by Duncan Pile
Bork counter-attacked, lashing out at Baard with a vicious sweep of his broadsword. Baard caught the stroke on the haft of his axe, the two weapons clashing with an almighty clang. Much as he hated to do it, Everand had to leave Baard to deal with the mercenary. If Bork was strong enough to keep the giant busy, he couldn’t focus his attack through him as he preferred, and would have to go head to head with Ferast.
Even as Everand prepared to throw a strike at his former friend, Ferast drew deeply on his power, summoning a strike twice the size of anything Everand could manage, and flicked it at him. Knowing it was hopeless to try and summon a shield against it, Everand dived to the side, trying to get out of its way. At the same time, he threw a counter-strike at Ferast’s feet, trying to knock him off balance. He almost got out of the way of Ferast’s strike, but it was so large that its spinning circumference struck him on the shoulder. It hit him like a team of charging horses, spinning him across the ground, bruising his shoulders and ribs. When he came to a stop, he pushed himself to his hands and knees, breathing raggedly. How did Ferast get so powerful? He didn’t even think Gaspi could manage a strike like that!
Everand tensed as he stood up, expecting another strike to land and finish him off, but nothing happened. Turning around, he saw Ferast just standing there, his eyes full of menace and his hands full of power. With a jerk of his head that could only mean “come and get it,” Ferast revealed his intentions, and Everand went cold all over. His former friend meant to hurt him, and to drag the pain out for as long as possible.
He glanced over at Baard to see how he was faring against Bork. If Baard could fight alongside him they might just stand a chance, but Baard was still struggling against the ferocious attacks of his adversary, blood dripping from several cuts on his arms. Seeing that he wouldn’t be getting any help from that quarter, Everand squared his shoulders and advanced. He knew he was seriously outclassed, but he had to try.
He broke into a sprint. Ferast flicked another mammoth strike at him but Everand dodged to the side. It passed his right ear, making a noise like roaring flame. He wove to the right, another strike missing him by inches. Closing on Ferast, he drew deep from the well of his own spirit to form a soul-strike. If he was going to beat Ferast it’d have to be all or nothing. He’d never formed one before but instinct took over, and he felt the core of his energy siphoned off into a powerful strike. Energy sizzled around his fists, forming two balls of blazing red light. Breaking to the left he tumbled into a roll, barely dodging another strike that flew over his head and made his hair stand on end as it passed. He threw the left hand of the strikes first, and as he expected, Ferast drew up a shield and blocked it, but the second the shield dissipated, he threw the other, flinging it at his former friend with all the speed he could muster.
The blazing red soul strike spun through the short space between him and Ferast and slammed into the scrawny boy’s chest, throwing him to his back, where he twitched and writhed uncontrollably. Spinning around, Everand drew up the simplest of strikes and attacked Bork with it. The mercenary was facing the other way and never saw it coming, and when it hit him in the small of his back he went sprawling onto his face. Baard reversed his axe and bashed him over the head with the haft, knocking him unconscious.
“WINNER: EVERAND!” the mayor shouted, and the crowd surged to its feet all around the arena, cheering and shouting his name. Everand turned full circle, taking it in. He couldn’t stop smiling. After the first of Ferast’s strikes, he’d never believed he would win the bout, but somehow he’d made it through the barrage of spells and beaten the more powerful magician on agility and quick thinking. His smile faltered slightly when he thought about how much energy he’d used on the soul strikes, but it had definitely been worth it. If he and Baard could just stick together in the second bout they still had a chance of winning. He’d get Baard to charge at Ferast and he’d try to close out the fight in the first few seconds.
The healers had finished tending to Baard and came over to heal his bruises. Everand let them go about their business, the cooling waves of their magic soothing his aches and pains until he felt physically whole once again. He thanked them and walked over to Baard.
“Take Ferast out as soon as the bout begins,” he whispered urgently. “I’ll shield you.”
“Aye,” Baard consented.
“TAKE YOUR PLACES!” the mayor shouted, and they entered the enchanted circle of light. “BEGIN!”
