Wielder of the Flame

Copyright © 2015 Nikolas Rex

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any
similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not
intended by the author

Copyright © 2015 Nikolas Rex

All rights reserved

ISBN-10: 1514770334

ISBN-13: 978-1514770337

An old man raced down the winding
corridors of an ancient library.

The Destroyer had finally found him.

It had come for blood, at the very least.

The old man’s midnight blue robes flowed behind him as he
ran, resembling a banner in the wind. Strands of long, wild gray hair poked out
from underneath the brim of his cowl. In one hand he grasped a small murky orb
about the size of his fist. The thick, colorless substance within it sloshed around
sluggishly, awaiting instruction. Ornate, golden, braziers lined the walls, their
bluish glow revealing a path he already knew by heart.

Sounds of battle echoed through the hallways behind him,
good men sacrificing their lives to give him enough time to escape. They were
loyal protectors of the Ascendant Sages, warriors who had been born and raised
in the Keep. They would defend the old wizards to the death. A deafening roar
echoed over the clash of swords.

The noise triggered painful memories of conflicts past and
the old man’s blood chilled in his veins because of them. He hastened his step
in response.

“Doth-na-klin!” He said to the orb in a commanding voice,
awake
and arise.

He preferred to use Runemagic when preparing an orb to
travel the Unseen Paths. It was a more precise way to structure the
enchantment, but required a more stationary stance to execute accurately, and
he could not afford making any mistakes in forming the runes with the gestures
of his free hand as he ran. So he settled with an incantation in the old
tongue, the language of the Exalted.

It was only a matter of time.
He thought as he began
the spell. His leather shod feet still made quick thudding sounds against the
floor as he passed swiftly through the library.

There were only a dozen trusted people who knew of the plan
to gather the six remaining crystal shards and hide them across Lyrridia. Even
fewer knew of the enchanted map which specifically pointed out their locations.
And only he, one other surviving Ascendant Sage, and the Oracle, knew of the
six orbs that connected to Unseen Paths which lead directly to those shards for
their swift recovery.

Had one of the dozen been interrogated? Or had it been the
other Ascendant Sage? If it had been one of the dozen, then their enemy would
only know of the existence of the map and that was the least grave of the
possible cases. He knew it could not be the Oracle, having just conversed with
her less than a fortnight’s time ago, and the thought relieved him, but only
somewhat.

He did not have time to dwell on such questions now and
shook his head to focus on the enchantment, uttering the words of power through
wheezing breaths.

The roar sounded through the hallways again, closer this
time.

The old man stumbled, the orb almost slipping in his sweaty
grasp. He recovered and re-secured his grip on it. It was a delicate thing,
easily broken. A problem he and the other Ascendant Sages had tried to solve
long ago, but to no avail.

In truth, the old man had no idea what would happen if it
was destroyed. The purpose of the orbs was to allow one to walk the Unseen
Paths. The magic inside was drawn from the Great Crystal itself, the bringer of
magic into their world. Unless prepared and contained with the proper
enchantment, it was highly unstable. One of the Ascendant Sages held to the
theory that the destruction of an orb, prepared or not, would cause an outward
explosion of enormous proportions. The massive sphere thus created would move
without direction or control, with no instruction of what to transport, or from
where to when. The magic would simply obliterate any and everything in its
vicinity.

He did not want that.

He skidded around the last corner to face a staircase. A
large door offered sanctuary at the top. Without hesitation the old man took the
steps two at a time. His legs ached in protest, but he did not stop. He
continued to mutter the words to mold the substance within the sphere, sifting
through its essence to open an Unseen Path to the Oracle. The orb flashed a
brilliant white, illuminating the old man’s countenance. As the light faded, a
hint of blue emerged from its center. He was close to finishing the spell. He
knew it would be ready when it became blue—a dark, pure blue of the sky on a
warm, cloudless, day.

