Bertrard was no noble. He could tell that at a glance. Even if not for his ill-fitting robes, his skin was a darkened tan from long hours beneath the sun, and the way he moved his body was smooth but a stalking, somewhat crouched gait like someone who was unused to standing proud and straight. A darker part of him suspected this was why Dalmarn favored him, but he quickly diverted his thoughts from that. Perhaps it was unfair, but there was nothing to be done about it and besides, Bertrard must have done well in the trials if he passed. He was a tough man, that was for sure, with muscles visible through the neck of his robes and calluses covering his hands, along with a multitude of other little nicks.
For a moment, Rian imagined the man passing the trials by throwing his Spellstones aside to beat his opponents with his fists. He had to press his lips together to keep the laughter from bubbling out, but then, this man had won while he had lost. His appearance didn’t really matter.
Still, he had to admit Bertrard didn’t look anything like the magi he had imagined and seen. The man probably spent most of his time doing labor to have earned muscles like those and honestly didn’t seem like he’d ever so much as touched a book in his life. He didn’t have the air of an idiot, mind, but of someone cunning rather than learned.
It took all types to become a mage, he supposed. It was odd though. Nothing about him seemed much like a mage, neither in appearance nor demeanor. Rather than pelting Dalmarn with questions regarding what he was learning like Rian would have expected, Bertrard just observed him patiently, staying just behind the mage. There was an air of anticipation to the man but not necessarily interest. Strange.
Rian peered closer at him. The man had a lumpy look to him, and not just because of his muscles. He’d originally thought the robes were too small for the man’s frame, but they were stretched and bulged in strange places, not from muscles, but rather like he’d chosen to wear more clothes underneath the robes. Thick clothing too, rather like… armor.
A cold chill ran down Rian’s spine and his heart skipped a beat before beginning to boom in his ears with each pulse. Armor and a muscular frame. No. No, no, no, no, no! It couldn’t be. He couldn’t be here!
Bertrard scratched his chin, his finger tracing over a familiar thin scar.
Him, he’d come. Rian’s mouth was dry, drier than the eastern deserts. Bertrard is the assassin. He swallowed, not daring to move for fear of the man realizing… but a thought struck him: why hadn’t he attacked yet?
The answer came just as quickly: Dalmarn. That was the only reason he wouldn’t have simply killed Rian the moment he saw him, because Dalmarn was powerful enough to be a threat. The assassin was waiting for the right moment to take out Dalmarn before turning on Rian. It was the only thing that made sense, so he had to warn Dalmarn. He thought quickly, trying to keep from panicking. A shout would do it but the assassin was right behind Dalmarn. He could easily strike before the mage could react. No, he had to inform Dalmarn without alerting the assassin.
An idea came to him, perhaps a bad one but it was the only one he had. “Dalmarn,” he said, keeping one eye upon Bertrard and hoping the quavering in his voice was his own imagination. He drew upon the politeness that had so often served as a shield in court in the hope it would do so now. “I sincerely apologize for the interruption, but might I request a moment of your time?”
Dalmarn glared at him out of the corner of his eye. “Can you not see that I’m busy?” Not realizing the danger, he continued his spellwork upon the wooden cube, which began to glow a pale shade of blue. “I am not at your beck and call, ‘your lordship’, and you would do well to remember that!”
Bertrard raised his eyebrows at Rian. He didn’t seem concerned though, merely curious.
“Once again, I am terribly sorry,” he said, keeping his voice as steady as he could manage in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, the assassin wouldn’t realize he’d figured it out. If Bertrard figured it out before he could alert Dalmarn, they were all doomed, but he had no choice but to continue. “I want to discuss with you a matter related to the difficulty I had after the Second Trial.” Another gamble. Hopefully, the assassin wouldn’t know just what it was he was referring to.
Dalmarn did, if his paling of his face and tightening of his jaw meant anything. It lasted for but a moment before he growled. “Hmmph, of course you do,” he said scathingly, setting down the cube. “Can it not wait, boy?”
