Wielder of the Flame

by Nikolas Rex

  A figure dressed in dark green and purple velvet robes and a gold colored cloak approached. The animal he rode looked like a hybrid between a two-legged dinosaur with small arms ending in paws with three claws, almost like a velociraptor, with long fur on its inverted knees, elbows and tail and a head like an oversized falcon with lion ears. Its hide was a deep rich maroon, almost black, with jagged patches of teal all the way down to the tip of the tail, its fur was a dark crimson and its underbelly was a pale tan, almost like parchment. It was odd to see something so strange as a mount.

  The rider had a long pole attached to his back and on the pole was a banner. The banner was green, purple and gold in color as well and the symbol on the banner was the black silhouette of a bolt of lightning striking a dead tree. He rode up fairly quickly and announced in a loud voice, “Pull aside, wagon, pull aside! Make way, for the illustrious, the legendary,” he paused for effect, “Lanvar, Relic Hunter extraordinaire!”

  Soren steered his balkars off to the side of the road.

  The man on the two legged creature thanked them and rode back to his train.

  “Did you see that?” Zildjin seemed like a little child in his excitement, “The Reclaimer’s Crest!”

  Sesuadra nodded.

  “This cycle, The Gathering will be quite the spectacle with Lanvar attending,” Soren noted.

  “He missed the last few Gatherings,” Zildjin added, “that must mean he found something really worthwhile to showcase at the competition! Lanvar! I cannot believe it! Reclaimer of the Talisman, Protector of the Broken Crown, Vanquisher, Preserver… the Relic Hunters of Relic Hunters!”

  The large wagon and company approached.

  Marc was very confused, but watched anyway as a large carriage passed them. It was shiny and extravagant, pulled by armored balkars with dark purple-mahogany hides and faded light-pink underbellies. The outer frame of the carriage was painted a dark green with royal purple colored wheels lined with gold. Green, purple, and gold banners, identical to the one on the rider’s back who had ridden before, were attached to the top of the carriage and flapped boldly against the wind.

  “Lanvar himself must be inside!” Zildjin said eagerly.

  Sesuadra nodded in agreement but let his enthusiasm show only in his eyes.

  The wagon windows were open as it passed and they could just peer in.

  They caught a glimpse of someone inside, a healthy looking man with black hair and black stubble on his chin. The man looked back at them as he passed.

  “It is him!” Zildjin said excitedly, “Did you see him?”

  The others nodded.

  The carriage rode on for a bit, before the man inside ordered a stop.

  The doors to the coach opened and Lanvar leaned out. One of the riders came up with an empty saddled two-legged creature.

  Lanvar mounted the creature and with two of the other riders, rode back to Soren’s wagon.

  “All is well?” Lanvar asked in greeting. He was dressed in fine black and gold vestments. He was tall and muscular. His neatly trimmed curly hair almost covered his dark pupils.

  “All is well,” Soren replied.

  “You are a trader, are you not?”

  “Indeed,” Soren replied.

  “Are any of your wares for sale?”

  “I have some required items to deliver but I have some to sell, yes.”

  “Do you, perchance, have some churta? The gelus are colder and colder each cycle and it seems to make this particular fruit very difficult to find, and I do so love the taste of it. I would buy a crate of your finest churta if you have any.”

  “We have two if you want!” Zildjin blurted out.

  Lanvar cracked a smile, and then let out a short laugh.

  “Do you like magic?” he asked Zildjin.

  “Yes, of course, sir. I cheered for you in your last competition,” Zildjin offered eagerly.

  Lanvar nodded with a small grin, then turned to Soren, “I would purchase both crates of your churta, then.”

  Soren and Lanvar bartered for a moment on the price.

  “The deal is done,” Soren stated after they agreed on a price, “Zildjin, jump down and fasten the crates to their steeds.”

  Lanvar motioned for one of his servants to hand over a bag of coins. Soren took it.

  Zildjin sat motionless for a moment, looking at Lanvar, not really realizing that Soren had spoken to him.

