Wielder of the Flame (38 page)

So it seems my leads were correct,
Nyrith thought,
Belator
must be here, and it appears as if he is stirring up quite the chaos
.

She wanted to speak with someone about what was going on,
gather some more information to more solidly confirm her thoughts, but did not
want to draw any more attention to herself than needed. Since leaving Kolima
she had already had to deal with more than a dozen male eyes watching her in
various towns and inns. She was well aware that traveling alone, with her
striking female figure and small demeanor, made her appear as easy prey for a
hungry and needy man, but with swift action and a little bit of magic, she had defended
herself quite easily to the surprise of her would-be attackers.  

Now, so close to meeting her new master, she could not
bother with someone questioning her and delaying her trip any longer.

She did not know exactly how to go about it, but she knew
she must show Belator the red gem and explain what happened in Kolima. No doubt
he had heard the rumors about the rise of the Wielder of the Flame, but she
must affirm to him that the rumors were not a farce, but true. He could alert
the Overlord of the Wielder of the Flame and the return of the Sword of the
Phoenix soon so that the Wielder could be destroyed, and quickly.

She had seen him in Kolima, he was only a boy. She
estimated, maybe a mere few cycles younger than herself.

But she knew that if he had even a portion of the power she
possessed, the boy would be a force to be reckoned with in the near future.

The crowds of people leaving Sulendald looked upon her with
faces that said,
if you had any sense of self-preservation you would not go
that way. Beware what you will face in the city. Danger lies that way. Turn
back while you can.

But none of them knew that she was a follower of Tremos, and
what was happening in Sulendald, was exactly the kind of thing she supported.

It did not take her long to reach the entrance to the city.

The city guards were so pre-occupied Nyrith simply walked
through the main gates without being asked to show her parchment roll nor being
bothered about stating the reason for her visit, she had hardly even been
noticed.

Inside, the city was in more of a frenzy than the long
caravan of people leaving Sulendald. The citizens were in chaos, frantically
trying to evacuate their homes. Fathers and brothers were stacking barrels,
crates, and furniture onto wagons while Mothers soothed their crying babies or
watched diligently over their frightened little kids. It was as if a fire was
sweeping through the buildings and they had to rush with their packing before
the flames reached their abodes. And yet, there was no fire, indeed no visible
threat at all, at least not near the entrance of Sulendald. Some had taken
advantage over the situation, using the chaos as a distraction while they stole
things. The city guards were busy enough trying to contain the situation from
getting worse that they were having a hard time resolving or even preventing
each and every crime.

Even with the guards so occupied with the chaos within, as a
habit, Nyrith kept to the shadows, making herself as small, invisible, and
going unnoticed as possible as she moved deeper into the city. She could see
the dark smoke and the fog in the distance. Her mind began to wander and she
let her thoughts go free. She kept going back to the death of Safral, her first
master. With so much time alone on the road to think and to analyze her
situation and her mentor, in retrospect, he had not been that special of a
teacher, or even that good of a wizard.  He had been a fine enough teacher, but
he had limited the things she could do, always telling her she was not ready.
She believed that his age had begun to take a toll on him. Especially with the
sudden obsession for the magical sword the boy had. Nyrith was disappointed
that Safral had not realized that the blade was actually the Sword of the
Phoenix.

She turned a corner into a smaller side street shrouded in
shadow and began walking down it. She got only about halfway when five men
stepped out from behind stacked crates and shallow recesses in the walls, two
in front of her, and three behind, positioned to block both exits from the
alley.

She silently chided herself having been so preoccupied with
her thoughts that she did not see the men.

They were poorly dressed, dirty, and smelled of
fortnight-old-sweat. The tallest had black greasy long hair, the others had
similar brown, and one had red hair. Even the shortest stood a good head taller
than Nyrith.

“You lost girl?” One said.

“You look lost,” Another followed.

