Wielder of the Flame (8 page)

The boys eyes were a sharp silver grey.

Instantly Marc felt himself become visible.

They exchanged a brief glance.

The boy half stood, puzzled, and said,

“Tristen?”

But Marc was already gone.

Like before, there was a flash of
light and the sound like all the air in the world was being slowly inhaled
followed by a deep boom, then silence.

Marc felt himself being pulled back to his body. The hot
forge, the silver magic, and the young blacksmith with grey eyes, everything
Marc had seen there, quickly vanished to be replaced with the shimmering silver
realm.

With a jolt he found himself back in his body, standing next
to Sesuadra.

There was silence for a moment, and then Sesuadra spoke.

 “What did you dream this time?”

“No,” Marc said with a shake of his head, “I don’t think
what I see are dreams.”

He looked at Sesuadra then,

“I think they are real.”

Marc woke up to Soren’s baritone
voice.

“Wake up, we are here!”

He pulled the cart to a stop at the top of a hill.

Marc rubbed the sleepiness from his eyes and sat up. His
body was sore from the not at all comfortable seat and his attempt at sleeping
on it.

“Ah,” The man said with a sigh, “There it is. Home!”

The bright morning sunlight cast beautiful glowing shades of
dark pink, soft violet, and fiery orange across the landscape.

The hill overlooked a great city built along a smooth and
rugged coastline. Hundreds and hundreds of reddish-brown slate rooftops glinted
from the sun’s morning rays and just as many chimneys jutted upwards out of the
roofs, releasing trails of wispy smoke into the air. The city was comprised of
many buildings of varying sizes all cramped together.

From their vantage point on top of the hill Marc could make
out wide curving streets where the huge city was separated into different
sections. The buildings were made of wood, clay and stone and all were
consistent in their architectural design, except for a single section of the
city. Lofty stone watchtowers joined together a fifteen foot high stone wall,
which almost completely surrounded the great city except for where the city met
the ocean, at which countless docks connected both sea and civilization
together. Along the docks and upon the waters nearby were long rows of ships of
all sizes, all of which were constructed of wood and had at least one long
mast, if not more, protruding from their decks. The vast ocean of dark cerulean
sea water stretched out as far as the eye could see, upon which the dazzling
sunrise reflected magnificently.

A large castle rose up in the middle of the city, tall
parapets and spires rose up from its walls. Colorful banners whipped in the sea
breezes.

Also surrounding the city were many large groupings of
trees. He could now make out the green rolling hills behind the wagon they were
in and tall foreboding mountains loomed even further behind those. The long
dirt road upon which they had been traveling wound its way past the hills and
up to the large entrance of the city.

After a long look, Soren whipped the beasts back into a trot
and they descended the hill, making their way towards the palisade.

There were other carts as well, separate from their train,
pulled by balkars of different dark colors and a few small carts pulled by
aldoms. Everyone was moving towards the city entrance. The men were dressed in
plain white shirts, brown breeches, and dark leather boots, or a variation of the
same sort. The more renowned women wore extravagant flowing gowns, but most
were adorned in simple blouses. Some of the more prominent looking people rode
aldoms adorned with decorated armor and harnesses.

“It’s stunning,” Marc said simply.

He had seen plenty of things taller and grander in cities
back home, with towering skyscrapers and high rises which were impressive just
by their height, but this city held a different kind of beauty, a magnificence
in its own right. He took a breath of fresh air, untainted by exhaust and
pollutants. He looked on in awe at the landscape before him. It was so much
more enchanting than anything he could compare it to in his mind.

Their cart fell into position in one of the long lines
leading up to Kolima, and they slowed to a crawl, stopping frequently. Because
of the slow pace, Marc was able to study the people and creatures around him
with more detail.

Snippets of conversation drifted past his ears. Most were
engaged in cheerful chit chat about the upcoming celebration but he overheard
some groups discussing more somber matters. Most of which consisted of violent
attacks from wild beasts so close to the civilized world. One man was saying he
had never seen so many this far from the Wildlands, and another commented he had
killed one with his bare hands the other day.

Zildjin passed around some foodstuffs for their morning meal
and they munched while they waited to arrive at the gates.

