Stealing Sorcery

by Andrew Rowe

  There was a hint of an unfamiliar feeling as he realized that his barrier was doing nothing to stop the encroaching ice.

  He inhaled a sharp breath.

  I can’t move.

  I need to move.

  He stared at the sword in his hand. The aura continued to wear at the ice where they made contact, but it was insufficient to keep his entire body from being consumed.

  He needed something else – something more appropriate to combat the ice.

  His mind sought out the blade’s aura and issued a single command – burn.

  White flames erupted from his sword, instantly melting a spherical cavern of ice around Taelien. He shivered at the cost of flame, but a fevered exhilaration invigorated him when he saw his weapon - the sword’s runes were glowing white, not blue.

  This…this is new.

  And I think I like it.

  He swept the blade forward, the blade’s heat transforming ice into water – and then steam – in a broader area than the flames themselves seemed to reach. In spite of that, he felt no heat against his skin, nor did his barrier flicker against the surface of his skin.

  Interesting. But I can’t count on the flames being discerning enough not to hurt anyone else – I need to put this out as soon as I get out of the ice.

  It took several more moments before he finished his tunnel, emerging just behind Terras. He gazed at the Sae’kes for another moment, scrutinizing, before reaching his senses out to contact the blade’s aura again.

  Thank you, old friend. I don’t know why, but I feel like I understand you better somehow now. Now, please calm your flames.

  The white fire subsided, leaving the translucent aura around the weapon looking somewhat diminished. Two of the remaining three runes faded entirely, leaving a single rune to shift back from white to blue. Taelien gingerly sheathed the blade, and then shifted the golden sword into a two-handed grip and took aim.

  He swung the flat of the weapon at Terras’ back.

  Something smacked into his weapon mid-swing – a dagger, hurled through the air. The golden blade cracked on impact, the top third of the sword splintering away into nothingness.

  The thrown weapon was real, however. Taelien saw the origin as he glanced to the right – the Wandering War was approaching.

  Taelien shrugged and slammed the pommel of the golden blade into Terras’ back. She gasped at the impact, blue sparks flickering in the air.

  The sorceress spun around, electricity playing in her hands.

  “Sorry, nothing personal.” Taelien spun to deflect another dagger, attempting to bat it at Terras, but merely succeeding in knocking it to the ground.

  Terras hastily stepped back, but Taelien managed to land a second slash on her arm before she could draw her own sword.

  “What are you doing? Hitting me is against the rules!”

  The Rethri woman shifted into the Teris Low-Blade stance, a defensive style, as soon as she had her sword drawn.

  Taelien smirked. “Not precisely. It’s a penalty to hit someone with your weapon or spell – and this, here, is one of Keldyn’s spells.”

  He darted forward again, swinging the remaining part of the blade. Terras withdrew and retained a defensive stance.

  “Don’t think that’s how it works.” Terras frowned, glancing toward the Wandering War. He gave no obvious response.

  But you’re not sure, so you don’t want me to hit you. Perfect. You’re the most dangerous person out here – aside from War, maybe – and I have you both tied up.

  He advanced again, and Terras stepped backward, a growing look of frustration on her face. His next swipe was a feint, leaving him exposed, and she instinctively took the opening – just barely managing to jerk her own blade back out of the way before hitting him.

  “Resh this. I’m going back to work.” She dropped her sword. “You want to gamble on hitting me? Fine.” Electricity played at her fingertips, and thunder cracked in the skies above. “Let’s play.”

  Taelien shook his head disdainfully. “I wouldn’t try throwing any lightning at my flags right now.” He patted the metallic edge on the sheath on his left hip. “You know I’m a metal sorcerer? I shaped this scabbard to attract electricity. You try anything while I’m this close and it’ll act like a lightning rod. Then you lose more points.”

  Terras narrowed her eyes. “You’re bluffing.”

  He shrugged, stepping closer. “Care to make that a wager?”

  She pointed her left hand upward and closed her eyes. A blast of electricity flew upward from her fingertip, piercing the cloudless sky.

