Euan watched as the ball of flames grew taller and wider, curling over onto itself. A new one rising from the break of the previous one. He smiled. “Good, Ash. Very good.” The fiery waves grew larger. Ash could feel the hunger of the fire. Its need to grow. Its need to feed. Its hunger for life. It was rising in him like flames up a dead tree. The ball of fire exploded in size, and now the waves were a few feet tall, and equally as wide. They crested wildly, smashing into each other. Ash felt the intense heat before his face and opened his eyes. Startled, his eyes grew wide.
“By the gods!” Ash exclaimed. “Euan, what do I do? What do I do now?” The fire grew larger still. “I can’t make it stop. How can I make it stop?” Ash shouted.
“Can you make the flames smaller in your mind, Ash?” Euan asked.
“No! I just tried that. I can feel it. It wants to consume whatever it can to grow. It wants to live.”
Euan looked around the camp site. Selene was a safe distance away, as was the hope chest that contained the heart of the dragon. They had chosen a clear spot, and the trees above became quite thin towards the ground floor. But, they would become thinner still if Ash didn’t get this under control. “Ash, you can’t let the essence of the fire influence your mind. It is fire, and fire consumes. It also illuminates the dark places. Remember the story you told me earlier, of the girl whose eyes drew you in the night before you faced the dragon? You said the flames, the way they danced and mixed with the blue in her eyes, made them look like caramel. I know there was more to that story. I could see it in your eyes. There was a calmness when you spoke of her. Can you find that place again in your mind?”
Ash thought of Farrah. He thought about that night they spent together before he went to face the dragon. “Aye, I can.” Ash replied. He thought about how they had both felt isolated, most people only understanding a small part of them, but never them as a whole. How could they? Not many had a king as their father. He felt at home with her. He felt a calmness begin to sweep over him. He remembered her smile and the soft blue eyes, as large as the sky itself. He needed to see her again. And, he would, in only a few more days. But only if he could get a handle spitting and writhing flames in front of him. How sad would it be to defeat a dragon and then die learning to cast a fire spell, he thought to himself. I must… I must save my people… I must. I must see Farrah.
“Keep it up, Ash.” The ball of fire slowly simmered off into a tiny flame. “Now close your hand to extinguish it,” Euan said.
Ash closed his hand. The fire was out. Ash collapsed, panting.
“Magic requires energy, Ash. No magic for you until you learn to master your mind. You have great potential for magic. Not many can do what you just did. At least, not without a great deal of training. I will teach you to use your breath to focus your thoughts. That is all I can do for now. Perhaps in the future… Well, let us not speak of that just yet.” Euan said to Ash as he lifted himself off the dirt floor of their campsite. “I’ll give you the choice. Sleep now, or take the first step toward learning to focus your mind?”
Ash looked at the bedding laid out in the tent. His body was tingling with exhaustion. He stumbled as he stood. “Teach me. I need to be better.” Ash said wearily.
“You grow less and less the fool with each passing moment,” Euan said with a smile.
CHAPTER 9
Marric looked about the camp. Ash was tied to a post, beaten and blooded, lifeless. This was not how he wanted it to be. He glanced at Farrah, the daughter of his ally, Caelen, the king of Hylaen. She remained tied to a post and he noticed that the side of her face was swollen where he had hit her earlier. His men were dispersed around the camp, just inside the border of Larutte. They made sure to remain outside visibility from the castle. These men were the soldiers of his father’s sworn enemy, the Crazed King Caelen. Not even Ash knew that truth. But, there was a lot that Ash didn’t know.
