Fire Keep

by J. Scott Savage

  Master Therapass gripped Marcus’s shoulder. “I don’t need you to be sorry. I need you to be brave.”

  Marcus studied the wizard’s face. “Tankum thinks I’ll fail, doesn’t he?”

  “Tankum looks at the world from the viewpoint of a general. When I sent out the stone wizards and warriors, I told them they were looking for any remaining Keepers of the Balance. But the truth is that Tankum was scouting the land, looking for potential allies in the event we need to raise an army to fight the Dark Circle.”

  “Did he find them?” Marcus asked.

  Master Therapass sighed. “We are hopelessly outnumbered. For every soldier we recruit, the Dark Circle creates a dozen undead warriors. We’ve managed a few victories here and there, but at a cost. When we lose soldiers, they’re gone. When the undead are destroyed, the Summoners simply create more. Yes, we have the elementals on our side—at least some of them. But it’s not nearly enough. ”

  “I have failed,” Marcus whispered. No wonder his body felt like it was falling apart. “Everything we did was for nothing.”

  The wizard’s hand tightened on his shoulder. “Never think that. Never. I told you that Tankum looks at the conflict as numbers on a field. That’s the only way he can see it. War is all he knows. But there’s something more. Something that doesn’t show up in a headcount. Outnumbering us the way they do, why do you think the Dark Circle hasn’t already attacked?”

  Marcus shook his head and shrugged.

  “Because they’re afraid—afraid of the same thing that gives our people hope.” He reached into the sleeve of his robe and pulled out a scroll.

  It was the prophecy that Master Therapass had told him about the first time they’d met. Marcus still remembered the words by heart.

  He shall make whole that which was torn asunder. Restore that which was lost. And all shall be as one.

  “It’s you, Marcus. You are what stands between the people of Farworld and oblivion.”

  Marcus didn’t think he’d ever felt more overwhelmed and alone in his life. “Do you think I’ll fail?”

  The wizard smiled. “As long as you are alive and well, I have hope. Now, let’s go to the top of the tower and share that hope with the people of Farworld.”

  3: Misdirection

  By the time they reached the top of the tower, Marcus was grateful for the heavy robe and scarf. The late fall air, which had been cool only a week earlier, was freezing now, and the thick, icy fog found every inch of his exposed flesh.

  Tankum stood at the top of the tower next to Breslik Broomhead. As Marcus approached them, a giant face, which looked like a dragon made completely of ice, peeked out of the fog.

  “Zethar,” Marcus called with a grin. He should have realized that the frost pinnois would be their transportation to Land Keep.

  The ice creature, who was normally as talkative as Riph Raph, nodded silently and winked.

  As Marcus started forward to climb onto the frost pinnois’ back, Tankum motioned him toward the tower wall, where Master Therapass was standing. A small section of fog rolled away, and a roar arose from ground below. Marcus leaned over to see a huge crowd gathered at the base of the tower. Despite the cold, the entire population of Terra ne Staric appeared to be down there waving flags, scarves, coats, and even a few babies.

  “What’s that all about?” Marcus asked.

  “They’re here for you,” the wizard said. He had to be joking, but there wasn’t a trace of humor on his face. “Are you going to say something?”

  “Like what?” Marcus stared at him, completely stupefied.

  “I’ll handle this,” Riph Raph said. He swooped out over the crowd. “Thanks for coming, everyone. I hope there’s refreshments!”

  The people below roared with laughter, and one of them shouted. “How about a fresh fish?”

  “Remember what I said about hope?” the wizard whispered, raising an eyebrow.

  Marcus called Riph Raph back and moved to the edge of the wall. His whole body shook, only partly from the cold. He cleared his throat twice.

  “I, um . . .” He glanced at Master Therapass, but the wizard seemed to be studying the fields outside the city. “I really . . . um, thanks for coming.”

  “Down with the Dark Circle!” a woman shouted.

  “Right,” Marcus said, feeling a little more confident. “We’re totally taking down the Dark Circle.” The people below howled with pleasure. “And we’re going to get Kyja back.” The roar of the crowd was deafening even from the top of the tower.