“No, sir, I’m afraid it cannot.” Rian watched the assassin out of the corner of his eye, but the man seemed unbothered, which only made him all the more nervous. Shouldn’t an assassin be concerned about his prey trying to communicate with one another? “Would you mind if we discussed it for a moment, Bertrard?”
“Hmm,” Bertrard tapped his chin before taking several steps back, a polite smile upon his face. “Very well. I do not mind.”
Rian suppressed a shudder. Had he managed to fool him? Or did Bertrard realize but not care? Either way, all he could do was continue his plan. Making his way over to Dalmarn, all he could think about was how any moment Bertrard might dash forward and run him through.
Still, he went slow, as if it were just a minor thing he wished to discuss, even as his heart threatened to explode in his chest. The moment he was close enough, he whispered, “Bertrard’s the assassin. He has the same scar and there’s armor underneath his robes. He probably activated his Sacrelith and took off the mask.”
Dalmarn’s expression hardened with each word. Not a sound came from him, but a vein throbbed in his forehead. “You’re certain,” Dalmarn said. It was not a question, but as Rian nodded anyway, he let out a low hiss between his teeth and, taking advantage of his back being toward Bertrard, slipped a hand into the pocket of his robes. “No sudden movements. I’m going to - Look out!”
Rian noticed the cube pulse a violent red only an instant after Dalmarn.
Chapter Sixteen
Everything slowed to a crawl.
The first moment, Rian leaped away from the cube while Dalmarn started to cast, then the cube exploded with a flash of crimson and emerald light. Dalmarn’s spell went off right after, a blood-red glow that tried to hold off the explosion… but whether it was from Dalmarn’s surprise or the spell not having been fully cast, it failed.
The chamber shook with a deafening boom, sending everything flying. One wave of energy slammed into Rian and threw him to the ground.
His ears rang and his forehead felt like it was on fire but he knew better than to just stand there. Grabbing a Spellstone from his pocket, he scrambled to his feet and backpedaled, peering about frantically to find both the assassin and Dalmarn.
Dalmarn… it took only a few seconds to spot the toppled-over bookshelf… and the unmoving form sticking out halfway from beneath it. Dead or unconscious, he wouldn’t be of much help any time soon.
That had been the assassin’s plan, he realized through his head’s pounding. By walking away from Dalmarn, he had implied that Rian should go to him rather than the other way around. Between politeness and Rian’s own fear, he had gotten both of them to place themselves right next to the bomb while he stayed away. Simple yet effective. In one move, he had wounded Rian and taken out Dalmarn.
There was the shuffling of cloth.
Rian turned, already knowing what he’d see.
The assassin stood between him and the door, now masked, with his robe removed and revealing his Sacrelith-born armor and the twin blades he carried. The already dimly-lit chambers grew darker still, a pulsing blackness spreading from his foe to engulf the chamber in shadows.
He shrank back, clutching his Spellstone in his hand.
The assassin’s movements were calm and unhurried, almost lazy as he closed in upon Rian. He clearly viewed him as no threat.
But then, why should the ma? Rian was no danger. Dalmarn was a mage, a dangerous opponent to be dealt with via trickery and cleverness. Rian wasn’t a mage. He could barely call himself an apprentice. A threat? He couldn’t even beat Alensia. He st
epped back again and stumbled over some debris, his head slamming against the wall with a crack.
His vision swam. So, this is how it ends, he thought distantly, alone in the dark at the end of an assassin’s blade, my last moments spent shivering in terror.
‘My little warrior…’ whispered his mother’s voice in the back of his mind. ‘So brave…’
She had been wrong. He wasn’t brave. He was weak and foolish and would die for it. All that remained was how the final moments of his life would play out.
‘Come, join me, Rian, one more time,’ came another whisper, once said in friendly jest but now taking a darker meaning. Every dream of his had failed, the chains of duty gripped tightly to him and those blades crept ever closer to his neck. Perhaps it was time to taste of death. All he had to do was give up and let it all end.