Alric purposely kept him in the dark on many of his secrets. Marric had only learned this particular secret, several years into his apprenticeship with the Clerics. He had always been a fast learner, and he especially liked the praise that came along with his good work, so much so, that he often took any opportunity to offer his assistance to his teachers, doing research and helping with their projects. It was his love of stories that had led him, in his spare time, to investigate the history of some lesser known stories of the Laruttean people. He found tales of the long-forgotten Rose Knight, who would woo women with wondrous tales of wild whimsy as he brandished long-stem roses in great flourishes while recounting his exploits. Exploits, which as it turned out, never actually happened. Even his name was fabricated; his real name was Reginald Rosett. He then found the story of the Rose Knight’s stoning by the women of the villages and the takeover of his lands by Alric’s great-great-grandfather, Tiburon. The land was given as a gift to those skilled in the use of magic. Later, the Tower of Clerics, Home to the Order, was built on this territory. After the stoning, Marric ceased to be amused by Rosett’s tales, however, this story led him to legends of the royal families. He followed the family line back to the earliest king of Laurette. It was approximately six generations back, that he found the first king, Waylen Laruttenz, a warrior priest of sorts, dedicated to the gods and their people. He, who revolted against an oppressive king, and he, who eventually donned that mantle himself. Marric also found mention of a strange figure as he read about King Waylen’s exploits; a young boy who appeared out of nowhere; who knew of nature and its secret world. This child also seemed to possess intimate details about things that had happened long before he was born. There was even an account where Waylen mentions the boy’s ability to know in certain circumstances, what the future held.
The youngster, Waylen referred to him as Balen, had eyes the color of the valley in spring time - bright and full of life, but also of maturity beyond his physical appearance. The child often frustrated Waylen, as he spoke in riddles and rhymes, and, often with a hint of condescension. Marric found mention of another boy with eyes the color of emeralds pierced by the sun, and he had counseled Prince Sephen, the son of King Gregar, against his love of gold. Sephen, in his journal, recounted the story he had been told by Toben, another name for the youngster. The story was about a king they called Midas, a king from a faraway land. He begged the gods for more gold than any man should ever reasonably need. Finally, the gods granted him his wish; everything he touched turned to gold. However, there was one thing that this king loved more than gold, his daughter, Zoe. He gave her gold earrings, necklaces, and bracelets. He erected golden statues in honor of the gods, and in honor of the love he had for his daughter, but soon he realized that he could no longer hold her in his arms. He could no longer feel the warmth of her against him as he held her close. And so, they grew further and further apart. As time went on, he became angry and resentful of his gift. He cursed the gods who, in their godly ways, did nothing to alleviate his pain. And so, according to Toben, one day as Midas’ daughter, disgusted with her father’s anger, was leaving, he mindlessly reached out to touch her hand; to pull her close to him; to give his daughter one last hug. He closed his eyes, wrapped his arms around her and momentarily, felt the warmth of her once more against him. Suddenly, there was only the feeling of cold, soft metal. He opened his eyes to find that his daughter had been turned to gold. Not long after, King Midas hung himself from a golden rope in a golden room, or so Toben told Prince Sephen. Prince Sephen then urged his father to lower the taxes levied upon their people and assisted in expanding the farmland surrounding the castle.
For days, Marric would come to this same section of the archives looking for the branch of the family tree that connected to Alric, Ash’s father. His journals had not yet been transcribed for this volume, but there was a branch of the tree that had been crossed out. There were two lines connecting to two different women. One line connected to Madeline and from her to Ash. That was what Marric had expected. But, there was another line, that he had not expected, and that line connected to
another woman’s name. It was crossed out hard. Her name was connected to a violent mark on the page. He examined the woman’s name more closely. Its length was no longer than the line struck through it, and he could just barely decipher some of the letters. He could see the top of the first letter; perhaps it was a “J” or an “I.” There was a “P” in the middle, perhaps an “H” next to it, and clearly there was an “E” at the end. The remaining letters I the name were completely covered with the strike-through. He knew of no names that began with the letter “I” that also had a “PH” in the middle or an “E” at the end. The only other name close enough was Stephanie,-but the first letter was not an “S,” so it had to be the letter “J.” Josephine was the only name he could come up with that contained the letters he could read and also fit the length of the covered name. His mother’s name was Josephine.