“The main gates of Sulendald are back in that direction,”
The one with black hair said pointing to where Nyrith had come. He seemed to be
the leader of the group, “You are headed the wrong way.”

Nyrith sighed, exasperatedly. She had faced many similar
situations before and, like the others, knew how this one was going to end.

“Oh, sorry,” The black haired man said, his voice dripping
with sarcasm, “Are we keeping you from something important?”

“Yes, actually,” she replied coolly and confidently, “I am
here to meet someone named Belator.”

“Sorry, cannot help you, never heard of him,” He replied,
pretending to play along.

“I was not asking for your help,” she said.

“Can you believe the mouth on this girl?” The one with red
hair said.

“I like girls with big mouths,” The man with black hair
said, “Makes for an easier fit. Hold her down boys, I am going first.”

“Yes you are,” Nyrith replied with a wicked grin.

She sprang into action quicker than the men were capable of
reacting to. Her movements were precise and swift, executed with an agility and
grace that her many cycles of practice and petite figure allowed for.

First she fell to one knee, her arms moving in a quick
arching motion from high to low, and then to the side. She swiveled on her knee
and touched the ground, then came quickly back up, straining with the motion.
Her motions seemed almost like a blur to the men and as she rose, it appeared
as if she had gripped some thick invisible blanket and was struggling to pull
it up into the air to reveal something underneath.

But to Nyrith, she was performing the Mystic Dance to pull
away the veil from her eyes that hid the world of magic from the untrained eye,
and as she pulled, the scene before her transformed almost completely.

For an instant everything was black. Then things began to
appear like thousands of bubbles popping quickly one after the other. The
ground came first, hard packed brown dirt, but it wasn’t exactly as it was
before. It swirled and shifted slowly in impossible ways. Pebbles appeared
next, then blades of grass, but each item was strange, surrounded by thin
multi-colored strands of subtly shifting ethereal substance. Then the wooden
crates, also outlined by the strands. Then the walls and the men surrounding
her. Then finally floating mists of the ethereal magic hovered in the air in
random spots surrounding her and the men. Everything beyond that was black.
Nyrith knew that with time and practice her ability to see further and further
would increase. But she was content with the limit of her abilities as she was
able to see all of her would-be assailants.

She focused on the glowing force that emanated from the men.
In a matter of a few heartbeats the thoughts of the many ways she could
manipulate the magical strands passed through her head but she decided that
with the number of opponents against her she would have to slow things down to
win the fight.

Continuing the momentum from her opening move, she let her
arms unfurl outwards and spun in a circle upon the ball of her feet. As she
spun she gripped at the floating forces in the air around her. She pulled
violently, bending the magic to her will and with a powerful push she stopped
spinning and came down with her hand to slap the ground. Upon impact a
shockwave of magic went out, with Nyrith at its point of origin. The men around
her flew backwards from the thrust of energy at a normal speed, their hands flying
up in the air and their hair flinging backwards, two of the closest even had
their feet lifted from the ground. But as the magic passed over and through
them they began to slow in mid-air, as if moving achingly slowly through water.
Nyrith stopped the dance and stood up. She let go of the hold she had on the
veil. The things around her began to return to appear normal to her. She could
keep the veil withdrawn if she wanted to but she had already summoned the magic
she needed.

With the men still falling in an impossibly slowed state of
motion Nyrith simply drew one of her favored long daggers and one by one
proceeded to slit the throats of each of her opponents, starting with the one
she had promised would go first. She lingered on the last one, savoring the
man’s final moments. She drew the dagger first across his naked arms, the man’s
blood flowed freely like a fountain. It spurted forth quickly for a brief
moment, but then, like it’s owner, it slowed down.

Nyrith marveled at each individual droplet of blood
suspended in the air, finding the effect to be quite breathtaking.

She wondered if the man could feel the pain, or if one
moment he found himself standing with his cohorts around a seemingly helpless
girl ready to satisfy his carnal desires, and in the next he simply encountered
darkness and then ceased to exist.

