Fire And Ice (Book 1) (83 page)

             
With no resistance Coran pulled Ice out of the dead Maji.  He turned around and ran to the fallen Queen.  Martin was already on his knees, leaning over her as several Knights encircled them.  Coran pushed his way to her side.  “Is she...?”  He couldn’t say it, not out loud.

             
“She is still breathing.  Besides that I cannot tell,” the Commander informed him.

             
Coran could not think for his worry.  Nothing else mattered except the still body of the young woman laying on top of the snow. 

              Petrin Venn moved through the fighting, his staff spinning to deflect swords and spears.  When an opening presented itself he would deliver blows to knees and heads.  He tried not to aim for vital areas since he did not want to kill anyone if he could help it.  It was not the way of his people.                 He found himself in the middle of the ridge where the Makkurans and their allies were being pushed back by the men of Summerhall and several Northmen.  There was a flash of light and the nearest Northman went up in flames.  Petrin Venn looked around, not only with his eyes but his senses.  He found the Maji quickly and headed for him.  The Maji spotted him and struck with more fire. 
What is it about fire that the Maji seem to like so much?
  He had to wonder, and knew it was because of fire’s destructive nature.  Bringing the staff up and to the side he deflected the fire ball.  Again and again he deflected fire with his staff, then he pushed the staff outward in a stabbing gesture.  Light flew from the end to strike the Maji in the stomach.  It was not a killing blow.

             
“Healer!  I need a healer!” someone shouted and Petrin Venn stopped his attack.

              Terence Orlew blocked a clumsy attack from a long sword wielded by a man in chain mail who looked very much like a Midian.  Of course he was not.  Terence swung at his unprotected face and the man dropped his weapon to raise both hands to his wound, blood gushed between the fingers. 

             
His ability to touch Naturus had manifested itself late in him, after he had nearly completed his training to become a knight.  As soon as he found out about it he was shipped off to Herrinhall to begin his new training.  This was the first time he had to use his power for real.  Being in a fight he fell back on his earlier training with the sword which felt more instinctive. 

             
He could not be sure exactly where he was on the field anymore, since he had been concentrating on not getting himself killed, but there were blue uniformed men around him.  There were also men in the white and gold of Delios, and wild looking Northmen.               Ahead, a group of Makkurans in their scaled armor came charging into the Westerners.  Among them was a very large man who was completely bald.  Part of Terence’s studies included learning a little about the Maji, especially the Majin.  The man before him was one of the latter.  His name was Kere.

             
Suddenly faced by another wizard who would want him dead, Terence was not sure he was ready for this. 

             
A bolt of energy flew by his shoulder and towards Kere.  The Majin swept it aside.  Telisin appeared out of the mass of men to face the Majin.  Terence was left with no choice but to help his fellow wizard. 

             
Telisin and Kere exchanged magical blows of fire and air.  It was apparent that the Majin was the stronger of the two.  Terence gulped before moving to stand by Telisin.  The Majin included him in his determined stare.  The battle continued with three now instead of two.  Terence was not as experienced as the others and had to work harder.  He was surprised by Kere’s strength and suddenly understood all the warnings about how dangerous the Majin were compared to the Maji. 

             
The Makkurans were being beaten back and Kere was in danger of being surrounded.  The Majin gathered his full power about him and struck out with bolts of energy.  Terence raised a shield of air and was knocked back so hard he flew through the air before hitting the ground. 

             
He rolled over and sat up.  He felt hurt all over.  Looking towards where Telisin was standing he saw his fellow wizard, and friend, laying on the carpet of snow.     

             
“Healer!”  Coran shouted, hoping that someone might be close enough to help.              

             
It was not long when the dark haired Petrin Venn came and checked the unconscious Queen.  He put a hand to her forehead.

             
“Is she all right?”  Coran asked anxiously.

             
“She is just knocked out.  She will be fine,” the short wizard assured him.  He didn’t remove his hand right away, but kept it there for a second before he was satisfied and only then took it away.  “There.”