He had memories of King Alric playing with him as a baby, but memories at that age are never truly reliable. He also remembered the king often being near his mother when he was a child, until one day he wasn’t. That was about the time his mother began to become sad and distant, despondent was more the word, Marric thought to himself. When Marric was about two or three, he remembered a grand reception to celebrate the wedding of King Alric and Queen Madeline, who bore him a child very shortly after the ceremony. Marric looked closer at the page. He could almost see the two points of the letter “M” as the name directly connected to the crossed-out woman’s name. Marric remembered the feeling of heat welling up within him in that moment. He remembered a spell of focusing on the page hoping to erase the strike-throughs. He had no idea if his intense focus would actually remove ink specifically or the entire contents of the page, but he maintained his focus on just the lines he wanted removed. He did not allow his mind to wander. He fixated on each singular line covering the descendant’s name on the tree. One line shook and slipped itself away, then another, and another. The letter “M” became clearer, then another line, and then the tops of two Rs became visible. The process continued until the name Marric was visible on the page. He remembered the feeling of sudden revelation shattering his mind. It all made sense now. Why Alric had tried to keep him from Ash as children. Why he had been selected for the Order of Clerics. Why he had been hidden away, and his mother alienated. She had loved this man, given him a child, and he cast her aside like a used-up old mare in place of someone more pleasing, more royal. He remembered the sensation of sweating upon this realization. He was beyond warm. He felt as if his body were ablaze with anger. He felt that same way now.
He needed the heart of the dragon locked within that chest. That heart would allow him to take the castle without needing to harm any of the citizens of Larutte. There is power in blood. This is how magic moves through generations. The dragon’s heart is the engine of that power. If he could perform the ritual of Sanguis Transferrium at the apex of the full moon, he would have the power he needed to put all the citizens of Larutte asleep, while the troops on loan from King Caelen took key positions in the town and within the castle. He knew how to influence the minds of others, but it took massive focus and if used to force someone to do something against their will, it took significantly more energy than to merely suggest a more appealing thought already within their mind. If the troops refused to follow orders, with the dragon’s heart he would compel them.
With everyone occupied, and Ash bound and out of the way, he could confront the man who ruined his life. He could kill him slowly, the way he slowly killed his mother and ruined his life. He had promised Caelen the lands of Larutte as recompense for his assistance, but he knew that Ash would never allow that. He knew Ash would make a good king, a far better one than Alric ever was. He had hoped to take Ash off the board, sending him away after he returned with the dragon’s heart. And return he did, but without the heart. Ash was different upon his return. He was more suspicious, less compliant. Ash would not be convinced to leave. The few men Marric had operating within the castle and in the town as spies told him of Ash’s meetings with a woman of the Emerald Sisters. Fine then, Marric thought. If he wants to be stubborn, then I will just have to give him a better reason to comply. He immediately ordered the woman captured. When his men found her, she was guarding a beautiful chest made of a darkly lacquered Yew wood. And so, they took both her and the chest back to their camp.
CHAPTER 10
“Hey, Marric, is it? What if we can’t open the chest?” Farrah asked. “Ash is unconscious, and I have no idea where the boy is. What will you do?” she asked in a manner that was equally inquisitive as it was taunting. She looked to Ash. He was still unconscious, but like earlier, his eyes were moving under his eyelids. This time they moved faster and more prominently. She noticed his right arm twitch, or at least she thought she did.
Marric fiddled with the chest. He waved his hands over it, trying to sense the magic that kept it sealed. He could feel the energy coursing around the chest. Although, he had learned a great deal about magic over the years, the magic of this chest was beyond his ability. He needed Euan to open it. He knew if he was unable to open the box, to get to the heart, he would not be able to fulfill his plan. It would not be as bloodless, and many would die in the process. If Ash woke, he would have to fight him. He would not be able to keep the Hylaen soldiers away from him for much longer without the added power of the dragon’s heart. A scream suddenly came from the other side of the camp. “He’s free!” Marric moved quickly to where Ash was being held. As Ash came into view Marric saw in his hand a small, steadily burning flame, which he then pressed into the wound on his leg. Ash grit his teeth with an accompanying painful moan. “You can use magic?” Marric asked, momentarily shocked. “How? When?”
Ash looked up at him, his eyes red and bloodshot. “Euan,” Ash replied, “Euan taught me, after I killed that damn dragon for you.” Ash paused for a breath. “He said it was a useful trick. He said that it might come in handy someday… and it appears as though it actually has…”
Marric’s eyes flashed with excitement. “Where is Euan, Ash? I need to open that chest.”
