Nature's Servant

by Duncan Pile

  Ferast’s eyes widened as Taurnil ran through his strike and swung at him with his fiery staff. Again, he thrust out his palm, clearly expecting his oily shield to defend him against physical attacks, but Taurnil’s staff shattered it as if it were made of glass and slammed into the dark magician’s chest. Ferast howled as his ribs snapped, collapsing to the floor as pain ripped through his broken torso. He held up a hand once more as Taurnil stepped over him, staff lifted over his head. Dark magic flew from Ferast’s fingers, a panicked reaction that made no sense. That spell had done nothing to Taurnil previously and it did nothing now. Taurnil bared his teeth in a grim parody of a smile and smashed his staff down into Ferast’s face. Blood spattered everywhere as one of his cheek bones shattered.

  Ferast’s eyes widened in disbelief, and thrusting his right hand into a pocket, he rummaged frantically as Taurnil lifted the staff for what was surely going to be a killing blow. Several dark objects tumbled from his pocket as he rummaged. He withdrew his hand, clutching something Gaspi couldn’t make out. Filled with foreboding, Gaspi spun out a magical net and flung it out over him before he could do anything else, but he was too late. The light of magic flared from within Ferast’s fist, and the dark magician disappeared.

  “No!” Gaspi cried, falling to his knees. Ferast had transported out of the arena. Gaspi let go of his power completely, including the shield that kept everyone else away from the arena floor, and within moments feet were pounding across the sand towards them. Loreill left him and moved over to the fire spirit’s frozen form. He was joined by Lilly, who had left Taurnil to do the same, and the air spirit, which had returned from the skies to join its fellows. Gaspi pushed himself to his feet and staggered over to Everand’s body. Emmy reached his side as he fell to his knees again and placed his hands on the prone form of the boy who, against all the odds, had become his friend. But knowing what he’d find, he didn’t have the heart to send his senses into Everand’s body. Instead he looked at Emmy.

  “Is he…?” he asked, pleading.

  “He’s dead,” Emmy said, tears streaming down her face. A loud wail sounded from behind Gaspi.

  “Lydia!” Emmy said, pushing herself to her feet and jogging away to look after her friend, who was kneeling by the block of stone that had once been the fire elemental.

  Gentle hands took him by the shoulders and lifted him to his feet. It was Voltan, searching his face with concern and kindness.

  “Everyone, gather round,” he called to the group from Helioport. “We’re out of here.”

  “Wait,” Gaspi mumbled, walking with leaden feet across the sand to where the dark objects had spilled from Ferast’s pocket. Reaching down, he gathered them up without really looking at them and went back to join Voltan. The others were gathering around now, staring at Everand’s body in shock.

  Voltan levitated the fallen boy over to where Baard also lay on the ground. For a horrible moment, Gaspi thought that Baard might be dead too, but then he saw the giant’s chest rising and falling and knew he was still alive. Voltan flicked his hand in the direction of Bork’s unconscious form, bringing it over to join the other two prostrate bodies.

  “We’ll want to question him,” he said sternly. “Get the fire spirit,” he ordered, and Rimulth moved over to where Lydia was still weeping, clinging to the lump of rock that she had once bonded with. Taurnil knelt next to her, sharing her sorrow. Rimulth spoke to them gently, prising her away from the rock, and started to levitate the elemental’s body.

  “No!” Taurnil said. “I’ll carry it.” Rimulth lowered it back to the ground. Taurnil picked up the heavy stone and re-joining the group, surrounded by the three mourning elementals, who had transformed to bodily form in preparation for transportation.

  “Everyone link up,” Voltan said, and the group reached out as one, making sure everyone was included in the circle.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” a voice insisted. The group turned to face the speaker, and Gaspi realised it was the mayor. He’d been inside the circle of Gaspi’s protective barrier for the duration of the deadly battle with Ferast, but he’d cowered against the magical obstruction, as far away from the fight as he possibly could, and remained unharmed.

  “We’re leaving, right now,” Voltan answered, his voice threatening.

  “You can’t leave!” the mayor said indignantly. “We have to clear up this…fiasco!”

