Wielder of the Flame (36 page)

Puck concentrated and moved the knife with his magic.

There was a flash of light that could have been nothing more
than the light from the campfire reflecting off the blade, but Puck knew it to
be his power.

The blade in the soldier’s hand changed direction and
swiftly sunk itself deep into his own upper thigh.

Instantly time seemed to catch up to itself.

“AHHHHH!!!” The man let out a scream.

“You fool!” Jaeic yelled, “You stupid fool! We cannot kill
the boy!”

The wounded soldier fell back into the arms of two other
nearby comrades.

“The show is over!” Jaeic yelled, “If you surly lot cannot
behave yourself then the show is
over
!”

The hurt man continued to cry out in pain.

“Get that blade out of his leg and shut him up!” Jaeic
yelled over the wounded soldier.

Jaeic stormed away from the tree, back to the nearby camp.

The rest of the soldiers followed, grumbling that their fun
for the night was over.

Not too much longer and Puck was alone, still tied to the
tree. His whole body flared with pain. His cheek began to bleed again.

He was surprised at his own abilities, but could not enjoy
it. He was too tired and quickly fell limp against his bonds, unconscious.

Puck awoke suddenly.  

It was still dark. The campfires were dim, more untended
glowing coals than actual licking flames. He could see all the soldiers
sleeping soundly in their makeshift beds on the ground in small circles.

Puck felt his bonds being loosened and arms helped him slide
gently to his knees.

What is going on? Am I being rescued?

Drake?

He voiced his last thought aloud, “Drake?”

He was so happy. He was finally free. His friend had come to
rescue him.

Then he felt cold iron shackles clank around his wrists. He
was immediately confused.

Then a familiar voice spoke quietly near his ear.

“Stay silent, or I kill you.”

It was not Drake.

“Hey there mister.”

It was the voice of a child.

“You got ‘em both, but you got hurt real bad.”

It was the first thing Drake sensed.

Within moments his other senses fired up and he tried to
take in the overwhelming assault to his mind as a result of it.

He heard the cry of birds nearby and the rustling of a
breeze against dry brush.

He smelled the pungent aroma of blood, thick and heavy, in
the air, and along with it, death all around him.

He tasted blood in his mouth as well, his own and that of
something else.

His body felt beaten and sore.

He opened his eyes. The sky was clear, and blue, a powerful
striking azure. It was bright, most likely midday. He tried to sit up but
coughed up blood instead and turned on his side. He felt small hands help him
sit up and through the tangled mess of his own hair he made out the figure of a
small boy.

“I saw the whole thing from over there,” the boy continued.

The boy was perhaps coming up on his tenth cycle of life,
but looked maybe even younger than that.

“I thought you were going to be dead for sure, but you got
‘em mister, you got both of ‘em!” he reaffirmed with awe.

The boy’s face was one of absolute astonishment.

Drake tried to say something but only coughed more.

“I will go get help,” the boy said, “No one is going to
believe this! You saved us! You saved everyone!”

The boy turned and ran.

Drake rose his hand to protest but let it fall again.

He was exhausted.

He lay very uncomfortably on hard broken grey rock.
Mountains rose up on both sides of his view. He was in some sort of deep canyon
or mountain pass but he did not specifically recognize anything.

Where am I?
he thought worriedly.

The last thing he remembered was sitting at a small
inexpensive wooden table eating an inexpensive meal and drinking a watered down
light ale with his traveling companion, Puck.

Puck!
Drake looked around again,
Where is Puck?
Where am
I
?

Got both of them?
The words of the boy penetrated his
mind,
got
who
?

Drake shifted his sore frame over and froze at what he saw.

Towering nearby him were the freshly slain corpses of two
massive creatures which Drake recognized as Vorstai.

Most believed that the terrifying monsters had been a result
of experiments preformed by dark sorcerers during the War of Power attempting
to bond draconic beasts with the large avian creatures called Rocs. Not many
Vorstai survived the dark magic, but the ones that did went on to breed at an
alarming rate. They were used in battle only by those who were powerful enough
to subdue the large beasts. Most were killed off during the War of Power, but
the ones that survived migrated away from civilization and retreated deep into
the Wildlands.