Their turn finally came not too long after they had finished
their meal with a swig of bitter juice. Soren urged the balkars forward and
they approached the entrance. The city gates ahead were huge and Marc had to
crane his neck to see the top of the two towers on either side of the road.
Rich cobalt blue banners waved in the breeze and hung from the towers and on
the walls in evenly spaced intervals. Gold symbols outlined in black were
emblazoned on the banners, the silhouette of a great ship with three masts sat
on top of a kite shield background on a field of blue.

Men in shiny steel full-plate armor stood on each side of
the gates as foreboding sentinels. Opened-face helmets with blue plumes adorned
their heads. Some wore swords and had shields on their backs, others were armed
with lances.

The front of their wagon train stopped just short of the
line of guards.

The same symbols on the banners flapping above the city were
also inscribed on the soldier’s shiny steel chest-plates.

“So many soldiers,” Marc pointed out aloud.

“The city guard,” Zildjin responded, “Every city in Itherin
has their own army, in Kolima, we call them Protectors.”

“What does the symbol stand for?” Marc asked. He had been
noting many symbols.

Soren turned to speak, “The Shield and the Ship. The Ship
means to show that Kolima is indeed the Great Trade Capitol of the Freelands.
Ships from all over come to trade in Kolima. The Shield stands for justice,
peace, prosperity, and freedom entitled to all Itherians. All who live in
Kolima are willing to fight and defend, even die, to preserve this freedom. The
Overseer, makes sure that the Shield and Ship are more than just symbols.”

“Like a King,” Marc commented offhandedly.

“Not at all!” Zildjin seemed heated, then cooled off
quickly, “I mean, we are not governed by the whims of a single man like
Terragur.”

“He is right,” Sesuadra added, “The Overseer has only
certain powers and is balanced out by five other Commissioners who represent
the voice of the people in matters concerning the city. Every cycle the people
elect new Commissioners so if they do not like the current elected official
they have a chance to elect a new one.”

Marc also noticed a few figures garbed in robes with hoods.
Their robes were a deep royal blue, with gold embroidery at the collars and
sleeves.

Zildjin saw Marc glance at the robed men.

“Those are the Overseer’s hands,” Zildjin commented. Then,
at Marc’s confused look he continued, “They make up the few magic wielders in
almost all of the Freelands. They are the reason why Kolima is so prosperous
and safe. During such an event as The Gathering, they must be extra vigilant in
their duties, keeping the city security tight.”

Finally they approached the entrance and it was their turn
to show their papers to be let in. Two men in steel armor, followed by one of
the robed figures, came up to the wagon.

The figure in the blue and gold robes had his hood up,
concealing all the features of his face except for his chin, whereupon lay a
medium length carefully trimmed beard there. The Protector in front brought up
a hand in greeting and said, “All is well?”

“All is well,” Soren replied.

“Welcome travelers, to Kolima,” The man in armor continued,
“Is this your first visit here or are you residents?”

“Resident,” Soren answered politely, “I have my parchment
roll right here,”

Soren handed the parchment to the man and the Protector
unrolled it carefully. He scanned it quickly and then looked up and said, “It
says here that there are only three of you but I count four present.”

He paused as his eyes fell on Marc. The soldier clearly was
puzzled at Marc’s clothes and appearance.

Marc froze with fear. He realized that he was an extra body
and probably wasn’t included in the headcount since they had found him on the
trail. A hundred questions shot through his brain. Would he be allowed in the
city? What if he was taken in for questioning about where he was from, why he
wore such strange apparel, and especially about the magic that brought him here
and the sword? What was he going to do?

“You are correct sir,” Soren again spoke politely, “This is
my nephew Marc,”

Marc nodded and smiled at mention of his name, to the
Protector.

“We brought him up from Luciertown to help me work the docks
for my shipping company, you can see it right there on the parchment, Soren’s
Shipping Co.”

The Protector glanced down at the roll in his hand and
nodded, “All is well, then. And these goods are headed where?” The Protector
eyed the large crate and burlap sacks and the other things in the wagon.

“To Jeron, my benefactor, and to Eleanor of the Magic
Emporium. We conducted a trade in Luciertown for these goods.”

There was only another moment’s pause and then the Protector
nodded his head, “All is well,” The man rolled up the scroll and handed it back
to Soren.

He then turned to the figure in the blue robes.