  “No, you have to clear it up,” Voltan said, out of patience. “And if you try and stop me I will be forced to hurt you. Now stand back!”

  The mayor’s eyes widened in shock. “Your chancellor will be hearing from me, and you will not be welcome at the Measure ever again!” Gaspi felt a surge of power, and a force strike flew from among the group, knocking the mayor flat. Voltan looked around in surprise. His gaze landed on Emea, whose hand was still extended, fury reddening her tear-stained face.

  “Thank you Emea,” he said with a brief nod of the head. “Is everyone still connected?” Waiting until each person said they were, Voltan channelled power into the enchanted amulet.

  “Return to Helioport!”

  Sixty-Four

  When they arrived in Hephistole’s study, the chancellor took one look at them and leapt up from behind his desk in alarm. Voltan took him aside, leaving the rest of them to recover from the effects of long-distance transportation. Hephistole listened intently as Voltan rushed through what had happened, stopping him occasionally to ask a question. When the conversation was over, Voltan took the unconscious Bork and transported down to the Atrium.

  “Jaim, can you get Baard to the infirmary?” Hephistole asked quietly.

  “Yes Sir,” Jaim answered, drawing Baard’s unconscious body up into the air with a wave of his hand. He stepped onto the transporter and was gone.

  Hephistole walked slowly over to Everand’s body and knelt down. Tears formed in his vivid green eyes and ran down his face, dripping slowly from the tip of his nose. He stayed there in silence for long moments, and then with a sigh that seemed to come from his very soul, he reached out and closed Everand’s eyes with a gentle hand.

  “Most of you can leave,” Hephistole said, his voice broken and weary. “Gaspi, Taurnil, I need you to stay for just a little while.” He stepped up to Lydia and tilted her chin up, staring into her eyes with deep sympathy. “I’m so sorry my dear,” he said, and Lydia flew into his arms, clinging to him tightly. He stroked her hair gently as she wept. “Emea, Rimulth, would you please look after Lydia?” he asked, passing the weeping gypsy girl to her friends. “I will return Gaspi and Taurnil back to you shortly.”

  “Yes Sir,” Emmy said with a quiet sob of her own. She turned to look for Lilly, but the three remaining elementals had transformed back to spirit form and were encircling the stone corpse of their fallen companion. Loreill whispered quietly into Gaspi’s mind that they had to go away for a while, but that they would be back when they were needed. Understanding that they had to perform whatever rites elementals practiced to say goodbye to the fire spirit, Gaspi returned a mental acknowledgement, too weary to ask questions. The spirits, normally so jewel-bright to the eye, paled until all colour had drained from their forms, and then they were gone, taking the stone corpse of the fire spirit with them. Emmy caught his gaze, showing her understanding, and together with Rimulth, she led Lydia to the transporter. Everyone else left too, leaving just Gaspi and Taurnil alone with the chancellor and Everand’s body. With obvious reverence, Hephistole levitated Everand’s body from the floor and took him around the corner out of sight.

  “Thank you for staying,” Hephistole said when he returned. “Please have a seat.” He busied himself brewing up a pot of tea while they seated themselves. “You are all in shock,” he continued, “and I want you to go to the infirmary as soon as we are done, but some things can’t wait.” He touched the teapot on its top, speeding up the infusion process by magic - something Gaspi knew the chancellor would consider sacrilegious under normal circumstances. He poured eac
h of them a cup and placed it in front of them. “Drink,” he said.

  Gaspi lifted the tea to his lips, and smelt an unfamiliar odour. He hesitated, looking questioningly at Hephistole.

  “It’ll help you relax,” Hephistole said, answering his unspoken question.

  Gaspi took a sip. Within moments, he felt the sharp edges of his mental anguish become more rounded under the tea’s influence, though he still felt raw and bruised in every part of his being. Hephistole met his gaze with his clear, green eyes.

  “Voltan has given me the briefest summary of what happened. Gaspi, can you explain it in your own words? Just the details of your battle with Ferast, if you please. We will discuss other important matters, such as your battle with the Skelkans, another time.”

