Wielder of the Flame

by Nikolas Rex

  Sesuadra nodded, carefully taking in all the information.

  He slapped his hand on the table when the man finished, “We will not retreat, we will destroy the enemy, and we will reclaim Sulendald. The Order of the Leaf depends on us, as well as all those who have been pushed out of their homes by this evil. Mount up! And take me to the front lines, I will deal with this young female sorceress myself, Puck, are you with me?”

  Puck nodded, feeling empowered by Sesuadra’s encouraging words.

  Sesuadra looked at the men.

  “Are you with me!?” He shouted.

  “Aye!” They replied.

  Without another word Sesuadra turned and marched out of the tent, leaving his gauntlets behind.

  Puck scrambled to keep up.

  The men slowly exited the tent after them, moving down one of the paths that led to the makeshift stables.

  “That was quite a speech,” Puck said as he and Sesuadra moved towards their aldoms. “and I did not know you could wield magic.”

  “No one was supposed to know,” Sesuadra answered, “I made a promise not to tell anyone until an appointed time.”

  “Why did you then?”

  They put their foot in the stirrups of the saddles of their aldoms and jumped up.

  “You saw those men, they would not believe us by our word only and we are running out of time. We have to protect the Order of the Leaf.”

  Puck was nodding, “Kimira, you mean.”

  “Huh?”

  “I saw the way you were looking at her, you like her.”

  Sesuadra did not answer.

  The men from the tent appeared, all mounted on aldoms.

  “Follow me,” the bearded man said.

  And they took off.

  They descended the hill at a moderate pace, being forced to slow down as they followed the path around the defenses. After passing through the pikes, wooden stakes, and trenches, they broke out into a gallop, the aldoms’ tails swishing back and forth sporadically at the quickened pace.

  The soldiers manning the siege weapons looked on in curiosity as the small company of mounted cavalry ran by, two of which were young men dressed in decorated armor not of their city.

  “All is well!” Sesuadra cried as they passed through the ranks. “Exalted keep you! Continue the good fight!”

  Finally they began to arrive at the battle scene.

  In the distance the fog hung in the air like a giant, high wall. Separate squadrons of troops stood at random intervals near the fog in defensive positions, their weapons drawn, ready for any attack. The empty spaces between the groupings of soldiers Sesuadra assumed were the squads that were currently in the fog, fighting. Flaming projectiles soared over them, burning small paths of visibility through the dense fog. Muted blasts of red and orange lit the interior of the mist as the projectiles landed with distant thundering booms.

  A line of soldiers were coming up the path Sesuadra, Puck and the others were going down. The soldiers looked beaten and weary.

  Sesuadra pulled Brighteyes to a stop.

  “What is going on here?”

  Most of them looked away.

  A particularly worn-out soldier said, “We are tired, and hungry, and the sorceress has reappeared. We are no match for her dark enchantments, let alone this awful evil! There is not even a commander here to lead us!”

  There was an explosion of purple light inside the mist followed by the screams of dying men.

  “What was that?” Puck asked.

  “The sorceress,” The bearded man said.

  Sesuadra could see the men quickly losing their will to fight, some having already given up hope.

  “I am your new commander!” Sesuadra said, his voice filled with authority, despite his young age.

  The soldiers looked up in surprise.

  “I am Sesuadra, Jidan of Kolima, Advocate of the Flame, and Runemaster.”

  He brought his arm up and a symbol glowed again on his hand. He quickly pressed it into the air, allowing the burning magic to hover there for an instant. Then he lifted his arm and brought it down in a swift vertical arc. As his hand came near the bottom of the movement an invisible shockwave went out, with Sesuadra at its origin. Some of the footsoldiers fell back at the force, one landing on his back.

  “Those lights coming from Sulendald, they are the same that appeared in Kolima, The Wielder of the Flame is there, fighting the enemy, and it is your duty, our duty, to help him.”

  The soldiers were nodding, immediate respect coming from their changed perception of Sesuadra.

  “Now return to the fight! Follow us!”

  Sesuadra turned to the bearded man, “run down the line of men, tell them to gather to me.”

  “How will they know who to gather to? None of them know you.”

  “They will know soon enough.”

  Sesuadra motioned for Puck to follow him and then steered Syril to the frontlines.

  The troops watched as the two young strangers arrived to stand with them directly in front of the mist.

  “What are you going to do?” Puck asked.

  Sesuadra nodded his head to the fog as if to say just watch.

  He dismounted and stepped to where he was half in the fog.

  Sesuadra closed his eyes, slowing his breathing. He chanted a calming mantra in his head. There is no fear, there is only light. Where there is light, there is hope. Guide me, Uleahkyn, Lady of the Sea.

  He summoned a great power within him and began to call the runes to work his magic. A symbol appeared on his right palm and he placed it in the air before him, then another appeared on his left immediately after and he placed that in the air in front of him, before the first could fade away. He moved swiftly, placing rune after rune in the air.

  Finally, with all the runes he wished, in place, he opened his eyes. He brought both arms to his side, elbows pointed behind him, fists pointed forward, arms bent at a ninety degree angle, then, in a swift motion he pushed both arms straight out in front of him and let out a shout.