Ash checked the wound on his leg to make sure the flame had done its job and stanched the bleeding. His leg was blistered and sensitive, but at least it was no longer bleeding. He pressed his weight onto the leg to check for stability. “I cannot, nor even if I could, would I call Euan like as if he was a common servant. He is a friend. Much like you were once - you lying, deceitful bastard,” Ash said, his eyes locked on Marric.
Ash suddenly heard the rustle of leaves in the wind. He felt a gentle breeze blow from the east. He smiled.
“What are you smiling about, Ash?” asked Marric, as he noticed the Hylaen soldiers closing in around Ash. “Stay where you are. I’ll handle him. Secure the chest.” The soldiers acknowledged the command and moved towards the chest leaving Maric to deal with Ash.
Ash searched the area looking for his sword. It was stuck in the dirt a few feet from him. He could reach it if he moved quickly. But, he needed to distract Marric. He dropped down to one knee, holding the wounded leg as if in pain, his other hand hidden behind his back. He could feel the flickering flame of rage beginning to take hold within.
“Look at yourself, Ash. You can barely stand. Stop this. Help me open the box… Give me the dragon’s heart, and this will all be over,” Marric said as extended his open hand.
Ash clenched his jaw and dropped his head. He could not reply. He was not nearly skilled enough to conjure the fire and carry on a conversation. To maintain any semblance of control required complete concentration on his part. Marric, on the other hand, he knew, could recite several heroic epics while casting spells.
“Ash, I don’t want to hurt you. I really don’t. I didn’t even want to hurt your woman, even though she made me do so earlier. She really is quite the beauty. A fine spirit she has. It’s a shame her people consider her a traitor for running away and abandoning her father… For trying to murder him… I wonder if all these men would still show her
their respect if I left them alone with her. Or, would they treat her like a royal whore?” Marric watched Ash to see his reaction. He remained silent, gripping his leg; his face gnarled. “Just give it up my friend. You can’t even stand on your own two legs. Impressive as it is, you learning to conjure a tiny fireball is not nearly enough for you to win this. And, I must say, using the flame to seal your wound is commendable. Truly an act worthy of the knights we read about as boys. One day my friend, they will tell stories of you. Let that story not end here. Help me open the chest.”
Ash growled out a “No,” just before he let loose the hand that had been forming the flames behind his back. He unleashed a ball of fire. It was as wide as a person and nearly equal in height. The ball undulated as it flew towards Marric. It was like watching an ocean of fire crashing upon itself, each tendril reaching for its respective target violently and eagerly. Ash leapt from his crouched position in the direction of his sword, landing in a forward roll that brought him within gripping distance of its hilt. He wrapped his right hand around it and lifted it from the earth. “This ends now, Marric,” Ash said.
A translucent wall of energy stood before Marric. It bristled with divergent flashes of blue and white hues. Marric raised his right hand and pointed toward the sky; his left hand toward the ground. As he did this, he stepped through the cloud of dust and smoke. His clothing was slightly burned, and his face was covered in soot. He wiped his face as he walked forward. “Nicely done, brother. It would seem our father’s blood runs strong within the both of us.”
The cloud of dust and smoke rolled across the dirt, twisting and turning on the air. “Our father’s blood? You continue to deceive, my old friend. Marric, master of lies,” Ash said angrily. “I believe not a thing you say any longer. You’ve taken your love of stories too far. I don’t know when you stopped recounting and started creating, but I’ll not be fooled by you any longer,” Ash said, readying his sword. Hylaen soldiers began to gather around the two men, one after the other. Ash gripped his sword tightly before charging towards Marric, the smoke and dust offering him some cover. The cloud parted as he moved quickly to attack. Marric watched the movements of the smoke, barely able to see Ash as he moved toward him; trying to avoid his attack. Ash missed wildly. His sword landing a powerful strike against the dirt, but he used the sword as a point of balance and kicked Marric like a mule. Marric toppled forward from the unexpected blow. “My father was right about you. He always was. All the fights we had were about you. He was right,” Ash said, panting.
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