She did not know since the magic had never been used on her.
She brought the blade to his throat and sliced it open just as the effects of
the shockwave wore off. The men all fell to the ground, dead.

Nyrith wiped her dagger off on a nearby patch of grass and
sheathed the blade back at her side. She stood and continued down the alley as
if nothing had happened.

A black bird crowed and took off from one of the rooftops of
one of the buildings that made up the cramped alley.

Nyrith saw the bird and took it as a good sign. The black
bird was an omen of the Archfiend.

Topar awoke to the distant sound of
knocking on the front door of the shop.

His ears twitched and stood up, catching the sound of the
knocking easily.

Despite the lateness of the hour he was up and out of bed in
an instant, shaking off his tiredness. He donned his belt and loincloth
quickly. He ruffled his right hand through the fur on his neck where an old
battle scar still bothered him. He swished his tail back and forth quickly but
absentmindedly.

He was out of his quarters and halfway through the main
room, headed towards the shop, when he saw Eleanor coming down the stairs in
her nightgown. She was clearly tired, another restless night, worrying about
the boys.

“I will see to it, m’lady,” Topar said in a sort of soft
command that also said,
I do not wish you to have to burden yourself with
this small thing, I am your keeper, I will take care of it.

Eleanor, used to Topar’s ways smiled and nodded, “Thank you,
Topar.” She returned to the top of the stairs.

Rovaar were honorable and beings true to their word, once
given, never broken. Topar was there with Garrond when he died. Garrond’s dying
wish was that Topar care of Eleanor. Topar took the wish and put it upon
himself as an unbreakable oath.

Topar blamed himself for his best friend’s death.

The knocking continued as Topar was making his way down the
aisles of the shop.

“Peace hold you!” Topar said as he neared the door. His ears
flattened in frustration as he strode forward, his tail swishing back and forth
with each step.

When he reached the door he placed his large furry claw on a
symbol inscribed on the stone next to the wall and muttered something. He then
placed his hand on the door and softly spoke another word. An exact copy of the
symbol on the wall shone on the door from Topar’s paw and the door lit up. The
large locks on the door moved and clicked.

He felt unease in his gut. Who could be knocking at such a
late hour?

The final lock was released and Topar lifted the large wood
wedge put in place as a last resort and barricade, and set it aside.

He opened the door about halfway, ready for anything.

On the other side stood five figures, four men in foreign
armor, and—

“Demar!” Topar said, his long rovaar ears coming up.

“Topar!” The man stepped forward and embraced his large
white-and-black, furry friend

“It has been too long,” Topar said in his husky, almost
growling but happy voice.

“It has, old friend.”

“We received no message of your coming,” Topar said.

“There was no time to send one ahead, faster to come
myself.”

Topar nodded, already guessing why the man had come.

“It is time, then?” Topar asked.

Demar nodded, “The Sovereign has been overthrown, Sesuadra
is safe at last, it is time for the rightful ruler to reclaim the Isles.”

“Demar,” Topar said, his tail flicked half-nervously, “There
is only one problem.”

He felt horrible about all of it.

A part of him deep down inside wanted it, welcomed it. But
the many cycles of inner conflict won out and as he looked out upon the events
happening around him, he both hated it, and hated himself.

Drake sat on a large throne-like chair in the middle of the
town center of Terga as everyone in the village gathered to celebrate his
heroics and the liberation of the town from the sky-bound terrors that had
threatened them for so long. There was a good two hundred or so gathered in the
town square.

Drake had already sat through most of the morning as the
town mayor gave a long eulogy and speech about their savior. The mayor spoke of
the history of Itherin, and the legends of many brave champions and their grand
deeds, he even likened Drake to some of the Exalted.

But Drake knew the truth, he knew of the darkness within,
that came, unbidden, to wreak havoc and destruction. But never was he conscious
to witness it. He would rise only in time to ride the wake of its comings and
goings, never quick enough to stop it. And now the town bard was giving a very
well done retelling of the battle Drake had gone through to save Terga, as he
had been informed by the only boy who witnessed it.