  A great wind rushed through the ranks, cloaks and hair billowing in its wake.

  Suddenly the fog began to push backwards.

  Slowly at first, then gradually picking up speed.

  Sesuadra’s entire body was taut with exertion.

  Puck watched in awe at the amazing feat of magic.

  As the fog lifted, pushing back, the mysteriousness of the battlefield faded. Things came into view one by one. A body here, a body there. Broken shield. Sword stabbed into the ground.

  Puck glanced behind them and saw the entirety of the remaining Sulendald army rallying behind Sesuadra.

  Then the monsters came into view. They were more gruesome in real life than compared to the ones Sesuadra and Puck had seen in the Oracle’s vision. The grayish green rotting skin things huddled in large droves, ready to attack at the first thing to fall into their line of sight. As the fog moved the things were able to see the long line of soldiers facing them and the undead began to move against their now visible enemy. But Sesuadra did not cease there. He summoned more and more wind, the air now a blustering gale of sound and power. The sun blazed upon the monsters as it cleared the dense fog and they let out long guttural groans like complaints. A few of the weaker looking undead toppled over at the wind pushing against them, and the others moved sluggishly against it. Sesuadra let out another shout of exertion and pushed the fog further and quicker away from them.

  They could see the river then, and in the distance, near one of the banks of the river on the same side as them, a giant tent had been set up and a young woman stood in front of it. Several dead soldiers lay at her feet and the undead were feasting upon some of them.

  “Found you,” Sesuadra whispered.

  Finally, with the fog pushed as far away as the river, Sesuadra let the wind go and it ceased as suddenly as it begun. The monsters began to shamble forward freely.

  Sesuadra turned to the men and mounted back up on Brighteyes.


  “Great achievement is born only of great sacrifice!” Sesuadra shouted, “It is never the result of selfishness. We fight not for ourselves, we fight for women, for children, for those who cannot. We fight because we can, we fight because we must!”

  Sesuadra raised his curved blade and pointed at the shambling corpses rushing upwards to meet them.

  “For Sulendald!”

  He roared and spurred his aldom forward.

  The resounding battle cry from the troops was almost deafening, a crashing, booming shout “FOR SULENDALD!”

  It was in that instant that a bright light, even brighter than before, shone in Sulendald near the heart of the city, burning a vast majority of the fog away.

  Chapter Fifty Three

  Sylandria’s Sacrifice

  The bright blue light emanating from the Oracle’s pillar of light behind Zildjin flashed a brilliant white and then darkened.

  The room darkened significantly in turn, but Zildjin’s eyes quickly adjusted.

  Drake did not finish his attack, the sword and his arms were stopped in mid-descent.

  Zildjin looked up at his countenance, seeing if he had reverted back to the other Drake, the one they knew, but it was still the face of darkness.

  He seemed to be struggling against some invisible force.

  “Zildjin!”

  Zildjin recognized the voice.

  It was the Oracle. But her voice did not flow through his mind, he heard it with his ears.

  He glanced behind him in surprise.

  She had left the pillar of light and knelt, naked, on the floor. Her arms were outstretched, her hands open, her fingers rigid.

  “Quickly Zildjin! Finish him! I do not know how long I can hold him!”

  “NO!” Drake hissed. The invisible magic Sylandria was wielding, held him in place but Drake was clearly fighting against it. He trembled and began to turn red with exertion, sweat breaking out on his forehead.

  There was a flicker and the Drake they knew resurfaced.

  “Please,” he said, “Just end it, please.”

  The darkness returned within a heartbeat.

  “NO!” Drake struggled, “I am the Destroyer of Worlds!”

  Zildjin stepped forward and with a mighty yank, tore off the rest of the breastplate. It clattered to the floor.

  There was a flash in the starry sky, an explosion of light.

  Zildjin pried his weapon from Drake’s grip.

  “Do it,” the old Drake said, and then disappeared again.

  “NO!” the dark one cried.

  Zildjin placed his sword upon Drake’s chest.

  “Exalted keep you, Drake.”

  And shoved the blade through his heart.

  The darkness faded from his face. His eyes turned from black, back to their normal color. Then they rolled up into his head and he closed his eyelids.

  Drake fell to the ground, blood pouring from his wound, the sword protruding from his chest.

  Zildjin could see he was dead.

  Zildjin heard Sylandria let out a sound of relief and a soft thump as she let her magic free and collapsed to the ground.

  Zildjin withdrew the blade and wiped it clean. He slipped the sword underneath his belt, being careful not to cut anything.

  “It is over,” she said.

  Zildjin turned and immediately remembered the Oracle was naked. The blue light that had surrounded her, visually covering her skin and hair and body with the same blue color, was now gone. Her skin was extremely pale, almost white, her hair, also, bordered between light gold and white.

  He blushed, despite the circumstances, and walked over to her, keeping her in his sights but not exactly looking directly at her.

  “Oracle,” he said nervously, “Your nakedness.”

