Wielder of the Flame

by Nikolas Rex

  “So this is the map,” Marc said.

  It was very large. Large enough that Cydas held one side up as they trotted along the road.

  It appeared to be a map similar to the one Marc had read upon first arriving in Lyrridia. There were names of places written in neat but beautiful letters in their proper locations. Marc recognized a few of them. Alborcium, Terragur, Biarlin, and Itherin were foremost visible in bold lettering. Marc spotted Kolima near the bottom left of the map on the coast.

  Zildjin and Sesuadra did not have to crane their necks as much to see. They led their aldoms as close as they could behind Cydas and Marc’s steeds so they could all comfortably move forward and still survey the map.

  “We should be about here,” Cydas pointed out.

  “I don’t see the road,” Marc said.

  “The scale is too far away to reveal such a detail,” Cydas commented.

  “If only it was zoomed in closer,” Marc said.

  Suddenly the ink began to shift, moving of its own accord. The black ink melted and swirled and suddenly they were looking at a different map. The Road of Amber Elms was the centerpiece of the canvas. Trees and rocks were scrawled in with very close attention to detail. In the middle of the road were five figures. One was labeled balkar-supplies, while the other four had the names, Zildjin, Sesuadra, Cydas, and Marcus, next to, Redmor, Syril, Tandur, and Eldas.

  No one spoke for a long moment.

  “Cool,” Marc said. Having technology capable of the same feat in his world suppressed Marc’s excitement several degrees, but he was still impressed by the magic.

  Sesuadra was nodding, his eyebrows rose to show he was impressed.

  “It is indeed magic of the likes I have never seen,” Cydas added.

  “Your aldom is named Eldas?” Sesuadra spoke, “After the golden hammer?”

  Cydas nodded.

  “Golden hammer?” Marc asked.

  “Eldas was one of Itherin’s closest friends and most powerful warriors in the rebellion to break free from the corrupted ‘noble’ Kingdom. He wielded a gleaming hammer of the most pure gold that was enchanted to have a much stronger and harder impact than gold can deliver.”

  “Where are the crystals?” Zildjin interrupted.

  “The Oracle shared a partial vision with me pertaining to their location,” Cydas began but Marc interrupted.

  “Wait,” Marc was surprised, “You already know about the crystal shards?” Did they all speak with the Oracle?

  “Cydas gave us one of those—” Zildjin made as if holding a piece of square glass like Marc had done, “—things too.” He finished.

  “Scry glass,” Sesuadra clarified.

  “Right,” Zildjin nodded, “Scry glass.”

  Sesuadra gave a nod, which to him was enough to say he had received one as well. His eyes lit up suddenly and he pointed to the map, redirecting their attention back.

  They looked just in time to see the map reforming once more after having swirled into randomness. The ink began to align back to the larger scale of Lyrridia as a whole continent. The left was dominated by ocean and along the right of the map was a long line of mountains with Black Peaks scrawled there. After the ink stopped moving, six little points of light appeared, shining impossibly from the flat surface. Four were located in the Wildlands. Of the four in the Wildlands two were in the upper northeast, one in the middle part, and one in the lower southeast. The remaining two lay in Itherin, in a part labeled Kirden’s Marsh, and the last was in Biarlin.

  “The locations to the crystal shards,” Marc said.

  “Look at that one!” Zildjin said excitedly, “Whiteholt,” he read.

  “It is not too far from where we are.” Marc noted.

  Cydas looked closely at the map.

  One of his eyebrows rose and he said,

  “Whiteholt,” he said, “One of the visions the Oracle gave me is to happen near there, we shall proceed there.”

  “So we will retrieve a crystal shard when we arrive?” Sesuadra finally chimed in.

  “I believe that to be the case,” Cydas nodded.

  Marc was overwhelmed by all he had just learned.

  Even so, there was still room enough in his mind for Laura.

  ***

  The sun was nearing the horizon, the day was coming to a close.

  They had stopped and made camp for the night. Their aldoms were safe, surrounded by spice to keep them from wandering off.

  “May I see the Sword?” Cydas asked after they finished a meal of fruit and some type of stew.

  Marc stood and drew the blade. The usual golden glow lit up the sword and the camp.

  “Never in my life did I think I would see such a thing.” Cydas drew near to see the blade.

  Marc did not offer it to him, nor did the man ask to hold it, but seemed content to merely study it with his eyes. Since his experience in Kolima he felt a closer connection to the blade and did not wish to just hand it to whoever requested it.

  “It is truly a remarkable work of craftsmanship,” Cydas said, “But you are young, and need proper training with it for it to be more than just a pretty magical thing.”

  “Topar was teaching us swordplay,” Zildjin said from where he sat by the campfire, “We got to mounted combat.”

  “It guides me,” Marc said, “helps me know how to move in a fight. Well, at least sometimes it does.”

  “There are many legends about the sword,” Cydas offered, “You will learn quickly with it to be sure, but you still have to learn. Show me what you have learned so far, and I will do my best to instruct you further. It is something we should do every night and morning before travel.”