They were large creatures, as long as three men standing on
each other’s shoulders, not including the tail, with a wing span of about the
same length. They had a mixture of both avian and draconic features. A light
almost feathery fur decorated their necks and backs almost down half the tail.
Their wings were feathered at the base but leathery overall. They had stumpy
snouts ending in downward curving beaks and mouths lined with deadly sharp rows
of teeth. Where the fur did not cover, thick scaly hides broke through instead.
Their fur and hides were generally dark in color, muted browns and grays, to
blend with their favored mountainous surroundings. Because of their enormous
bodies and wings they always sought the highest peaks for their nesting
grounds. Male and females would hunt together, secure in the knowledge that
their nest really didn’t need too much protection, as it was generally already
high enough out of reach from any sort of predator to get at.

The creatures were not merely dead, but brutally and
viscerally mutilated, specifically in their faces. It was beyond a shadow of a
doubt that the two Vorstai were not getting back on their feet or ever
spreading their mangled wings to fly again. They were unequivocally dead,
whoever had fought the creatures had made sure of it.

Drake’s first thought was that he must be deep in the
Wildlands himself. But that would not explain the presence of a small child
alone out here.

Not alone,
Drake pondered,
He said he was bringing
help.

Perhaps a traveling band of Relic Hunters?
He tried
to reason,
Exalted!
He cursed silently,
Revenant!
He felt angry
enough to invoke both essences,
Where am I?

He knew he had blacked out again, and was worried. He did
not know how much time had passed since he was with Puck. With a body that
would not age, it could be a day or two later, or five or ten cycles later, it
was impossible to tell.

The despair began to overtake him again. He had failed to
find help, he had failed to find the young man in his vision. He had come so
close, he had been in the company of another who had seen the same visions as
he, but it seemed that he was doomed to walk the lands forever in this cursed
state of perpetual blackouts.

To see two Vorstai before him, and dead on top of that,
along with his disorientation and other thoughts, was enough to make Drake, in
his already worn out state, close his eyes and welcome the darkness.

He was aware of voices, but they seemed distant, muted.

He felt himself being lifted by several sets of arms.

“My swords!” he was able to muster as he was carried off.

He fell into unconsciousness again moments later.

He woke again after some time had passed, how much he still
could not discern.

It was dark. He was inside somewhere. A number of candles
and torches illuminated the room in a soft flickering glow. He lay on a bed,
his clothes removed. He felt naked, both figuratively and literally. His skin
felt smooth against the fine linen of the bed. He had been bathed and cleaned,
his wounds wrapped. He wouldn’t need the wrappings soon, as he could already
feel his body healing from whatever ordeal it had underwent. He could see
better than most during the day, and though everything he saw in the dark was
muted in color and illuminated with an iridescent green, he could literally see
in pitch blackness, in the failing light though, he often found it hard to
focus. His eyesight was still adjusting to the lowlight as a small womanly
figure approached his bed.

“Laeyadin?” He whispered incredulously.

But no, it couldn’t be. She was dead many cycles now come
and gone.

His eyes finally adjusted and he could see the girl now.

She was beautiful with long shiny black hair and striking
blue eyes. Her skin was a light chestnut in color. She had the figure of a girl
who had already gone through the beginning stages of womanhood and she wore her
simple blue and grey gown in a way that accentuated her female form. She looked
to be in her eighteenth or nineteenth cycle of life.

In the corner an older woman sat in a rocking chair. She had
hair as black as the girl’s and was fast asleep. No one else was in the room.
The young woman had a vessel of water in one hand and clean white wrap cloths
in the other.

“You are awake,” She said, “How do you feel?”

Drake looked at her, letting the moment where he had
mistaken her for a woman he once loved, go.

“What cycle is it?”

“Depends on which Seal you heed,”

Drake hesitated, “The Noble Seal.”

The girl looked sideways at him in a sort of taken aback
way.

“We do not heed to the Noble Seal here,” she replied, “Do
you claim Terragurion alliance then?”

Drake mentally kicked himself.
I should have asked ‘where
am I?’ first.

Trying to recover the conversation he said, “I claim no such
alliance, only admit that the Noble Seal is a very accurate record of the
cycles.”

She shook her head slightly in a dismissive way, “We heed to
the Seal of the Dueling Siblings around here.”

“And where is here?” He asked.

 “Terga, in Rawson’s Pass,” she replied.

Drake knew of the place. It was a small outpost turned town
which mostly survived on the many travelers making their way from Biarlin to
Itherin and the other way around. It was a good place for the weary adventurer
in need of a peaceful night’s rest in a warm bed. There was no competition for
resources and trade in the area so the outpost had grown fairly steadily since
its founding. 

