Fire Games (Pyforial Mage Trilogy: Book 1)

by B. T. Narro

  “Is it possible it’s the south?” Callyn asked.

  “I don’t see how…unless they were hiding in the forest.”

  “But our scouts should’ve seen them.”

  Screams continued. Fire now raged off in the distance. I ran to the door for a glimpse.

  Usually I could see the edge of town from the front of my house. But where the last line of houses used to be was now a wall of flames.

  “Move!” Callyn’s fellow soldier pushed me out of the way. “It must be them! Come on.” She and Callyn rushed toward the fire.

  Something flying caught my eye. The women grabbed each other and halted, unsure where it would land. It looked like a flaming boulder. Bigger and bigger it grew, spinning right toward us.

  As it came closer, I saw it would land short, but I cursed as I realized it probably would roll.

  Whatever this flaming thing was, it smashed through the roof of the house just in front of mine, shattering the building and creating a cloud of dust that shrouded it from view. The ground shook as the massive flaming ball stormed through the dust cloud an instant later. Lopsided, it took an odd bounce, barely missing the two soldiers in front of me as they ducked.

  Unable to tear my eyes away from it, I backed into my kitchen. My feet got caught on my father’s legs. I fell as the side of my house was hit. The explosion was so immense, I figured I was dead. Yet I was still alive—blanketed by darkness, with heat hitting my face as if I were in an oven. I heard the flaming ball of destruction continue on its course, crashing into another house. Screams came from every direction. A piece of my roof fell next to me.

  Smoke was the first thing I saw as my eyes adjusted. Then I noticed fire was too close to me. I jumped away from it. What was burning? A wall? Parts of the fallen roof? This didn’t feel like my house anymore. I didn’t know where anything was, too disoriented to find my own room.

  My money! I needed to get it and get out. My father! I couldn’t leave his body in here to be crushed and burned. I muttered an apology to Jon. First, my money.

  I knew where my room should be…if I was facing the direction I thought I was. I began to cough, my lungs burning. I needed to get out of here.

  I pulled my shirt over my mouth. Gods, I wish I had some ability with bastial energy, I thought, so I could make light.

  I roamed the blackness before me, searching for something familiar. The crackle of the fire was getting louder, drowning out the screams. I stumbled over chunks of wood and slammed my knee into an overturned dresser. Finally my hands found a bed. Please be mine. When I felt the sheets tucked under the mattress, relief flooded through me.

  There was another crash nearby. I grabbed my bed for balance as I waited to find out whether it would roll into my house. Then I heard it, no felt it, rumbling past me faster than any man could run.

  I felt dizzy. My coughing worsened. My hands scrambled under the bed.

  “Come on!” I shouted at my coin purse, knowing I wouldn’t leave until I found it.

  Finally my hands touched leather. I stuffed it in my pocket and turned toward the kitchen. I could see my father’s body. It was nearly surrounded by flames now. Behind me was my bedroom window, possibly the only wall left of my house that wasn’t ablaze. I actually could see out of it because so much of the town was burning.

  I dashed into the kitchen, my eyes scorched, my lungs on fire. I couldn’t get to my father, but I should be able to lift him with pyforial energy. Fighting against panic, I focused. The clear energy was easy to gather, but a tremendous amount of focus was needed to lift something with it as heavy as a man. I used my mind to pull it in from the air, directing it into a floating ball in front of me. Though I couldn’t see the energy, I could feel it the same way I felt surges of heat coming from every side.

  I almost lost my focus when part of the house came down beside me. Still coughing, I pulled more of the pyforial energy around me into the ball until I felt there was enough for what I had planned.

  I couldn’t get the energy beneath my father to lift him. I barely could see him through the flames now, but I did manage to glimpse his wrists. I moved the energy forward to hover over him. Above the light of the flames, py energy was visible. It looked like heat waves, only in the shape of a ball, deflecting the smoke rather than letting it pass through. Seeing it made it easier for me to control.

