by D. B. Penner
The room was full of excited incantations, but nothing moved. Art tried the spell over and over, but no change in the stone occurred. As Bottleleaf approached Art, he nervously shouted the spell. The stone shook slightly, but did not rise above the desk.
“Splendid!” Bottleleaf exclaimed, making a mark on his list. Watching Will expectantly, the mage readied his list. “Show me now what you can accomplish, William.”
Will sighed and stared at the small stone. Out of the corner of his eye, Will glimpsed Ogdin sneering at him. At the sight of Ogdin’s arrogant mouth stretched wide in a malevolent leer, Will felt his rage rise once again, his eyes glowing red; however, before his energy surged out of control, Will forced his mind to focus on the task at hand.
With a loud crack and a fizzle of sparks, the stone rose and wobbled inches above the desk. With a blink, Will regained control of his mind. The beast growled contentedly as it relinquished control. With a resounding smack, the stone struck the desk, smoldering slightly.
“Amazing, truly amazing! Certainly more advanced than the others. Good work. Remain after class, William, I have a special prize for you,” Bottleleaf said excitedly before scurrying away to judge another recruit.
Will felt as if he had been punched in the stomach as the magic took its toll. Art looked at Will enviously. “For what purpose do you cast jealous eyes towards me?” Will asked. “I can’t control it properly and I’m not doing any of this on purpose. The feeling, it’s unsettling,” Will said exasperatedly, rubbing his belly gingerly.
“I should be quite disturbed myself should I find myself wielding a mystic power, and everything I pissed on turned to gold.”
“I’m not wielding it, whatever it is. If anything, it’s using me as a conduit to act on its will.” Art laughed at the double entandre, causing Will to smile. “Be careful,” Will threatened, “I’ve half a mind to piss on your boots and prove once and for all I’m not the alchemist you claim I am.”
“Master Stormhand, your prize.” Class was over. Most of the recruits had departed disappointed, having not met the requirements of the exam. Unaffected by the other recruits’ lack of success, Bottleleaf smiled brightly at Will. “Here, hand me your sword,” Bottleleaf demanded, humorously over-pronouncing the ‘w.’
The balding mage carefully inspected the weapon and said, “This sword has been enchanted quite thoroughly already. I am afraid there is not much else I could do to improve its quality. Dwarven steel, I believe it is. Is there another item you wish to imbue with magic? Forgive my boast, but I am rather adept in the art of enchantments.”
Will thought for a moment, but he already knew what he wanted magically restored.
“Art,” he shouted to his friend as the latter retreated through the door in the back of the room. “Can you mend this?” Will asked, indicating his friend’s worn battleaxe.
“I can do that and more,” Bottleleaf declared. He ran his smooth hands across the weapon for a moment asking, “Are you sure, William?” Will nodded his confirmation.
Bottleleaf’s eyes rolled back as his lips formed soundless words. The axe glowed silver, then returned to its original color, black. It was fully repaired. The long scratches and rust stains had disappeared from the axe’s cool surface. It glittered and shone as Art picked it up gingerly.
“The head will never rust, break, or scratch again. Nor will the edge ever dull,” Bottleleaf said, praising his work.
“Thank you, both of you,” Art smiled, gaping at the weapon in his hands as if he had never held anything so precious.
“Go boys, or you’ll be late for your next exam. I’ll see you both tomorrow,” Bottleleaf waved them out the door.
“I owe you my thanks, Will. I’m sorry for my jealousy; my farm boy japes were-”
“Not taken to heart,” Will interrupted, thumping his friend on the back. They made their way down the stairs and outside into the warm autumn air. Approaching the other students, Will’s stomach growled violently, and he remembered that he hadn’t eaten that morning.
“Here we are, Masters Stormhand and Tableground, I presume,” a broad man chortled in a booming voice. His sideburns were long and thick, extending to the corners of his mouth; his black hair was shaved short; and his bright, merry eyes and a large, round nose made him look the part of an odd but lovable character. His name was Alan Wadsworth Bloomington the third, simply Worth for short. He wore a large, worn fur coat that was much too big even for a man his size and a belt that consisted of various tools and bulging pouches. He had a dry sense of humor yet, at the same time, he seemed perpetually entertained, beginning to explain the exam parameters as if they were the rules to his favorite game.
“Your first task is to befriend a red-banded griffin. These are a rare subspecies of the vicious dwarf griffin; so be careful, even though they have relatively mild dispositions,” Worth said, smiling. Will looked at Art nervously. “Then, presumably having made progress in the first task, you must protect a griffin egg from three ravenous egg-goblins,” he informed them happily, indicating a large cage.
The goblins shrieked from behind the steel bars. Their hands reached towards the students as if they would throttle one of them if they could only reach. Their tough hides were a stomach-turning green. Their noses were long as were their pointed ears. The goblins gnawed at the bars with sharp teeth, and Will looked upon them with revulsion, for they were hideous creatures.
“They aren’t as big as their cousins, who prefer meat to eggs, but let one get too close and you’ll find yourself wishing you hadn’t,” the professor cautioned with a grin.