  “Boy?” Soren prodded.

  “Me? Oh, yes, of course, right away.”

  Sesuadra was already in the back lifting one crate which he passed to Marc. Zildjin jumped down from the wagon. The crates held small crimson colored fruits. Marc carefully handed off the crate to Zildjin. They repeated the actions and soon a second crate was loaded into Zildjin’s arms. He quickly walked over to Lanvar’s steed.

  “Secure them here,” Lanvar instructed.

  Zildjin nodded and carefully placed the crates on the two legged creatures back, behind Lanvar. He then deftly roped the crates into place with a few tight knots.

  “Very well done. Continue to cheer for me,” He said, directing his attention to Zildjin, “your dedication is appreciated. Here is a small token for your enthusiasm.” He reached into a bag tied to the side of the saddle atop his animal. As he searched he spoke, “Remember, the magic of old is not lost, as relic hunters we are bringing it back, piece by piece.”

  Finally he pulled out something that looked like a silver medallion, and then handed it to Zildjin.

  “Take good care of it, there is something special about it.”

  “Thank you sir,” Was all the young man could say.

  The three riders turned and rode back up to the front of the wagon train. Lanvar dismounted and entered back into the carriage. The others took care of his steed and the crates of the fruit.

  Zildjin stood, transfixed, looking at the small token in his hand.

  “Well, get back on the wagon!” Soren called, bringing the boy out of his stupor.

  Zildjin jumped back in just as the wagon in front of them began to move.

  “Forward ho!” Soren cried, whipping the reins.

  “What is it?” Marc asked after he helped Zildjin up.

  Zildjin sat down, still looking at the gift, still mystified. “He gave me something, I cannot believe it!”

  He held up the artifact so Marc and Sesuadra could see it.

  It was a silver medallion that fit easily in the palm of Zildjin’s hand. One side of the pendant had strange but beautiful markings on it and the other had a small figure embossed on its surface. The figure was dainty, dressed in extravagant flowing robes with wings almost like that of a butterfly on its back. Marc could not tell whether the figure was male or female from its features, but it was a stunning piece of artwork.

  “It is of the Fae Ones,” Sesuadra whispered, inspecting the item.

  “The Fae Ones?” Soren asked, “They disappeared at the start of the War of Power, everyone knows that.”

  “True,” Zildjin chided in, “But some still believe they will return again. Some even claim to see them from time to time!”

  “To spy a Fae One would be extremely unlikely, and if a person did truly see one, that person would be exceedingly lucky.”

  Zildjin continued to stare at the coin for a long time.

  He finally, carefully placed the item inside his pocket, patting it with an open hand to make sure it was safe.

  Chapter Six

  Eyes of Silver

  They ate more food when the sun was halfway through the sky.

  Marc noticed that the day seemed to stretch on forever, he was very hungry by the time Soren ordered some food and drink to be broken out and distributed. Marc hungrily tore away at some cold meat that seemed overly salty but still edible, mostly because of his hunger.

  “Who was that man, why is he so important? And what is a relic hunter?”

  Zildjin had taken out the small token again and was fiddling with it between his fingers. He opened
his mouth as if to answer. After several moments of silence, he seemed to give up and turned to Sesuadra for answers.

  Sesuadra acknowledged that he was spoken to but seemed deep in thought, sorting out how he wanted to say what he wanted to say.

  Soren finally broke the silence.

  “Best way to say it, is to start at the beginning, when the Freelands were formed. The greatest victory the Freelanders had against the Terragurion might was at Rawson’s Pass. The Noble Kingdom finally withdrew for good and the Freelanders had their freedom. With the war behind them the Freelanders had the monumental task of creating places to live, farm, and grow. After many cycles passed and the cities developed, people began to remember the old times and the magic it held. Tales of lost ancient treasures and magical riches to be found in the Wildlands began to circulate and explorers began investigating. It was dangerous work, however, so people began to train specifically for that livelihood and relic hunting was born. Usually relic hunters work alone, but sometimes they band together in small groups. Eventually Guilds were formed, small at first, until they grew all through-out the Freelands, and even into Independent Dominion. Today there are three major Guilds.”