  Reluctantly, Gaspi began to speak. It felt like he had to dredge up the first few words from a very deep place, but he opened his mouth and forced himself to start nonetheless. He began to retell the battle with Ferast in broken sentences, starting with Ferast’s battle with Everand. He described the dark magician’s unaccountable strength, and how Everand had managed to win the first bout anyway. He talked about the start of the second bout, explaining how Baard had been struck down, and about the cloud that hid them from sight. He paused, struggling to continue.

  “What happened next?” Hephistole asked gently.

  “Everand started to scream,” Gaspi said in quiet horror, remembering the awful moment. “He sounded like he was being tortured, like he couldn’t stand another second of it. I had to act.”

  “It’s called a pain strike,” Hephistole explained. “It is advanced and very powerful neuromancy, illegal in every civilised place where magic is practiced.”

  “I couldn’t stand it,” Gaspi answered. “He had to be stopped, so Taurnil and I and the elementals ran towards the cloud.”

  “Voltan says you stopped anyone else from following you,” Hephistole said.

  “I didn’t want anyone to die,” Gaspi answered, looking uncertainly at Hephistole for some sign that he had done the wrong thing.

  “You did right,” Hephistole responded. “It’s clear from what happened to Everand and the fire spirit that Ferast was willing to deal death. But how did you avoid such a fate yourself?”

  “It was Loreill and Lilly,” he explained. “Loreill entered me and Lilly entered Taurnil, and while they were there, none of Ferast’s dark spells could harm us. I felt the pain strike for a brief moment before Loreill protected me, and it was…unbearable.” Gaspi went cold at the memory of the hideous spell. “I tried to save Everand,” he said, his voice hitching with a sob, “but when the air spirit blew the cloud away, he was already dead.” Gaspi couldn’t restrain his tears any longer, and broke down into loud sobs that seemed to come from his navel and wrack his whole body.

  “I’m so sorry Gaspi,” Hephistole said, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. Taurnil put an arm round him, consoling him quietly with his stalwart presence. “It is my understanding that you two resolved your differences before…it happened,” Hephistole said.

  “That’s right,” he said, looking up with eyes awash with tears. “He apologised and we put it all behind us. I think it was really hard for him to say sorry.”

  “It would have been,” Hephistole responded. “He was a proud boy, but a good one deep down.” Gaspi started to sob again, and no-one said anything for several minutes while he continued to cry. Slowly, he regained control of himself and Taurnil withdrew his arm. “I’m sorry to have to ask you, but please continue,” Hephistole said, lifting his hand from his shoulder.

  Gaspi sighed, forcing himself to relive the fight. “I attacked Ferast with lightning and then with fire, but he had some sort of shield that blocked it.”

  “You were trying to kill him?” Hephistole asked.

  “Yes!” he said defensively. “He needed to be stopped, and if he could, he would have killed me and Taurnil.”

  “I’m sorry, I spoke clumsily,” Hephistole said placatingly. “I completely agree that you had no choice, and admire you for having the courage to do what was right. I was just reflecting that few in your position would have had the strength to do what you did.”

  “Oh, sorry,” Gaspi mumbled, embarrassed.

  “There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Hephistole said gently. “It is difficult to talk about this so soon, but it must be done. Will you carry on?”

  He nodded, and when Hephistole didn’t say anything more, he continued. “Ferast’s shield held even when I poured all my strength into breaking it. It went black and solid like a kind of shell when I used fire, and even when the fire spirit joined in, he just hid behind it and we couldn’t touch him. I let the fire spirit keep him busy while I went to try and help Taurnil out. He finished Bork off and we were about to attack Ferast again when he dropped his shield and cast a death strike at the fire spirit.”

  Gaspi paused for a moment, wondering if there was anything he could have done to save the elemental, but it was useless thinking like that, and he forced himself to shrug it off.

  “I could feel Loreill’s panic,” he continued. “He wanted to protect the fire spirit, but he couldn’t leave me or I’d be vulnerable too. Lilly tried to get there but it was too late.” Gaspi carried on quickly, not wanting to dwell on that painful memory. “Ferast tried to kill Taurnil with another death strike, but Lilly got there in time and we were both protected from the worst of what he could do.”

