Wielder of the Flame (57 page)

Puck noticed Sesuadra’s quick silence and with one look at
Kimira guessed why.

“Alright!” Adoressa turned and faced the crowd as Kimira and
the other woman accompanying her approached, “This is not a street performance,
everyone back to work. This is business for the Circle to take care of. Go on,
return to your work.”

Reluctantly and slowly but surely, the crowd dispersed.
Though a few straggled behind.

When Kimira and the other woman arrived Adoressa then said,
“Let us convene inside, please.”

Puck looked to the aldoms.

Adoressa motioned at the stragglers and ordered them to tend
to the aldoms.

“Feed them, and then give them to drink,”

“Leave the armor on,” Puck half-ordered half-asked.

The girls bowed.

They all nodded and went into the tent. There was a sort of
main room separated by curtains near one part of the tent with a table and
chairs.

“Girls, let us work to repair these holes while they talk,”
Styala told her daughter and the other two women with her.

When the women and young men were seated Puck sat up to take
the lead, since Sesuadra had still, yet to recover his voice after seeing
Kimira.

 “Kimira,” he said, giving her a short bow in greeting.

He introduced himself and Sesuadra, who was still somewhat
silent, and then quickly explained who they were, who they represented and who
had sent them.

Kimira, like everyone else, was surprised, but more
accepting of the information.

Adoressa and the other women there listened quietly.

She looked up at the older woman who was accompanying her
and said, “Mother, it is just like Laura said, Marcus was truly sent from the
Exalted.”

Her eyes began to water slightly, “We should have listened to
her, now it is too late.”

Puck raised a hand and shook his head, “All is well, Kimira.
Laura is not dead, she is alive, she is with us.”

“What?” The older woman Kimira said was Mother, spoke.

“Laura is alive, she is an Advocate of the Flame, just like
us.”

“What do you mean?” Kimira asked, “She died in Sulendald,
fortnights ago.”

Sesuadra finally spoke up, shaking his head, “She is an
Unseen Pathwalker. She was able to use her magic to escape.”

Kimira’s Mother smiled a smile of relief and understanding.

“We just assumed she sent a letter or two,” Puck added.

“If she did,” Kimira’s Mother replied, “We did not receive
them.”

Puck shrugged.

“It does not matter,” Kimira said, “It is good to hear that
Laura is okay. But what did you want to speak of with me?”

Sesuadra replied, “The Oracle summons you, you are an
Advocate of the Flame as well, and as she has said, you will play a crucial
role in helping the Wielder of the Flame in the times to come.”

Kimira sat back, speechless.

Kimira’s mother turned to Kimira and patted her on the
shoulder, “It is a sign from the Exalted. You saw Marcus as well, you said so
yourself.”

Kimira nodded, “I did, but—but what does this all mean?”

“Yes,” Adoressa finally interrupted, “What does this all
mean?”

“For now, it does not mean much,” Sesuadra replied, “Not at
the moment. You can remain with the Order until Marcus and the rest of us stop
this darkness rising up from Sulendald. Once that is done, we will reunite, and
you will come with us to converse with the Oracle.”

“I—I do not even get a choice?” Kimira was overwhelmed.

“Of course you do,” Puck replied, “But this is an
opportunity to speak with the Oracle of Legend, she possesses ancient magic
with the ability to see what lies in your future, why would you
not
want
to go?”

Kimira gave a slight nod of her head.

“With that said,” Sesuadra continued, “Now we must meet with
Waronen.”

Another of the women present spoke, she had dark red hair
and pale skin with freckles, “He is not here, he and his army remain by the
river, fighting the enemy there.”

“Styala told us that you are waiting for Waronen to come
personally with his knights to escort your Order to safety.”

Adoressa sighed and put her hands in her face. The other
women looked worried as well.

Adoressa dropped her hands and looked at the young men.

“We have not had any contact with Waronen or his scouts for
almost a fortnight now. In truth we have tried to keep everyone calm and not
spoken of it. We do not know where it is safe to run to.”

“West, away from Sulendald would seem appropriate, no?” Puck
said.

“One could think that,” Adoressa said, “But the last scouts
that spoke to us seemed to have reported that they did not know where the enemy
was coming from, that Sulendald was simply a guess as to the enemy’s origin.
The most superstitious spoke of a great fog coming from the Wildlands, but we
simply do not know.”

A slight fear showed through the old woman’s sternness, a
hint of her true humanity. She was confiding in the young men because she could
sense the power they had, and the authority it granted them.