  Wheezing with every breath, I separated one end of the pyforial rope into two so I could wrap it around my father’s wrists. I tugged the energy with my mind as a test. His arms rose. It was secure.

  I wasn’t strong enough to lift his whole body from this distance, but I figured I could drag him out. Fighting against searing pain, I barely managed enough focus to make the other end of the py rope stretch through the fire. I reached out and grabbed it, then tied it around my waist. Still focusing to keep the energy together, I grabbed the thread of energy connecting my father to me. I could feel it in my hands like a true rope, only I couldn’t see it except where the flames danced around it. His body would have to pass through the flames between us, but he was dead already, I reminded myself. I just needed to get him out so I could give him a proper funeral and burial. I’d already missed my mother’s. I wouldn’t let the same thing happen to him.

  Grunting and screaming, I pulled with my hands, my legs, and my mind—mentally grabbing the energy and tugging it to assist my body in the process. I made it one step, then another. I could hear my father’s body sliding. It came into clear sight, now in the middle of a wall of flames. The rope of py energy was becoming red as the flames licked it. I’d never seen it any color but clear. Could it withstand the heat?

  After another forceful tug, I found out it couldn’t. The rope broke apart. I fell backward, banging my head against wood. It should’ve hurt, but I barely felt it. Something else came down near my leg. Whatever it was, it was on fire. This I felt! I jumped in agony.

  A massive chunk of the ceiling came down next, nearly crushing me.

  “I’m sorry Jon!” I screamed and dashed toward the window of my bedroom. I threw it open and dove out.

  I looked back at my burning house—the house my grandfather built. The extra room I’d added last year was the only one not yet ablaze. Soon it would be, though. The whole house would be nothing but rubble, indistinguishable. As would my father’s body.

  Although the smell of smoke was heavy in the air, my lungs relished each breath. My body was drenched in sweat. Piercing screams brought me back to my senses.

  “Run, you idiot!” someone yelled as he rushed by me.

  I looked back to find thousands fighting. Surrounded by fire, swordsmen cried out as they impaled each other with their weapons. Bastial mages hurled fireballs. Everyone was clad in a uniform, either black like I’d seen Callyn wear, or red.

  There seemed to be far more red than black. I figured this was our enemy’s color, though I had no idea why we were fighting. The black uniforms were falling back, quickly coming toward me.

  CHAPTER THREE

  It took me a moment to realize that I needed to run. With a surprising lack of fright, I sprinted with my fellow townspeople away from the battle.

  I looked back at my burning house, at where my father’s body lay. Fire had spread to the whole building, and it wasn’t the only one engulfed in flames. Many of the townspeople would have no home by sunrise.

  A gust of hot wind blew soot into my face, causing me to wince and cough as I ran by what appeared to be one of the flaming boulders. I saw now that it was a disfigured tree trunk. It looked three times smaller without the flames, or maybe that much of it had burned away.

  I ran with everyone toward the eastern hills. Along our path were many houses aflame. I stopped at one and shouted, “Is anyone inside?” When I heard nothing, I felt foolish for being the only one checking, especially when a look behind me showed that the battling armies were advancing closer.

  I came to a burning home where a young woman stood outside watching it come apart, po
ssibly stunned. People ran by her without even a glance, but I caught a glimpse of her face as I neared her, and I saw her eyes. I couldn’t keep going after that.

  She was freely shedding tears without so much as a whimper, staring at the flames spreading along the roof of her house. She didn’t seem to notice me.

  It was strange to see her alone, as she looked no older than me. Most young men and women stayed with their families into their twenties. Only noble women married young, and she certainly wasn’t a noble—her dress was too plain, her house too small.

  She’d plunged her fingers into the collar of her shirt, tugging it away from her neck as if it was choking her. Clumps of soot were nearly lost in her already charcoal-colored hair, and the fire gave her dark eyes a bronze tint. But it was the delicacy of her face that drew me to her. She seemed to silently be calling for help.

  When I put my hand on her shoulder, I realized how wrong I was.

