Heirs of Prophecy

by M. A. Rothman

  Silver, who’d been curled up in the corner of the kitchen, suddenly stood up, tail swishing spasmodically, and let out a deep growl.

  Throll’s gaze immediately flashed to the cat and to the front door Silver was staring at. The ranger turned to the girls, who were in the kitchen, and said, “Barricade yourself, I have a bad feeling.”

  Sloane rushed to get the baby as Gwen handed Throll his sword and Mom brought out the spare flagons of milk.

  As the women still-sleeping baby left for the cold storage, Ryan beat a message to his father into his ring, bidding him return from the smithy.

  Throll strapped his sword to his waist, adjusted his chestplate, and walked out the front door with Ryan and Silver chasing after him.

  Aaron and Ohaobbok rushed in from the nearby field where they’d been sparring and everyone took their appointed places on all four sides of the farmhouse. Throll had been worrying about the possibility of a multi-pronged attack.

  Just as Ryan found his mark, a ball of darkness began forming about fifty feet away, next to the road that skirted the farm.

  A strong smell of sulfur wafted by on the breeze as the amorphous cloud of darkness crackled with lightning and fire. As fear crept up Ryan’s spine, the ball collapsed in on itself, leaving in its wake a young man in a red robe with a familiar insignia. He was handsome—his face youthful, his eyes kind—but he projected an aura of darkness, the very air around him shimmering a bluish-black.

  “Greetings,” the man said, his voice warm and rich. “My name is Azazel. I fear that I’ve intruded on your happy home, so I’ll impose upon your time with only a few simple questions.”

  Throll stepped forward. “I’m Throll Lancaster, protector-general of Trimoria. How can I help you, Lord Azazel?”

  Azazel maintained his honey-sweet tone. “I was wondering if you gentlemen have seen some soldiers. They came to wish your newborn well some seven days ago.”

  “And why would soldiers be sent to wish my son well?” Throll asked with a fierce-looking grin.

  The wizard didn’t respond. He merely held his steady gaze on the ranger.

  “I haven’t seen any soldiers,” Throll said. “And my son is not here, in any case. His mother has taken him to visit her sister in Cammoria. You know how mothers are; they like to show off their children.” He shook his head as if in sorrow. “A shame for you to have come so far for naught. Cammoria would have been closer to your castle.”

  Azazel’s demeanor grew dark, matching the aura surrounding him. “I can sense your lies. There’s no use in denying it. I’ll give you one last opportunity to tell me what happened here, or people will die.”

  Ryan tapped out a quick message on his ring, “Front of the house. Azazel.”

  “I’ve nothing more to say,” the ranger replied, his hand reaching for his sword.

  The wizard sighed as if in mourning. Then, moving impossibly fast, he cast his hand in Throll’s direction, sending a shot of white energy at the ranger. The energy struck Throll’s breastplate and sent him flying against the nearest wall behind him, where he fell to the ground, unmoving.

  With a savage cry of fury, Ryan sent a blaze of his own energy toward the wizard.

  But Azazel easily brushed the attack away with a casual wave of his hand. “So,” he said softly, “we have a wizardling. You’ve made my day, little one.”

  Azazel sent a shimmering blast of electricity spiraling toward Ryan just as Ryan erupted with a second blast of his own. The two streams of energy met in an explosion of bright sparks and gray smoke. Ryan fought with all his strength, but he couldn’t match the wizard’s power, and slowly, the point where the streams met crept closer to Ryan. In a matter of seconds, he’d be destroyed.

  Aaron and Ohaobbok raced from different directions and leapt to attack Azazel, with Silver bounding in from behind, baring his fangs. But Azazel merely peeled three strands of power away from his primary stream, slammed his attackers in the chest, and sent them sprawling in jumbles of armor and scorched fur.

  Ryan felt himself buckle as the wizard’s full power was turned to him once again. His energy was almost gone; all hope was lost.

  Then, from just below the crest of the hill near the road, a massive stream of energy came crackling down at the wizard, blasting Azazel right off his feet. Ryan looked up to the source of the energy, and saw Dad’s expression of blazing fury as he pulled on the reins of his lathered horse, dismounted, and raced into the fight.

