Sam Bowring - Prophecy's Ruin

‘You think that understanding will lend me courage?’ said Corlas with a glower. ‘When my child is more important to me than the whole world!’

‘Work with Dakur,’ snapped Elessa, opening the door of the hut. ‘Remember, it is we who are your allies.’

She closed the door behind her and took a deep breath, surveying her surroundings. The hut lay at one end of a large clearing bordered by grey trees that were whipping in the wind. The driving rain hindered her sight, so she searched with the same magical awareness that had first alerted her to the presence of the shadow. They would have the advantage, for the sky was filled with clouds, making it a shadowed night. The low rumble of thunder reached her ears and for a moment her spirits lifted. Maybe she would fight in the company of lightning.

Her search stopped at a place on the far side of the clearing. There was a void there that her senses could not penetrate, large enough for one mage, or two standing together.

If it is two, she thought, we are lost.

At least she could make out those who accompanied the magic wielder – ugly little humanoids, about a pace tall, with large heads and tar black skin.

Two Black Goblins, she whispered in Dakur’s mind.

They were watching from the trees and she could almost feel their eyes prickling her skin. The opposing mage, or mages, were strangely silent. Elessa had been taught to expect all sorts of taunts and threats from hostile shadow mages, yet none came.

She waved a hand about her body, casting a ward of protection. An aura of light suffused her, but a moment later she gasped. It felt as if a monstrous claw had clenched shut over her body, dug its nails underneath the protective shine and ripped it savagely away. A shell of light fell to the ground, still shaped in her image, and quickly faded. Elessa steadied herself. The counterspell had been powerful and surprising, but she recovered quickly. If only Fahren were here …but he wasn’t. It was just her, a court-bred mage with no battle experience, fighting for all the folk of Kainordas.

‘Well, so be it!’ she muttered to herself. ‘Then I refuse to die tonight!’

As if to reaffirm the thought, her mind’s eye flashed up an image of Kessum, the cheerful young noble who always smiled when he caught her gazing at him. Kessum, who’d sent her a shining heart flower and a note on the day she’d departed for Indereen. Her courage flared. She did not intend for that to be the last silly, warm little moment in her life.

She strode forward, again waving a hand over her body to re-ignite the protective ward, this time on guard for any spells from the trees. A figure emerged at the end of the clearing, stepping from between trunks onto a coiled root. It was tall and covered by a brown, hooded cloak. Only a hand was visible, resting at its side – and Elessa saw that it was skeletal. A moment later the figure’s voice echoed in her head.

My name is Fazel, he said. And I see that you are powerful for one so young.

Elessa was surprised by the civil greeting, though she didn’t let it show. Yes, she replied, and you will taste that power if you do not leave this place.

The voice in her head gave a bitter laugh. Ah. I appreciate your spirit. But I have been a mage for longer than you, I think.

The figure raised the bony hand to its hood, grasped the folds and brought them slowly back. Elessa drew a breath. She had never seen one of the undead before and her gentle soul was mortified by the abomination before her. What flesh remained clung to his skull in rotten grey clumps, so an approximation of the face that once had been still showed through. Elsewhere mottled bone lay exposed, or dry skin cracked like bark. A single bulbous eye stared out from beneath a torn eyelid and drooping brow. He still retained some facial hair – both eyebrows, one side of a moustache, a string or two of beard. His neck disappeared into the cloak as a twisted mass of tendons and bone.

‘The years have not been kind, ’ he said, his true voice carrying across the clearing – all too human for the curdled lips it fell from. ‘My dear girl, you cannot hope to best me. You are only a child, and I …I have more than a lifetime’s experience, and the night is on my side. Have you not heard of me?’

‘No,’ said Elessa, her own voice carrying through the pelting rain. ‘And it wouldn’t matter if I had.’

‘No?’ said the creature. ‘I’m certain that Fahren wouldn’t advise you to sacrifice yourself and your two men in a pointless fight against me.’

Elessa tensed at the use of her master’s name. Had Fahren met this Fazel? Maybe this was the taunting he’d warned of? Maybe the creature was trying to unnerve her so it could launch another surprise.

Fazel’s voice hardened. ‘Surrender the child to me,’ he said, ‘and I promise you shall live to see the sun rise again.’

‘And see it rise over a worsened world, atrocity?’ she yelled back, and poured all her fear into an attack. Reaching out with her power, she seized Fazel and lifted him into the air. His cloak whipped about his flailing limbs as she spun him wildly, then brought her fist down hard. Fazel hurtled to the ground with a crunch and lay, stunned, in the dirt.

Pity, came his voice. Now there’s no time to wish you luck.

Dakur stood at the window, sword drawn, trying to see through sheets of water. He was her guard, damn it, and it wasn’t going to take much provocation for him to abandon the hut, whatever her orders were – especially if the dark mage’s companions entered the fray. He might not be able to protect Elessa from bolts of energy, but he could certainly beat back blades.

‘So tell me, friend ,’ said Corlas, still standing in front of the cot with his axe ready, ‘what is your plan for my son if we survive this?’

‘He’ll be taken to the Open Halls,’ said Dakur, not turning from the window, ‘where he’ll be safe from the shadow and can be raised in the light. And then, one day, he will claim the south from the Shadowdreamer.’

‘Oh, of course,’ said Corlas. ‘And his father? Where does he fit into all of this?’

Dakur remained silent.

‘ Where? ’ bellowed Corlas, startling Dakur.

‘I don’t know,’ said Dakur, turning to hold Corlas’s gaze. ‘That will be for Throne Naphur to decide.’ He frowned suddenly at the man. Was his face familiar?

‘I see,’ said Corlas, and when Dakur turned away again, he ran his fingers up and down the axe handle. ‘Mirrow, my heart,’ he muttered to himself, ‘you were right – you cannot take on every danger with an axe.’ His eyes narrowed on Dakur’s back. ‘But there are some, my love. There are some you can.’

Fazel lay in the mud, his broken bones painfully mending. He’d been caught off guard, having underestimated her willingness to attack.

Well, well, he thought, must be getting old.

Elessa launched another attack, but this time his defences went up and her power slammed into his. He grunted as he struggled to his feet, joints creaking and exposed muscles flexing. His admiration for the girl went up another notch – she had followed up on her success without hesitation.

The air around him began to thrum. Light shone from Elessa’s body, illuminating her determined face as she sent power towards him. He directed his own back towards her. Light and shadow crashed against each other like breaking waves and Elessa screamed. More despair than pain in that scream , he thought. He was too strong for her and she’d know that now. It would be all she could hope just to keep him at bay. He sighed.