  By the time she had reopened her eyes, Taelien had decided to cut his losses.

  He shoved past her, hurling his golden blade at the floor, and drew the Sae’kes again.

  A wave of fatigue smashed into him as soon as he attempted to wrest control of the runes on the blade. His vision blurred as he skidded across the icy ground, slamming one of the remaining icy dunes.

  Shaking his head, he concentrated, noting that only the first and second runes were lit. Resh. I must be in worse shape than I realized.

  He took a breath, glancing around to ensure that no one was in melee range, and swept his blade through the icy barrier.

  The crack of wood within was immensely satisfying.

  Excellent. Just need a few more of these.

  “Wait, stop!” Terras’ voice was filled with frustration as Taelien rushed toward the next dome.

  “Leave him.” The reply was an unfamiliar voice, heavy as iron. He had no time to consider the source, however.

  He lashed out at the next ice barrier as soon as he reached it, feeling a numbness spreading across his arm.

  I can’t keep this up much longer.

  Turning, he tried to consider the locations of the first domes that he had seen Lysen working on, but he was too disoriented. He hacked at the next two domes, finding them empty, before turning to find The Wandering War directly in front of him.

  The cloaked figure was holding a long, black-bladed sword etched with shimmering red runes.

  “Come.” The voice was the same as the one that had instructed Terras to cease her assault. “Let us begin this contest in earnest.”

  Taelien knew that fighting The Wandering War had no place in this test – that even scoring a victory in battle against him would serve no purpose – and yet a deep, overwhelming urge pressed him to accept the challenge to battle.

  He ignored that urge.

  Taelien chuckled, spun around, and charged at the nearest dome, leaving it smashed to pieces in his wake. He managed to sunder two more, splintering one additional flag, before the ending gong finally rang.

  ***

  The candidates lined up on their sides of the arena, awaiting judgment. As Taelien took his place in the formation, he could see the uncertain looks of his companions.

  The colonel raised her voice immediately after the teams had taken their positions. “Applicants, attention.”

  Taelien shifted his stance simultaneously with his platoon, taking a deep breath.

  “Platoon 1 succeeded in capturing a single flag from Platoon 2 and destroying five of their flags, for an impressive cumulative score of seven points.”

  Taelien’s jaw tightened. They got six of our flags? And with no penalties?

  “Platoon 2 succeeded at capturing two flags and destroying three others, however, they also suffered two penalties for causing damage to enemy team members. Thus, their score is only five points.”

  In spite of the need to remain at attention, Taelien shut his eyes.

  We...lost?

  “Platoon 1 is the victor. Both teams may return to their barracks for further instructions. Dismissed.”

  Taelien’s eyes remained shut as he heard the other team howling at their victory. A few moments later, he felt someone tugging at his left arm.

  “C’mon, Salaris.” Landen offered a weak smile. “We did just fine. Let’s head back, yeah?”

  He nodd
ed weakly, knowing that this might be his last visit to the barracks that had served as their home.

  The platoon left the coliseum in silence, walking in a close formation as they began to head back to the barracks.

  “Bunch of bullshit.” Velas folded her arms as they walked, and Taelien noted the nods of assent among their group. “Judges must have had it out for us.”

  “I’m sorry,” Taelien barely managed to mumble.

  Velas kicked a rock, sending it tumbling off the path. “You kidding? You ripped them open over there. Not your fault the judges have their heads up their asses, Sal.”

  “I lost as many points as I got us.”

  Velas shrugged. “We all knew what you were planning on. Personally, I think using Keldyn’s sword was brilliant. Wish we could have used the ice to break their own flags somehow, but turning the domes into water was pretty great, too. Nice work on that, Eridus.”

  The water sorcerer gave a silent nod and looked away.

  “Anyway,” Velas continued, “If the judges were reasonable, they would have counted those hits against the enemy team, since Keldyn was careless. And then we would have won.”

  “No.”

