Sam Bowring - Prophecy's Ruin

The dream swirled.

Losara found himself floating high in the sky. Though the bright sun shone upon him, he felt no heat from it.

Beneath, from the Halls, a great force set forth, the morning light streaming at their backs. Bel sat astride a white war horse, his blue hair gleaming for all to see. On one side rode Naphur in ornate golden armour, and on the other rode Fahren, with expression dark and brooding. Behind followed the soldiers of the Halls, tromping the grass flat. Jaya broke from the mob to speed forward on a sleek stallion, laughing as she reached out to grip Bel’s hand and hold it high.

Word had spread throughout Kainordas that the blue-haired child had announced himself and was leading the charge of charges to defeat the shadow once and for all. To rally to him was to secure one’s place in history. Every day the army grew as troops arrived from all directions. Folk who had never touched a sword before fell into step, from nobles and their entourages to farmers and beggars. In jails across the land, prisoners were offered the chance to fight in exchange for pardon of all but the most heinous crimes.

Of the non-human races, the Saurians were the first to arrive. They made a fearsome sight to behold, approaching quickly over the Grass Ocean. The lizard-like Ryoshi Saurians, like monstrous pale scorpions, rode hulking dune claws. Their cousins, the Syanti Saurians, were more snake than lizard, with legless serpentine bodies and yellow slit eyes, and carried cruel-ended whips and impossibly thin swords. As the army reached the Great Rass River, a swarm of Zyvanix descended, their collective buzzing loud enough to vibrate teeth. They were a welcome addition indeed, and there was much celebration that night in the camps.

The army slowed as it grew, and at Kahlay Bel ordered them to stop, to allow others following to catch up. Naphur, unable to rest, it seemed, took to riding around the sprawl of camps. He preached like a prophet about the blue-haired boy, about victory and revenge on Fenvarrow. Those priests amongst the ranks took up the Throne’s words, speaking of the champion Arkus had delivered. Losara watched Bel listening in on the words with gleaming eyes. Do they give him strength? he wondered.

When the army left Kahlay a week later, it was greater than any Kainordas had ever seen.

One night, as they camped, Bel found Fahren smoking a brittleleaf roll and gazing with concern over the red glow of many fires.

‘Old teacher,’ he said, ‘I know you disagree with this action.’

‘I’m trying to accept it,’ said Fahren. ‘I’ve seen there’s no talking you out of it.’

‘What do you think about so deeply then?’

‘If this is indeed the war to end all wars,’ said Fahren, ‘as our poor lost Throne calls it, then I think about the only thing that bears thinking about. How to win.’

‘Ah,’ said Bel. ‘I’ve been giving that some thought myself. I don’t think we can simply march into Fenvarrow and expect to sweep through.’

Fahren cast a glance at him. ‘I’m glad to hear you say that, for it’s precisely what Naphur intends. We are in need of a better plan.’

‘Have you thought of anything?’

‘Nothing to speak of.’

‘We’ll make final camp at Holdwith,’ said Bel. ‘I understand there are many mages there.’

‘Yes,’ said Fahren. ‘Lightfists are trained there. It’s a good place, so close to the border, to sharpen their skills.’

‘Perhaps they’ll know some spell to help us.’

Fahren shook his head sadly.

‘Come now,’ chuckled Bel. ‘Don’t be so defeatist. Surely you don’t think you’ve seen everything under the sun?’

After many weeks of marching, they arrived at Holdwith. Built on the edge of fertile lands, the farms on the north side were well tended, yet seemed somehow makeshift and temporary. To the south, battlements overlooked dusty plains that ran all the way to the border. Here the Cloud was so close that after midday the sun moved behind it and the light grew dim.

As the army set up camp around the fort, Bel, Naphur and Fahren rode to the gates and entered. The walls of Holdwith fort encircled a large town that seemed to contain more buildings than people. From the town centre rose a cobblestoned tower, higher than the surrounding walls. The Throne immediately headed towards it, saying he would speak to the local gerent, not pausing to see if the others followed.

‘We should visit the Lightfist Academy,’ Bel said. ‘See if there’s some spell, or idea, or magical artefact to give us an advantage.’

Fahren looked miserable and Bel knew he didn’t think searching would bear any fruit.

‘High Mage,’ he tried, ‘you always lamented my lack of magic, but don’t let that stop you from being my magic. This is the path we are on.’

Fahren blinked, and his jaw tightened. He considered Bel for a moment, then nodded. ‘You are right. I must stop this moping. Come, we shall see what we can find.’

They made their way to the Lightfist Academy. In a cobbled courtyard they found students wearing red and yellow robes unleashing fireballs at dummies of Black Goblins. A pair of Lightfists, dressed in pure red, walked back and forth instructing them.

As the High Mage entered with the child of power, all turned to stare.

‘We need to see Methodrex immediately,’ bellowed Fahren.

A Lightfist apprentice, about the same age as Bel, frowned deeply in concentration. From the air he conjured a translucent sunwing that beat large butterfly wings. It strung an arrow to its glowing bow and loosed it at a distant target. Next to him, another student held out a flaming torch and waggled her fingers at it. Each time a speck of ash fell from the torch, it was caught by an invisible force and hurled expanding and fragmenting across the courtyard to pelt the dummies with scattershot fireballs. The next student in line held the end of a fiery whip, which lengthened and retracted as he lashed with stunning precision and considerable devastation. The dummies flew to pieces faster than they could be magically reassembled.

Losara watched the display with interest – it was impressive; and so hot – he was grateful he felt nothing as he drifted along. Was this the extent of what he’d have to face?

High Overseer Methodrex, a short old man in white-gold robes, turned away from the target range. ‘You can see we have some fine students,’ he said, as yet more dummies exploded behind him. ‘But I doubt they display anything the High Mage has not seen before.’

Fahren grunted agreement.

‘If these spells are commonplace,’ said Bel tersely, ‘where are the rarer ones? What of those that can only be achieved when many mages work together? What of the spells that set student apart from teacher, mage apart from High Mage?’

‘There are many spells, lad,’ Fahren said. ‘Not all are easy or safe to demonstrate in such confines. Of those that have merit in war, there are none the enemy cannot match.’

Bel scowled. ‘What of the library here, Methodrex? Has it been scoured for every strange and remote possibility?’

Methodrex drew himself up straight. Losara noticed the man treated Bel with reverence, perhaps rightly so. ‘It could perhaps stand further investigation, my lord,’ he said.

‘Then by all means investigate!’ said Bel, and waved a hand dismissively.

It took Fahren a moment to realise he was being included in the instruction, and he looked taken aback.

‘It shouldn’t surprise you that I give you orders, old friend,’ Bel said. ‘After all, you and Naphur raised me to be a leader.’