  “Reclaimers, Crimson Accord, and Guardian Alliance,” Zildjin jumped in quickly, “Lanvar’s father founded the Reclaimers.”

  “Correct,” Sesuadra seemed a little annoyed at the interruption but continued, “membership to these three guilds is very restrictive. They are awarded only to those Relic Hunters who fulfill entry requirements, which change depending on the Guild.”

  “And they come to Kolima to celebrate a festival or something?” Marc asked tentatively.

  Soren nodded, “It is not just some festival or celebration, it is The Gathering, a rich part of the history and culture here, a tradition that runs deep in the roots of what it means to be free to choose one’s own life-work. Once each cycle every Freelander has the opportunity to celebrate the work that relic hunters do. Those who can work magic are few and far between. During the Illuminated Era, before the War of Power, almost everyone could wield magic, even young children grew up knowing how to use it. It made the War of Power the most devastating time anyone can ever remember. Even the lowliest foot-soldier could cast spells. Magic nearly wiped out all living and breathing races of Lyrridia. Since that time, magic became a symbol of evil and people stopped using it for fear of what it could do. Now, so many cycles later the people long for the ability to create the wonders of the Illuminated Era, before the War of Power. It seems that most these days cannot inherently manipulate magic. The next best thing is using an item that was imbued with magic from the ancient times, thus the esteem that relic hunters hold. They inspire people. Every relic, every magical artifact they recover from the Wildlands is a reminder of good times long past and a hope that one day things can be like that again. This is why we have The Gathering. Seekers from the guild also attend The Gathering. They are appointed by the various Guilds, seeking out new and upcoming relic hunters, promising candidates that would do well to join the Guild’s ranks. For those not quite as apt in the relic hunting field, there are many smaller guilds with minimal requirements, with some accepting any applicants with their own traveling gear, weapon, and a coin or two in their pocket. The celebration is beneficial in other ways too, it promotes trade, increases business, and lets people relax for a few days, forgetting all their worries.”

  Zildjin chimed into the conversation, putting away his little relic, “The Noble Kingdom hates it too. Every cycle they try and do something to upset the celebration. That is actually one reason they moved the celebration to Kolima a few cycles ago. Kolima is better fortified and protected than most cities in the Freelands, the furthest from Terragur as well. Ses, do you remember a few festivals gone by? They discovered one of the relic hunters had funded his expeditions with Terragurion gold and he was run out of Kolima by the large majority of the Freelander’s there at the competition.”

  Sesuadra finally spoke, “Of course,” he grinned, “that relic hunter was never heard of again.”

  Zildjin laughed and Sesuadra nodded his amusement. Zildjin reached over to Sesuadra. They clasped each other’s arms, linking at the forearm briefly as a gesture of their humor, similar to when Soren had first shook Marc’s hand.

  He figured this was equal to a ‘high-five.’

  “Honestly,” Zildjin continued, “relic hunting is something I have always wanted to do. The life of a true adventurer, there is excitement in the boots of a relic hunter. Just imagine it!” Zildjin finished, “Poets and bards writing stories and tales about the things you did! It is the stuff of legends and heroes to be sure. One day I want to join the Reclaimers.”

  “Refoveo,” Sesuadra interjected, “is when the weather is warm and the fields are rich with crops, it is the time when people gossip and chat of the magic of the times gone past, and of the heroes and brave souls who choose a life of danger. It is a chance to hear the stories firsthand, see with your own eyes the tangible fruits of others’ labors. Street performers, music, dancing and merriment of all kinds.”

  “Sounds exciting,” Marc commented.

  He felt a sort of coldness, an outsider’s feeling of awkwardness, that was separating him from the other three there, start to dissipate. Sesuadra was opening up, speaking more than just a word around him now.

  ***

  Some time passed in silence, the sun crept across the sky slowly.

