Brian Kittrell - The Consuls of the Vicariate

The militia guards rushed up the stairs amidst a storm of spells from the black mages. The night sky was illuminated by a deluge of colorful light, with the red of flame and the white of frost joining the light blue sparkles of electricity. Laedron focused on the nearest mage, trying to keep his mind and eyes off the guards falling at either side.

Almost there , Laedron thought, then a blast of energy sent him to the ground, dust and fragments of stone flying through the air. His ears rang and his vision blurred from the sudden explosion at his feet, and his legs burned like hellfire. It can’t end this way . He ran his fingers past his knees to see if the rest of his legs were still attached to his body.

He felt holes in his pants and the wetness of blood, but surmised his body was still intact. Then he saw Master Greathis lying beside him. The mangled guard captain was gasping his last breaths. A hand came through the haze to wave in front of his face, and Laedron grabbed it.

“Are you all right?” Marac shouted over the roar of the battle.

“I’ll make it,” Laedron said with a grunt, struggling to stand. “We must get to Andolis.”

“Brice!” Marac shouted. “You help Lae up the steps, and I’ll lead. Stay behind me.”

With his arm wrapped around Brice’s shoulders, Laedron limped up the stairs. Marac held his shield at the ready. Fragments of wood and iron splintered off the hauberk as they went, and Marac dropped the bent, broken remains of the shield on the ground once they had reached the top.

A mage turned toward them, his wand outstretched, and Marac rushed him before a spell could be cast. Marac plunged his sword into the belly of the man, the dark crimson of the blood indicating a deep, vital strike. Withdrawing the blade, Marac spun around with a slash, severing the mage’s head. He moved on to cleave another sorcerer in the chest and kicked the dying man down the steps.

“Inside,” Marac said, pointing at the door. “They can handle the rest. Andolis is ours.”

Brice helped Laedron through the door and pointed to the left. “There he is!”

Marac turned and ran down the corridor, but Andolis escaped into a passage behind a thick oaken door. Twisting the knob, Marac said, “Hells, it’s locked!”

Laedron staggered down the hall, then produced his scepter. “Stand back. I’ll burn it down.”

Brice shook his head. “No, we have no idea what may be behind the door. Something flammable? Andolis waiting for us? Let me. I’ll do it nice and quiet.”

Nodding, Laedron leaned against a table, while Brice knelt at the keyhole. The circular room had three exits-the one Laedron had entered through, the locked door, and an open arch leading to a raised walkway, presumably the one normally traversed by the Grand Vicar on his way to the consulship. We must be at the base of the tower , Laedron mused.

Brice inspected the lock for a few seconds, then reached into his belt to retrieve a thin bit of metal. Laedron took the opportunity to mend his wounds with a healing spell, and though he couldn’t close them completely, he was able to stop the bleeding and ease the pain into a dull ache.

Laedron heard a click, and Brice turned around with a proud smile.

“Let’s get him,” Laedron said.

“Wait.” Marac approached the open archway.

Laedron moved to Marac’s side, and before he could ask, he saw what had captivated Marac. The night sky had a sheen of yellow which brightened to an orange glow, and the clouds were moving. Observing the heavens, Laedron noticed that the clouds were swirling around a focal point-the tower itself. He took a step backward when a stream of red lightning struck the platform beyond the arch, cracking the stone and sending bricks flying through the air.

“We must hurry.” Laedron pulled Marac back inside and opened the door.

Immediately inside the door, a stone staircase spiraled upward, and Laedron began a hasty ascent. He became winded the farther they climbed and was out of breath by the time they reached a ladder leading up to a wooden trap door. “Only a bit more now.”

Marac climbed the rungs of the shoddy ladder, then pushed open the trap door. Past him, Laedron could see that the sky seemed to be burning. Flames swirled about the heavens, and thicker bands of searing red lightning mixed with them. He could hear faint chanting beneath the thunderous roar of magic, and he rushed up the ladder behind Marac.

Once on the roof, Laedron took in his surroundings. The city of Azura was aglow from the blinding light of Andolis’s spell. What in the hells is he doing? Trying to burn the entire city? Like the finger of Syril, red flashes of lightning indiscriminately struck straw roofs, setting them aflame. At that height and with all the commotion, Laedron couldn’t tell for certain if people were escaping the burning buildings.

Andolis stood on the opposite end of the tower’s roof, his left hand raised to the sky and his right holding a long staff. The wooden staff was carved into a wicked shape with thorns and spines fashioned into the shaft. The pole had a bend throughout its length, suggesting a subtle crescent or the look of a longbow. Along its exterior, soulstones were set into the wood, and each of them glowed and sparkled with red light. Laedron likened their appearance to a flame burning behind glass, but rays of energy seemed to be emitted from the sigils carved in the onyx.

“Andolis Drakar, we come for you,” Marac said, his sword high as he neared the mage. “Put down the staff and end this madness.”

“End this madness? What a wonderful thought.” Andolis lowered the staff, his eyes meeting Marac’s. “Perhaps I shall end the three of you. Yes, I think that would be more fitting.”

Marac lunged at Andolis. The mage knocked Marac’s sword away with the end of the staff, then smacked Marac across the face with it. Brice let out a growl, rolled beneath the staff as it swung overhead, and slashed at the mage’s arm.

Andolis hissed, a cut beneath his elbow dripping blood. Brice’s proud smile transformed to a look of fear when the mage flicked his staff and shouted a phrase. The spell sent Brice flying across the roof with a blast of white energy. Laedron glanced over at his friend’s body, then yelled his spell and aimed his rod at Andolis.

A shockwave pulsed from the tip of Laedron’s scepter, and Andolis was thrown toward the edge of the roof, his momentum only stopped by one of the merlons at the edge of the battlement. Marac raised his sword high and ran toward the sorcerer. Andolis twirled his staff, blocking Marac’s attacks. The clang of steel against the hardened wood of the staff echoed louder than the storm of flames churning above their heads.

Unable to get a clear aim for a spell, Laedron watched in horror as Marac slashed at Andolis, his sword deflected after each swing. Andolis struck hard enough to spin Marac around, creating time to cast a spell, an incantation which sent Marac flying backward and over the side of the tower.

“No!” Laedron shouted. “You’ve killed countless innocents, and you’ve killed my friends.” Laedron raised his scepter and leveled it at Andolis. “Now, you die.”

“I think not,” Andolis said. “I shall be the only one leaving this place alive.” Andolis waved his staff and uttered an incantation.

Laedron was quick to cast a spell to counter the lightning bolt flying at him. Striking Laedron’s magic shield, the lightning splintered, arcing like the bolts he’d seen shooting across the sky. Once it dissipated, Laedron flicked his rod and shouted the words, sending a stream of flames at Andolis.

Countering, Andolis cast a spell, and the air swirled violently around him, the flames joining the air like a tornado. Then, Andolis shifted and hurled the column of air and fire back toward Laedron.