“We are pacifists, Sesuadra, Puck, we do not know where to
run, we do not know what has happened to Waronen or his soldiers, we do not
know what to do.”

Sesuadra stood up, and Puck followed suit.

Sesuadra spoke, “All will be well, Adoressa, everyone.
Prepare your encampment for departure.”

One of the women moved as if to speak her disagreement.

Sesuadra shook his head before she could do so, “You do not
have time to discuss the matter in your Circle. You must have faith in us, you
must have faith in the Flame. You will need to be ready to leave at a moment’s
notice.”

“And what will you do?” Adoressa asked.

“We need only two of our aldoms, we will leave the rest in
your care, and some foodstuffs and for you to point us towards where the scouts
came from. We will seek out Waronen.”

“Will you come back?” Kimira asked, looking Sesuadra in the
eye.

“Yes,” Sesuadra answered, returning her gaze. He felt his
stomach flutter slightly, a feeling he had heard of, but never really
experienced before.

“Or I will die trying.”    

Wake up Zildjin.

Zildjin heard the voice of the Oracle in his mind. He tried
to move, but his head swam and his whole body felt strange. Marc would have
described the feeling as being electrocuted by a taser, but Zildjin did not
know what that was and only knew that his body felt strange and sore.

Hurry, something is wrong!

Zildjin struggled but was able to sit up.

Cydas and Drake lay on the floor nearby. The vast expanse of
stars and colorful slowly shifting lights made his head further spin and he
clutched each side of his face.

“Ughhhh,” Zildjin groaned.

His helmet was off, also somewhere close by.

He rolled over and got to his knees.

He pushed himself up on one knee and then up on two feet,
swaying slightly.

“We did not leave,” Zildjin said, his voice grunting against
the pain in his body, “They left us here, Laura left us here.”

I do not think she left you here on purpose. Something
about her magic made it too difficult for her to take so many.

Cydas shifted on the ground, groaning and rolling over.

Drake remained still for a few moments longer.

Then he too began to move.

But he made no sound of discomfort or pain, and his
movements were steady, but slow.

DRAKE!
Zildjin could hear the fear in Sylandria’s
voice, and he could sense that she was only speaking in his mind and in Cydas’s
mind, not Drake’s.
It his
him
that is wrong.

He has changed.

He is not himself!

Zildjin and Cydas looked over at Drake, who was easily
standing up, his back to them. The two horns on his helmet pointing upwards
like two crooked spires.

Cydas got to his knees, still fighting against the aches as
a result of Laura’s magic.

“What do you mean?” Zildjin said, his voice just a whisper,
hoping that the Oracle could hear him.

He is—

She began but Drake spoke instead.

“I am Death,” His voice had changed, no longer that of a
young boy, but a deep, gravelly voice, like two stones grinding together.

Drake drew both of his blades in a slow, methodical motion.

“Drake?” Zildjin brought up his armored hand in a
half-gesture that said
stop.
“What are you doing? Drake?”

He is not himself!
The Oracle said in fear,
Defend
yourselves!

Cydas got to one knee and was looking up at Drake.

Zildjin retrieved his helmet next to him and put it on his
head. He then closed his hand around the hilt of his weapon and pulled to
unsheathe it.

But it was stuck.

Drake slowly turned to face them. His countenance was one of
darkness and malice, a sort of projection that hovered over his real face, his
eyes were black and soulless.

“Destroyer of Worlds,” the thing that was no longer Drake,
finished.

And then, in a heartbeat, Drake moved impossibly fast
towards Cydas, blades poised, ready to strike an immediate killing blow.

Cydas was barely able to bring up his arms and gauntlets to
deflect the incoming assault.

There was a shower of sparks and Cydas flew backwards with
the force, skidding against the floor. But Marad’s improved armor held.

Zildjin again yanked at his sword, incredulous that the
sword would not draw out. Had Marad mistakenly made his weapon too large for
his sheathe in some way?

Drake, furious that his attack had been frustrated raised
his katanas and was about to move against Cydas again.

Zildjin’s blade finally came free, at least he thought it
did. Instead, however, the sheath ripped from his belt and suddenly flew away
from the sword, spinning towards Drake like a whirlwind.

Drake perceived the incoming projectile just in time to whip
his katanas around and slice at the empty sheath. It was cut down swiftly.