Everand drew everything he had and channelled it into Baard. The soul strikes he’d cast in the previous bout had left him weakened, but if they could pull off a quick victory it wouldn’t matter. As planned, Baard lifted his double-bladed axe and charged at Ferast, yelling furiously as he ran. The magic Everand was channelling into the giant’s armour surrounded him with a nimbus of power, making him look like a warrior out of legend. Everand’s hopes soared as he saw that Ferast was rooted to the spot, directly in the path of the charging warrior. Maybe he’d frozen up in fear or indecision. Just a few more seconds and it’d be over! His hopes were shattered by a single flick of Ferast’s finger. It was the tiniest of gestures, done almost casually, and all of a sudden Baard doubled over like he’d been kicked by a mule. The giant fell to the floor, clutching his chest. His mouth opened and shut but no sound came out, the veins in his neck and forehead standing out in stark relief.
Everand let go of his power and stared in horror at the writhing warrior. Something was seriously wrong. He had to get him to the healers as soon as possible. Looking to the mayor, he lifted his hands in surrender, or at least he tried to, but they wouldn’t obey him, dangling loosely at his sides. Lifting his head, he stared into the eyes of hatred. Ferast leered at him malevolently, a slow smile of anticipation spreading over his face as his eyes gleamed with a feral light. He gesticulated magisterially and a dark cloud gathered around them, enveloping him completely.
Panicking, Everand spun around, trying to get his bearings, but all he could see were dull glints of red, flashing within the swelling murk, giving the cloud a sullen, diffuse glow.
“Hello Rand,” Ferast’s voice said in his ear, and before he could say or do anything he was completely immobilised, like a fly stuck in a spider’s web. “Here’s a little taste of what I’ve been learning,” the voice said.
Filled with icy dread, Everand opened his mouth to speak, but then he was struck by a wave of agony so excruciating he couldn’t even make a sound. Every nerve ending felt as if it was on fire, his veins pounding with unbearable pain so intense he thought his heart would explode. Finally he found his voice, a scream venting from his open mouth like steam from a boiling kettle. But the screaming didn’t help. It didn’t relieve the pain that even now was causing his mind to strain at the seams. If had to stop. If it didn’t he knew he would die.
It carried on and on for what seemed like forever, every moment more unbearable than the one that came before. Everand felt his mind spinning out of control, desperate to escape but finding no way out, so it spun faster and faster, banging against the walls of his sanity until they finally burst open. For one lucid moment he saw himself from a distance, his palpitating heart and fragile mind gripped by an iron fist.
“Time to die,” the voice said, and the fist tightened, crushing everything that he had once been. And then there was nothing…
Sixty-Three
Gaspi watched as Everand defeated Ferast in the first bout, stunned by the athletic skill and daring spell-work that led to such an unexpected victory. He cheered along with everyone else and told himself his fears were unfounded. If Ferast was going to do any real harm he would have done it by now. When the second bout began he stood up in excitement as Baard charged at Ferast, limbed in the golden glow of magic like a god of war. If the shield held, they would win!
One flick of a finger. That’s all it took for Gaspi to know his worst fears were becoming a reality. He gripped the rail in front of him as Baard fell over, clutching his chest. He shouted for the fight to
be stopped, but the mayor didn’t hear him, frozen to the spot with a look of stupefied surprise on his face. Another motion of Ferast’s arm shrouded him and Everand in concealing cloud. Gaspi gripped the rail harder, his mind desperately scrabbling for the best thing to do. When the scream sounded from within the cloud, he couldn’t wait for the mayor to act any longer. He vaulted over the barrier and ran across the sand, power surging through him. He was dimly aware of Taurnil running beside him, and all four elementals speeding by his side in spirit form. He knew the others would join in too, but that would put them in danger. He was the only one who had any chance of stopping Ferast. Reaching out with power, he summoned a magical barrier behind him so that no-one could follow. He tied it into the deep sources of energy flowing through the ground, and it sat over the arena like a giant, upturned bowl. There was no way he was going to let Emmy, Lydia, Voltan or anyone else get killed.
Everand’s scream continued, a pain-blasted cry of horror that was unbearable to listen to, and as they ran, Taurnil’s staff flared into life, limbed in blue fire. In a flash it all made sense. Ferast wasn’t just more powerful now - he was using dark magic.
