by Callie Kanno
Cowan studied the princess thoughtfully. “Thank you, your highness.”
Idris could see that Lenora was quite pleased with the captain’s acknowledgment. “I am glad to help,” she said sincerely.
Kurag turned his attention to Idris’s wounds, quickly deciding which needed to be attended first. “Remove your tunic,” he instructed the young man.
Idris did as he was told with reluctance. He was not accustomed to being partially undressed in the presence of women. He distracted himself by looking at the rune Kurag drew on the bandages.
“What does it say?” he asked the Forger.
Kurag pointed to the rune. “It is called chir. It means ‘heal.’”
The Forger wrapped the strip of cloth around the gash on Idris’s right arm, singing softly to activate the rune’s magic. Idris felt a surge of warmth soothe the pain of his injury. “Is it healing me?” he asked in amazement.
Kurag gave a half shrug. “Not completely. It mostly helps your body to heal more quickly. Even runes have their limits.”
“Do runes ever work on their own?” Idris asked. “Or do you always have to sing?”
Kurag seemed to appreciate his interest. He smiled as he explained. “All runes have innate power. Each line and angle serve a specific purpose, and must be drawn with precision. The mental and emotional process of drawing runes also plays an important role in creating them.”
Kurag paused his speech as he wrapped a second bandage around the cut on Idris’s ribs, singing the same song as before. Once again, the pain of the cut disappeared in a flash of warmth.
“That being said,” Kurag continued, “words have no meaning if they are never read. They have no life if they are never understood. The same applies to runes. The meaning of each rune must be connected to a living soul if its potential is to be realized. The simplest and most powerful way to connect to a human soul is through music, and so we use music to awaken the runes.”
“What a beautiful art,” Lenora observed.
Kurag’s expression grew unusually soft. “Yes, it is.”
The Forger finished the last bandage meant for Idris, tying it around his head to cover his broken nose. Lenora watched the process with interest. “Will the runes straighten it as well?”
Idris’s fingers flew up to gingerly touch his face. “My nose is crooked now?”
“Only a little,” Lenora replied absently.
Kurag shook his head. “No, the runes will not straighten it. If it were a broken limb I would know how to set it, but I do not know how to set a broken nose.”
“Well, do not worry,” the princess said to Idris. “In Breen, a crooked nose is a sign of a fighter. Many women find it attractive.”
“Only, I do not live in Breen,” Idris pointed out, “and I do not know if the women of Calaris are of the same opinion.”
“That is simply one more reason for you to come and live in Breen,” Lenora answered lightly.
The two exchanged smiles, but the moment was interrupted by a soft snort from Hildar. “As if Idris would give up being a member of the Royal Guard for such a silly reason.”
“There is nothing wrong with seeking a fresh opportunity,” Lenora pointed out.
“Being a member of the Royal Guard is a fresh opportunity,” Hildar argued. “He used to be a farmer.”
Lenora’s blue eyes narrowed. “You do not need to say that as if it was something disgraceful.”
“I did not,” denied Hildar.
“A kingdom would crumble without its foundation of farmers and artisans,” Lenora pointed out.
“I am aware of that,” Hildar said sarcastically, “but you cannot tell me you would give up your position to go work on a farm.”
Before Lenora could answer, Kurag held up a hand to silence both of them. “This argument serves no one. We have more important matters to discuss.”
Both women looked chastened as they nodded in agreement. The Forger finished seeing to his own injuries, then he motioned for Hildar to come sit next to him. From his bag he pulled out the crystal box that held the corrupted dagger. Hildar’s eyes fixed on it, as if it were a venomous snake.
“I have explained to you what will be required to reforge this weapon,” Kurag said gently.
Hildar gave a jerky nod. “Yes.”
“And you are still determined to go forward?” he asked.
Some of the color drained from Hildar’s cheeks, but she nodded again. “Yes.”
The Forger gestured to the other members of the group. “We are all here to support you in this endeavor. Remember that you do not take this burden alone.”
Hildar’s gaze passed over each of her fellow members of the Royal Guard. Idris thought he saw tears of gratitude shimmer in her eyes. “I know,” she whispered.
Kurag motioned to the crystal box. “You have cut yourself off from Savion. It is an understandable reaction, but it is ultimately counterproductive. You need to tie yourself to him as tightly as you can between now and the reforging.”
Any remaining color in Hildar’s face fled. “But…what if he takes control again?”
Kurag drew his lips into a firm line. “That is why you cannot do this without the support of your friends. They can watch you—make certain that you are not acting out of character in a dangerous way.”
The Forger reached down to pick up the dagger, once again extracting it from the box without any physical opening. He balanced it on his palm, offering the blade to Hildar. She shuddered as she stared at it, her expression filled with terror.
“It is not too late for us to return to Marath,” Captain Cowan said softly. “We can give the dagger to Kurag to be destroyed.”
“No,” Hildar blurted. “I cannot give up the only thing that has ever made me special.”
Idris drew his brows downward. “The dagger is not what makes you special, Hildar.”