  Azazel screamed in frustration as he climbed to his feet. But then he smiled. “Two wizards?” he said. “Oh, I’ll savor this for years to come.”

  With a sneer, the dark wizard sent a torrent of energy at Dad. His expression of glee morphed slowly to one of concentration, as if he realized at last that he was facing no mere hedge wizard. The ferocity of Dad’s counter was like nothing Ryan had ever seen.

  Ryan quickly gulped down the flask of his mother’s healing milk that he carried with him at all times. His strength returned to him just as his father’s energy appeared to fade. Ryan concentrated, gathering more and more energy into himself, his body shook with the desire to release it, and when he couldn’t bear to gather any more he released all of his power into a single harrowing blast.

  Azazel, whose attention was now fully on Dad, was catapulted off his feet. He slammed into the handcart beside the barn.

  Ryan collapsed. He’d expended every ounce of energy he had, and he could see his father bent at the knees. They’d both done just about all they could.

  And it wasn’t enough.

  But when Ryan looked toward the wizard, he could scarcely believe his eyes. Azazel had been impaled on the wooden handle of the cart. He was coughing and hacking, a stream of blood running down his lips.

  It can’t be, Ryan thought. He’s the most powerful wizard in the world…

  Dad gulped down a flask of healing draught and quickly blasted the defenseless wizard with another deadly bolt of energy. Yet instead of striking the wizard, his electricity and fire seemed to stop mere inches from his target. It was as if Azazel had equipped himself with a magical shield.

  Yet the wizard was mortally wounded all the same. He tore himself away from the wagon and fell to the ground. His dark aura collapsed onto him, shrinking into a ball of crackling black and red plasma, and then dissipating into nothingness, leaving nothing of Azazel behind but the blood streaked across the cart’s handle.

  “Where did he go?” Ryan asked. “Is he dead?”

  Dad shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe. But I doubt it. Somehow, I suspect that he simply teleported back home to lick his wounds.”

  A chill raced up and down Ryan’s spine as he realized this wasn’t over.

  Traveling Trimoria

  As Dad sent a message to Mom requesting her healing power, Ryan ran to his brother, who was shaking the cobwebs from his head. Steam rose from his armor.

  “Are you okay?” Ryan asked.

  Aaron blinked deliberately, as if he was having trouble seeing. “I got knocked out, didn’t I? What happened?”

  Ryan unlatched the flask at his brother’s waist. “Drink this. You look like you need it.”

  Silver had woken as well, and Ohaobbok stood shakily and drank from his own flask. But Throll still wasn’t moving. Wisps of smoke carried into the air from the ranger’s armor.

  Mom came running out of the house, with Gwen and Sloane behind her. She immediately spotted Throll and ran to his side. Gwen clutched Zenethar to her chest and wailed at the sight of her husband lying motionless on the ground.

  “Is he…” she sobbed, unable to finish the sentence.

  “He’s alive,” Mom said. “Let me concentrate.”

  Sloane grabbed Aaron and buried her face in his shoulder. He put his arm around her. “Everything will be okay,” he whispered. “If my mom can fix Ohaobbok…”

  It took only a moment of Mom’s healing energy to bring Throll back to consciousness. Perhaps he wasn’t as badly injured as he looked,
just knocked out.

  The ranger sat up groggily, removed his helm, and looked around.

  “Well, since you’re all here, and more or less in one piece,” he said, “I’m guessing things turned out well.”

  “They did,” Dad said, smiling.

  “You’ll have to fill me in on what happened. I think I took a little nap.”

  Mom waved to Sloane. “Hand me your flasks. Your father has internal injuries.”

  Sloane handed two flasks to Mom, and she made Throll drink the contents of both, plus the draught on her own belt. Throll’s grogginess slowly faded, and soon he was looking downright alert.

  “Thank you,” he said. “I think I’m okay. Let me just stand up and make sure everything is in working order.”

  He stood up and shook himself out. Ryan might have believed he’d never been struck at all, if not for the fact that his chest plate no longer glowed.

  Dad noticed the same thing. “That blast must have been a nasty one. Your chest plate is totally depleted of charge.”

