Flame Singer (Fire Sower Book 2)

by Callie Kanno

  A cry of pain escaped Idris’s lips as he fell backwards, wrenching himself free. The Hunter started to press the attack, but a fiery arrow suddenly pierced the air between them. The Hunter wheeled to a stop with a surprised expression on his face.

  Idris’s gaze whipped around to the source of the arrow, seeing Aherin standing at a distance. His friend must’ve come to the same conclusion that distance from the scepter was vital. Aherin had positioned himself at the edge of the meadow, where he could fire magical arrows at the Hunters from afar. The flames extinguished if they came too near a Hunter, but it provided distractions that the Royal Guards were able to exploit.

  Idris rolled to get to his feet, getting into position before the Hunter recovered. He brought his partisan to bear, lunging forward with a counterattack. He moved the head of his polearm in tight circles, attempting to knock the saber aside and get past the Hunter’s defense. However, the Hunter’s reflexes were too quick for Idris to succeed.

  He is faster than you, Iona pointed out. You need to do something unexpected.

  Acting on instinct, Idris planted the end of his partisan in the ground, using the weapon to vault through the air. A heavy kick made contact with the Hunter’s sternum, sending him flying backward. Idris hit the ground running, flinging his partisan forward to stab the Hunter just above the collarbone.

  The Hunter howled, staying on the ground to cradle his injury. Idris considered wounding the man again to insure that he would be removed from the fight, but a bellowing roar behind Idris pulled his attention away.

  He whipped around, gripping his partisan. Only a few yards away, Kurag was being maneuvered away from the Royal Guards by two Hunters with halberds. The Forger was swinging a tree branch like a club, but the Hunters kept out of his range.

  Idris gathered as much energy to his partisan as he could manage—which was still less than normal, due to the scepter’s presence—sending a series of fiery balls flying through the air at the Hunters harrying Kurag. They were little more than sparking blobs of light by the time they reached their destination, proving to be less of a distraction than Idris had hoped.

  He was about to try again, when a slight rustle behind him caught his attention. Idris spun back around, just in time to block the swinging saber of the Hunter behind him. The man ignored his bleeding shoulder, clearly not as bothered by it as he had led Idris to believe. The Hunter rained blows down on Idris, his sword whistling as it sailed through the air. Idris could barely keep up with the speed of the man’s attacks, retreating with each parry.

  Idris’s mind raced, attempting to form some sort of strategy to help him gain an advantage over his enemy. Help me, he pled with Iona.

  You do not need my help this time around, Iona replied, sounding strangely amused.

  Idris was about to demand an explanation, when a dark figure rose up behind the Hunter. A lithe arm reached around the Hunter’s neck, holding him tightly while the other hand drove a jeweled dagger between his ribs. The Hunter dropped to the ground, leaving Hildar standing alone.

  “You saved my life,” he gasped at her.

  “For a second time,” she pointed out. “I also saved you from the assassins when you were trying to protect the king.”

  Idris gave a wheezing laugh. “I suppose you are right.”

  Hildar made an impatient motion with her hand. “Enough talking. There are still four more Hunters that need to be stopped.”

  She melted away into the darkness, using stealth as her weapon against their enemies. Idris turned to appraise the situation of his companions. Kurag had moved into a more favorable position, while Cowan’s fight was quickly becoming precarious.

  The leader of the Hunters held the scepter in his left hand, using it as a sort of shield. In his right hand he wielded a short sword, which flicked through the air like a tongue of steel. There was something odd in the way Cowan fought the young man. His movements were sluggish, as if Fenris wasn’t the only one being drained by the scepter.

  A flaming arrow streaked by, once again drawing Idris’s attention to Aherin’s position. Idris’s gaze shifted just in time to see his friend fall under the blow of a Hunter’s mace. Idris sprinted across the meadow, shouting as loud as his lungs were able.

  The Hunter, who had been poised to wound Aherin further, turned instead to meet Idris’s charge. Their weapons had barely met when a third figure appeared, revealing to Idris that he hadn’t been the only one to rush to Aherin’s aid.