He got to his feet.
His legs still wobbled and his stomach felt like it was full of wriggling worms, but he tightened his grip upon his Spellstone. He couldn’t run or hide and he had no hope of escape, but he was a Miel. He would not die curled up in fear like a helpless child. He would face his foe, hold his head high and fight one last battle before vanishing into that cold night. With a cry, he unleashed a silver wave from his Spellstone.
The assassin didn’t even break stride, catching the attack upon his blades. They flared purple and an instant later, the spell shattered like glass. With a light snort, he broke into a run, barreling toward Rian daggers-first.
Exactly as planned. His opponent mere inches away, Rian unleashed the true force of his spell.
It was far too close for the assassin to dodge. Even through the mask, his eyes went wide, a muffled curse coming from his lips before the spell slammed home.
The explosion wracked Dalmarn’s chambers and his foe vanished in the resultant burst of light. For a moment, he dared to hope.
A dark shape flickered in the dust cloud.
He didn’t stop to think, instead throwing himself to the side.
A fraction of a second later, the assassin’s blade impaled the spot his chest had been. Rian’s dodge threw him off for merely a moment, as the next he was rushing for him again.
Rian had already started running. His heart thundered in his chest as he raced back, hoping against hope that he could outpace the man for even a few more seconds. He dodged back and forth, weaving desperately, but the assassin was too fast. With no better option, he unleashed another Force Wave, knowing all the while that it would only buy him a few moments.
His breathing was already heavy from the exertion and rapid spellwork. This was insane! Even with using all his strength, not so much as a scratch marred the assassin! How could he possibly hope to… No, not again! That was the exact reason he lost to Alensia, his damned panicking.
‘The Magi...even in this generation of Sacreliths we remain a potent force on any battlefield. We do so by mastering those spells and applying them carefully, evaluating the situation for when to use them and how.’
Meralda had been right, Sachiel had been right, even Dalmarn had been right. He wasn’t strong, so he would have to be smart and maintain his calm. Alright, so his spell wasn’t powerful enough to overcome his opponent’s Sacrelith, which meant that he would have to make sure he wasn’t expecting it in order to hurt him; the problem was both of them knew it. Bertrard - if that was his real name - wasn’t even bothering to dodge anymore. Why would he, when he could block anything Rian could throw at him? He wasn’t giving him a chance to rest either, charging forward again and again while saving enough power to block his Force Wave... Ohh.
The assassin had almost caught up to him, ready for the one blow that would instantly end his life. Once again, Rian unleashed a Force Wave which the assassin blocked with almost contemptuous ease, merely delaying him a couple of seconds before he resumed his strike… only for a green orb to burst through the dust cloud and slam into his legs.
The assassin let out a cry and stumbled to his knees, covered in vines. Another Arbol Arrow hit him a moment later and further entangled him in the shrubbery, to the point that he resembled a great green mass.
Only a moment passed before violet energy flared and the sound of tearing vines echoed through the chamber.
Rian hesitated, debating following up with a Force Wave, but decided against it. If the assassin managed to block it, he would be tearing apart his own vines for nothing, placing him right back in the same impossible fight he had been in, whereas if he made it out of this trap, he’d be alive. Discretion was the better part of valor here, so he ran for the door.
He’d made it halfway with the assassin still buried beneath the vines when a low groan sounded... but not from himself nor even the assassin.
Dalmarn! He must still be alive.
Rian hesitated. He could run now and be safe but if he did, then long before he could possibly get help, the assassin would have freed himself and finished off the witness. He was so close to escaping though! And really, why should he care? He thought bitterly. Dalmarn had humiliated him and made his life miserable out of petty spite. It’d serve the bastard right for his cruelty, and all he had to do was let someone die… again…
Damn it.
As fast as he could, he raced for his target, not the door that would let him escape but the bookshelf that had Dalmarn pinned; too heavy to even think of lifting it, Rian blasted it with one Force Wave, then another.