  Marc nodded.

  “Well then, let us begin,” Cydas drew his own blade.

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  The Deal

  Whiteholt was a town almost large enough to be called a city.

  Found near the center of Independent Dominion it was surrounded on one side by mountains and on the other by woods. The trees nearest the town had white bark that had given the place its name. A fairly sizable manor overlooked the town. From the manor the streets and buildings could be seen to be laid out in a clear and consistent order near the middle and generally losing coherence near the edges where several buildings had been built next to the other as the populace needed.

  Drake and Puck looked down on the town, grateful to be close to civilization once again.

  They had slept many nights on the road, under the stars, since they spent what little coin they had on food rather than lodging. Drake kept mostly to himself, which Puck did not mind, as it had given him a lot of time to think to himself. Drake was a good companion to have though. After his rest at their house he hardly seemed to tire, usually staying up to take watch. Puck also did not mind this. Drake’s pace on the road was swift and unrelenting, crossing distances from town to town in half the time it would usually take. Puck went the extra mile physically to keep up, and he considered himself to be in good shape. Every night he would eat whatever food they had, experiment with shifting the quarterstaff into different forms, and then quickly fall asleep from exhaustion. But he liked being pushed, he liked the challenge, and he was also a bit prideful and didn’t want Drake to see him as weak. Whatever Drake could do, he could do, he was sure of it. He continued to use the quarterstaff in its original form, it made for a great walking stick. And when it wasn’t in use, or for nights, he reduced the artifact to a metal wristband for easier carrying and for safekeeping.

  After leaving Essoril they had traveled to all the nearby villages and towns in the area. They had asked about travelers, journeymen who seemed normal at first glance but when looked at more closely they would be hiding something, their skin painted to look darker, they would struggle with the common tongue, having thick Alborcium accents. They had had no luck at first until finally they had met with a traveling merchant who, for the right price, claimed to have seen just the kind of people they were looking for less
than a fortnight past. The merchant had specifically said, “Yes, I found it odd, because they were dealing with Bloodcloaks, and I will tell you now, it is a Refoveo day frozen over when you see Bloodcloaks this far down in Biarlin.”

  The merchant told them he had last seen them heading to Whiteholt. With no other leads, and quickly losing an already cold trail they took a chance on the merchant’s word and began the journey to the large town.

  Puck thought back to the other night on the road.

  ***

  “We are at a severe disadvantage.”

  “Say again?”

  The firelight danced across the young man’s features, bathing him in flickering light and dark. His eyes had an unnatural brightness to them, especially in a night so dark. Puck found himself tired once again, but Drake seemed wide awake as usual. Puck shifted his artifact from a dagger back into a metal wristband and placed it around his arm, done for the night.

  “These men are seeking your father, using you and your family to weed him out if necessary.”

  “I know,”

  “It is sure to get around that two young men are asking around as to the presence of these men. They will most likely hear of it before we find them, and the element of surprise will no longer be on our side.”

  Puck shrugged, “I do not know of any other way to go about doing this. I must discover who is behind it all. My father said that the man responsible for the hunt had already passed on and yet they hunt still.”

  The crackling fire filled the silence.

  “It could be the man’s son,” Drake offered.

  “I did think of that,” Puck admitted, nodding.

  More silence.

  “What will you do when you meet up with them?”

  “I do not know,” Puck said.

  It was lie. Puck knew exactly what he was going to do. He would allow himself to be captured. It was the only way to ensure he would make it back to the leader behind it all. It had been his plan all along. He had not said anything because he knew no one would have agreed to it. And he wasn’t sure if Drake would go along with it if he knew also.

  “What do you think you will do?” Drake prodded.

  Puck thought for a moment, trying to make up a suitable response without revealing his true plan. “I will find out why they are seeking us out and tell them to stop.”

  “What if they refuse to listen?”

  “Then I will make them stop.”

  This seemed to satisfy Drake because he only nodded.

  “I will take watch,” he said then, standing up.

  Puck nodded without saying anything. He did not have the energy to stand guard anyway. He fell asleep holding on to the dark crystal pendant his sister had given him.

  ***

  It was the most words they had exchanged in the last few days.

  They spent most of the day going from shop to shop and from one Inn common room to the other asking about those that they were seeking. No one seemed to have noticed a group like they described passing through Whiteholt.

  “I am beginning to think that merchant purposefully led us astray,” Puck said after the double doors of yet another inn shut behind them.

  “To what end, though?” Drake replied, his voice ever an even tone.

  Puck shrugged, not knowing how to answer.

  “It is getting dark,” Drake said, matter-of-factly.

  “I do not wish to spend another night on the ground, under the stars. I have a little coin left, let us use it for a room with two beds to rest.”

  Drake nodded.

  “We can continue the search tomorrow, perhaps find some work to earn a days wages.”

  Drake nodded again.

  Puck withdrew his coin purse and turned it upside down in his hand, the last few coins he owned fell into his palm.

  “Best find a cheap room,” Drake said, looking at the coin.

  This time Puck nodded in agreement.

