hill toward the village he knew so well.

  Everything was as it was—was as it should be. Nothing was missing. He paused at the bridge over the small stream to watch two small fish fight over the last remnants of what Darius thought was a bug. The voice behind should not have come as a surprise, but he bristled nonetheless.

  “Morning, Darius,” came the gruff voice.

  Darius stood still, clenching the railing to the bridge. He closes his eyes and shook his head. Something was different—he was different.

  “Darius? Do you hear me, boy?”

  The words cut into him, and he turned. “What? What do you want with me?” he snarled. Not this time; he would not tolerate her today.

  Mrs. Keedle’s eyes shot open as if the very thought of closing them would cause immense pain. “How dare you speak to me like that! Why, after all this town has done—after all I have done—for you and your mother. You ungrateful little beggar. I shall have words with Mr. Athus indeed!” She stood, dropping her knitting on the porch floor, and slammed the door as she disappeared into her insignificant house.

  And why did he care if she vanished? Darius raised a brow and yelled at the door, “I’m sure my mother will have your stinking clothes ready soon!”

  Darius grinned as he turned and walked toward the tower. His mind was enlivened at the thrill of his accomplishment. Never before had he spoken in that fashion to her—nor anyone else for that matter—in the village. It felt strangely good.

  A sharp bump in the shoulder brought his face up from ground level.

  “Hey! Watch where you are going!” Garp stood eye level with Darius, his face worn and wrinkled, not from hard work but from years of anger and accusation.

  “I believe you are the one who ran into me,” said Darius, standing tall to challenge his opponent.

  “Me? You’re the one with your head in the clouds, boy—a silly grin creasing your face so.” Garp’s face wrinkled even more, a feat Darius had not thought possible.

  “My grin, as you say, is sincere as I have had an enjoyable morning.” Darius grinned even wider. “You, however, will never experience an enjoyable moment in your life as you are a sour, bitter, old man!”

  “You! You!” Garp’s face turned deep purple and his lips quivered in anger as the words tangled he tongue. The artery in his neck bulged like a swelling river about to burst its dam.

  Darius laughed and walked past him, leaving him to his r
ant and enjoying it immensely. When he arrived at the tower, he stopped at the outbuilding and gathered his cleaning supplies as he’d always done. Then he opened the door and entered the familiar tower.

  “Darius, my boy.” The voice was sincere, and Darius scoured his master with his eyes.

  How good it was to see him again, yet despite his pleasing face and even though he’d enjoyed a few moments of vengeance against those who had always treated him so unkindly, his joy was clouded once again.

  The image that had been so real earlier that day—the image of the book stolen and his hand burning—came flooding back now that he stood so close to where the book was kept. “Mr. Athus, I had a dream, or at least I think it was a dream. It was so real.”

  “We all have dreams,” said Mr. Athus.

  “No. This was different. The book had been stolen and—”

  “I have just come from the tower. The book is fine.” Mr. Athus laughed. “It must be those books I’ve been giving you, seeping into your sleep.”

  “But—”

  “Or remnants of your illness,” Mr. Athus said, interrupting Darius’s words.

  Mr. Athus placed his hand on Darius’s shoulder. It felt real; everything felt real. All his senses appeared more alive than ever before, and his confrontations with Mrs. Keedle and Garp had invigorated him. But the euphoria was fading, and the dream was haunting his thoughts.

  “Don’t give it another thought. The book is safe, I can assure you.” Mr. Athus stepped toward the stairs leading up the tower. “Now, we have important business to attend to today. Put those cleaning supplies away and follow me.”

  Darius set down the pail and mop. He wanted to say more, but never had Mr. Athus been so excited. Besides, what good would it do? Darius had no proof, and why should he? He’d already tried to conjure a spell, unsuccessfully. Of course, nothing happened. He followed Mr. Athus up the stairs toward the top of the tower, deciding to write off all these strange thoughts and feelings to the fever he had endured.

  At the landing, Mr. Athus opened the door to the wizard’s chamber, now his own quarters. Darius glanced inside as Mr. Athus entered his room. Darius hesitated, intending to wait outside the door, but the thought of the book only a few steps away…his feet continued to climb the stairs until he reached the top. The elegant book sat on its pedestal as always. Darius’s shoulders sank. He almost wished it wasn’t there. Yet, as quickly as he thought it, it was as if a firm slap struck his face, and he realized what he was thinking. How could he wish it gone? How could he wish the events in his dream were real? Guilt clenched his throat, and he swallowed hard to force it away.