  The delicacy shattered from her face, leaving a look of absolute aggression. I was amazed how drastically her expression could change. She opened her mouth, probably to scream, but I quickly blurted something before she could.

  “We need to leave. The battle is spreading.” I pointed behind us.

  “I know!” She looked insulted. “I was just saying goodbye.” She picked up the bag by her feet and slung it over her back, then ran with everyone else without a glance behind her. A bag, gods, I should’ve grabbed one from my house.

  I ran after her, contemplating how this woman had displayed despair, annoyance, and exasperation all in the span of a few breaths. An excess of emotions compared to me, as I felt no fear, no anger, nothing but regret. I should’ve been more forceful when I told Callyn not to come out of her room. I should’ve fought Jon for the knife. I should’ve at least moved his body out of the kitchen before I went for my money pouch. And I should’ve grabbed a damn bag.

  I stayed behind this young woman. She was slow…running like a scared child with her arms flailing as she wheezed loudly, her thick clump of hair bouncing back and forth around the middle of her back. At her speed, it was an effort not to pass her. Luckily, the battle was spreading even slower.

  I wasn’t sure why I couldn’t leave her behind. It could’ve been that she looked ready to trip and fall at any moment, or maybe it was how her wheezing was worsening. My mother had taught me to be kind to women, even though she’d been the one woman to whom I wasn’t. It’s strange how cruel memories seem to return at the worst times.

  When we came to the edge of town, I lost the dark-haired young woman among others running between us. Finally feeling panic, I hurried to catch up to where I figured she’d be. When I didn’t see her, I looked behind me, worried her wheezing had made her lose her breath and collapse.

  I couldn’t find her.

  Trying to ignore my guilt, I made my way up the long slope of grassy land. I passed tired families. Mothers held crying babies, and children clung to their parents’ hands, some trying to be brave, most not.

  I heard one little boy ask his father, “Why are they fighting?”

  I slowed to listen, somewhat embarrassed I had no more knowledge of the subject than a child half my age.

  “Because of the sacrifices,” his father answered dismissively, apparently too exhausted to indulge his son at the moment. The boy fell silent.

  Jon hadn’t said anything about sacrifices. He probably knew as little as I did. What had my mother told me? From what I could recall, the southern king was the one intent on sacrificing, not our king.

  Our king. I knew I should think of him as my king, but there was something about saying the word, even in my mind, that made me feel like I had a worm in my mouth. My king…it was the same feeling as when I addressed Jon as Father.

  My heart jumped when I found the wheezing young woman atop the hill. She had her fingers in her collar again, pacing back and forth between the trees. There was some distance between her and the people nearest to her, even though there were hundreds of us up in the hills by now. She must’ve chosen to be alone.

  I watched her trying to catch her breath to no avail. She threw down her bag and put her hands on her head. Still pacing, she seemed panicked. I couldn’t idly watch any longer. Ready for her rebuke, I approached.

  She saw me when I was a few steps away and turned to show me her back. She made an effort to hide her panic, letting her hands drop to her hips.

  “Are you all right?” I asked.

  “Fine.” She shot me a glance over her shoulder. I heard a sputtering sound as if she was holding in a cough.

  “You don’t sound fine.”

  “It’s from the smoke. Nothing you can do about it.” The cough came out aggressively. Her hands flew to cover her mouth.

  She sounded confident that I couldn’t help, but I refused to believe it. “What about some water?” I asked.

  She finally turned to face me. Wheezing, she had a hopeful look.

  “I don’t have any,” I realized aloud. Her eyes reflected her disappointment. “But I can get some,” I quickly added.

  Without giving her a chance to object, I ran toward a crowd of people and asked if anyone had a skin of water I could buy. A few people asked how much I was offering. Paying more than five pits for a full water skin would be absurd. But I didn’t have any pits in my coin purse, only ruffs and dalions, and I was in a rush to get water back to…I still didn’t know her name.