  “It’s better than being dead,” Throll said with a wry smile. He turned to Ryan. “I owe you my life, boy. Without that charge, the wizard would have burned a hole straight through me.”

  Gwen handed Zenethar to Sloane, then leapt to embrace her husband. “No more fighting, please. It’s over. Right?”

  Throll looked at the others. “Is it over?”

  Ryan shook his head. “We don’t think so. We injured Azazel, but he escaped.”

  “We’ll have to take this fight to him, I fear,” Dad said. “We can’t just wait around until he’s healed and coming after us with an army. I think it’s time we visit his little wizard’s tower and confront him directly.”

  “I’m going with you, Dad,” Ryan said, trying to sound more courageous than he felt. “We need each other if we hope to win this fight.”

  “You’re too young!” Mom cried.

  Dad turned to his wife. “You should have seen how he performed in the battle we just went through. He’s the one who injured Azazel. The boy’s nearly a grown man. Besides, we’ll never win this fight without our combined powers.”

  Mom’s shoulders slumped. Ryan understood. She wasn’t ready for her kids to grow up, and she certainly didn’t want to see them put in harm’s way.

  “I’ll be going with you as well,” Throll said, grasping the hilt of his magical sword. He turned to his wife and daughter. “Before you object, know this: I go because of my family’s history. For too long, we’ve been held hostage to this supposed bad luck brought about by the wizard. I mean to end it.”

  Gwen looked like she was about to object, but Throll put a hand on her shoulder.

  “Don’t worry, if the blows of war give way to spells, I promise to leave that part of the fighting to Jared and Ryan.” He looked down at his breastplate. “I’ve had enough of getting blasted by wizards.”

  Gwen nodded. “Just… please be careful.”

  “I will.” The ranger directed a fatherly eye to Aaron and Ohaobbok. “Aaron, Ohaobbok, I have a very important request to make of you both. While we’re away, would you watch over my family?”

  Ohaobbok and Aaron nodded. As if joining in the agreement to be the family’s protector, Silver stalked forward and purred.

  “We’d be honored,” Aaron said.

  “It’s settled then,” said Dad. “I recommend we take a day or two to organize, plan, and recharge. But no more than that. It’s time we take this fight to the wizard.”

  As the group traveled west through Trimoria, they encountered quite a few travelers along the road, most of whom didn’t hesitate to stare at the unusual traveling party. Dad and Ryan both now wore long, flowing gray robes of a fine material that was both light and warm. Mom and Gwen had made these robes for them, explaining that it wouldn’t do for a traveling wizard to fail to look the part.

  “If everyone you pass is afraid you might turn them into a toad, then you’ll be less likely to encounter trouble,” Mom had suggested.

  Ryan figured a seven-foot-tall ranger in head-to-foot armor with a glowing sword would be sufficient discouragement, but he didn’t mind dressing like an actual wizard rather than hiding who he was. In fact he liked it quite a bit.

  Toward the end of the second day of travel, they came across a vast collection of wagons to the side of the road, with many people milling about. It was strange to see, given that they were in the middle of nowhere.

  “What’s going on up there?” Ryan asked.

  Throll grunted. “That is the edge of the traveling caravan that was recently in Aubgherle. Perhaps the fighting scared them away, or maybe they were simply due to move on. It’s not unusual for them to pick up and move at a moment’s notice. But it’s fortunate for us that they’re here, as this will be a much nicer place to camp.” He smiled. “With a good selection of food and drink.”

  Ryan sniffed the air. “I think I smell freshly baked bread.”

  “Boys survive on their stomachs,” Dad said with a laugh. “I think some roast mutton would be wonderful paired with that bread.”

  The travelers dismounted and led their horses through the ordered chaos of the caravan. They hadn’t gotten far before Ryan heard a shout.

  “Aubrey’s son!”

  Ryan stopped and turned to find the beautiful girl Ryan’s mother had saved. She was grinning as she pushed toward him through the crowd.

  “Arabelle,” Ryan said nervously when she stopped in front of him. Again he was struck by her beauty. “I’m… I’m very happy to see that you’re doing well.”

  Arabelle blushed. “I’m sorry, but we were never properly introduced, so I don’t know your name.”

