Brightflame Accension (Book 1) (9 page)

Will paused, fighting to stop, but was rebuked by a presence in his mind. Disoriented and frightened, Modwyn scooted backwards across the ground away from Will, who laughed a shrill laugh as he prepared to take the life of his teacher.

Will, the real Will, pummeled his possessed mind and finally broke from its prison. His body wrenched. He dropped his sword, now a florescent blue. The beast that occupied his mind reluctantly slunk away, but Will still felt it there, lying in wait for another opportunity to emerge.

As full control of his limbs returned to him, Will realized what he had done and dropped to his knees next to Modwyn. As he helped the battered and defeated Modwyn to his unsteady feet, Will apologized endlessly, “Sir, I... I didn’t feel... I was not myself. Apologies cannot express my condolences.” 

“Not... not a problem. Good work,” Modwyn said, dazed. Will sheathed his sword and apologized for obliterating Modwyn’s.

“Unbelievable,” Art said as Will approached him. The other recruits backed away as Will approached, obviously terrified.

“Will,” Modwyn said, “we’ll try to learn how to control those powers next time, eh.” The Master-at-Arms smiled weakly.

“Yes, sir,” Will said, blushing.

“I didn’t know you could do that!” Art exclaimed as they walked to their Magic examination. “Must run in the family. That’s how your dad is so good,” he continued. 

“I suppose.” Will looked at the wide berth the other students gave him.
What have I done?
“Why are they all frightened of me? Surely, the lycanthrope monstrosity had to have surprised them too.”

Art shook his head. “Everyone knows what a lycanthrope can do; it transforms into a great beast, but unless it is the full moon, a lycanthrope can control itself in its wolf form. That’s all common knowledge. What you did… that rage was uncontrollable. I’ve never seen anything so feral.”

Will was distracted as he watched Vivyan hurry past. He stumbled as his foot struck an unseen rock.

“Well, well, the All-Powerful William Stormhand lusts after Sweet Vivyan, how adorable,” a voice sounded sarcastically from behind them. Daniel Ogdin continued, switching targets, “Tableground, I saw you ogling Maribelle. Let me be the first to tell you that you’ve no chance with the Lady of Quelling Shore. For one, she is far above your station. The Lord Vandigort would not let a whelp of the Messenger Knight marry his beloved Maribelle. Secondly, you couldn’t kill a snared rabbit with your pathetic axe. How are you supposed to impress a girl fighting like that?”

“Watch your tongue,” Will warned, feeling his temper rising.

“I speak only the truth, Stormhand. You do expect a high-born lady to dine on the ground at Arthur’s table, do you?”

Art ribbed, “Perhaps not. However, she might better see my worth should I present her with a lush pelt. What do you say, Will? A nice bear rug for my lovely Lady Maribelle?”

“I was thinking she might enjoy a wolf skin cloak better.”

Ogdin snarled. Flanking him, Hostice added her insults, beginning to warble a mocking tune, “Oh, Willy, oh, Willy, there is no hope. No hope, nope, nope, no hope. But Willy thinks that there is true love, and true love he will find! But, nope, nope, there was never a hope, for one so blind as you-”

“Back off!” Will shouted, not trying to calm the flow of anger now coursing through him. The violent and vicious creature roared inside him, threatening to take control again. Art saw, out of the corner of his eye, Will draw his red glowing sword, and grabbed his arm. Will’s head jerked towards Art, red eyes glared into Art’s. Startled, Art released him. Ogdin began his transformation; Hostice’s hair was tossed ominously. 

“Stop! Stop!” Bottleleaf shouted as he ran across the lawn towards the standoff. He was coughing and wheezing when he arrived, “You’re lucky I saw you kids from inside. Dueling is strictly prohibited on the grounds. You may continue this later in your common rooms or at the Range. Come along to class. We have much to do today, much to do,” he said, oblivious of the palpable hatred still hanging in the air. Bottleleaf turned back to the castle, his bracelets clinking merrily. Will slammed his sword back into its sheath and strode after the balding man. Art ran after him as Ogdin shrunk back to normal size and shape.

Lifting t
he Veil

Bottleleaf herded them into the castle and up a long flight of stairs to his classroom. With a twitch of his finger, Bottleleaf shut the door behind them. Looking pleased with himself, the mage smiled at the class. “Today, we will be learning a basic spell of telekinesis,” Bottleleaf spoke over the crowd of students jockeying for a desk near the front in order to avoid Will and Art, who had taken seats in the back of the classroom. “Should you fail, have no fear; Gohagger is taking recruits for additional formation training,” he explained calmly. “The incantation is such, ‘Raisíth.’ The spell will lift a stone into the air. Now, do not be discouraged if you cannot lift the rock, as magic does not flow in the veins of as many as it used to. However, if you pass this initial test, soon enough, you too will have a grasp of magic and the ability send stones much larger than these soaring like meteorites through the sky. But first, practice.” A smooth rock appeared suddenly on each of the desks, making loud popping noises as they burst into existence. “I will inspect you all in due time.”

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 my 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 e
lven 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.