             
Katelyn’s eyes fluttered open.  She stared up at Coran’s face and smiled in that way that made him swallow hard.  “Did we win?”

             
He laughed and almost cried in relief.  “Not yet.”             

             
She sat up and looked around at the battle still being fought.  It was still moving eastward, and the enemy was still fighting with no signs of giving up yet. 

             
Katelyn appeared a bit dazed.  Suddenly, she pointed past his shoulder and Coran turned to look.  In the center of the spinning mass above them a dark finger of cloud dipped down towards the ground.  When it touched men and horses were ripped apart by the shrieking winds.

             
Coran turned his head back to her.  “I have to stop this.” 

             
Her eyes were on him, but she did not seem to understand what he was saying.  “What?”

             
Unable to wait any longer, and not wishing to argue over it, Coran left her in the care of the wizard and Martin.  She would have tried to stop him and he knew that he had to do this, alone.

Chapter 43

The Tower Top

             
Coran left Katelyn and the Knights behind as he ran towards the south side of the field.  Down in the shallow valley to his right the funnel shaped clouds continued to bring destruction wherever it passed.  He passed Taragosans who continued to push up the incline of the hill.  The Easterners were starting to turn and run as the logical outcome began to dawn on even the most stubborn.  Coran caught sight of a gray haired man in the middle of a group of towering Northmen. 

             
“Tenobius!”  Coran called over the sounds of battle. 

             
The First Wizard turned at the sound of his name.  “Coran,” the wizard stated in as quiet voice as if there was not a battle raging around him.  Tenobius looked tired as he shook his head miserably.  “I thought I could stop him, or at least distract him, but I cannot.  He is too powerful.”  Coran knew who he was talking about.  Elthzidor.  That the First Wizard, with his knowledge and experience, was unable to do anything made Coran wonder what he could possibly do.  “Someone must stop him.”

             
“I know,” he replied simply, not really sure that he could do anything. 

             
“Listen.”  Tenobius leaned closer.  “I know that you think you must face Elthzidor because you have the sword.  That is not the only reason.  The sword is important, but with or without it you are the Champion.  You are the only one who can stop him.”

             
Coran nodded.  He didn’t know how to respond, or even if he believed what the man was saying.

             
“One last thing,” the wizard continued.  “When the darkness threatens to swallow you, you must embrace the light.”  When he saw that Coran did not understand he sighed.  “Just remember.”              

             
“I will,” promised Coran, seeing that it was important to the man for some reason.  Then he turned away and started out for the tower again.

             
He passed green and yellow clad Westlanders bearing the three stars of Westland on their chests.  They fought spear wielding men with conical shaped helmets on their heads or

no helmets at all.  He didn’t see Robert anywhere. 

              The fighting became more intense as he came closer to his goal.  Mounted Makkurans and Westlanders fought on the edge of the field, blocking his way.  One of the Makkurans tried to strike at him from the saddle.  Coran dodged out of the way and struck at the horse.  The animal went down screaming, pitching its rider into the snow.  Before the man could regain his feet Coran took off his head with one swipe of Ice.  The way was now clear to the trees that surrounded the base of the tower. 

             
As he reached it one of the Orgog was standing guard at the rectangular opening.  It snarled and spread its arms in preparation to attack.  Coran had no time for this, ducking under a claw tipped arm he swung at the thing’s middle, cutting it nearly in half.

             
Coran ducked inside to the tower’s interior.  Cobwebs hung where the ceiling and walls met.  A ladder ran up to an opening in the wood above.  The sounds of battle from outside were muted by the stone walls. 

             
He sheathed Ice and climbed to the next level up.  It was empty except for another ladder leading upwards.  He climbed that one, avoiding the second rung which was broken, and spotted another ladder leading up to the tower top.  Through the opening in the stone ceiling he could see the dark, swirling clouds.  On reaching the top of the ladder he poked his head out cautiously.  The opening was on the southern side of the tower, and Elthzidor stood on the north side facing the battlefield. 