  Hildar slid across the ground, hamstringing the Hunter with her dagger as she passed. A sharp jab to the face with the end of Idris’s partisan eliminated yet another of the Hunters from the battle.

  “How are you moving so fast?” Idris demanded.

  Hildar merely smiled as she hurried on to Kurag’s side. The Forger made sweeping motions with his makeshift club, forcing his two opponents to duck out of the way. This allowed Hildar to approach them unnoticed. She engaged the Hunter closest to her, grappling with a surprising amount of strength.

  Idris’s attention shifted to Captain Cowan and the leader of the Hunters. The young man was approaching the old soldier, who had fallen to his knees at some point. Instead of delivering a fatal blow with the short sword, the Hunter chose to use the scepter to beat Cowan senseless.

  Idris’s feet flew across the meadow to where Cowan had collapsed. He was hardly aware that he had started running. His only thoughts were focused on causing as much pain to that lead Hunter as possible.

  As Idris drew near to the man with the scepter, a strange sensation swept through his body. It was as if all of the vitality within Idris was being wiped away with an invisible hand. He found himself staggering instead of running, barely able to keep himself from falling to the ground.

  The Hunter watched him approach with an expression of derision on his youthful face. “I am Rue of the holy Order of Tivan,” he declared. “I cannot be thwarted by the pitiful efforts of an evilmonger such as you.”

  Idris used every bit of strength he could muster to swing his partisan at the Hunter. The young man blocked the attack with his short sword, stabbing Idris in the thigh in what was almost an afterthought. Idris buckled, landing hard on his knees. He clutched his injuries, which seemed to burn more than before.

  “I was born for this,” the Hunter named Rue screamed. “I am destined to be Tivan’s Blade, driving into the heart of darkness!”

  Idris gritted his teeth, looking up into Rue’s blazing eyes. He thought back to the moment he had faced the assassins with their corrupted weapons of power. Idris could remember every detail vividly, especially the feeling of cleansing fire as it had burned the dark creations out of existence. He slowly shook his head. “You will never know what it truly feels like to purge the world of darkness.”

  The Hunter’s face grew strickened. “How dare you…”

  Idris’s voice grew louder. “You could be a force for good, but you are too arrogant to admit that your predecessors were wrong in their beliefs.”

  Rue continued to sputter, but Idris overrode him. “I have felt a fire that you will never experience. I have seen purity that you will never know.”

  The words strengthened Idris, for he knew they were true. He climbed to his feet, holding Iona before him like a staff. The memory of destroying the corrupted weapons was so strong that Idris could feel the sensations all over again, building within him. The scepter in the Hunter’s hand was not enough to suppress it completely.

  “Idris,” a voice called from a distance.

  He looked over to see Hildar, standing with her dagger aglow. She formed the energy of her weapon into a ball, sending it hurtling toward Idris. He used his partisan to receive it, just as he had learned in his training.

  Idris expected the energy to disappear, just as his own had when coming under the influence of the Hunter’s scepter. To his surprise, he could feel Iona flare to life with the shared power.

  The partisan burst into flames, shining bright in the pre-dawn lig
ht. Swirls of golden energy danced around Idris, filling him with the certainty of purpose he had felt only once before. He knew that the energy would not last long in the presence of the Hunter’s scepter, so he acted without hesitation.

  Idris pointed his partisan at the scepter with a ringing command, “Purify!”

  The amount of light that burst from Iona was not as strong as it had been before, but it still sang with the echoes of Calaris’s voice. The bright beam collided with the scepter, filling the meadow with the sound of an unearthly shriek. The Hunter also cried out, dropping everything to press his palms over his ears.

  When the light winked out, Idris could see that the scepter was not burned from existence. Regardless, he knew that it had been destroyed all the same.

  The lead Hunter stared at the ruined weapon with a haunted expression in his eyes. He reached under his tunic to pull out a pendant worn around his neck. With a look of concentration, he activated the talisman’s magic. Energy circled him for a brief moment before the Hunter vanished from sight.