  “Darius, not up there, boy. Here. I need you to help me collect some things.” The voice echoed up to the book.

  Darius returned to the landing and stopped outside the door.

  “Well, come on,” said Mr. Athus.

  “I…I’ve never been in there.” Darius stood frozen at the door, not sure what to do next.

  “What are you talking about? You’ve been in here many times.” Mr. Athus motioned for Darius to enter.

  Darius frowned, his eyes blinking in confusion, but slowly entered. The room was large, the full expanse of the tower. A small cot lay in the corner, but the remainder of the room overflowed with all manners of curiosities that could only be the effects of a wizard. A small window cast flecked light across a table filled with vials, tubes, jars, and bags of strange liquids and objects. Herbs hung dried from the ceiling. The fire in a stone fireplace blazed beneath a brewing cauldron; it did not smell like food.

  Mr. Athus picked up a book and blew the dust from its jacket. “Here. This is it.”

  Darius read the spine, Concoctions for the Commoner.

  “What is that?” he asked.

  “This will tell me which of these vials we will need,” said Mr. Athus, “just as it told me which I would use when you were ill.”

  “I don’t understand. Is someone sick?”

  “In a manner of speaking. There is a sickness of bad behavior running rampant in our peaceful village and unacceptable to our wizard.” Mr. Athus began fingering through the book. “And I have been instructed to take action.”

  “Action?” asked Darius.

  “Yes. Our wizard wishes it,” Mr. Athus said. “Ah! Here it is.”

  “Your wizard? Is he back?” asked Darius.

  “Not yet, but soon.” Mr. Athus laid the book on the table so that the page would be clearly visible. “This is the time he wants us to cleanse our town; make right some wrongs. Now, I know we have never had to deal out retribution, and it will be difficult for you to watch, but it must be done.” Mr. Athus turned his back on Darius and began his work, mixing potions and corking the small vials without the slightest concern.

  He remembered someone telling him that some wizards had others in their employ who focused solely on medicinal concoctions. Maybe Mr. Athus was that for Brandor’s wizard. Then Darius shook his head. Who had told him that?

  “Yes, sir,” Darius whispered.

  When Mr. Athus finished gathering the vials he wanted, he turned to Darius. “Now, as my assistant, I am counting on you to administer the solution.”

  Darius hardly noticed. A fog had filled his mind—he was still trying to remember what he had learned and, more importantly, when and where he had learned it. “What? Oh, sorry. What, sir?”

  Mr. Athus’s brows raised and his eyes became wide. “Well, well, well. You are distracted today, aren’t you. But that will not do. As I was saying—and I need you to pay close attention—as my assistant, I am counting on you to administer the solution.” Mr. Athus repeated is previous instructions, speaking his words slowly and very determined. “Darius, this is very important—very important indeed.”

  Darius tried to focus on his current assignment as Mr. Athus required. “Me? Why?”

  “They hold great strength. It is almost certain I would falter,” said Mr. Athus.

  Darius couldn’t respond. He had no idea what was going on, what was going to happen. What did he mean retribution? Suddenly he looked at the vials in Mr. Athus’s hands. It was as if he’d seen them for the very first time, strange liquid swirling about as if it refused to blend completely. He had no idea what they held, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out. “But…”

  Mr. Athus smiled and place a hand on Darius’s shoulder. “Son, I am old. You are young and strong, and I need your help.”

  “Son.” What a strange sound, that word, echoing in Darius’s ears. He blankly nodded and followed Mr. Athus down the stairs of the tower and out the door. They traveled toward the edge of town where a grand house stood tall. Three boys were sitting at a table covered by the shade of a thick tree, eating ice cream. When Mr. Athus approached, the boys’ father came outside.

  “What do you want, bringing that misfit boy into my yard?” said the man.

  “I am here to bring justice to your sons. The wizard will be returning soon, and he asked that I take care of certain problems.”

  “Justice? What justice? They have done nothing that would warrant such action.”

  Mr. Athus pulled a vial from his cloak and let a few drops of the clear blue liquid fall to the ground. A massive cloud filled the air. As it cleared, a perfect picture appeared.