  Ryan smiled. “I’m Ryan Riverton.” He swept his hand behind him to indicate his father. “This is my dad, Jared. And the giant man behind me is the protector-general of Trimoria, Throll Lancaster.”

  The girl nodded to both of the men in turn, then bounced lightly on her feet. “I didn’t expect to see you here. But since you are…” She looked down shyly, then met Ryan’s eye. “You must accompany me to my father’s tent. He’ll want to see all of you. I insist that you join us for dinner.”

  Ryan looked up at Dad and Throll.

  The ranger bowed to Arabelle. “We’ll gladly accompany you, young lady.”

  Arabelle beamed. “Follow me.”

  She weaved expertly through the wagons and tents, walking briskly. Ryan had to hurry to keep up.

  The girl looked him up and down, making him feel self-conscious. He hoped she didn’t notice the heat rising to his face.

  “I hope you don’t mind my asking,” she said, “but I couldn’t help notice your robes. Are you studying as a mystic?”

  Ryan shook his head. “Oh… no. I mean… I guess I’m a… a wizard,” he finished with a shrug. It sounded silly to say it out loud.

  Arabelle laughed. “Come on, tell me the truth.”

  Ryan looked back over his shoulder. His father and Throll were a dozen paces back, leading the horses and lost in conversation.

  “Okay,” Ryan said. “Watch.” He pulled his sleeves up, turned his hands over for Arabelle to see, then sent an arc of electricity, from his right hand to his left.

  Arabelle’s eyes widened. “B-but,” she stammered. “How—? I was told there were no wizards left in these lands. Other than Azazel, of course.”

  Ryan shrugged. “My father is a wizard too… although he prefers to be a blacksmith.”

  Arabelle gazed at Ryan in awe. “It really was you in the dream,” she said, scanning his face. “But you were older.”

  “So you’ve been dreaming about me, then?” Ryan joked.

  Arabelle blushed again and smacked him playfully on the arm. “I’m not kidding. We’ve all had the dream. You must know about it. You were fighting some kind of demon.”

  “I’ve had it too,” Ryan said, but offered no further comment. What could he say? Everyone in Trimoria is dreaming about my future encounter with a demon?
/>   Thankfully, she let the matter drop, and they walked in companionable silence to a large tent guarded by several broad-shouldered men.

  Arabelle spoke to the nearest guard. “Please take these men’s horses to the stable and feed them.”

  “Arabelle, is that you?” came a voice from just inside the tent. Her father pushed aside the flap and stepped outside.

  Arabelle gave him a hug. “Hello, Father,” she said warmly. “You remember Ryan from Aubgherle? His mother was the one who revived me.”

  He shook Ryan’s hand with both of his own. “Of course. It’s good to see you again, young man. And your companions.” He bowed to Throll and Dad. “My name is Honfrion, and this is my caravan. Welcome to my tent.”

  After the necessary introductions, the merchant king led them all into his tent, where an elaborate dinner had already been served on a long, lavish table. Ryan practically drooled at the sight. Honfrion asked his servants to leave so that they could have privacy, but Ryan noted that the guards remained stationed at the entrance. He felt safe here.

  “Your wife saved my only child’s life,” Honfrion said to Dad. “I owe your family a blood debt, and I will not let it go unpaid. You must tell me what I can give you in return. Name anything in this world, and I’ll make it my mission in life to provide it.”

  Dad took the request seriously. “I understand your feelings, and I would feel the same had you done such a thing for one of my children.” He frowned, considering. “I don’t know that there’s anything I need materially… but I could use some information.”

  “Information?” Honfrion smiled and nodded. “Information can be worth much. What could a man of your stature possibly need to know?”

  “History,” Dad said. “I need to know about the time of the First Protector. I also need to know anything you can tell me about Azazel’s origins, about wizards before the demons arrived, and about elves and where they might be found. It seems to me a man as well-traveled as you might be in the perfect position to provide answers to these questions.”

  Honfrion frowned. “The information you seek is dangerous. I will not refuse your request, but I would advise you to make a different one. The less you involve yourself with matters regarding Lord Azazel, the better.”