But the distraction was just enough for Cydas to finally
pick himself up and draw his sword and for Zildjin to rush forward in an
attack.

“AHHH!” Zildjin cried, thrusting his sword forwards at the
thing who was not Drake.

Drake dodged, but just barely.

Zildjin’s sword knicked the cloth and part of Drake’s
trapezius muscle near his neck, drawing a slight bit of blood.

Drake hit Zildjin’s arm away with his shoulder and brought
both katanas in a sweeping horizontal arc at Zildjin. Drake’s push was just
enough that moved Zildjin in a way that forced both katanas to do nothing more
than scrape against Zildjin’s chestplate.

Zildjin grabbed one of Drake’s arms as it flew by and
brought his sword down, attempting to cut the exposed part of the arm between
the armor.

But Drake was strong, much stronger than Zildjin anticipated
and the boy twisted out of Zildjin’s grip.

In that moment Cydas entered the battle, thrusting his large
broadsword at Drake’s midsection. Drake countered with both katanas in an x
formation, catching Cydas’s sword in the upper v of the x.

Zildjin saw another opportunity to strike and swept his sword
low, trying to hit the boy’s legs but Drake jumped, using the momentum to push
Cydas away.

“Stop this Drake!” Zildjin tried.

But he would not stop.

Even facing two foes he did not stop.

He rushed forward again to take both of them on.

Zildjin and Cydas brought up their blades to block the
attack.

Drake was fast, faster than any training sessions he had had
with them.

Drake’s katanas were like two blurs of steel, striking fast
and hard each time.

Zildjin was fortunate enough to block each attack but Cydas
was having difficulty, letting some of the attacks in. But they only landed
against armor, for the time being.

“Oracle! Is there something you can do, use the power here
to aid us in some way,” Zildjin cried.

I can only strengthen magic, there is nothing I can do
otherwise. I—I am trapped here.

“Speak to him!” Cydas implored.

“Impose a vision upon him!” Zildjin cried.

Drake spun, knocking back both Zildjin and Cydas’s blades
and forcing them to take a step backwards, up the stairs.

I am trying to break into his mind, but it is shielded by
a tremendous force of will. I am sorry.

Zildjin could see from the corner of his eye that Cydas was
struggling to keep up. Zildjin stepped forward, switching from defensive to
offensive, to face Drake alone. Zildjin realized he would have to move twice as
fast as Drake if he wanted to actually do any damage.

Cydas took a step back, taking long breaths.

“I am DEATH!” Drake cried, “Destroyer of Worlds!”

“Is that the
only
thing you can say!” Zildjin yelled.

Their blades clashed again and again. Zildjin could feel the
vibrations from each collision working away to weaken his arm. Drake did not
seem to be slowing in the least.

Zildjin could feel battlefire coursing through his body and
he summoned a burst of strength and fury.

He launched himself from the stairs at Drake, trying to
tackle him.

Drake pointed his blades up at Zildjin. Zildjin knocked one
of them away but the other was pointed directly at his head.

Time seemed to slow as the sword came up to meet Zildjin’s
face.

I do not wish to die.
Zildjin thought.

And then, in a stroke of good fortune Drake stepped upon one
of the halves of Zildjin’s sheath that had been left on the floor, and slipped
slightly, moving the katana just enough so that it merely slid against Zildjin’s
cheek, flat side of the blade, and up into his helmet. The sword wrenched the
helmet off his head, but otherwise left Zildjin unharmed.

Zildjin plowed into Drake, one hand on his face, knees
against his chest plate, forcing him down onto the ground.

Finally, the upper hand!
Zildjin thought.

He brought his sword down in an attempt to stab Drake in the
shoulder where it was unprotected by armor.

But Drake bit down on Zildjin’s gauntleted hand with an
incredible force, bending the metal and putting extreme pressure on Zildjin’s
hand.

“AHHH!” Zildjin cried in surprise and pain.

The boy with the distorted face brought his knees up in a
powerful strike, throwing Zildjin forward, and off of him.

Zildjin slid across the floor, his armor scraping the
ground, and his sword falling from his grip.

Drake continued with the movement, vaulting up and flipping
backwards to land on his feet, ready to fight once more.

Cydas struck then, swinging his blade with might and
precision.

Zildjin watched as the two exchanged a flurry of blows,
locked in a deadly duel. Zildjin picked up his sword and moved to join the
battle again.

But Drake and Cydas were moving so swiftly Zildjin was
afraid he would just as hit Cydas than Drake if he entered the melee.