  “Do you still think they blame you?” Master Therapass whispered, a half-smile on his wrinkled face.

  Marcus shook his head. He hoped he wouldn’t let everyone down. “Okay, so thanks for your support, and I’ll see you soon.” He thought he sounded totally lame, but no one seemed to mind. When he waved, they all waved back and cheered.

  As he stepped away from the wall, he noticed Tankum had his swords out. Master Therapass was gripping his staff tightly. The wizard looked at the warrior and raised a bushy white eyebrow.

  “All set?” Tankum called.

  “Everything is ready,” answered a male voice from somewhere in the mist.

  “Who is that?” Marcus asked. The voice sounded so familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it.

  Therapass looked at Tankum and nodded. Marcus started toward Zhethar, but froze when he saw a figure wearing his exact same robe and scarf, clinging to the creature’s back. The frost pinnois flapped its wings and burst forward over the side of the tower. Zhethar soared above the crowd before banking gracefully left toward the open field Master Therapass had been studying.

  “What’s going on?” Marcus asked. He started toward the wall again, but Tankum reached out and pulled him into the fog. “Who is on Zhethar’s back?” Marcus demanded. “And why—”

  His words cut off as a huge red shape exploded out of a distant grove of trees and headed straight for Zethar. Marcus barely had time to register that it was a Summoner before a jet of flame hit the frost pinnois dead on. Zhethar shattered into a million shards of ice, and the figure on its back burst into flames before plummeting toward the ground.

  “No!” Marcus screamed struggling to escape Tankum’s grip. Had they known this would happen?

  “Now,” the warrior called, waving a sword over his head.

  Dozens of air elementals burst through the fog mounted on their strange seahorse-looking creatures. At the same time, Master Therapass raised his staff and shot bolts of ice at the Summoner. Outnumbered, the winged monster turned in retreat.

  At the same time, three more frost pinnois rose out of the fog, heading in different directions. Each of them had a robed figure on its back. Marcus pulled his silver wand from his belt, but before he could use it, a hand took him by the sleeve.

  “This way,” said the familiar voice. Marcus turned to find a blue face looking at him through the fog.

  “Cascade?” Marcus asked.

  The water elemental tilted his head as though wondering who else he might be, before nodding. “It is I.” He led them through the mist until Marcus touched ice-cold scales.

  “A pleasure to be seeing you again,” said a second frost pinnois. “Climb aboard.”

  “Zhethar?” Marcus asked, as Cascade helped him onto the creature’s blanket-covered back. “But then who . . . ?”

  “It was water magic,” Cascade said. “We made a dummy pinnois to deceive the Dark Circle.”

  Zethar flicked his tail with a sound of chattering icicles. “Did you really think I’d let myself be fried by that lizard in snake’s clothing?”

  Marcus shook his head, thoroughly confused. “And the person on his back was . . . ?”

  Mist, the water elemental who controlled fog and clouds, appeared from behind the frost pinnois, a haze of sparkling light hovering over her. “More water magic.” She pointed toward Zhethar. “I can give you some cover, but for your best chance of success you must leave now.”

  “Where are
Master Therapass and Tankum?” Marcus asked. “We’re going to Land Keep.” He tried to look for them, but it was impossible to see anything through the fog, which was growing thicker by the minute.

  “No time to explain,” Cascade said.

  The frost pinnois spread his massive wings as Marcus climbed onto the thick blankets strapped to his back.

  “Riph Raph!” Marcus called. The skyte flew through the fog, tumbling head-first into the blankets.

  Before Marcus could ask another word, Zhethar launched himself into the air, forcing Marcus and Riph Raph to burrow under the covers or risk frostbite.

  Marcus had no idea how long he and Riph Raph rode on the frost pinnois’ back. Every time he pulled down the blankets to see where they were, he found himself buffeted by thick, gray clouds, which quickly formed ice crystals on his nose and cheeks.

  Where were they going? And why hadn’t Therapass come with them? Trapped in the dark, he kept replaying the scene on the tower—the cheers of the crowd, which had turned to screams as the Summoner rose, dragon-like, into the air and blasted the decoy Cascade and the other Fontasians had created.