  Asphodel spoke quietly, but all heads turned toward her. It was not simply that she spoke rarely, nor the force of her personality, but rather the certainty in her voice that always seemed to draw attention with unrelenting gravity.

  “The judges were fair. The plan was sound. We simply failed to execute it properly.”

  They walked for the rest of the journey in silence.

  Lieutenant Torrent was waiting outside the barrack as they arrived. His hands were filled with red flags, blowing softly in the wind.

  Taelien’s left hand drifted upward, not to tug at his own red flag, but to cover the pounding within his chest.

  This is it, then.

  “Platoon 2, halt.”

  The group stopped in a messy semi-formation, awaiting further instructions.

  “You did pretty well back there, but you lost. We’re nearing the final stages of the test, so that means—”

  Taelien didn’t hear the rest. He wasn’t listening.

  He lowered his head as the paladin candidates formed a single-file line, each stepping forward to receive a red flag before filing into the barracks.

  “Sal.”

  “Sal.” The voice was louder this time, more insistent.

  Taelien blinked, turning around. Landen pressed a blue flag into his hand.

  “You’re going to need that.”

  The swordsman opened his mouth to reply, but on this rare occasion, he found himself speechless.

  “Cadet Salaris, step forward.”

  Taelien turned to Lieutenant Torrent, weakly displaying the balled-up blue flag that had been inserted into his grasp.

  The lieutenant raised an eyebrow, glancing at Landen. “Interesting. You sure you want to do that, cadet?”

  Landen nodded. “Sir, if Taelien didn’t help me with the sigil test, I would not have passed. Please allow this.”

  The lieutenant frowned, raising a closed hand to his jaw, and then stepping forward. He snatched the blue flag out of Taelien’s hand.

  “Fine. Get inside, Applicant Salaris. You won’t have another chance. Be glad you have such loyal friends.”

  Taelien took a shuddering breath and rushed inside the barracks. He didn’t bother to change out of his uniform – he just sat on his bed and shivered.

  ***

  At dinner hour, Taelien remained behind as most of the remaining cadets filed out of the barracks. He reclined on his flat pillow, lying on top of the blankets since he had yet to bathe. He had managed to kick off his boots, but beyond that, he had little energy to force himself to move.

  When the others were gone, Asphodel climbed up to the top bunk to sit beside where he was resting. Taelien turned and gave her a quizzical look.

  Asphodel casually laid a hand on his shoulder, shaking her head. “You feel despair. Why?”

  “I’ve just failed at the last two challenges. I shouldn’t even be here.”

  “But you are, as you must be.”

  I’m really not in the mood for this kind of self-assured nonsense right now.

  “If destiny had a hand in this, I feel like I should probably be breaking it.”

  Asphodel frowned deeply. “You already are.”

  Taelien sat up, crouching to avoid brushing his head against the ceiling. “Okay, that’s sufficiently ominous to make me curious. What are you talking about?”

  “You are playing another’s role, and playing the role differently than he would have.”

  Taelien quirked an eyebrow. “That’s still pretty vague.”

  “I am sorry.” The Delaren looked away, her crystalline hair brushing against him as she turned. “Speaking can be difficult. I am seeing – hearing – too many things.”

  “What do you mean by that? You’ve never answered our questions about the whole ‘oracle’ thing.”

  Asphodel’s shoulder slumped. “It is a gift, one might say, but a burden. My senses have many facets. I see now, as you do, but I also see moments – and minutes – and hours into the future. Sometimes further, if I strain myself.”

  “Simultaneously?”

  Asphodel nodded weakly.

  “That must be…maddening. Can you block it out?”

  “Only to a minimal extent. I have learned to focus, as you might pay more attention to something directly in front of you than your peripheral vision. But if I close my eyes, I see nothing at all. If I block my ears, I do not hear any timeframe. There is no method for filtering one or another completely.”

  Gods. That’s – I couldn’t possibly handle that kind of burden.

  The pair was silent for a time, and Asphodel turned back toward him. Her eyes were closed.

  “Focusing on one sense or another can help. Do you mind?”