The wary recruits followed Worth as he led them around a small shed and simultaneously gasped. There, at least seventy griffins were tethered to wooden fences, each in its individual stall. Gazing at the impossibility of the creatures with lion-like bodies, the heads of eagles with razor sharp beaks, and massive wings that when folded looked like small tents, Will was stunned. They varied in color and size; however, each had a stripe of red plumage spanning its powerful wings. They, in stark contrast to the goblins, were absolutely gorgeous. Dumbstruck, Will stared in wonder at the majestic animals.
“Go ahead, find one, and begin your exam,” Worth said jovially. The students rushed forward to pick a griffin. Will didn’t know how he would befriend such a proud beast, but he would do whatever it took to make a griffin like him.
Will now stood before the most fearsome griffin, riddled with scars on its feline body. All of the other students had avoided it, but Will was drawn to its unique stature, perhaps it was the alpha of the group; Will noted that it held its head higher and prouder than the rest. Its black plumage was broken only by the red stripe. It peered at Will with sharp, yellow eyes and clacked its serrated beak. Will shed his fear of the royal beast, approaching the griffin with no clue as to how to befriend it. He could do nothing but admire the griffin. Seeing no logical way to honor the beast, Will knelt before the griffin’s enormous talons.
Rise. Will stood and looked around to see who had spoken; the voice sounded close. It is I who should bow before your celebrated lineage, Furialist. The griffin knelt gracefully, tapping Will’s dirty boots lightly with its powerful beak. Will looked frightened and took a step back, confused. The mysterious voice laughed, and the griffin before Will clicked its beak, amused. Here, I am the one talking to you. I assume you have never conversed through the mental link. Will shook his head in disbelief. It was the griffin speaking to him!
You have much to learn, but there is great potential inside you, anyone can sense that. The power at your disposal is unlike any I have felt in all my years at this school. It is strange and unfamiliar to me, and yet I feel as though you have already become accustomed to it. You and your people are unique, Furialist, in that you do not need to access a foreign source to summon your magic. Your power is inherent, flooding throughout you, though you may not notice as that is how you are always.
“But, how? Good Lord of Griffins, if you know anything of m
y inner strength, please explain that at which you hint. What is this power? My father would not tell me,” Will asked aloud.
The link between him and the griffin grew uncomfortable as the creature picked through his memories, learning everything about him. Several recruits looked around to stare at Will. He must have looked very strange talking to a beast about his father.
Ah, now I see, the griffin sighed in Will’s head. You are the Brightflame, yet you are confused and ill informed. Bless you, for you are as innocent as you are brave. I may as well start from the beginning. You wish me to lift the veil and lay all bare? Very well, this courtesy I will do you. It is safer now to know what you are than it is to live blind to the knowledge.
You are one of the last of your kind, a remnant of a once proud and powerful people. Natural magicians of sorts, they could manipulate fire and speak to beasts. They excelled in many professions but felt most at home hunting and fighting for their lives on the battlefields of Gammalgard. Skills in this area made them valuable mercenaries, and quickly they became the wealthy and uncontested rulers of a large nation in the far north. These great warriors were called the Furialists. This is the story of their beginnings.
Once a long time ago, the elves, dwarves, dragons, and other sentient creatures of this land lived in relative peace. For a thousand years this peace flourished and with it, arts and architectures such of such wonder the world has not seen since. When a previously obscure tribe of nomadic men came to this land from the Southern Shores, this age of peace was broken.
The nomads carved out a territory of their own, slaying many elves and forcing more from their homes. In reaction, the elves took revenge. After winning a decisive victory over the Dinadun, as the tribe called themselves, the elves attempted to forge peaceful relations with them, believing their enemy defeated, but the fierce tribes refused their offers of amity. Dinadun tribesmen rallied the dwarves to their side with deceit and propaganda, leading a conquest to drive the elves away from the newly conquered Dinadun lands. The quick-breeding men of the Southern Shores and their dwarven contingents heavily outnumbered the resisting forces. The Dinadun won battle after battle, slaughtering every elf man they could. Sustaining such heavy losses, the elven army was soon decimated, and the few male elves that survived were hunted down without mercy. Without mates, the elven nation toppled, and the remainder of that long-lived people retreated into the depths of Mor Forest.
The Dinadun had won, creating an oppressive dictatorship they called the Empire. The Empire expanded in every direction, thriving for centuries. Thriving that is until a Furialist army marched against them.
I am not certain as to how the Furialists came to be, but their army, wielding fire and flame, emerged from Mor Forest laying waste to any Imperial town in its path.
Fortunately, the emergence of the Furialists forced a break in the chain of cruel emperors, providing opportunity for the ascent of Jason the Piper of Glen. He made peace with the elves and ceded land to preserve what was left of that people. In those times, he was the light that guided the Empire out of its Dark Age. Moving into the far north past even dwarven lands, Furialist populations grew to become ranked among the most powerful races of the land.