Rawson’s pass
, he thought,
But that would mean I
am more than a fortnight’s travel from Puck in Whiteholt, if that is even where
Puck is now. Perhaps not too much time has passed after all.

“Those monsters must have really rattled your head if you do
not know where you are or what cycle falls.”

Drake shrugged, then replied, “I suppose that is the case.”

“The five hundred and nineteenth cycle under the Seal of the
Dueling Siblings.”

So, just about a fortnight or so has passed, just as I
guessed.
Drake reasoned silently.

“Time to change your wrappings,” she said.

He nodded his head and sat up, pulling the blanket down only
as far as just below his navel.

“No need for any shyness,” the young woman said, “I have already
seen all there is to see of a man, I am the town healer’s apprentice after
all.”

Drake left his hands holding on to the blanket.

The young woman shrugged and began to remove the cloth
around his arm.

Her eyebrows rose in surprise.

“Your wounds have progressed in their healing quite
rapidly,” she paused, “Are you— Are you an Exalted?”

Drake shook his head dismissively, “More like a Revenant.”

The young woman was shocked at the comment, “How could you
say such a thing? You risked your life against two terrifying beasts to save
our village, and you succeeded. Many of the townspeople have been invoking the
Exalted, cycles on end, for someone to come along strong enough to save us.”

“I did not—” Drake began, about to explain himself and his
curse, but after another moments thought, he decided he was too tired of
talking about it.

“did not, what?” she asked as she began working on the wrap
around his chest.

“I did not realize just how big a Vorst could be.”

The young woman let out a small laugh.

The lady in the chair let out a snort but did not wake.

The young woman put a hand over her mouth, but continued to
smile. She lowered her voice.

“You feign ignorance, but your abilities would suggest an
astute knowledge of your prey, how else could you have taken out both Vorstai
single handedly?”

“What is your name?” Drake asked her, trying to steer the
conversation away from a battle he did not remember having.

She smiled. He could tell she liked him. He quickly
regretted asking her a personal inquiry. Of course, inside, a part of him was
attracted to her and he desired to exchange flirtatious remarks. But harsh
personal experiences had already taught him not to let anyone get close to him,
and to not let himself get close to anyone else. 

The lady in the rocking chair continued to sleep as they
talked, occasionally letting out a soft snore. 

 “Mel, Radan of Terga, and you?”

“I am called Drake.”

“Just Drake?”

“Just Drake.”

“Where are you from?”

Drake paused, unsure of how he should answer.

“I do not remember.”

Mel shifted to remove the last wrap on his other arm. Being
on the other side of the bed she had to reach over him. Though he had been
conscious of her touch as she undid the other wraps he had not really paid much
attention. This time however her neck was very close to his face and her sweet
smell filled his nose and her chest rubbed against him. He felt an attraction
to her and knew immediately he had to end things.

“Stop,” he said gruffly, pushing her away with a little more
force than he had intended.

She stumbled a step back or two but regained her footing
without falling. She was clearly put off by his sudden change of personality.

He felt bad but knew he could not weaken now.

“I do not need help, look, I am already healed.” He ripped
the cloth from his wound and tossed it at the foot of the bed.

Mel, sensing any sort of electric energy to be gone out of
the conversation, changed her tone as well.

“Indeed,” she said curtly.

But inside she felt that perhaps he had only acted out
because he was battle weary. Belik, the boy who had found him, and who had seen
their hero in action, had gone on and on at the spectacular feats Drake had
accomplished to kill both Vorstai. Belik was a boy with a good head on his
shoulders and never stretched the truth. Accompanied with the evidence of both
dead beasts and the blood soaked and wounded warrior Drake, no one doubted the
boy’s story. Mel was certain she had seen Drake’s true heart upon meeting him.

“Can I have my clothes please?” He asked. He stripped the
other wrappings off of his legs from underneath the covers and brought them out
to lie out on the bed, keeping himself covered the whole time.

“You cannot,” she answered.

He sat there with a look of disbelief on his face at her
words.

“What I mean,” she continued, softening a little, “They were
ripped and torn beyond repair. The town women have been working hard the past
two days and nights on a set of clothes more fitting for a hero. Mother here is
working on something for you to wear to the ceremony.”

“More fitting for a—” Drake could not believe what he was
hearing, “what ceremony?” In all his many cycles he had not found himself in a
situation like this.