  “Sylandria,” she replied. “Just call me Sylandria, I am no longer the Oracle. I forfeited that right the moment I left the pillar of light.” Her eyes were filled with sadness, and relief. She lay on the ground, one hand wrapped over her chest, and the other covering down below, her legs crossed.

  Zildjin began to undo the straps of his upper body armor, shoulder and back plates.

  Sylandria looked up at him, confused.

  “You can have my tunic, as a covering,” Zildjin said.

  There was another flash in the starry sky, brighter this time. A second one followed it, and another soon after. The fog that acted as the walls to the room was dissipating into thin air, revealing an inky blackness beyond.

  “It has already begun,” Sylandria said as Zildjin unstrapped his armor. “Soon this place will fold in on itself and cease to exist, destroying whatever is present here, in the process.”

  “But I thought you said that would only happen if no other Oracle was chosen?”

  One of the stars arced through the sky, leaving a trail of burning light behind it. It landed far in the distance of the blackness. A deep boom followed the star’s landing and a small shudder ran through the room, shaking its occupants slightly.

  “There is no Ascendant Sage alive to do the choosing. I am the last, was the last.” She said.

  “But the magic you used against him,” Zildjin nodded to the now still form of Drake, “was that not power granted to you as an Oracle?”

  Sylandria shook her head, “It is an ability of my own. It was the reason I was chosen as Oracle, because I had such a close connection with magic already.”

  “So all your other magic, the ability to foresee the future?”

  “It is gone, all of it.”

  Zildjin stripped off his tunic, revealing his very well cut physique. But he was not thinking of it, and neither was she, not after what had just happened.

  He handed her the tunic, keeping his eyes averted.

  “Thank you Zildjin,” she quickly slipped it on.

  There were more explosions up above and more stars began to fall from the sky. Booms and quakes began to shake the room in quicker and quicker succession.

  “Please,” she said and he turned to face her again, “You will have to help me walk, my body is weak and I cannot do it on my own.”

  Zildjin nodded and knelt down, putting his arm underneath her. His hand brushed her chest as he helped her stand, but again, neither of them thought anything of it.

  They began to walk towards the stairs.

  Sylandria moved her head in the direction of Cydas.

  “You do not want to see—” Zildjin began. He did not want her last memory of her love to be the sight before them.

  “I need to touch his face, one last time, with my own hand.”

  The booms began to shake the room more fiercely. Stars streaked the sky like handfuls of thrown pebbles.

  Cracks began to appear in the floor.

  They walked over to Cydas’s fallen body.

  Zildjin let Sylandria down and moved to withdraw the blade from his comrade’s neck and throat.

  It was stuck into the floor and it took Zildjin three tries before the floor finally released its grip on the weapon.

  Zildijn had to exert quite a bit of force to turn Cydas over. He got blood all over him, but he hardly even noticed.

  Sylandria moved close to Cydas, placing his head in her lap.

  Zildjin turned away, giving her a moment alone.

  “Cydas, my love,” She whispered, “Ascend to the stars, and dwell with the Exalted Spirits.”

  A giant flaming star passed dangerously close over head. Its landing created an explosion and thundering boom unlike any of the others. The room shuddered violently and more cracks appeared like spider-webs across the floor, some of them large.

  “Sylandria, we must go!”

  Zildjin moved to help her up.

  “We must take his body,” she let out a sob, “We cannot just leave him here.”

  “We have no choice, Sylandria, I am sorry.”

  The room began to warp and change in impossible ways. The sky was lit with burning bright stars, explosive changing nebula and several planets that w
ere beginning to break apart.

  “Carry me,” Sylandria said, “I will use my magic to bring him with us.”

  “And what of Drake?” Zildjin asked.

  Sylandria glanced at her lover’s murderer.

  Zildjin could read the anger in her eyes and said, “He was innocent, you know, it was not him that killed Cydas.”

  “I know,” she said.

  Before they could say anything further, Drake’s body began to convulse.

  “No,” Zidljin whispered, “Impossible.”

  A darkness began to seep from his body, gathering into a misshapen, morphing, flopping partly incorporeal shape of black fog completely separate from Drake’s body.

  Whatever had been inside of Drake was now leaving the lifeless shell.

  “Run,” Sylandria said. “I will hold it back. It will die here.” Her voice held a conviction that almost made Zildjin shudder.

  Zildjin did not need to be told twice. He scooped Sylandria into his arms and began to leap up the stairs as fast as he could.

  A giant monstrous figure began to rise from the fog.

  Zildjin could see the shadow of the thing growing quickly, rising as fast as he was taking the steps.

  Sylandria moved her hand and whipped open the door at the top of the steps.

  She then turned and brought both hands forward as if gripping Cydas and Drake.

  “Forgive me,” She said, then flung her arms back towards the hall with a grunt of exertion.

  The bodies of both flew through the air unceremoniously, tumbling and skidding down the hall.

  The giant thing let out a roar as its mass and essence were nearing completion. It was a heart-stopping, blood-chilling, roar of great evil that echoed and thundered louder than anything Zildjin had ever before heard.

  “Do not look back,” Sylandria screamed over the roar, “JUST RUN!”