Wielder of the Flame

by Nikolas Rex

  Captain Krojak is a failure of a leader. His dealings with the Alborcan mercenaries always end in some sort of squabble that is never really resolved. Today he split the company into two different groups, one to go to Essoril to try and capture the son of the family, and another to go off with the Alborcans and try and capture the wife and daughter of the family. I of course will go to neither and stay with the wagons. Since I do not really exist within the company Krojak will not even notice my absence. I still cannot believe that Krynn—

  Puck glanced over a few other pages and realized that he was not reading a book, but a journal. They were mission report notes, not of one of the Bloodcloaks within the company, but of a spy loyal to another Krynn in a different part of Terragur. He wanted to read more but heard the sound of battle lessening.

  He stowed the journal into his pack and then grabbed the coin purse as well.

  Finally he latched the sword to his belt and wrapped his belt around his wasted, securing it snuggly. He thanked the Exalted Spirits for showing him the journal. His mission had not been completely in vain.

  But he was not quite free.

  The clash of swords was few now, the battle was almost over.

  As quietly as he could in his condition, Puck jumped from the back of the wagon.

  He dropped to his knees in pain and cursed as rocks and pebbles scattered at his fall.

  Then, a voice from the side of the wagon facing away from the camp came to Puck’s ears.

  “Hee—elp,” The owner of the voice sounded in pain and in trouble, “Someone,” they coughed, “Who is there?”

  Puck stood up quietly.

  “Plea—se,” they coughed again.

  Puck closed his eyes, unsure of what to do, he thought he recognized the voice.

  He peered over just to confirm his guess.

  Fatloaf was skewered to the side of the wagon by a long spear. One of the mercenaries lay in a slowly growing pool of their own blood beneath Fatloaf’s feet.

  Fatloaf locked eyes with Puck and Puck immediately regretted looking.

  “Please,” Fatloaf said, desperation in his eyes, “Help me.” His voice was quiet and gurgly. He was unable to raise it any louder.

  Anger welled up inside Puck. His cheek flared with throbbing pain. He walked over and stood before the helpless man. The tables had been turned, the tides shifted. Puck now stood in the position of absolute power. He could now exact revenge for all the pain the Terragurion soldiers had inflicted upon him.

  Any hope within Fatloaf’s eyes died as the precise implications of his situation dawned on him. His fate was inevitable, all the misdeeds, all the malicious and unkind things he had done throughout his life had led him to this moment in time, his hour of reckoning.

  He saw Fatloaf’s sword on the ground next to the impaled man.

  Puck made his decision. He bent down and picked up the terragurion soldier’s own fallen weapon, raising it high above his head. Fatloaf closed his eyes, gripping the wood of the spear pierced through his midsection tightly, anticipating the final killing blow.

  “Darkness consume you!” Puck hissed, letting out all his rage and fury.

  The young man brought the sword down with a powerful, precise, strike.

  Chapter Thirty Six

  The Ageless One

  To all of their surprise, when they opened up the map for Laura to see it for the first time something appeared on it that was not there before.

  In the top northeast corner of the map, deep in the Wildlands, some mountains and trees began to appear, forming a large valley with a river running through it. It was in the same location as one of the blinking lights that indicated the location of a crystal shard. Two small mountain-like pillars appeared on each side of the river surrounded by more mountains forming a sort of circle around the valley. Next to the two pillars and the river the words RUINS OF ZHEUND appeared.

  “Hey,” Marc said, “Sesuadra, isn’t that the place you talked about before?”

  Sesuadra nodded.

  “It looks like one of the crystal shards is there, but how come we couldn’t see it before?”

  “I saw the inside of the Ruins,” Laura said.

  “How?” Zildjin asked.

  She spoke of her experience with the large powerful creature with great antlers and shaggy fur and the vision he showed her of Zheund and the location of the crystal shard.

  “We have seen the same being!” Zildjin said excitedly.