  The remaining Hunters stared at the empty space where their leader had been, looking completely dumbfounded. Then, without any attempt at dignity, they turned and ran away from the Royal Guards.

  Chapter Forty-One: Farewell

  The silence in the meadow seemed crushing after the clamor of the battle. Idris’s heavy breathing seemed like a torrential wind to his ears. He leaned heavily on his partisan, wiping the sweat that trickled down to his eyes.

  Idris saw Aherin stagger toward them from where he had fallen at the edge of the meadow. His head was bleeding, but he didn’t seem injured otherwise. Idris felt a fleeting wave of relief seeing that his friend was safe.

  Kurag stepped over the broken scepter, stumbling to reach Captain Cowan. The old soldier had turned a ghostly white from his loss of blood. Idris and the others also hurried forward to help in any way they could.

  Cowan was bleeding from several deep stab wounds, one particularly worrisome one located on his neck. The captain’s chest had a long slash that ran diagonally from shoulder to waist. Idris stared at his mentor with wide eyes. “Is there anything we can do?” he whispered.

  Kurag pulled out a long bandage and a piece of charcoal, writing runes on it with a trembling hand.

  He wrapped it around Cowan’s chest, tying it over the heart. He began singing in an urgent sort of way, using words that Idris didn’t recognize. Kurag then began binding Cowan’s wounds with bandages marked with the rune for healing.

  The Forger worked quickly, moving with expert efficiency. However, Cowan’s pallor didn’t seem to improve at all. The old soldier shook his head with some effort. “It is too late for me,” he croaked. “I can feel it. My soul is departing this body.”

  “You must keep fighting,” Kurag urged him.

  “Idris,” Cowan gasped, sputtering on his own blood, “I want you to carry Fenris back to King Nikolas. Tell him…my debt…is…repaid…”

  Kurag chanted forcefully, causing the runes to glow with power. In spite of his efforts, Cowan’s eyes slid closed, never to open again.

  The three young members of the Royal Guard stared at their leader. The disbelief that Idris felt was mirrored in the faces of his friends. Cowan had seemed like a constant—a fact of life that simply couldn’t be changed. What were they going to do now that he was gone?

  Kurag mechanically turned his medical attentions from the captain to the younger members of the Royal Guard, binding their wounds with care.

  “He deserves a Wielder’s pyre,” Kurag murmured, his voice gruff with emotion.

  Idris’s bewildered gaze shifted to the Forger. “What is a Wielder’s pyre?”

  Kurag frowned. “Do they not observe such ceremonies in Calaris anymore?”

  “I do not know,” Idris stammered. “I have never attended the funeral of a Royal Guard.”

  His answer seemed to satisfy Kurag, who nodded briefly. “I will show you how. It would be best to do it here, rather than carry the body back to Marath.”

  Aherin bit his lower lip. “Would it be right to honor Cowan without the rest of the Royal Guards? I am certain they would want to take part.”

  “I am sure you are right,” Kurag assented, “but we must also remember that the Hunters will be pursuing us. We must move quickly.”

  Hildar spoke in a consoling tone. “We can still have a memorial service after we get back to Marath.”

  Aherin nodded. “What should we do for the pyre?”

  Kurag traced a rectangle in the dirt of the meadow, large enough for a man of Cowan’s size. “We will need enough wood, to begin with.”

  Idris and Aherin took on that task, combing the nearby woods for fallen branches. Hildar helped Kurag to prepare Captain Cowan’s body, washing away the blood and dirt from his face. The sun had well risen by the time the pyre had been built to Kurag’s satisfaction. It stood as high as Idris’s waist, with curious symbols carved on the top four corners.

  “Are these runes?” Hildar asked.

  Kurag shook his head. “No, they are from an ancient language. Each represents one of the four main traits of the lightning element.”

  Hildar and Aherin looked mystified by his statement, but Idris knew exactly what he meant. He had the advantage of his previous conversation with the dragon Calaris to give him the background knowledge he needed.