  Master Therapass and Tankum must have known about the plan, or at least suspected it. So why hadn’t they warned him? Why had they tried the escape so publicly, instead of sneaking out like he’d suggested? No matter how many angles he considered, the situation didn’t make any sense.

  Riph Raph was no help either. After the first time Marcus peeled back the blankets to look around, only to discover it was impossible to see where they were, the skyte had curled up, tail wrapped around himself, and was soon snoring.

  Marcus worried about whether Therapass and Tankum were safe—whether they had managed to fight off the Summoner. Even if they had, the terrifying creature might still be chasing after him and Riph Raph at this very moment.

  A million possibilities raced through his head, but eventually, the steady up and down of the frost pinnois’ wings, the rushing whoosh of the air outside, and the warmth of the thick blankets rocked him into a terrifying dream in which Kyja was slipping over the edge of a cliff. No matter what he did, he couldn’t quite reach her.

  It wasn’t until something nipped the tip of his nose that he realized he’d fallen asleep. “Wake up,” Riph Raph hissed. “I think we’ve landed.”

  Marcus sat up, trying to worm his way out of the blankets. “Where are we?”

  “No idea,” the skyte said. “I was going to check, but . . .”

  “You were scared.” Marcus flung the blankets off him with a grunt and blinked at the bright sunlight which had replaced the fog.

  “I wasn’t scared,” Riph Raph said, peeking around Marcus’s shoulder. “I was cautious. A careful skyte is a live skyte.”

  As his eyes adjusted to the sunlight, Marcus looked around to see they had landed in a narrow mountain pass. The air was a little warmer than it had been at the tower, but he couldn’t tell if that was because they were finally out of the fog, or if they had flown south. They’d landed in a grassy meadow, but the trees on both sides of them were filled with colored leaves, so it had to still be fall.

  “This isn’t Land Keep,” he said. “Where are we?”

  Zhethar looked back, blinked his big silver eyes, and yawned. “Somewhere in the mountains, would be my guess.”

  “Your guess?” Marcus leaped out of the blankets and clambered over the side of the pinnois before realizing he was still twenty feet above the ground. He tried to catch himself, but the icy scales were too slippery.

  “Look out!” Riph Raph called, yanking at his robe. But it was too late. Wheeling his good arm, Marcus slid off the creature’s back and would have taken a bad fall if Zhethar hadn’t put out a wing to catch him.

  The frost pinnois had probably saved him a broken bone or two, at the very least, but Marcus was still angry. He glared at Zhethar. “I want to know where we are, why we’re here, and where Master Therapass is. Then I want you to take us straight to Land Keep.”

  Zhethar lowered his wing until Marcus could reach the ground. “Under less, shall we say, demanding circumstances, I would be extraordinarily offended by your lack of gratitude, considering that I have now saved your life twice.”

  “I’m sorry,” Marcus grumbled, balling his fists.

  The frost pinnois waited.

  Riph Raph leaned toward Marcus. “I think he wants you to say thank you.”

  Marcus sucked in a frustrated breath. “I know what he wants.” He turned back to Zhethar, trying to keep his temper. “Thank you for saving our lives. And thank you for bringing us here—wherever here is. Now, will you please tell me where we are?”

  Zhethar gave him a big grin, his icy-blue fangs flashing in the sun. “See? Isn’t conversation much more pleasant when we speak civilly to one another?”

  Marcus stomped.

  “Unfortunately,” the frost pinnois continued, “I am under strict orders not to tell anyone where I have brought you. In fact, as soon as I leave, I will forget I was here. It’s a shame; this looks like a very nice place—shady trees, babbling brook, green grass.” With that, he flapped his wings and rose into the air, turning toward a thick bank of clouds.

  “Wait!” Marcus yelled, leaning on his staff. “You can’t leave us here. What are we supposed to? Where are we supposed to go?”

  “Your ride awaits,” the pinnois called back, growing smaller and smaller as he flew farther away.