  As Soren had indeed said before, the road became more and more active with wagon trains, carts of goods, peddlers, merchants, and now and then a lone rider atop the strange two legged creatures. Marc asked what they were called, Zildjin told him they were aldoms. Soren exchanged greetings with everyone who passed them. There were plenty who did, but none as fancy as Lanvar’s train.

  “So what happens once we reach Kolima?” Marc asked, mostly meaning, what happens ‘to me?’

  “Well,” Soren looked over his shoulder in reply, “You will stay with a woman named Eleanor. She is Zildjin and Sesuadra’s caretaker, and has been ever since they were young. I think it is safe to explain some, maybe even all of the situation to her. It is only fair to her since Zildjin and Sesuadra are like sons to her. I have some things to take care of when we reach Kolima. I know someone who might be able to help us understand a little bit more about the sword and the magic involved in all of this. In the meantime, the three of you must be absolutely silent about everything. Marc, you especially must learn quickly so that you will not stand out so much here in Lyrridia. The three of you will continue your training with Topar until I return.”

  “Who is Topar?”

  “A close companion of Eleanor. He is a rovaar, powerful, and not one to be crossed. Stay on his good side though, and you will be alright. I will most likely have returned once The Gathering has ended.”

  Marc nodded, then asked, “Roh-vaar?”

  Zildjin answered instead, “You will see soon enough.”

  “It will be dark soon, try and get some sleep,” He finished.

  They ate again as the sun was finally beginning its descent in the sky. It had been a fairly warm, mostly cloudless day. The sky was cast in maroon and orange as the day closed. The two planets appeared above in the coming darkness, the stars poking out one by one immediately following.

  Sesuadra and Zildjin lit the lamps to let the balkars see ahead and for Sesuadra to keep a lookout in the rear.

  Though they had not done much physically, the ride wore them out and no one said much as the night came on.

  Marc did not think much as he let the back and forth motions of the cart lull him to sleep.

  And then he dreamed once more.

  ***

  Marc opened his eyes and sat up.

  The world of silver and grey surrounded him.

  Sesuadra was there in the dream world as well. In the waking world, his body was near the end of the cart, sleeping. In the dream world, his body was in the same location, but he was awake.

&n
bsp; Sesuadra came over and offered his hand. Marc took it and with his friend’s help, got to his feet.

  “Marc,” Sesuadra nodded his head respectfully.

  “Sesuadra,” he replied.

  They both stood in silence, looking around them at the endlessness of the silvery plane.

  “What do you make of this place?”

  “I have heard of such a place in my lessons,” Sesuadra answered, “But I cannot remember much.”

  Marc opened his mouth to speak again but he was interrupted by the sound of metal striking metal.

  Marc turned his head at the noise.

  “Sesuadra, Did you hear that?”

  But when Marc turned back he was surrounded by mist.

  “Sesuadra?”

  Marc tried again.

  “Sesuadra! I know you are there, say something so we can find each other in this!”

  He waited for a response but there was only silence followed by the striking of metal against metal once more.

  “Hmmm,” He said.

  With a shrug he began walking through the obscurity.

  He did not go far before he was stopped suddenly by a dark stone wall.

  He turned away from the wall.

  The mist vanished instantly. He suddenly could sense a strong arid heat all around him. He could not feel the heat, per say, but glancing around the room he was able to tell that it was very hot.

  Marc did not know the words with which to accurately describe the space but he had taken enough medieval history to know that the general equipment, materials, and furniture in the room made up a smithy, or blacksmith’s workshop. The largest of objects in the room was a forge, a stone hearth for a fire, connected to large bellows, operated to fan the flames and coals to intense degrees of heat. A workbench stood nearby, stacked atop it were an abundance of tools, hammers of various shapes and sizes, swages, fullers, punches, chisels and many more. Stacks of metal ingots filled up half a wall, there were shovels and horseshoes, armor bits and more hung nearby the ingots. There were many numerous small slits in spaces at the top of the wall and ceiling that were more for ventilation than windows. Across from the workbench at the other far end of the room was a giant anvil.