  They related their story to Laura and she listened intently.

  “It must be the same,” Laura said, “It must be.”

  “How did you even get there?”

  She told him and the group about what happened to her after Marc saw her and Kimira arguing in the forest. She confirmed to Marc, Zildjin, and Sesuadra, that she was part of the Order of the Leaf. She spoke of the terrifying events in Sulendald and of her escape to the Ruins of Zheund with her magic.

  “Thy dead men shall live,” Sesuadra said solemnly. It was clear he was quoting something, “together with my body shall they arise. Awake, ye that dwell in the dust, for the earth shall cast out the dead. Come, my people, enter thou into thy chambers, and shut thy doors about thee: hide thyself as it were, until the indignation be overpast.”

  “What?” Zildjin replied.

  “It is an ancient scroll I read once,” Sesuadra answered, “Author unknown, but it was written as a warning to those who were allowed to practice dark magics relating to necromancy.”

  “Necro-what?” Zildjin was confused about it all.

  The others leaned in to listen more intently.

  “Necromancy, It is believed that Yetrem, a powerful relative to one of the Ascendant Sages during the close of the Illuminated Era, founded this school, or specialization of magic while trying to communicate with a deceased Oracle to divine the future. Though it was for a noble cause to save thousands of lives his school of magic was quickly taken up by others and was soon used for much darker purposes. The Ascendant Sages swiftly condoned and classified the magic as forbidden. They tried to put an end to its practice and thought they had done so successfully. However, during the War of Power a powerful mage rose up calling himself an Exalted, as he had the power, not only to kill, but to raise the dead.”

  “What was his name?” Marc asked.

  “He went by many names, but most knew him as Narameth, Monarch of the Resurrected.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “No one knows for sure, but many accounts say that he was killed in battle. His armies were of the most difficult to defeat because every member of the opposing army that fell would become a new soldier in Narameth’s army. They were only able to defeat Narameth’s dead-come-alive soldiers by burning the bodies to ash. In the end, they say that though he was able to bring back others, he was unable to prevent his own demise. It was believed that the knowledge to access and practice Necromancy was lost with the death of Narameth.”

  “Then what is happening in Sulendald?” Zildjin said.

  “Perhaps Narameth survived after all?” Cydas commented.

  “Unlikely,” Sesuadra continued, “It is more probable that a promising, rising, new mage has stumbled upon Necromancy once more. No matter how it has happened, though, it is yet another sign of these dark times.”

  “What I don’t understand,” Marc said, “Is that you keep referring to magic as if itself can be good or bad.”

  Sesuadra shook his head, “Magic is a hard thing to explain. The Ascendant Sages spent more than a hundred cycles trying to create a universal explanation of and for magic, and some believe that they did. However, their wisdom has been lost to the sands of time,” He paused, “From what I have read, and what I believe, is that magic is neutral, a thing that is merely there, to be manipulated by the user. So it is the wielder of the magic who chooses whether to use it for good, and for the benefit of others, or for evil, only to benefit themselves.”

  “Well, whatever is happening, at least we
have some more guidance on retrieving another crystal shard. I hope the Oracle has more insight when we speak with her,” Marc said.

  Everyone agreed.

  ***

  They left Fairlake soon after Laura awoke and received her message from the Oracle.

  They made their way up to Rawson’s pass. Laura brought all the things she learned while living with the Order with her arrival. Laura was a welcome addition to the group. The food was better, the camp cleaner and more organized and there was a general positivity in the air. She taught them of several plants and herbs that grew along the road that were useful for different things, to eat, to flavor other food, or for healing.

  When Cydas had asked her if she knew how to wield a sword she had replied.

  “They do not teach sword fighting in the Order,”

  “Can you wield a knife?” Cydas had asked her.

  “I can,” she had admitted, “self-taught.”