  As Darius watched, he was in shock. The three boys were sneaking into a neighbor’s garden, stealing some watermelons. They snickered and ran from the yard, carrying their load, but as if to insult further, they smashed the fruit onto the ground. They ran back and took other fruit and vegetables, each time smashing them to the ground or stomping them with their feet if the item was not inclined to burst easily. When they were done, the translucent cloud vanished.

  “What is this?” demanded the father.

  “This is what they have done. This is what they must be punished for.” Mr. Athus pulled another vial from his cloak and handed it to Darius. “A drop on each tongue, and the wizard’s wishes will be done.”

  Darius looked
from Mr. Athus to the boys, who were now trying to hide behind their large father. “But, sir—”

  “Darius, remember. I need your help here.”

  Darius apprehensively took the vial.

  “You’re not going to touch my sons, even if you do speak for our wizard in his absence, and I definitely won’t let you use this brat to do the wizard’s work!”

  Mr. Athus grinned. “I thought you would say that.” He pulled another vial from his cloak and poured four drops to the ground. Each spread like wild weeds, and vines shot out, swirling about the father and the three boys until they could not move.

  “Now, Darius, a drop on each tongue.”

  Darius slowly stepped forward, and the father made to say something. A vine shot up and around his mouth, so the words came out as a garbled growl. The boys were terrified, each with their mouths clamped shut. Darius approached the first, but he refused to open his mouth.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” said Mr. Athus. “I do have another vial, but it might prove a bit painful.”

  The boy whimpered and opened his mouth. Darius hesitated, but his wrist began to itch where he had been bitten—a bite he couldn’t see—and he almost dropped the vial as he instinctively scratched at it.

  “Careful,” said Mr. Athus.

  The irritation subsided, and something seemed to compel Darius to continue. Slowly, he poured a drop on the boy’s tongue; nothing happened. He did the same with the other boys, and in a minute the results were obvious. Each child was throwing up profusely.

  Mr. Athus turned and walked away. Darius followed, looking back at the boys and father, still bound by the vines. “But, sir. The vines.”

  Mr. Athus snapped his finger, and the vines vanished. By then they were stepping back onto the road, and Darius looked back again. The mother appeared from their house, wiping the boys’ mouths as they cried, with tears in her eyes.

  “Was that really necessary, sir?” asked Darius. “I mean, they’re just boys being mischievous. Not the best actions, I admit, but they’re still just boys. Wouldn’t it have been more productive to have them…I don’t know…work in the garden until it was back to normal?”

  “It was as the wizard wished. And there was no real harm done. Maybe next time, they will think again before they steal something,” said Mr. Athus.

  Darius couldn’t help but feel the punishment they had endured was harsh and likely not effective—he could see himself as a young boy doing it again just for spite—but he said no more.

  The next stop was Garp’s home, and Darius couldn’t imagine what he could have done. He was grumpy, true, but bitterness had a way of bringing that out in a person.

  “Garp, you have been charged with killing your neighbor’s dog.” Mr. Athus continued with the same oration about the wizard, but that seemed of little interest to Garp.

  “That dog comes into my yard every day, defecating in my garden and then trying to bite me as I chase it away! I was merely defending myself.” Garp’s stood with his chin held high and his lower jaw protruding, daring Mr. Athus to prove otherwise.

  “Really? Then perhaps this will interest you.” Mr. Athus pulled out the vial, let the drops hit the ground, and displayed the crime.

  Darius watched as a small dog walked past Garp’s fence. With a small piece of meat, Garp enticed the animal into his yard. While the animal finished its small feast, Garp came down hard with an ax, and the small animal’s head rolled in the grass.

  “That…that…that dog comes in my yard every day, I tell you!” screeched Garp.

  “Darius?” Mr. Athus said calmly, ignoring Garp.

  Darius walked slowly to Garp. He hated this old man, but he was reluctant to drop the mixture on his tongue. He thought about the small dog and decided vomiting was a small price to pay for its life, more appropriate than it had been with the young boys. Still, something tugged at his throat and he swallowed hard, nervously waiting to do as he was told.

  “You can’t let this…this interloper touch me,” snarled Garp. Darius could hear fear in his voice—a shakiness amidst the venom—although Garp was attempting to maintain his continual disregard for Darius.

  “Oh, but he can,” answered Mr. Athus. “It is his duty.”