             
The Ra Majin must have seen him out of the corner of his eye because he took a second to point a hand in his direction.  As the bolt of fire flew towards him, Coran ducked back out of sight.  The fire struck the stones on one side of the opening, spraying small chunks everywhere.  Coran felt something hit his cheek.  When he put a hand there it came away with some blood. 

             
There was no easy way to do it.  “If I am going to do it I just have to do it,” he told himself.  Whatever was going to happen was going to happen.  Tenobius called him the Champion.  He didn't feel like a champion.  The wizard told him he was the only one who could stop Elthzidor.  He didn't believe that either.  But unless someone did something Elthzidor was going to destroy the armies of Midia and the North.  He climbed the rest of the way and moved quickly to gain his feet on the tower top.

             
He could see the battlefield around them.  All along the ridge that ran north out from the tower the men of the West were slowing their attack.  The Easterners he saw were running headlong across the low valley on the eastern side of the ridge.  The battle appeared to be mostly over.  Only near the tower itself did any serious fighting remain.  That was not the end of the danger though.  The funnel clouds were still moving, approaching the ridge from the west, approaching Katelyn.  He had to stop it somehow.  He drew Ice and took a step closer to his enemy.  Once again coldness flowed into him from the blade, coldness with an underlining warmth. 

             
Elthzidor spotted the movement, his gaze moved to fall on Coran.  It was enough to distract the wizard from his work.  The clouds still continued their spinning, but the finger of darkness had retreated back into the sky to join them.

             
“So it has come at last.  Our fated meeting,” Elthzidor breathed.  “Are you ready, boy?”

             
“More than you know,” responded Coran more out of defiance than any feeling that the words were true.               Elthzidor was not fooled.  A thin smile was on his lips.  “Such bravado.  That is really very noble of you.  But we both know the truth, do we not?”  He shrugged the black robe from his shoulders, letting the cloth settle to the stones around his feet.  Underneath he wore a stiff black shirt with sleeves that ended at his elbows and golden swirls throughout.  The hilt of a sword was revealed at his side.  The Ra Majin drew it slowly from the sheath.  The entire length of the sword, from pommel to pointed tip, was black.

It was not a solid black though.  There was a red shine to it the color of newly spilled blood.

              Coran stared at the blade with a rising dread.  No one had told him about that sword, but he was sure it had to be like his own blue-silver blade.

             
“I have been waiting a long time for this,” said Elthzidor as he spun the blade expertly with one hand.  “When you are finally dead nothing will stand in my way.”

             
“Enough talk Elthzidor,” Coran said bravely. 

             
“Are you so eager to die?”

             
“Are you so sure it will be me who dies?”  Coran countered.

             
Elthzidor laughed at him.  “You have no idea what you face.  Did that fool Tenobius not tell you of the power I possess?”

             
As Elthzidor talked a familiar calm came over Coran as it had during the fight in Crecy and in the North when he faced Gorod.  He knew it was time to end this.  Ignoring the wizard’s banter he took a step nearer his adversary.

             
Elthzidor gestured sharply and fire shot outward from his hand, it met the blue steel of Ice and dissipated.  The Wizard raised his hand and Coran could feel what the man was doing.  Before the lightning struck the spot he had been standing on Coran dove for the stones of the tower top, rolled, and came to his feet.  Elthzidor attacked again, but not with the power of Naturus, with the sword.  Coran blocked the strike and their personnel battle began.

             
Back and forth they fought around the space allowed.  For appearing so thin, Elthzidor was surprisingly strong with his blows.  As they fought the black blade came closer and closer to reaching him.  Coran desperately fought to gain room, finally spinning away, but not before the dark sword scored a hit across his upper thigh.  Luckily it did not feel bad enough to impede his movement.             

             
“You cannot keep this up much longer,” Elthzidor commented.

             
Coran knew he was right.  If he was going to have a chance he had to surrender to that feeling of calmness completely.  He pushed out all distractions.  He did not think of the things around him that he could see, hear, or touch, but was aware of them, ready to react instinctively, without thought.