He attempted to maneuver around to Drake’s back, but every
step he took Drake would take a step in the opposite direction, forcing Cydas
to move with him.

“Cydas!” Zildjin called, “Let me in the fight!”

Cydas struggled to respond, “I cannot! If I stop now—he will
kill me!”

Suddenly Drake seemed to tire of the fight and roared
forward, attacking with an unrestrained vehemence. Cydas tried to defend each
strike but was visibly outmatched. After a particularly intense and powerful
set of attacks, in which Cydas was forced to retreat several steps, Drake
caught Cydas’s weapon in a parry and twisted the blade out of his hand.

In an instant Drake brought out a leg and kicked Cydas in
the knee from the side. Cydas fell forward to one knee, bending the leg Drake
had kicked, and placing his hands on the ground as a reaction to keep himself
from falling to his face. With his head down, the space between his helmet and
backplate was exposed and Drake did not waste the opportunity. The boy brought
down one of his katanas swiftly and with great force, skewering Cydas through
the neck. The blade punctured clear through Cydas’s throat and pierced the
floor a fair depth. Red blood poured freely, gushing from the wound.

Cydas immediately fell limp, dead.

NOOOOO!!!
The Oracle cried out.

Zildjin remembered the giant corpses of the Vorstai in
Terga, how completely mutilated they were, and not just from the villagers
skinning and cutting meat from the bodies, he remembered the faces of the
Vorstai. And he understood how the boy had defeated such vicious, dangerous
beasts single handedly.

“Darkness consume you!” Zildjin shouted.

He charged Drake, attacking before the boy could recover his
other weapon.

Nooo!
The Oracle sobbed.
Cydas, my love.

Zildjin fueled each strike with all his strength. Now with
only a single blade to fight back with, Drake did not seem to have the upper
hand. Zildjin felt himself gaining the advantage, getting a hit out of every
four or five attacks. They glanced off of Drake’s armor each time, but Zildjin
knew it was only a matter of time before he could deliver the killing blow, but
only if he did not relent.

“You are a fool if you think you can defeat me,” Drake said,
the words dripping from his mouth like acid, “Look at your friend! I have
killed thousands, hundreds of thousands, what is one more insignificant
swordsman such as yourself to me? A mere plaything.”

Zildjin did not respond, did not want to break his
concentration.

“FOOL!” Drake roared and suddenly he was moving impossibly
fast again.

Drake moved swiftly, his single blade like lightning.
Zildjin did not know how he himself was doing it but he dodged or deflected
each of Drake’s attacks. Zildjin’s sword seemed almost to be moving of its own
accord. But Zildjin was back to losing ground again, more quickly now, even than
before.

 Then, out of nowhere, the wrapping on Drake’s katana
unraveled and the sword slipped from his grip mid-swing. The weapon flew
through the air, clattering against the ground quite a distance away.

Zildjin froze for a second, astonished at the improbably
fortunate turn of events, Drake too, looked at the hilt wrapping in his hand in
disbelief.

Without another moment’s hesitation Zildjin stabbed again at
the less protected part of Drake’s upper torso, the shoulder.

Zildjin’s sword sunk in deep, cutting some shoulder and
breastplate straps in the process, and exiting the other side with a shower of
blood.

His breastplate hung slightly askew, revealing more of his
upper left torso.

Drake cried out in pain but did not move to fight against
Zildjin. His countenance brightened and his face was one of confusion.

“Zildjin?” Drake asked. His voice had returned to its
previous young sounding tone.

“Drake—” Zildjin stuttered, “Drake, is it you?”

Drake saw Cydas’s dead body nearby, still stuck in his half
kneeling position, skewered to the katana, a red crimson pooling around him.

“Oh no,” Drake whispered in reaction to the scene.

He then looked at the sword punctured into his shoulder. He
followed the blade with his eyes, slowly up Zildjin’s arm until he locked eyes
with Zildjin. Drake’s eyes were one of torture and sorrow.

“Zildjin, what have I done?”

Drake sunk to his knees, Zildjin’s hand still gripping the
sword. The boy groaned in pain at the sword quivering with the movement. His
breastplate slipped further, revealing more of his upper left torso.

“Drake—” Zildjin didn’t know what else to say, didn’t know
how to react. What was this thing possessing the boy?

Drake’s face suddenly darkened again, his pupils dilating
until they enveloped his entire eye, turning them black.