And me
, Drake thought,
I was supposed to have
witness it to. archfiend’s spawn I was supposed to have done the deed myself! I
did
do it. But I cannot remember it.

And the girl, Mel, continued to swoon over him, playing
desperately for his affections. He caught himself a number of times being kind
to her.
Exalted how she reminds me of Laeyadin!

She should have just sewn herself to the new clothes her and
her mother had made for him, for how close she kept herself to him since he had
awoken in her house. She sat on a small wooden crate nearby, watching him and
smiling kindly. He made a show of tugging at the collar of his new white shirt,
as if it was sewn improperly and did not fit him right, though it was indeed
put together just fine and fit him comfortably. It was all he could think of at
the moment to do to maybe make the girl hate him just a little or something.

She was a nice enough girl, but he just didn’t want to deal
with that kind of thing then,
or ever
. He thought, reminding himself of
his curse.

He kept imagining scenarios that involved him slipping away
silently, but the people gave him no time to himself.

His wounds were all practically healed, he could leave, but
his armor was still being worked on by the town blacksmith. He didn’t really
want to leave without it, it was one of the few things, besides his two swords,
that he had carried with him since his
first
awakening.

“
And where once the Vorstai reigned,

The champion now their heads both he claimed.

Our village he did save.

Forever more, remembered, will be his name
!”

The bard finished his ballad with a flourish of notes on his
lute and bowed at the audience’s applause.

“And now! We shall feast!” the mayor stood up and clapped
his hands together.

The town cheered and turned to the area where some of the
townsmen and women had been preparing and setting out food.

A large group of people, mostly younger, stronger men,
lifted the chair into the air and headed over to the tables of food. They set
the chair beside the place where the mayor sat at the head of the largest table
present. It took a long time for all the adults to find a place to sit. Mel, of
course, found a seat almost next to Drake. The children played nearby, coming
to the tables only now and then.

Once ale and wine was poured in each cup the Mayor stood
with his goblet in hand.

“We feast in honor of our hero,”

“Here! Here!” The people chimed, the men stood and shouted,
cups in hand as well.

“Champion!”

“Here! Here!”

“Defender!”

“Here! Here!”

“May he live forever!”

The crowd roared their approval, banging mugs together and
spilling most of their drinks.

The mayor titled back his drink and everyone followed.

Except for Drake.

May he live forever
. The words were meant to be taken
in a positive light, but for Drake, it was only a painful reminder of his
unending curse.
Maybe I will leave, armor or no.
he thought.

“Let the feast begin!”

The mayor sat back down and the people followed suit. The
eating commenced. There was all sorts of dark, succulent, spit roasted meat,
colorful fruits and steamed vegetables with spices and herbs. It was truly a
delicious enough meal, but Drake did not need much to fill himself, and the
mayor continued to insist he eat more. Drake knew the people had most likely
dug deep into their storehouses for the feast and it made him all the more
guilty inside. He couldn’t help but listen to the talk going about the table as
they ate.

“Did you hear about Kolima?” One man at their table said.

“You mean the light!” The woman next to him nodded.

“Of course the light,” someone else jumped in.

“Everyone has been talking about it,” Mel added.

She was trying to show Drake that she knew what was going on
in the world, and that she wasn’t just a healer’s apprentice, born and raised
in a small town, never venturing far from her home.

“Yes,” The first man continued, “But I heard another bit of
news just the other day from That small wagon train that came through here.”

“I remember them, carts so full they could hardly move it
seemed!” Mel tried again, trying to impress.

Drake continued to ignore her.

“The wagon leader,” The man went on, “told me he had heard
from someone who had seen the spectacle with their own two eyes! An Exalted
descended from the stars and formed into a body so that we could see them
without losing our sight.”

“The Exalted have long since left us since before the War of
Power.”