She turned to look at him, her hazel eyes filled with disbelief. “I will not give it up,” she insisted.
“Then, take it,” Kurag urged.
Hildar extended a trembling hand, grasping the dagger by its jeweled handle. Her breathing grew rapid, causing Idris to worry that she was having an anxiety attack. Aherin took a step forward to steady her, but she shook her head. “I am fine,” she said sharply.
“Do not refuse a hand given in friendship,” Kurag warned. “It could be the only thing to save you.”
For a moment, Hildar’s expression was conflicted. Finally, she accepted the Forger’s words. “I understand.”
“Keep the dagger with you at all times,” instructed Kurag. “You may speak to him if you wish, but know that he will fight against being reforged. Do not be afraid to share what he says to you, for we are the balancing force against his arguments.”
“Or you could just ignore him,” Aherin said with a smile. “How hard could that be?”
Idris knew that he meant it as a joke, but Hildar’s face was anything but amused. Idris knew that she had a battle ahead of her that would be the hardest she had ever face—one she may not survive.
Chapter Twenty-Five: Fire Visions
Idris and his companions left their hiding place under the cover of night. The stranger who had given them shelter seemed glad to see them go, which was understandable. Neither the woman nor her children entered the house while Idris and the others were there. They waited outside with the horses, keeping watch for any signs of trouble. Captain Cowan paid the woman again as they left, thanking her for her kindness.
They rode out of the village, heading slightly northwest in order to circle around the twin lakes. Even in the dark, Idris could see that the area was beautiful. The breeze that blew across the lake was fresh, carrying the scents of spring. It made Idris glad to be this far to the south. His home in Calaris was still under the blanket of winter this time of year.
“It must be nice to have shorter winters,” Idris observed to no one in particular.
Lenora was riding closest to him, so she was the one to a
nswer. “Yes, our climate in Breen is quite mild all year. Especially in the south, where Trys is located.”
“Trys is the capital city?” Idris asked.
“Yes, it is,” Lenora acknowledged.
“What is it like?”
“Gathering information about your new home?” Hildar snapped from across the group.
Idris was trying to be understanding of Hildar’s method of coping with her situation, but he was getting tired of her sarcasm. “I am not going to live in Breen,” he said with exaggerated patience. “I am just curious.”
“Well, perhaps you should focus more on things that matter,” Hildar shot back. “Maybe you can work on training with your weapon instead of flirting.”
Idris felt his temper flare up. “How can I possibly train right now?” he demanded. “It is nighttime and there are Hunters chasing after us. You really want me to send out pillars of fire to show everyone where we are?”
“There is a way you could train without alerting anyone to our presence,” Cowan offered.
Aherin perked up at the suggestion. “Really?”
“I do not think I would recommend it for Hildar, though,” the captain amended.
Hildar glowered at him. “Why is that?”
“It involves deepening the mental connection between yourself and your weapon,” explained Cowan. “I do not believe that to be a good idea at the moment.”
“I am fine,” Hildar said impatiently.
“No, you are not,” Cowan disagreed. “You have not been required to fight against Savion’s influence for the last several weeks, so you are no longer accustomed to the strain. The full weight of your task is on your mind once more. It will take some time for you to remember your strength.”
“One might argue that I am stronger now that I have had time to rest,” Hildar pointed out.
“And you would be wrong,” Cowan said flatly. “Mental strength is not the same as physical strength. They are built differently and they are challenged differently. You will not gain mental strength by pushing yourself in this way.”
“Perhaps you and I could talk while they train,” suggested Kurag, indicating a small distance away from the rest of the group.
Hildar agreed, but Idris could see that she was still angry about it. She followed Kurag, muttering as she went. Cowan waited until she was out of earshot to begin his instruction. “The third part of your initial training was having your energy manifest in a recognizable form.”
Idris nodded readily. “Yes, mine was a field of grain.”
“And mine was a tree,” Aherin added.
“Good,” Cowan said encouragingly. “The purpose of that exercise is to personalize the magic that is being channeled through your weapon. This is a skill you will need if you are ever to advance beyond the basic use of an item of power.”
“Why is it so important?” asked Idris.
“Anyone can use an item of power to a certain degree,” Cowan explained. “However, it is the personal connection with an item that releases its full potential. That is why it is best to use the weapon that is meant for you, even though we can use each other’s. A warrior will never be more than average when using a weapon that does not belong to them.”
Aherin frowned. “How will creating the illusion of a tree help me to be a better Royal Guard?”
Cowan raised a finger. “It is not the tree itself that will unlock your potential, but the mental process that goes with it. If you are able to take the magic that is channeled to you and turn it into something that is your own, infinite possibilities awaken. Your creativity is the only limiting factor.”
“Is that what we were doing when we were fighting by instinct?” Idris inquired.
“Yes,” Cowan answered. “Intuition plays an important role in this skill. In desperate circumstances, it is not uncommon for untrained soldiers to do things that are beyond their conscious ability.”
“How do we gain the ability to do those things on command?” Aherin asked, sounding excited.