  “We fought him like we would any other magician after that. Taurnil was leading, and his staff turned out to be the best weapon we had. Something about the dark magic Ferast was using activated the demon-bane enchantment, and his shield shattered as soon as the staff touched it. Taurnil hurt him badly, broke his ribs and smashed his face up. One more blow and he’d have been dead, but Ferast had some kind of transporter in his robes and got out of there before we could finish him off. Now he’s out there, recovering somewhere,” Gaspi finished, weariness overwhelming the anger he knew he would feel later on.

  “Thank you Gaspi,” Hephistole said quietly. “Voltan tells me you collected something that fell out of Ferast’s pocket.”

  “Yeah,” he answered, reaching into his robes and pulling out the three dark objects that Ferast had dropped before transporting out of the arena. “I don’t know what they are,” he said, holding them out to Hephistole. Gaspi stared at the strange objects, taking in their appearance for the first time. They were crystalline, about the size of his palm, and though they absorbed all light without giving off a reflection, they contained movement, as if dark clouds roiled within them, disturbed by shifting energies. They reeked of power, and of death.

  “Put them down please Gaspi,” Hephistole said calmly, but Gaspi could tell by his tone of voice that he was tense. He placed them in the centre of the small table, and the chancellor held a hand in the air above them, his eyes closed as he inspected them with his magical senses. After the briefest moment, he withdrew his hand and opened his eyes, looking deeply troubled.

  “They are focii,” he said. “They capture the powerful energies released by intense suffering, and are created in the moment of the sufferer’s death. This is very dark magic indeed.”

  Gaspi was horrified at the implications of what Hephistole was saying. “So Ferast tortured and killed three more people to get these…focii?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Hephistole said gravely. “They are used to enhance the spell caster’s natural power, which explains the great increase in his strength, but I suggest he has killed many more than three people.”

  “What makes you say that?” Gaspi asked, his horror intensified by the revelation. How did the boy he’d once shared a classroom with turn into such a monster?

  “Because I suspect that those black strikes you described, the one that killed the fire spirit, were a direct release of the death energies contained in a single focii. These three are still full of power, and I have to assume they are unused. He would have used up the strength contain
ed in other focii during his previous matches, and maintaining his shield against your powerful attacks would have absorbed a lot of power too. I think we have to assume he had numerous focii on him throughout the tournament.”

  “I wish we’d killed him,” Taurnil stated flatly, speaking for the first time since they’d been alone with Hephistole.

  “It may certainly have been better if you had,” Hephistole said, “but in all honesty, I am just grateful you are alive. The death of one boy is already far too high a price to pay.”

  “And one elemental,” Gaspi said quietly.

  “Yes, and one elemental,” Hephistole repeated softly. He sat up straight. “I think that’s enough for now,” he said in brisker tones. “Please go straight to the infirmary and have yourselves seen to. It would be a service to me if you would refrain from speaking to anyone about what we have discussed, and it would be better if the other students did not hear any more than they have to about Everand’s death. I will address the college in a few days’ time and make an official announcement. Until that time, please look after each other.”

  They both nodded, not knowing what else there was to say. As they stood to leave, Hephistole spoke to them once more.

  “Taurnil, no-one knows what happens to someone who has been soul-bound to a spirit and then had that bond broken. Lydia will need extra special care, and please remember, my door is always open.”

  “Thanks,” Taurnil answered gratefully, and they walked to the transporter. Stepping on, Gaspi placed a hand on Taurnil’s shoulder.

  “Atrium,” he said, and they were magicked from the room.

  Sixty-Five

  Wild energies ripped at Ferast, stretching and then compressing him with such violence he had no sense of where or even who he was. Even the pain of his injuries meant nothing to him in the context of the total disorientation he felt. When he came back to himself, his face was pressed against the cold marble of a transporter plinth, and memory returned. He was in Sestin’s tower, transported out of the Measure and sent back to his master. With his memory came pain, erupting from the injuries in his face and chest. Broken bones jutted into vulnerable flesh, causing him white hot spikes of agony with every tiny movement.