“Nonsense, the Revenant caused the War.”

“You have it wrong, the Exalted allowed the Revenant to
reign for a time, as punishment for our corruption, and that was the War.”

The first who had started the conversation wrestled for
control again, “I am telling you, the man said it was an Exalted come down for
sure. He took the form of a young man with dark brown hair and eyes like
emeralds speckled with golden honey. He was wielding a flaming sword, one that
could only be the Phoenix Blade!”

Drake sat up straight in his chair.

“beg your pardon sir,” Drake said.

The man stood and took a deep bow, “I am sorry your
greatness, I was just pushing the breeze along,” he muttered apologetically
about his gossiping.

Drake was frustrated that he was being treated like a king,
that his smallest utterance in conversation would illicit such a reaction.

“Never mind,” Drake brushed it away, “I only mean to know
that I heard you correctly, what did the wagon leader say he saw about a young
man?”

“An Exalted came down, and he took the form of a young man
with dark brown hair and green and brown eyes, not much older than you by
description. They say that he has come to rid the lands of wild magic and
restore order. They say that he will conquer Terragur once and for all, and
begin another Illuminated Era.”

Drake sat, motionless.

The man took it as a sign he should sit back down.

Could it be?
Drake thought. The world around him
faded as he turned his attention completely to his own mind.

The young man from my dreams? The Sword of the Phoenix?
an Exalted?

Nyrith thought that as she got
further into the city that it would become more frantic, but it turned out to
be exactly the opposite.

Everywhere buildings lay empty, deserted. An eerie silence
hung thickly in the air. And the fog, it blanketed everything, more thickly in
some places than others. Random household items and things had been left lying
on the ground, broken and forgotten. The quality and appearance of the
buildings began to deteriorate deeper into the city as well. The sun moved
slowly across the sky and it was nearing late afternoon when she finally heard
something. She peered down an alley and saw a group of city guards and soldiers
run by in full armor, their weapons drawn. She decided to follow the troops.
She slunk quietly behind them, moving quickly between stretches of shadow,
avoiding light and trying not to be noticed.

As she followed them she could hear the sounds of battle
growing louder.

Finally the soldiers turned a corner and she did so as well,
the noise of commotion and yelling was extremely loud.

 Up ahead, between rows of tall buildings badly in need of
upkeep, a roughly built wall was half constructed. It was clear that the idea
had been to finish the wall but things coming over it had stopped that from
happening.

A group of men, clearly workers, cowered behind stacks of
stone and other building supplies while soldiers ran up and down giant wooden
scaffolding aligning the wall. The soldiers were engaging in combat with what
at first Nyrith thought were some sort of wild animal. The grey green things
came from the fog, appearing as it were from nowhere and nothing at all. They
were pouring over the top of the unfinished wall, some jumping wildly and
missing any sort of footing to fall far down below and smash to the ground. The
fall would clearly kill a person but the things scrambled up, despite obvious
injuries, and jumped to assault any nearby guards.

The men in armor she had been following rushed forward to
help in the attack.

As Nyrith got closer she realized that the things were not
creatures at all, but humans, dead humans that had been reanimated to serve
their master’s purpose.

The Necromancer
. She smiled.

She knew she had found what she needed to. She had to get
through the wall and she wanted to do so without being seen. She crept quietly
closer to the battle scene and the wall, sticking as close to the shadows as
she could.

She finally reached a portion of the wall that was mostly
unnoticed. She quietly began to dance, moving slowly and deliberately. She
pulled the veil away and waited as the world transformed before her. The dirt
ground shifted below her and the colorful magical strands ran the length of the
wall she could see. Finally, glowing mist-like aura’s appeared in the air. She
ignored the auras and focused on the wall. She began to dance again, moving
gracefully on her feet. She gripped the immaterial strands of the wall and
pulled, twisting and forcing them to bend to her will. As she did so a hole
began to appear in the stone. She continued to move and pull until the hole went
completely through the wall.