  “Ride?” Marcus yelled. “What ride?” He heard a snort behind him and turned to see a gray and white horse trotting in his direction.

  The horse shook its thick mane and asked, “What is long, brown, and sticky?”

  When neither Marcus nor Riph Raph answered, the stallion pulled back its lips, baring its large teeth in what looked like a grin, and said, “A stick.”

  4: Jokes and Illusions

  Clinging to the reins and saddle horn with his good hand, Marcus shook his head. “This is so dumb.”

  The horse he was riding looked back at him, champed at the bit in his mouth, and asked, “What did the little tree say to the big tree?”

  “I don’t care,” Marcus growled. “I want to know where we’re going.” At first he’d been excited to discover that the stallion was Chance¸ the horse he and Kyja had ridden to the Westland Woods when they’d first met. It was good to know that Chance had made it home safely. But then Marcus remembered that while the horse could talk, all he did was tell dumb jokes.

  If Chance understood Marcus’s words, he didn’t seem to care. “The little tree said, ‘Leaf me alone,’” he said, answering his own question.

  Marcus had been riding for over an hour, and his legs and rear were aching. “How do we know we’re going in the right direction?”

  Riph Raph, who had been staring at the quietly burbling creek on their left—no doubt imagining all of the tasty fish in it—waggled his ears. “You could try going another way.”

  “That doesn’t seem to be an option.” Marcus pulled the reins as hard to the right as he could. He might as well have been pulling on a brick wall. Chance kept walking straight up the valley, the same way he’d been going since Marcus had climbed onto his back—all the while cracking his dumb jokes.

  “What does a storm cloud wear under its clothes?”

  “Thunderwear,” Marcus said, gritting his teeth. “That joke was old when I was a little kid.”

  “Thunderwear,” Chance agreed. The stallion paused briefly to go to the bathroom, then continued up the mountain pass, which was growing narrower the farther they went.

  Trying to ignore the constant stream of jokes, Marcus studied the passing scenery. “Have you noticed anything strange about the air?”

  Riph Raph tore his gaze from the stream and sniffed. “Smells kind of like horse poop.”

  “Not that.” Marcus glanced at the trees to his right. “Up close, everything looks clear.”

  Riph Raph squinted before nodding. “It even looks clearer to my eyes, and Skytes have the g
reatest eyesight in the animal kingdom. Better than—”

  “Now look behind us,” Marcus said, cutting him off. “See how it’s all hazy?”

  Riph Raph peered down the way they’d come. “Maybe there’s smoke in the valley?”

  Marcus nodded. “That’s what I thought at first. But the same thing happens if you look forward or straight up. The farther away things are, the more they get this weird kind of blurry look. Also, I’ve felt a strange tingling ever since we got here, like the hairs on my arms are standing up.”

  “Maybe you’re sick,” Riph Raph said. “I told you to stay under the blankets.”

  “That’s not it.” Marcus ran his fingers over the tip of his wand. “It’s very subtle, but I think I’m sensing someone around here using air magic. It’s like they’re trying to hide something from us.”

  Riph Raph switched his tail back and forth like a cat preparing to pounce. “I’ll fly around and take a look.”

  “Yeah, okay.”

  Riph Raph loosened his grip on Marcus’s shoulder and raised his wings. But before he could take flight, Marcus reached up and grabbed one of his legs. “Wait. Maybe that isn’t a good idea.” He looked around, still feeling the strange tingling sensation running over his skin.

  “What is it?” Riph Raph whispered. “Do you see something?”

  Marcus pulled his wand from his belt. “No. But I have an idea. What if whoever is using air magic isn’t hiding something from us, but is hiding us from something or someone?” He reached over to scratch Riph Raph’s back. “If that’s true, and you fly past the protective field, you could be putting us in danger. Or . . . if what I’m thinking is right, you may be able to fly away just fine, but when you turn around, you might not be able to find your way back.”

  “You think someone is trying to keep us hidden?” Riph Raph asked. “Who?”

  “The question isn’t who is hiding us,” Marcus said. “But who are they hiding us from?” He could think of only one possibility. “The Dark Circle.”