Everand’s screaming stopped with shocking suddenness, and Gaspi desperately clung to the hope that he was only unconscious. Lighting crackled around his fists as he prepared to attack, but the cloud was still obscuring everything - Baard and Everand were still in there, and he might kill one of them with a poorly aimed strike.
“WIND!” he shouted, commanding the air spirit, which started to glow with a fearsome light. Within moments, the cloud was whipped away by a mighty gale, revealing a tableau directly from Gaspi’s nightmares. Everand lay on the floor, his face frozen in a mask of horror, eyes and mouth open in a way no living person could ever emulate. Baard too lay on the ground, though whether he was still alive or not, Gaspi couldn’t tell. Bork stood at Ferast’s side, unhurt, his face as expressionless as it always was. Ferast looked up as he approached, his fists surrounded by great glowering balls of energy polluted by whatever dark source he drew his power from.
“Taurnil, take Bork!” Gaspi shouted, and formed the rampant energies crackling around his hands into a single, focussed point and struck out at Ferast. The lightning lanced out at the speed of thought, striking the dark magician and throwing him backwards across the sand, but Gaspi was chagrined to see that he was back on his feet in moments; somehow he had avoided what should have been inevitable death. Peering at him, Gaspi saw he was surrounded by a faint, oily layer of magic that had to be some kind of shield. The force of the strike had knocked him over but the lightning itself hadn’t touched him. Swallowing anxiously, Gaspi drew on his power again, preparing to strike with fire.
Fixing him with eyes that shone with malevolence, Ferast threw one of the glowering balls of dark power before Gaspi had a chance to strike out at him. He drew up his strongest shield, which stopped the strike but such was the power of Ferast’s spell that it was destroyed in the process. When the second ball of dark energy followed in its wake, he didn’t have time to defend against it and it slammed directly into his gut. Agony shot through him like a thousand darts, shredding his nerves and taking control of every last inch of his body and soul.
Falling to the ground, Gaspi shrieked uncontrollably. He was powerless! His mind was so blasted by dark magic he couldn’t even think! And then, blessedly, a wave of cool, healing power washed the pain away like a gentle tide. It was Loreill, entering his body in spirit form and flooding him with elemental power. Gaspi slowly stood up, shaking in shock, but although Ferast’s spell still raged darkly against him, it crashed up against Loreill’s gentle presence and fell away again, unable to touch him.
Thanking Loreill, he drew on the abundant heat contained in the diffuse sunlight and struck out at Ferast with a beam of solid fire. It shot through the air at the scrawny magician, but Ferast held his own arm out in defence, and the beam stopped when it reached him, curling around the edges of the oily shield that served as his protection. Gaspi drew more deeply on the great reservoir of his magic, summoning so much energy he felt like he might come apart at the seams. The beam of fire intensified, burning so hotly he had to shield his eyes. The fire spirit moved past him, extending arms of pure flame and throwing its own strength into the attack.
Even when attacked from two sources, Ferast’s shield still held. It lost its oily, opaque quality and hardened into a solid looking, pitch-black casing, and though he couldn’t counterattack while it protected him, neither could he be struck down. After a few moments, Gaspi dropped the attack, not wanting to drain himself to the point where he couldn’t continue to fight. The fire elemental continued to attack however, keeping Ferast immobilised within his dark shield. Gaspi glanced over to see how Taurnil was doing against Bork.
Bork was a ferocious fighter, his sword-work fast and deadly, but Taurnil was fuelled by rage and was fighting out of his skin. Every attack the mercenary launched against him was met with an equally violent response, and the enchantments imbued in his staff made Taurnil’s blows hard for Bork to defend against. Bork stepped forward and unleashed a brutal slash at Taurnil’s head, but he blocked it with a vertical hold and, before the mercenary could react, smashed the top of his staff down against his head. Staggering backwards, Bork spread his arms to try and keep his balance, stumbling like a drunken sailor. He shook his head to try and clear it, but his eyes remained unfocussed. Taurnil stepped in and punched him hard under the ribs, and as Bork doubled he met Taurnil’s knee speeding up towards his face. With a sickening crunch of bone, his nose and cheek bones shattered and the mercenary slumped to the floor, unconscious.