“Start by closing your eyes and connecting to your weapon,” Cowan instructed. “Visualize the image that appeared when you made your energy manifest. Imagine yourself within that image.”
Idris did as he was told, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. It was easy for him to imagine himself standing in a field of grain. That was something he had done thousands of times in his life. He could almost feel the sun on his shoulders. In his mind’s eye he could see the field stretch out to the horizon in every direction.
Upon closer inspection, Idris could see that each stalk of grain was made from flickering yellow flames. It wasn’t as if the plants were on fire—rather, they were vessels to hold the fire. There was no heat coming from the stalks as Idris brushed his hand over the tops, nor were the flames overly bright. The vision filled him with serenity, even though he could make no physical sense of it. It was simply right.
Is this the home you imagine for me? Iona’s voice floated next to him, without form.
“For us, I suppose,” Idris answered her within the vision.
There are no structures, Iona pointed out. No defining characteristics. Why would you wish for a place that is nothing but a field?
“I like it,” Idris said with a shrug. “It seems perfect the way it is.”
Where are we to go when it rains? Iona queried.
“It does not rain here,” Idris said simply.
That is stupid, Iona snorted. You cannot avoid something like rain.
Idris bent over to take hold of some of the fiery stalks. He braided them together, weaving them into a little arch over the ground. “See?” he said. “I made us a shelter.”
Foolish farmer, Iona said fondly.
In spite of her teasing words, Idris found himself staring at the arch he had made. He had the strangest feeling that he could use that braid in the real world. He pulled the stalks out of the ground, which took a surprisingly small amount of effort. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he spun the straw in a circle, transforming it into a flaming shield.
The piece of armor no longer resembled the stalks of grain from which it had come. It looked like a proper piece of military equipment. In spite of it being made of fire, no heat touched Idris as he held the shield. He found himself laughing in amazement.
With a flinging motion of his arm, Idris changed the shape of the shield into a sword. The blazing blade formed with the grace of natural flames. Idris twirled the sword in a circle, then struck the ground. He found the weapon was solid, even though it looked to be made of nothing but fire.
“How is this possible?” he asked Iona.
I assume a great many things are possible here, she replied unhelpfully.
Idris purposefully extended his hand and dropped the fiery sword. The weapon flickered back to its original shape of braided grain stalks as it fell to the ground.
“Interesting,” Idris murmured.
He picked up the braid once more, spinning it to return it to the shape of a shield. “I wonder…” he mused.
Idris opened his physical eyes, drawing himself out of the vision he had created. As he did so, he imagined pulling the shield with him.
“Idris, put it out!”
Cowan’s sharp voice startled Idris into letting go of the connection he had been holding with his partisan. He suddenly realized that he had been holding a shield of fire—not just in his imagination, but in reality. It blinked from sight when he severed his link to the magic creating it, but not before he had illuminated the entire area.
“I am sorry,” stammered Idris. “I was not thinking…”
“That much is clear, you imbecile,” Hildar raged, bringing her horse back to the group. “You have given our position to everyone within a league.”
“Perhaps it would be best to get some distance from this location,” Kurag suggested uneasily.
Captain Cowan gave a curt nod. “Agreed.”
Kurag broke into a run, keeping pace with the galloping horse
s. They followed Lenora’s lead as she headed in the direction that would take them to the border of Roshum. They pushed their mounts as hard as they could for as long as they dared. Idris wasn’t able to speak to anyone over the sound of galloping hooves, nor would he have wanted to if he could. He silently reprimanded himself over and over again for his foolish actions.
I am a complete idiot, he told himself.
Perhaps, Iona acknowledged, but an idiot with talent. You are learning at a faster pace than Marlais did.
It was so rare for Iona to compliment him, especially when compared to Marlais, that Idris found himself momentarily stunned.
Of course, the partisan went on, his instructor was not as readily available to teach him. And he had many responsibilities taking his time.
Of course, Idris responded, unable to keep the bitterness from his words. We would not want to have me thinking that I have the slightest chance of measuring up to Marlais Dragonspear.
Do not sulk, Iona reprimanded. You may ask me to reevaluate my opinion after we have been together for a couple of decades.
Idris chuckled in spite of himself. “Fair enough,” he muttered.
The group of travelers approached a copse of trees, which offered the only shelter for miles. Cowan signaled for everyone to slow to a stop. “We will pause here before continuing on,” he stated. “Our horses need the rest.”
“I am sure Kurag does as well,” Lenora added.
The Forger didn’t answer, but found a tree against which he could comfortably sit. The stab wounds on his legs had started bleeding again. He pulled out fresh bandages, writing runes on them and singing as he applied them.
There was a small pool of water in the middle of the copse. All of the horses were led there to drink. Idris rubbed his mare’s neck, whispering words of encouragement and thanks. Aherin walked over to stand next to Idris.
“How did you do that?” he asked in a hushed voice, looking furtively toward where Cowan stood.
Idris raised his eyebrows. “Do what?”
“How did you make the shield of fire?” Aherin pressed. “I was just starting to get a firm grasp on my vision when we had to start running. How did you figure it out so quickly?”