  Laura watched with building curiosity as the young men practiced sword fighting every night. She asked Cydas if she could learn as well. Cydas granted her request, on the condition that she practice her magic as well. She agreed and soon was training with the others.

  At first Marc shied away from spending time with Laura. He was unsure of himself on how he should act. He struggled with getting to know girls where he was from and it was only more difficult in this new place. He couldn’t just ask her what her favorite music was, hoping they would end up liking the same bands and totally hit a groove of conversation. He couldn’t ask her if she watched any television shows to see if they watched any of the same ones to talk about. Nor could he list off all the movies he had seen to see if she saw any of them. With so little to talk about he struggled to think what he should ask about, or how he should act with her. He wasn’t really raised in a religious home but he had his own set of moral standards which he believed were good, but he didn’t know what the customs were in Lyrridia and he didn’t want to embarrass her any further than he already had in Fairlake.

  But he had worried too much anyway, as they eventually began to talk about the crystal shards, about magic, his abilities, and her powers, and about the others and they talked about the map. He told her about the visions he had of the others, and told her that it was only with her that he had stayed for such an extended amount of time. She said that at first she thought that he had the same power as her, to walk the unseen paths, but was interested to find out that he was somehow projecting himself to be with her and not actually be there. She was fascinated to find out about the silvery realm and pondered on what it could mean.

  “We held hands though,” she had said.

  “I know,” He had agreed.

  ***

  They had purchased another aldom for Laura. It was a simpler creature, without a name, as there was none in Fairlake like the mounts Marc and the others had.

  It was a clear day, a warm gentle breeze played against the treetops. The sun was climbing in the sky reaching almost the middle point.

  The terrain soon became much rockier, the trees grouped together in more secluded, but dense arrangements than in the lands leading up to the pass. The mountains and cliffs rose up on each side, though the valley below was still fairly wide. In the distance a large plume of smoke could be seen that from a further distance they had not quite made out.

  “Is that a fire?” Zildjin asked aloud.

  No one responded, but everyone agreed with the statement.

  “Looks like pretty thick smoke, must be something large.”

  “You suppose it’s the town?” Marc said.

  “I hope not,” Cydas said.

  “Could mean that there really are dragons here and they attacked the town with fire.”

  Travelers had become few and far between and the group eventually found themselves alone on the trail leading towards Terga. It was unusual, then, when, up ahead on the path they came upon a long trail of large wagons. Each cart was loaded with stacks of freshly cut timber arranged in thick piles of logs. Each cart had a driver and a balkar. A large crowd of people walked next to the wagons, some even carried a log or two on their shoulders. They moved forward like a slowly coursing river, towards a small town upon a hill overlooking the main road. The people seemed to be chanting a ballad in happy, cheery, voices, all in unison.

  “What is that?” Zildjin said, looking down the path to the scene before them.

  No one answered, staring ahead as well, unsure of what to make of the sight.

  “Let’s go find out,” Marc finally said.

  He shook his reigns, signaling Redmor to hasten his pace slightly. The aldom did so without hesitation.

  The others followed suit.

  As they neared they could make out the words of the song.

  “His might from the Exalted

  Both blades whirling

  Red crimson raining

  One Vorst dead, and onto the other”

  They all took a breath and began the next verse,

  “Leaping, slashing

  Undaunted in his task

  The two bladed hero fights

  And the second Vorst falls.”

  Marc and the others trotted along, now in line with the other train. The aldoms and their riders moved quicker, however, and were soon near the front of the lumber wagons.

  Finally the moving crowd finished singing.

  “And where once the Vorstai reigned,

  The champion now their heads both he claimed.

  Our village he did save.

  Forever more, remembered, will be his name.

  DRAKE! DRAKE! DRAKE!”

  They finished with a loud Hurrah! of praise.

  Redmor matched the pace of the lead wagon.

  The man driving the front wagon was an older man, white close cropped beard, a kind face, and sturdy clothes.