Taurnil stalked away from his fallen enemy and joined Gaspi, his eyes alight with the fire of justice. Ferast was still encased in his dark shield, battling against the onslaught of the fire spirit, but Gaspi could tell from the diminishing power of its fiery attack that the elemental was flagging.
“Shall I attack him?” Taurnil asked.
“No!” Gaspi answered emphatically. They had no idea what kind of dark magic had formed that shield, and there was no way he was going to expose Taurnil to it if he had any other choice. Before he could come up with an idea, the fire spirit’s stream of flame stuttered and came to a halt. The shield surrounding Ferast’s body cracked and fell to the floor, and a dark shape flew from within it, aimed right at the fire spirit. Gaspi could feel Loreill’s panic as the blackened, globular strike flew through the air, but the spirit wouldn’t leave him to protect the fire elemental. Lilly tried to reach it, but she was too far away to get there in time. It collided with the fire spirit, which froze on impact, hardening into a solid form and crashing to the ground like a rock.
A wail of anguish emanated from the other spirits, vibrating through the air like the sound of a thousand horns, and the air spirit dove for Ferast, surrounded by fierce storm winds. Loreill screamed through the bond, telling the air spirit to flee, and Gaspi understood in that moment that only Lilly and Loreill, whose spiritual essence were health and well-being personified, had natural protection against whatever destructive spell Ferast had cast. The air spirit was vulnerable to attack, but in its fury and suffering it was placing itself in mortal danger. Instinctively, he understood that it would have to obey him where it wouldn’t listen to Loreill.
“FLEE!” he cried, reaching out to its enraged mind with his own, and although it hated to do so, it shot up into the sky and was gone.
Ferast stepped away from the broken shards of his shield and whipped his forearm in Taurnil’s direction, another pitch black strike flicking from his fingers and speeding through the air. With a thought, Gaspi directed Lilly to protect him, and a blur of blue light flew towards his best friend, disappearing inside his body. The strike hit him but dissipated with no effect. Gaspi’s terrified heart unclenched when he saw that Taurnil was safe. That had been way too close!
“What are those things?” Ferast spat angrily, drawing power into his hands. Understanding that his dea
dly arsenal of dark spells would have no effect on Gaspi or Taurnil while the spirits were protecting them, he was forced to resort to standard combat strikes.
“Something purer and better than you’ll ever know,” Gaspi answered, burning with cold fury. “Taurn, take the lead,” he said, falling into combat formation as Voltan had taught them. If Ferast’s dark powers couldn’t harm them, this was a straight up battle against a very strong mage, but one who’d lost his warrior.
Taurnil stepped forward, the blazing blue fire that surrounded his staff intensifying as he neared the dark magician. Gaspi’s fists crackled with lightning once again. He hadn’t been able to penetrate Ferast’s shield with either lightning or fire, but the lightning strike at least had the strength to knock him off balance with sheer force, and however strong Ferast was, his shields would eventually weaken as he tired.
He thrust out a finger and lightning lanced out. The dark magician’s shields stopped it as before, but Ferast was thrown from his feet. Gaspi could tell from the shield’s response that Ferast was weaker than he had been previously. He struck out with lightning once again, catching him hard as he scrambled to his feet. The shields were weakened even further this time, tested to the utmost by a strike that would fry any other magician on the spot. Sensing victory, Gaspi threw out another lightning bolt and tapped Taurnil on the shoulder.
“Finish it!” he said, and Taurnil leapt forwards, brandishing his fiery staff before him. Gaspi figured that if the enchantments in Taurnil’s staff had been activated by Ferast’s dark magic, the staff might have the power to crush his defences too. The dark magician lifted himself to his feet, his head snapping up urgently as Taurnil ran at him, a hoarse battle cry sounding from his open lips. With a look of alarm, he drew up a force strike that would flatten a house, and flung it at Taurnil with a sharp flick of his wrist, but Gaspi had already shielded him and the strike dissipated without even slowing the charging warrior.