“Alright, Safral, you may begin your examination.”

The two men in armor stepped back and the hooded figure took
just a slight step forward. He began chanting quietly and moving his hands in
careful, methodical gestures. A soft bluish glow began to pulse around his
fingertips until a large sphere encircled both of his hands.

Magic,
Marc watched, thoroughly intrigued,
so real
and beautiful.

The sorcerer stopped chanting and let his hands drop. The
blue sphere disappeared, fading into the air like smoke. Though his face was
hidden the figure turned his head and seemed to be looking directly at Marc.
The young man stared back casually but his whole body was taut with
apprehension.

“Well?”

The conjurer was silent for only another moment until
finally

 “All is well.”

“All is WELL! Let them through! On to the next one!”

The two soldiers then turned their backs to the wagon the
three young men occupied and began ushering the last few carts to advance.

“Forward ho!” Soren grabbed the reins and whipped the two
balkars into a trot.

Marc couldn’t help but keep his eyes on the figure in blue,
thinking about the magic. As they moved through the gates Marc’s hand touched
the hilt of the sword strapped to his side and he felt the same warm sensation
as before wash over him again, starting from the sword, making the tips of his
fingers tingle. The hooded figure swiftly turned around, his gaze snapping
instantly to the three boys’ retreating wagon. Marc lifted his hand from the
hilt and the conjurer looked right and left until he finally shook his covered
head and turned back around. Marc watched the robed man until finally they were
inside the city and the road curved, blocking any line of sight.

Neither Sesuadra nor Zildjin seemed to have noticed the
conjurer’s odd behavior so Marc decided to put it out of his mind. He shook his
head and looked forward, past the driver’s bench.

“Well, Marcus, look before you,” Soren said at the young
man’s movements, “and I will give you the grand tour!”

And with a sweeping flourish of his arm and exaggerated
mysterious tone in his voice he said, “Welcome, to Kolima!”

Marc took all of Kolima in with
eagerness.

It was a wonderful place filled with motion and energy.

Soren gestured while he talked, pointing out places of
interest, Marc listened and watched. Zildjin gave the occasional comment.
Sesuadra participated silently but Marc felt good to have him there.

For the first time in a long while, Marc felt he belonged
somewhere.

Not too long after they had entered Kolima, Marc saw a sign
etched with strange symbols. He was about to ask about them, but he blinked and
the sign seemed to change, almost instantly. It then read, in clear English
letters: MARKET DISTRICT.

Strange.
Marc thought for a brief moment. However,
because there was so much happening around him to occupy his thoughts he took
little note of it at first. As they continued on, and he looked upon more and
more things with symbols on them, there was always a slight delay between the
strange symbols, and their conversion into letters his mind could understand. A
small sensation of magic came over him each time it happened and he began to
get used to it.

While his eyes soaked in the bustle of activity before him,
his other senses were also engaged. The hot sun shone overhead and the sharp
tang of the salty sea wafted past his nose.

The unpaved streets were packed with folk of all ages.
Almost all were dressed in light airy garb because of the weather, but there
was the occasional hooded cloak poking out in the crowd. Everyone was busy
going about their business, moving to and fro with purpose.

Those not prudent or observant enough on the street risked a
run in against carriage and wagon alike.

Lean-tos and makeshift shops dotted the side streets.
Traders and peddlers ventured to convince the crowds to purchase their wares,
shouting promises of high quality goods at unbelievable prices. A diverse
assortment of establishments lined each side of the main road. Signs hanging
under windows, over the streets or nailed to walls above doors stated what
goods or services were sold inside. Marc found the blacksmith shops the most
fascinating. They were always open to the street, showing the men hard at work,
pounding red hot steel, sending great showers of sparks into the air. Market
places and bazaars were most abundant. 

Marc got caught up in the excitement and wished he had a
couple hundred dollars, yen, or whatever it was they used here, to spend.

The flow of wagons suddenly stopped and Soren pulled sharply
on the reins, avoiding a collision. They were near the edge of the Market District
and a line of carts, citizens, and balkars lay in their path. Two large towers
rose up from the buildings and a sign hung from both stating that they were
entering the Industrial District. The crowd ahead of them finally began moving
forward and Soren got the balkars to follow suit. They passed quickly
underneath the banner and towers and continued towards their destination.