  “Hail travelers!” The wagon lead greeted Marc and the others.

  “All is well?” Marc asked, he was beginning to pick up the lingo of Lyrridia.

  “All is well!” The driver replied in a gravelly but cheery voice,

  “Is that a fire?” Marc asked again.

  The man nodded, “Do not worry, it is only one of the stripped corpses of the two Vorstai that Drake killed. Do not mind us, the town is working on a big project but we are still welcoming any and all passing through, even more so that the vorstai have been killed now.”

  “Vorse-tye?” Marc began, confused.

  Zildjin, who was nearby, interrupted, “We seek a place to stay and we are in need of supplies.”

  Redmor snorted at Tandur, seemingly grumpy that Zildjin had interrupted his rider. Tandur did not seem too affected by the action. Marc patted his mount to soothe him. He was aware Zildjin had interceded to save face for Marc.

  “You can go on ahead,” The old man nodded, “The town is safe now since thanks to Drake, our hero and savior. Mayor Hartshor should be somewhere around, ask for him and he can direct you. He is a tall fellow with grey hair in fine cloth.”

  “Thank you,” Zildjin and Marc said.

  Marc led the group up the rest of the way towards the town.

  Marc shifted in his saddle to address the group.

  “First, what are Vorsetye? And second, does the name Drake mean anything to anyone?”

  Cydas and Zildjin shook their heads, Laura paused to think.

  “Vorst, single, Vorstai, plural,” Sesuadra answered after a moment, “I am not surprised the barmaid back in Fairlake, as well as others, thought the creatures were dragons. Both kinds of animals are similar in appearance from a distance, they both have enormous bodies, long necks and heads, and gigantic wingspans, indeed some legends describe Vorstai roots as being draconic. However, vorstai have an unusual mix of birdlike qualities that distinguish them from any dragon, such as feathers in most places, stumpy snouts ending in beaks, and taloned feet like birds.”

  “How do you know so much?” Zildjin gawked.

  Sesuadra returned his frien
ds gaze with a ‘seriously?’ kind of look.

  “Reading,” was all he said.

  “And this Drake character, it seems like he killed two of the things?”

  Sesuadra nodded.

  “So it would seem,” Laura said.

  She seemed doubtful at the prospect.

  “I have a desire to meet the man, he must be powerful indeed, or extremely clever, most likely both, to be able to single handedly kill such large and terrible beasts,” Seusadra finished.

  “I guess we won’t be getting a reward for the bounty after all, but, thanks to Zidljin, we didn’t need it anyway.”

  Zildjin sat up straighter on Tandur, a proud look on his face. The creature seemed to pick up his rider’s emotions as the aldom straightened as well, falling into more of a prancing trot than a simple walk.

  As they reached the crest of the hill they saw the town. It was medium sized, about twenty or so buildings arranged upon the hill in an orderly fashion, the inner most buildings pointing in a small circle or town square. The buildings were a mixture of stone and wood. A strange aspect of the town was some man-made features surrounding the area. A wall and several towers nearby seemed to have been hastily made, destroyed, and rebuilt several times. Long sharp wooden spikes had been fastened to the top of the wall and the towers, but most were broken or fallen out of place. The defenses now seemed abandoned. Up on the hill leading up to the rocky side of the towering cliff was another scene happening there. Two large corpses were laid out on patches of mostly flat but still dusty terrain. One was surrounded by large, tall logs of wood set up like a funeral pyre. It seemed to have been burning for a long time because no sort of fleshed remained on the large bones of the remains. The second corpse was surrounded by small wooden scaffolding. Women and older children were moving about the scaffolding cutting long strips of meat from the dead body. The long strips of meat were being cut up into smaller pieces and being placed into large barrels of salt to preserve it for a later time.

  “Those are Vorstai,” Sesuadra said, pointing.

  “Incredible,” Marc whispered. It was like a dream come to life, a creature from another world made real.