  He shook his head, and then remembered her eyes were closed. “No.”

  She smiled. “Good. You have many questions – as do I. You may ask first.”

  “You said something about me taking someone else’s place. What do you mean by that?”

  “When I meet someone, I often gaze into their potential future. This may be intrusive, but it is instinctive to me, and I must keep myself safe. When I attempted to do this with you, I saw someone else entirely.”

  Taelien took a deep breath.

  Does she mean Aendaryn, the God of Blades? So many people have mistaken me for him – or his child. Could it be true?

  “How do you know it’s a different person?”

  The Delaren woman tilted her head downward. “He was nothing like you. Everything and nothing alike.” After a pause, she spoke again. “He was regal, dominant, more nature than man. He had a Rethri’s eyes – verdant and deep as a forest – but he lacked a Rethri’s heart. And when I saw him – when I tried to see more – he turned his gaze to me.” She shivered. “And he smiled. It was not a smile of kindness. It was the smile of a hunter who had set his eyes upon prey. I have never dared to look into your future again.”

  The description was abstract, but something about it scratched at the back of his memory. The man in her vision sounded familiar – familiar in a way that made his hand itch to reach for the sword at his side.

  But that’s not Aendaryn she described. The god of blades is described as being a blue-eyed human, like I am.

  “You feel it, too.” Asphodel grasped his hand, intertwining her fingers in his. There was something desperate in the contact, something pleading. Their fingers tightened around each other.

  “Yes.” His eyes closed, the image of the other man manifesting in his mind. It was not something Asphodel had given him – not a spell or a shared vision – but an awakened memory.

  The man – if such a word can describe a creature carved from the nightmares in the furthest recesses of his mind - had smiled at him, too.

  Taelien squeezed her hand. “What is he?”


  “I do not know,” Asphodel whispered. “But I know that he is watching.”

  Chapter XVIII – Velas VI – Thourougly Trapped

  The first thing Velas realized was that she was cold. Without opening her eyes, she reached for her blanket, finding it missing. In her half-conscious haze, she barely processed the string of curses coming from somewhere to her right, or the scraping sound half a dozen yards distant. She frowned, groaning, and her eyes fluttered open.

  Her surroundings were unfamiliar and unnerving.

  A faint blue light illuminated her cell. She was lying atop an uneven grey stone floor, confined within a circle of glowing azure runes. Her only companions within the circle were a few cracked pieces of stone. The former Queensguard was still wearing her nightclothes, but an additional adornment graced her neck – a golden collar, similarly etched with luminescent blue runes.

  Gods curse it, not more runes. I hate runes.

  The cell itself was barely large enough for her to lie down. It was square in shape, with a gate of steel bars near her feet. The other three walls were the same grey stone as the floor. As she sat up, she realized that she could not see the primary source of the room’s illumination – the runes on the floor and necklace were insufficient. The lack of a clear origin point for the light was disconcerting.

  “Ugh,” she moaned, rubbing at her head. She was pretty sure she hadn’t been drinking last night, but she felt like alcohol had sucker punched her brain when she wasn’t looking.

  “Velas? You awake? I’d know that half-conscious moan anywhere.” The sound was coming from the opposite side of the stone wall on her right side.

  “Shut up, Landen. You’re too loud, and I’m tired.” She rubbed at her temples, but the effort was mostly in vain.

  “Uh, we might need to talk, given that we’re, you know, in some kind of prison.”

  She sighed. “Yes, I’d gathered that, thanks.”

  “Velas? Landen? That you over there?” Taelien was ‘whispering’ from somewhere beyond Velas’ bars. His idea of whispering was about twice the volume of Landen’s speaking voice, and Velas was unable to stifle a snicker. Leaning closer to the edge of her circle – she didn’t want to cross it without determining the circle’s function, if any – she could see through her bars well enough to note another set of bars about two yards beyond her own. Taelien was standing in a similar circle, shirtless, wearing a collar. It was hard to tell with the dim light, but she thought his collar might have been silver, rather than gold.