  “I’ll pay one silver for a full skin,” I told the lot of them. I hated how buyers always referred to ruffs as silvers and sellers referred to silvers as ruffs, but I couldn’t ignore the difference it made. A silver sounded more valuable than a ruff.

  The first person to take up my offer was a woman who grabbed a skin from her child’s hand just as the little girl was about to take a drink. “I’m thirsty!” the child wailed.

  “I’ll get you more water later,” the woman said as she thrust the water skin toward me, shouldering past a man reaching in his bag.

  “I’ve got one also!” he said in desperation.

  I decided on his pouch over hers, as he had no thirsty children with him, and ran back toward the trees. The dark-haired woman had her hands against the bark, her head hanging. Her strained breaths made her sound just as miserable as she looked.

  “Here,” I said, offering the water skin.

  She took off the top with haste and had a gulp, then spewed it right in my face.

  “This is wine!” she shouted.

  But I couldn’t open my eyes or even think until I wiped some of the substance off. I used my sleeve as she continued to complain.

  “This is cheap wine as well, probably cheaper than water! What are you trying…to…” Laughter interrupted her words. “Sorry for spitting on you.”

  I couldn’t help but notice that her breathing was vastly improved. Had she been tricking me the whole time?

  “Imagine it in your eyes if it’s so bad going down your throat.” It sounded like a joke even though I was genuinely annoyed.

  She laughed. “Serves you right. Why would you bring me this?”

  I finally felt I’d gotten enough of the wine off to at least squint. She had a slight smile, with just the corner of her mouth lifted.

  “I didn’t know it was wine. Give it to me, and I’ll find the man who claimed it was water.”

  “Are you the one who spoke to me outside my house?” she asked, ignoring my outstretched hand.

  “Yes.” I gestured at the pouch.

  “Forget it,” she said. “I could use wine anyway.” She took a sniff, grimaced, then had two gulps.

  “Then keep it. But I’m going to find the man who lied and settle this.” I had no tolerance for those who deceived people for money.

  “Don’t we have bigger problems to worry about?” she called after me.

  Although she was right, it didn’t mean this man should get away with what he’d done. “Just give me a moment.” I trudged back toward the crowd. I would find this man if it t
ook all night.

  Wait…did she say we?

  I stopped. Yes, she had. Why did she say we? Does she think I’m taking care of her now? Is that why she pretended to have trouble breathing?

  Whoever she was, she was right. I did have bigger problems to worry about, and one of them was now her. Wylen often told me that I didn't trust people enough, but I think I trust people the perfect amount, which is as little as possible.

  Wanting some distance from her so I could think, I walked to the edge of the hill. I was acutely aware I had no home, but I didn’t want to think about it until I’d settled things with the sneak who’d sold me cheap wine instead of water.

  Unfortunately, there was no hope of ignoring my despair any longer when I noticed people lined together, looking down at Lanhine. I found a small gap and squeezed through.

  I could see only what the fire illuminated. It looked like our soldiers were pushing the enemy back. The dots between the haze of smoke were moving away.

  I thought of Callyn. She was rather petite. What were the chances she’d come out of this battle alive? Then I thought of her friend, who deserved far worse than I was prepared to do to her. How could she be so callous?

  The image of Jon’s body surrounded by flames entered my mind. Suddenly, I wasn’t watching the battle anymore but reliving the terrible memory. I was back in my home, desperately trying to drag my father out of the flames. I could feel the heat pressing against my face, my heart climbing up my throat.

  I came back to reality feeling dizzy. Stumbling back through the crowd, I desperately needed to sit. Thirst and exhaustion struck me with such force that I nearly collapsed.

  I found space on the grass between a praying family and a man huddled on his knees. I dropped to the ground. Perhaps I could sleep if I just shut my eyes and thought of nothing.

  I tried, but the mental images kept coming. Jon’s body. Callyn. Jon’s body. Callyn.

  My mother.

  The dark-haired woman. Why was she pretending to wheeze? What would I say if I saw her again?