             
They fought again and this time it was Coran who was rewarded with a cut across the wizard’s shoulder.  Elthzidor put his free hand to the wound and then looked at his bloody fingers.  He was no longer smiling. 

             
“Enough of this foolishness.  It is time that you learned what real power is.”  Elthzidor raised his sword up before him, holding the hilt in both hands. 

             
There was a tingling to the air that made Coran’s hairs rise.  He could feel the amount of power emanating from the other man.  At first the air around the wizard appeared to dim, then grew darker until a blackness outlined Elthzidor.  The blackness grew until Coran could feel it pushing against him.  The calm he was in threatened to shatter as panic gripped his heart.  The blackness was power, unbelievable power that was a part of Elthzidor, and a part of the sword he held.  Surely nothing could stand against such power.               Elthzidor lowered the point of the sword until it was directed at Coran.  “Feel the power of Fire!”  Then fire shot towards him.  It was not the normal orange and yellow of regular fire, but was rather a seething ball of black and red.  Coran raised Ice just in time to block the worst of the blow, as it was he found himself hurtled backwards to fall against the battlements.  As he struck the stone wall pain blossomed throughout his back and head.  His legs could not hold him and he slid down to a sitting position, his back against the wall.  He felt weak and pain radiated through his entire body.   It was no use.  Nothing could match that much power. 

             
“Yes!” exalted Elthzidor.  “My Master will give me rewards beyond measure for this.”  He moved until he was standing over Coran.  “You have failed, boy, and now all of the West will pay the price.  Starting with your precious little Queen.  I have some interesting plans for her.  I might even give her to Torvilin after all.”

             
He was right again.  Coran desperately tried to think of something.  If he died now than all would be lost, Katelyn would be lost.  The words of Tenobius came to him then. 
When the darkness threatens to swallow you, embrace the light. 

             
If darkness could be said to be about to swallow him, this would be it.  But what did he mean about embracing the light?  Coran wasn’t sure but he knew right then that he needed to touch that elusive power wizards talked so much about.  He forced himself to regain the calmness even as Elthzidor raised the black sword to strike the final blow.  Coran close his eyes to shut out the image.

             
As he had been taught by Gelarus so long ago he reached outward with his mind to the wind as it caressed the stones of the tower, to the men who still fought below, to the clouds that had stopped their spinning.  He could feel the energy that was Naturus in and around everything.  Then he did something that he had never been able to do before, he touched that power with his mind.  He could feel it in his thoughts.  Instead of affecting, or moving it, as Gelarus had taught, Coran pulled that energy into himself, connecting it to the energy that was within him and the energy that was part of the sword in his hand.  Finally, he took all that power and embraced it.  He accepted the power, letting it fill every part of him.  Opening his eyes he flung a hand outwards at the man standing over him.  Elthzidor flew backwards from the force of the wind to land flat on his back. 

             
As they both struggled to their feet Coran noticed a light around himself. 

             
“How!?”  Then Elthzidor gasped as he saw the nimbus of light around Coran.  “It is not possible.  I sensed nothing in you like this.  Nothing!”             

             
Coran didn’t have an explanation, but the feeling of pulling the energy into him seemed important.  “That is because it was not in me,” he told the wizard and the answer felt right.

              Katelyn got to her feet and took the sword she had dropped from one of the Knights who held it out for her.  Shaking her head from the blow she glanced around.  “Where is Coran?” she asked and then remembered what he had said.  “The Tower!”  She looked to the south and could barely make out two figures on the top level. 

             
There was little time for staring as they were suddenly attacked by another group of Makkurans.  Katelyn fought, striking out at any who came within reach of her sword.  Martin still fought beside her, his helmet lost in the struggle.  Renly guarded her other side.  More Knights fought with them on the slope of the hill, but fewer, far too many had fallen.  Other men had come to take their places, men in the blue and gold of Summerhall, the white and gold of Delios, shaggy,  ununiformed Northmen, and a few Taragosans.  She also caught sight of a short man wielding a spinning staff nearby.