Decades of knowledge were obliterated, as wood and paper were blasted by two attacks each with the strength of an ogre’s warhammer behind them, but when the dust cleared, enough of the shelf was destroyed that he was able to lift the rest of it off Dalmarn’s body. “Do not worry,” he whispered, “I am here for you.”
Dalmarn didn’t answer, his eyes closed and form unmoving
“Dalmarn?” That groan, had he misheard? No, he realized, that hadn’t been a call for help but a dying gasp. Once more, he had been too late. Now, there was nothing to do but try to make his way out. With a quiet goodbye, he glanced back at the assassin to gauge how much time he had… only to see nothing more than scraps of vines.
There was a whisper of movement behind him and Rian dove to the right.
Despite his attempt at avoidance, steel slammed into his side in an explosion of agony and his desperate dive turned into an out of control tumble as he was thrown across the room, only to crash into the door.
For a moment, the only thing he could feel was pain and a dripping sensation from his torso, his thoughts not seeming to work, then he realized the significance of what he’d landed against. Gleefully, he grabbed the handle and gave it a yank.
It didn’t budge an inch.
“I’m not so foolish as to leave an escape route unsealed,” the assassin said, Bertrard’s grunting voice sounding so strange coming from him.
Panting for breath, Rian hurled another green bolt at the man, aiming for his feet.
This time, it was intercepted by a wave of shadowy blades, disintegrating the spell in a quick tearing before the darkness deepened further, ever blacker until all that could be seen were little silhouettes in the gloom.
Rian clutched his side as his head throbbed, every one of his muscles aching from the exertion, the spellwork and the wound in his side. This is it, he supposed blearily, no more tricks to play and nowhere left to run.
Still, he smiled as a stray thought occurred to him: in spite of his weakness, he’d managed to get a skilled assassin to consider him a threat. That was a pretty good way to die, all things considered.
Time to bring it all to the end. Standing up and gathering all the strength he could summon into his Spellstone, it glimmered silver, a tiny light in the shadows, just enough to illuminate a few feet. Closing his eyes and forcing his breathing to slow down, he listened.
A little to his left, there was the slightest whisper.
He whirled around and let loose the Force Wave, inundating the room with silver.
Through the gloom, there was a flash of purple an
d his opponent struggled briefly with his spell before it exploded in front of him, but Rian didn’t give him the chance to recover, attacking again and again.
Each time though, the effect was minimal, the assassin was too strong and his spells were slowly weakening.
Soon enough, he panted for breath, falling to his knees as the assassin loomed over him.
“For your bravery,” the man said, “I’ll make it quick.”
Rian didn’t nod but glared back with what last bits of defiance he could muster. He had struggled, but this was the end.
The room began to light up in violet… and red?
Before he could figure out what it meant, an immense red arm, as large as a giant’s, grabbed the assassin and slammed him into a wall.
The darkness faded, revealing Dalmarn leaning against a bookshelf, his face white with rage.
The assassin tried desperately to fight back, but Dalmarn’s first strike had ruined his attack, so when the giant hand smashed him against the wall, all he could manage was a mere spurt of purple.
“You made one. Fatal. Mistake,” Dalmarn said, punctuating each word with a blow from the conjured arm. “Always check the body.”
The assassin let out a scream, but it was cut off by the sound of shattering bones and a sickening crunch. Several more blows followed before a final squelch, then Dalmarn allowed the conjured arm to dissipate, leaving behind something that might once have been a man but now resembled the contents of a butcher’s shop.
It was over.
Rian fell back on his rump and let out a sigh that turned into a hiss, the aches and pains his body had been able to ignore in the furious pace of battle finally catching up to him. Still, he was alive! A giggle escaped him. “We won… We actually won!”
Dalmarn humphed but his smile was visible through the lightening shadows. “Let’s take care of that wound before you join our foe in the grave. May I?”
He nodded. After saving his life, the man could have been offering to remove his spine with a spoon and he would have given it serious consideration.
The Mage Trials Page 22