  Garp made to move away. Mr. Athus let drops fall from the vial that administered the vines, entangling Garp’s legs and weaving up his body until he was unable to move, much less escape. With pinched lips and eyes that formed hateful slits, Garp refused to open his mouth. Mr. Athus threatened the other vial, as he had done with the boys.

  “This is…” Garp fumbled with words. “This is…”

  Mr. Athus held up the unknown vial, and Garp held still. Darius stepped up and allowed a single drop to fall on Garp’s tongue. Why did I just do that?, thought Darius.

  Garp’s breathing was forced, and Darius stepped back. The vines released as Mr. Athus snapped his finger, but Garp just stood there. Garp’s breathing quickened even more, but now it was with a sense of triumph. A huge grin covered his face as he patted his face, chest, and thighs as if to prove that nothing was happening.

  “See!” Garp squealed with excitement. “The wizard doesn’t want me punished!”

  Garp barely finished his words when he was thrown to the ground by some invisible hand. He began to roll around in pain, and as Darius watched, whip marks appeared across his back. Garp screamed for help, but there was nothing Darius could do.

  “Mr. Athus!” Darius pleaded.

  “It is as the wizard wishes,” said Mr. Athus.

  Darius watched as the old man attempted escape from his unseen enemy, but it was of no use. No matter which way Garp tossed and turned, the whip found his back. When it was done, Garp’s shirt was in tatters, and blood trickled down the wounds.

  Darius ran to his side and reached out, trying to help him stand. “Garp…I never…”

  Garp glared up at Darius and refused his hand. The old man stood slowly, fighting to regain his footing, first with one leg and then the other. His lips, his entire body, were trembling, and his gaze froze on Darius.

  Garp looked at him through pain filled eyes. “Go away,” he growled. “You have done enough here!”

  Darius hesitated. Garp’s jaw tensed, and Darius slowly backed away. Mr. Athus was already heading down the road, and Darius turned, stumbled for a moment, and then jogged to catch up.

  “Mr. Athus,” said Darius, pleading.

  Mr. Athus smiled and patted Darius’s shoulder. “I know. It is difficult, but it is as our wizard wishes. These things are being dealt with to rid this village of some horrible wrongdoings.”

  Darius struggled with what was happening. This wasn’t Mr. Athus. This wasn’t the Brandor he remembered. Still, he was powerless, even felt bound to continue. The bite began to pulse….

  The next two stops resulted in a forced dousing in water that almost resulted in drowning and lightning that somehow caused a burn but didn’t kill.

  “Why?” asked Darius. As they left, the last victim’s burns were being tended by her husband. “I can’t believe these people deserve such…such violence.”

  “The punishment fits the crime, Darius,” answered Mr. Athus. “Our wizard knows the truth of their actions and the intent in their hearts. They are being cleansed and appropriately so, I might add. They should be thankful, given a new start.”

  Darius was finding it very difficult to find the correlation. He had learned that villages that were blessed with a compassionate wizard lived in safety and care. Only those who were unfortunate to be taken by a sorcerer would be subject to such devices, and he was not pleased at all with his part in this. But where had he heard this…was this a dream as well? If not, would that mean that Brandor’s wizard was actually a sorcerer? There was something very wrong with this entire situation, and Darius struggled as he tried to make sense if it all. His thoughts were so deep that he was startled when Mr. Athus again spoke.

  “One last stop.” Mr. Athus approached a gro
up of young men, a little older than Darius, as they sat beneath a large tree enjoying the shade. “You boys know why I am here?”

  “Who you callin’ boys, old man?” snarled one of the four.

  “Well, in all reality, I guess you would be considered men, but from your actions?” Mr. Athus stroked his chin and exaggerated a thoughtful gaze. “Well, actually, you might be right. Boys would never do such a thing.”

  One of the four stood up, and the other three followed suit, standing behind him like a pack of wolves ready to pounce. “And what did we supposedly do? More importantly, what are you going to do about it, old man?”

  Mr. Athus pulled out the vial and looked at Darius. “This, you will definitely want to see.”

  Darius frowned and looked at the cloud as it cleared and began playing its story. His mother appeared, pinning wet laundry to a clothesline. The boys approached and ripped her work to the ground. Darius could not hear the words, but his mother was clearly angry, yelling at the group.

  They surrounded her until Darius could only catch glimpses of her face, her angry face. One of them grabbed her shoulders and laughed as he tossed her to another. He could see her fist pound at their shoulders as she was tossed around. Finally, Miora collapsed on the ground in the middle of the group, but her face was strong.