  “What are they?” Idris inquired, curious.

  Kurag pointed to each in turn. “Vitality, evanescence, intelligence, volatility.”

  Idris studied the marks eagerly. “Do you know the elements in every trait? Or just the main four traits of each element?”

  Kurag gave him a measuring look. “It is important for a Forger to understand how elements react with one another. That knowledge works hand-in-hand with rune magic.”

  Idris dearly wanted to learn more, but a gesture from Kurag indicated that the conversation was over—for the moment, at least. With great respect, Cowan’s body was lifted onto the pyre. His hands were laid on his chest, with his eyes peacefully closed.

  The young members of the Royal Guard exchanged uncertain glances, but Kurag didn’t appear to expect them to do anything other than stand back. The Forger closed his eyes and began to sing in his deep, rich voice.

  From sun to sun, from moon to moon,

  The Wielders watch, the Wielders guard.

  Their season passes all too soon,

  For those who serve the Jenerard.

  When first the call came for those to serve,

  Many hearts yearned for power untold.

  But few hearts had both strength and nerve

  To turn away glory and gold.

  From sun to sun, from moon to moon,

  The Wielders watch, the Wielders guard.

  Their season passes all too soon,

  For those who serve the Jenerard.

  Only those whose path is true,

  Only those with intentions pure,

  May stand among the chosen few

  And enter through Jenerard’s door.

  The music lingered in the air long after Kurag ceased singing. Idris could feel the weight of sorrow on his heart, and yet, the song left him feeling hopeful. Several questions passed through his mind—he wanted to know more about what the words meant. He set aside his natural curiosity, making a mental note to ask Kurag at a later time.

  “Since there are only three of you,” Kurag said, “Aherin and Hildar will stand on either side of the pyre, near Cowan’s feet. Idris, you will stand at his head with Fenris.”

  Idris walked over to where Cowan’s bo staff rested, picking it up reverently. He took his place at the top of the pyre, his vision blurring as he looked down at his leader. A strange sensation tingled along Idris’s arm, as if something pulled Fenris closer to his master. Without knowing why, Idris set the staff next to Cowan on the pyre.

  Kurag nodded his approval, a sad smile on his face. “Use your weapons to call forth fire,” he instructed.

 
; Idris connected to Iona, feeling the energy that made up the core of her being. The length of the partisan burst into flames, dancing along the surface. He tipped the blade of his weapon forward to touch the kindling at the base of the pyre.

  The fire steadily grew, eventually forcing Idris to take a step backward from the heat. With a sudden surge of misgiving, Idris watched Cowan’s weapon through the flames. Would he be responsible for destroying a priceless item from the king’s treasury?

  Do not be a fool, farmer, Iona reprimanded him. It takes more than fire to destroy such a weapon. You should know that better than most.

  Idris did feel rather silly after being reminded. Once the anxiety faded, he found his thoughts becoming surprisingly serene. He looked at the golden staff lying next to Cowan’s remains. The flames that were transforming the old soldier were also, in a sense, seeing Fenris to the next stage of his existence. The weapon would shift into a sort of dream state, waiting for a new master to come along.

  That is not what happened to me, Iona argued.

  Idris raised his eyebrows. You remember the passage of time after Marlais left you with Lyndham?

  Well, no, the partisan admitted. I mean, I remember some of it. Then it was just…darkness as I waited.

  You did not realize how long Marlais had been gone when we first spoke, Idris pointed out.

  I suppose I was in a bit of a daze until you found me, Iona finally acknowledged.

  At least Fenris will have that to numb some of the pain of losing Cowan, Idris thought in a subdued manner.

  Iona’s emotions flared, as they often did when she thought about Marlais. Nothing will ever take that pain away.

  It took a few hours for the pyre to burn out. To Idris, the time seemed to pass quickly. He was startled when Kurag placed a hand on his shoulder. “Fetch Fenris from the ashes. Take care not to burn your hand.”