However, their reign in the north was not to last. The Liberator of Shadows emerged as a threat to the Empire, ending the harmony between all races. He discovered and manipulated five exiled Furialist soldiers and incorporated them into his Liberated Army. The Five led the Shadow Liberator to their people’s hidden cities, betraying the Furialists to him. The Five watched as the army of Liberated Shadows marched into their people’s lands and razed cities to the ground, nearly wiping out the entire race. Precious few survived, one of whom was your father. Whether by luck or destiny, he escaped the carnage and joined the Emperor’s campaign against the Liberator of Shadows.
“My father? So this is what we are? Our power is because I am Furialist?” Will asked, confused. “What does this mean?”
Yes, the griffin said, and two of the last. Apart from your father and the Five, none have been seen for decades. Take heart, however, in knowing more live on in secret places in the far north. Of course, you are not full Furialist because you mother is of Dinadun descent. All the same, you have an aura of great destiny about you. I have a feeling that you are the one who leads your people back from imminent extinction.
“How can you know all this?”
The griffin snorted amusedly, We griffins have a knack for knowing history and all that goes on around us.
“Answer me this then, Lord Griffin, how did you know who I was?”
I did not know who, only what, Brightflame. You bear the Mark of the Furialist; it distinguishes you as one of their kind. Anybody who recognizes the Mark can know you. Beyond that, I knew naught. Only by searching your mind did I discover your identity beyond your Mark.
“What mark?” Will looked at himself, searching for a brand setting him apart from the other students. “And why is he called the Liberator of Shadows? I thought liberation was a good thing.”
That, of course, is a matter of perspective. He has dubbed himself the Liberator of Shadows because of his deeds and intentions. He seeks to liberate and release a sleeping evil into the world. In his mission, the Shadow Liberator has wrought destruction and performed despicable acts against all the peoples of Gammalgard.
And as for the Mark, another day, Brightflame, we shall save that knowledge for another day, griffin said calmly. Worth paced past Will with a checklist in his large hands. But about this exam, you have excelled in the first part. The second bit of this exam would be tricky, but I sense that you carry a magical item on your person. Will fingered the hilt of his sword, hanging at his hip. Yes, that sword contains one of the only dangers the goblins will perceive. Brute violence won’t work, unless you manage to kill them all. However, luckily for you, goblins are particularly intolerant of magic. They cower at the very thought of magic in any form. If you simply draw your weapon as they approach, they should run off.
Thank you, Lord Griffin… For showing me my past, Will thought, reaching out with his mind to conjoin contemplation with the creature. It was an outlandish feeling, crossing the void before making contact. Will sensed vast space, empty yet whole, separating them. Once he brushed against the griffin’s mind, however, he felt at ease, allowing the creature’s thoughts to join and blend with his own. The process, though strange, was not altogether unpleasant, like an unlearned skill that came naturally.
It would appear that I have not only granted you the boon of knowledge, but also unveiled a talent. I am pleased for you learn quickly, young Brightflame. You may call me Glidar.
Why do you call me Brightflame? I am Stormhand, Will Stormhand.
No man is his father. You are the Brightflame and the sole master of your unique destiny. The choices you face are your own to answer; no man, not your father nor any other, can do this for you.
Will reflected on the griffin’s words. My father said something akin to that before I left home. ‘Soon, we will part ways, and you will become your own man.’
Your father was wrong, Brightflame; you have always been your own man.
Will paused to think on these words. After a time, he returned his focus to the present and took note of his surroundings.
I have a favor to ask of you, Glidar.
I can read your thoughts; I know what you would ask of me. Which is he?
That boy with the brown hair, before the speckled griffin, Will said, pointing at Art, who was seated upon the ground attempting to scrawl a message in the dirt. He doesn’t seem to be making progress. Is there any way you could try to help him?
If he is worthy, help will be bestowed upon him. The griffin clicked its beak two times and issued a low whistled. The speckled griffin raised its wings in acknowledgement. Your friend, he is going to be fine. They cannot communicate as we can, via the mental link, but Graybreeze will assist him.
The griffin Graybreeze bowed low, tapping Ar
t’s message with its beak. Startled, Art shook his head and stared wildly at the griffin. Will chuckled.
Practicing his new ability, Will conversed with Glidar until Worth called time. “Alright, who has the stones to try first? Stormhand, prove to me that beyond your father’s name, you’re worth the trouble of teaching you,” Worth said not unpleasantly.
Will chuckled to himself at the irony. Feeling butterflies only momentarily, he shrugged off his nerves and hopped the fence surrounding the goblins’ cage and the griffin’s egg.
Grasping the hilt of his sword, Will stood in front of the egg, waiting. Worth casually opened the lock on the cage. The three hideous goblins leapt out of it. They sniffed the air noisily and tiptoed towards Will as if he could not see them already. Will laughed at their foolishness; they were obviously not clever creatures. At his laugh, they froze and bent low to the ground.
Whatever they lacked in brains was more than compensated for by their speed, for they were undeniably agile and quick. The goblins surrounded Will as best they could and made their move. The shortest and fattest of the three went straight for the egg while the other two bounded toward Will. They had long legs and now stood tall as they bared sharp teeth at Will.