He arrived at the top of the stairs. As he reached for the
gold ring handle, he hastily checked the intricate golden inlay scrawled on the
polished surface. The rich brown color of the door made it easy to see if any
of the ancient symbols were blemished, which they were not. He yanked the heavy
door open, the hinges creaking from its weight.

The old man struggled to catch his breath. Sweat dripped off
his brow. A dark tunnel lay before him.

Covering the orb with his free hand he turned his attention
to the darkened hall and spoke a single word of power “Aceso!” Bright blue
light lit up the narrow space as instructed by the Sage.

Before he could step through the threshold and shut the door
behind him, however, the roof of the hallway at the bottom of the stairs
exploded inwards and a gargantuan beast crashed through, landing heavily
against the floor. The old man whirled to face the intruder. It was a fiend
dredged up from the depths of darkness and death, half wrought of black mists
and the other half a ghastly mixture of rotting flesh, scales, sinew and bones
forming together a monstrous dragon. 

It raised its enormous head, locking eyes with the old man.
Hate radiated from the fiend’s terrifying glare as it opened its maw to roar.
Molten slag dripped from its blackened teeth.

The Ascendant Sage slammed the door shut behind him as the
thing below belched a torrent of flames up the stairs. The door, an ancient
artifact from the Illuminated Era, was no ordinary wooden thing. It was old,
but it should stand against the beast long enough for the old man to accomplish
what he needed to. The door glowed bright, evaporating the monster’s fiery
attack upon contact. The creature’s frustrated roar was muffled behind the now sealed
door.

The Ascendant Sage sprinted to the end of the tunnel. The
beast would break through soon. Though it would be unable to fit through the
passageway, the old man knew of what—
who
—was to come.

The blue light guiding him down the hall lit this spacious
chamber as well. He ignored the many shelves of books, scrolls and tomes on one
side of the room, walking straight past his large desk littered with feather
pens, ink bottles, and books, to stand in front of the far wall, whereupon hung
a large tapestry depicting a beautiful landscape of the surrounding region
which had been woven with breathtaking detail and color.

A thundering boom crashed against the door in the hall, and
the entire room shuddered in response. The creature roared with fury.

Boom!

The room quivered and cracks began to appear along the wall,
ripping several maps and sea charts carefully nailed to the stone, as well as a
detailed anatomy drawing of a dragon.

Boom!

A stack of artifacts and scrolls resting upon a display in
the corner of the room tumbled free as the room shook, spilling a set of brown
leather gauntlets embedded with emeralds, a wooden bowl and cup laced with
gold, and rolls of colorful and rare silks across the floor.

Ignoring the damage, the Ascendant Sage stared at the
tapestry and made a number of swift and methodical gestures with his hand
against a portion of the tapestry level with his chest. A silver light glowed
in the path he traced, forming a rune. With the symbol complete, he pressed his
hand against it and the heavy cloth began to change. It fell away, turning into
sand, and vanished upon hitting the floor, revealing a large metal door
underneath; a vault.

A beautiful and carefully carved inscription of characters lay
across the surface of the metal. Once more he traced a few symbols, forming a
set of silver lighted runes, the cypher. The silver light began to spread out
through the indentations with a life of its own and then flashed brightly and
disappeared. A deep thump followed and the creaking of wheels and mechanical
workings within sounded as the vault door slid slowly sideways into the wall.
There was a final lurching crunch and the vault was open.

BOOM!

The walls quivered.

The inside of the safe was large, but occupied with nothing
but a pedestal in its center, standing half as tall as the old man. Upon the
pedestal lay a small, dark metal box about the length of the man’s arm and as
high as his hand from his wrist to the tips of his fingers. Its surface was of
one continuous design. The six orbs lay inside, resting upon red velvet,
already prepared for travel. An object shaped like a metal rod lay next to the
box. Its exterior was designed like the box except for the engraving of a small
winged figure surrounded by flames on one end. When activated by the proper
magic, the rod opened to be the enchanted map.

BOOM!

More cracks.