  Darius’s jaw tensed as he watched the cruel scene. He glanced from the image to the group. They were laughing. He looked back at his mother. One of the young men stepped forward and yanked her from the ground, pressing his lips firmly against hers. When he was done, he tossed her to another. The ritual was repeated until all four had befouled her lips, and she fell in a heap on the ground. Her shoulders were sagging, and Darius could see a single tear run down her dirt smudged face. The boys in the image laughed and said something. Her head remained bent; she refused to look up at them. Then they left.

  It was more than Darius could stand. “How dare you?” he yelled.

  “Easy now, Darius,” said Mr. Athus calmly.

  “Your mother, even though she is a pitiful outsider, is beautiful nonetheless,” said the leader of the group. “It is a waste for her not to have a man. She needed a man; we gave her four.”

  Darius lunged at the group. They pounced on him, punching his face repeatedly until a twist of vines caught hold and pulled them away. Darius stood, his lip bleeding.

  One of the boys sneered. “What did we do wrong? We only kissed her! Since when is it a crime to kiss a woman?”

  Darius lunged again, but before he could punch the young man in the mouth, Mr. Athus grabbed his arm.

  “Do not worry, son. This vial is for them.”

  Darius opened it quickly, ready to administer whatever the vial would give. But before he let the first drop hit the man’s tongue, he looked at the liquid inside. It swirled in the same defiant way as the others, but somehow, it was different. He turned back to Mr. Athus.

  “What will it do to him?” Darius asked.

  “Darius, what does it matter? He forced himself on your mother!”

  “I know. He’s a jerk who deserved to have his butt kicked, and I would be more than happy to oblige, but what will this liquid do?”

  Mr. Athus frowned. “I don’t know.”

  “You have to. All day long, the punishments have been getting worse and worse. So what’s left?” he asked. His words showed no respect for Mr. Athus, and although he was surprised by this, he was not bothered by it.

  The spot on his wrist began to burn, and Darius looked at the contents of the vial. It looked different than the other he’d been using, its color deep red…crimson. Darius blinked. A rush of images filled his mind, images of Prydon, Barsovy, Alara and her village, training, the valley…and Klavon! That was the name that had escaped him earlier that day.

  Darius stood up and corked the vial. “I will not continue in this. This is wrong, horribly wrong.”

  Mr. Athus exploded. “How dare you question the wizard!” He grabbed Darius’s hand and stared deeply into his face. “You will do this.”

  He was much stronger than he appeared and certainly much stronger than he had implied. In fact, he dragged Darius over to the young man and forced him to pour a drop on the young man’s tongue. Then he released Darius’s hand, and Darius stepped backwards, horrified as he looked from Mr. Athus to the young man who was now choking on the liquid.

  The man tried to reach out to Darius, but the vines prevented it. “Help…. Please,” came his raspy voice.

  Within moments, the man convulsed so drastically that Mr. Athus had no need to snap his fingers; the vines were shredded. Then with one last convulsive screech, the man died, bent and broken on the ground.

  “See! The wizard says they deserve death! Now do it!” Mr. Athus pointed to the vial still in Darius’s hands. “Finish the job!”

  Darius stood there, staring at the dead man. The other three were begging for their lives the way cowards often do when they realize their current match is not nearly so weak as their previous victim.

  “See! They are cowards, plain and simple.” Mr. Athus’s voice softened, almost a whisper against Darius’s ear. “Now do it.”

  Darius turned and spoke slowly and with a power that only a trained wizard could muster. “No.” He threw the vial to the ground. It shattered, and the liquid seeped into the ground, quickly turning the green grass putrid brown.

  “You fool!” yelled Mr. Athus. “What have you done?”

  But the voice changed, and Darius became dizzy, falling to the ground. He stared up in the sky as the words continued to echo. The clouds were spinning as were the trees, birds, leaves, air. He blinked hard several times until everything was replaced with a dark haze.

  When his sight returned, Klavon was still yelling at him. “You fool! You were so close!”

  The tendrils in Darius’s hands were throbbing like they had never done before. He felt they might burst his skin, they burned so badly. He tried to sit up, but the dizziness pulled his head back down to the wooden table. He blinked and raised his head to look down at his wrists, tightly bound as they had been before. He laid his head back down on the table and smiled as Klavon stormed out of the room.

  Darius was back.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  The Battle