  ***

  The Majestic Guardian belied the actual conditions and accommodations of the Inn, but its prices fell right in line with the money Drake and Puck had.

  The building sagged tiredly, leaning against the two structures next to it as if without such support it would quickly topple. It was dark but still warm. The glow of the lamps and windows from the Inn did not feel too welcoming however. They were in a poor part of the town, a cramped and dirty part. A heaviness hung in the air, a feeling of caution. Puck did not know if it was just his own thoughts getting the better of him or not, but he had a dark premonition of what was to come if they went inside.

  The thought of a bed that was softer than hard ground urged him forward. He imagined his head on a soft pillow and pushed away the negative feelings.

  Inside, the cramped quarters of the common room was overfilled with raucous laughter and drunken brawls over petty or even imagined things.

  It was a room filled with dangerous, armed men, mercenaries looking for a cheap drink and a cheap bed whilst on their travels. Puck was surprised to see a rovaar standing guard as they entered. The tall furry creature looked over the room. Puck had heard of them but had never seen one pass through his hometown, and since he had never really traveled out of Essoril he had never had the chance to, until now. Now seeing one in person Puck understood why they made good bodyguards. The rovaar was tall, broad shouldered, and heavily muscled, more so than even the strongest patrons there. It had thick golden fur and a great golden-colored mane flowing over its shoulders.

  A fist fight nearby was escalating and one of the combatants drew a blade. The Rovaar quickly stomped over and with one powerful blow, knocked the blade wielding man out cold. A cheer and a round of applause broke out around the rovaar but the large creature simply returned to his post, without recognizing the applause.

  Looking around the room was making Puck realize just how young he was and how dangerous and difficult his task really would be. He began to understand his Mother’s apprehension of him leaving the house.

  But there was one fact that brought him comfort and confidence. He had something over every tall, strong, fierce-looking fighter present.

  His ability to wield magic.

  He was counting on this fact for his plan to succeed.

  Puck went up to the bar seeking the Innkeeper. After a moment or two the bartender finally came around to them.

  “What are you two little whelps doing around here this time of night?”

  The bartender was a large man, stocky shoulders, brown eyes, long mangy dark brown hair hanging over his shoulders.

  Puck bartered for a meal, two drinks, and a room with two beds. They had only two small coins leftover afterwards.

  They took the food and drinks up to their room, wanting to avoid the noisy crowd downstairs.

  The room was very small with only a single bed. They laid out some extra bedding and Drake said he would take the floor, Puck did not argue. A small table and a single chair and a small dresser filled up the rest of the small room. Puck sat on the bed to eat. Drake sat at the table. A few candles drooped in their holders atop the table, providing light for the room.

  They ate in silence.

  Puck thought of how he was to go about things. He needed Drake to sleep so he could slip away and give himself up to the Bloodcloaks. After hearing what Drake could do he did not want him and his two blades to intervene on his plan.

  Puck finished his meal and came out of his thoughts.

  He looked over at Drake and knew immediately that something was wrong.

  The young man had his fists clenched tightly and he was shaking.

  “Drake?” Puck asked tentatively.

  Drake trembled a bit more.

  “Drake?” Puck asked again, a bit louder.

  Drake mumbled and his fist flew sideways, knocking over his cup.

  It clattered to the floor, empty.

  “What is going on?” Puck stood up quickly, spilling his near empty plate of food on the floor. He reached for his traveling compa
nion.

  Drake suddenly slumped against the table with a thump.

  Puck remained where he was, unsure of what to do.

  His eyes drifted to the cup. Poison?

  He quickly realized he had drained his own cup.

  He clutched his own throat and waited for the effects of the poison to take him.

  A moment or two passed.

  But no, nothing happened.

  He let out a breath of relief and lowered his arms.

  He crossed the small space and put his hands on Drake’s shoulders.

  “Drake,” he whispered, “Drake?”

  The young fighter was out cold, but still breathing.

  Puck raised one of his eyebrows.

  All his swordsmanship and he cannot hold his own against a pint of ale.

  Puck grinned and shook his head.

  Then he realized it was the perfect opportunity to leave and act on his plan.

  He carefully lifted his friend from the chair and laid him on the bed.

  Puck double checked to make sure he was still breathing, and then quietly left the room.

  He walked down the stairs, passing a few tough looking men on the way, and entered the common room once more. The noise had died down somewhat as patrons began to retire to their rooms for the night.

  Puck realized he was still thirsty and pinched the two last coins in his pocket between his fingers. He nodded and made the decision to have one last drink with the money.

  He was sipping something smooth and slightly tangy when a man sat down next to him.

  He looked to be in his mid-thirtieth cycle, a head taller than Puck, very lean and fit. He had blue eyes, short brown hair and an angular face. He sported a carefully trimmed goatee, and was dressed in modest dark grey and deep red garments cut for a man more of high stature than a traveler or mercenary. He had a broadsword strapped to his belt.

  Puck eyed him suspiciously, his hand inching towards his sword.

  The man saw the action and slightly raised his hands to show he did not want any trouble.