He grabbed the case holding the map and stuffed it into an inner
upper pocket of his robes, and wedged the box underneath his arm.

As he exited the small space he waved his hand. The door rumbled
back into place and the tapestry began to reappear, covering the now empty
vault.

“Caminho tras semita,”
path across the way.
He
muttered to the orb. The pale blue color was solidifying within the orb. The
enchantment was nearly complete. He need now only retrieve his staff, and leave
this place.

Running over to another display of magical items on the
right wall that had not yet fallen to the floor, he took a long staff from
among a number of other weapons. The polished, dark red wood shimmered in the
firm grip of his hand. He paused. The pounding had stopped.

The old man’s heart paused as well.

A loud creak and the clatter of wooden pieces rang out as
the door was torn asunder.

A swift rush of wind echoed through the room.

 The old man spun around, holding the staff between him and
the entrance to his chambers, concealing the orb in his other hand under his
sleeve.

A giant figure stood in the entryway of the chamber clad
entirely in black armor.

Ancient runes were etched into the metal of the armor, with
the effect of absorbing nearby light, as well as other enhancements. Spikes
protruded from the shoulders, arms, and gauntleted fists. A horned helmet adorned
the figure’s head, with a faceplate shaped like a skull covering his entire
face except his eyes, which bore unending fire and the very depths of the netherworld
itself.

The same dark mist which encircled the monster in the tunnel
and stairway below, curled in and around the black figure.

“Keeper,” the armored giant spoke. His voice mirrored his
appearance, dark and booming.

“Tremos,” The old man spoke the name with disdain.

“It is over Keeper, you have nowhere else to run. Now give
me the map.”

So
, thought the old man,
he knows only of the map.

His heart soared. There was hope still. He need only finish
the orb’s preparations. He began to think the words to finish the spell, but it
was his least favorable technique, one that other Sages had mastered with ease.

 “I was atop Garduan’s Keep when you fell,” The old man
said, trying to stall by bringing up the past.

“Irroth could not stop me then, and neither can you, now.”

“But he hindered you from getting the Summoning Stone.”

“He succeeded only in destroying himself and his allies. You
and your order are at an end Keeper, you have become too old. I would not
expect you to understand such power anymore. You can either give me the map
now, and I shall grant you a quick death, or you can struggle, after which I
will still find the map, so there really is no other choice for you.”

At an end
... The old man repeated in his mind.
That
could only mean that the other Sages
—

Tremos seemed to read the old wizard’s mind and said, “Oh
yes. Rohtan put up quite the struggle before the end.”

The Protector.
Keeper thought at the mention of the
Ascendant Sage’s real name.
Dwell forever in Alfhyym, my good friend.

“How does it feel, Keeper, knowing you are the last?”

“You are at a place far beyond mercy!” The Keeper shouted
with resolve, “Power and bloodshed is your existence now. You will have to kill
me and search for it yourself.”

“You test my patience, give me the MAP!”

“NEVER!” the Keeper yelled. A powerful white lance of energy
burst from the top of the staff, shooting at the dark figure.

Tremos reacted with equal speed, bringing up his armored
hand. The mysterious black fog snapped together and intercepted the white
magic.

There was an echoing boom as the two powers collided,
rattling the many adornments in the room. The two opposing magical elements
crackled angrily.

The white flared with brilliance and strength, reversing the
direction of the darkness, but only briefly. The dark surged forward, pushing
the light away, back towards its wielder. Bright sparks erupted from the
violent struggle of power, splashing across the floor, searing into the dark
marble. One side of the room radiated with bright light and the other was cast
into deep shadow.

The Keeper shouted with resolve. The exertion he had gone
through earlier had taken its toll and had left him without much of a reserve
of strength to draw upon.

Just a few more moments,
The Keeper thought silently.

The dark figure lifted up a second hand, increasing the
effectiveness of the dark energy flowing from him. The corrupt power surged
forward and it seemed Tremos had won.