John Forrester: Fire Mage

They rushed inside and pounded down a stone ramp that led into a vast gloomy room, faintly lit by floating candles that spilled out orange light. Shadows flickered across grotesque faces, hundreds of stone figures, standing as guardians over the countless crypts of the fallen masters of the Order. Throughout the crypts, Talis could see countless silvery spider webs tangling the air. The smell of mold and dust and embalming fluid pressed heavily like a choking hand.

Instead of the door slamming shut behind them, the voices following them got louder. “Of course we’re allowed to enter,” a sorcerer yelled. “No, no, we’re not chasing them. Yes, we’re friends. Be a good guardian and let us pass, now will you?”

Talis and Mara ducked behind a crypt statue and stared back at the door. They were going to take them away from Naru, Talis had heard stories like this. Dark sorcerers stealing children and raising them to study their nefarious arts.

“Only royals and members of the Order may enter,” the guardian said. “You’re uninvited guests.”

The door attempted to swing shut, but one of the sorcerers summoned a meaty hand the size of a man, blocking the door from closing. The giant fingers flexed, snapping the door hinges.

“No,” the guardian shouted, “you’re not allowed to do that!”

“As if you can do anything about it,” mumbled the red-haired sorcerer. He stepped inside the crypt. “Such flimsy magic here in Naru. One wonders why the Master allowed this pathetic city to remain neutral.”

The other sorcerer, a tall, spindly woman in a silver robe, cast a spell, illuminating the crypts in a garish white light. “Do remain diligent, Calasar, these children must have some power if the Master has sent us after them.”

“Mice? Oh little mice?” Calasar said, “A bit of cheese, a bit of bread, a bit of red from your bloody head…”

“Don’t scare them,” the woman whispered. Then loudly, “We’re not here to hurt you.”

“Are we really only collectors then? While the others are marauding the city, setting fire, sizzling innocent pets with lightning bolts, we’re stuck down in all this gloom looking for a stupid boy?”

A boy? Talis thought. Why were they looking for him? He pointed towards a mausoleum far off in the corner. Mara nodded, following as they stalked away from the sorcerers. The white light disappeared and Talis stopped, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Instead of voices, they heard only the lonely hiss of steam from an air vent. They crept along, staring at carvings of bulls and eagles and lions along the stone walls of the mausoleum.

At the base, he looked up and read the inscription: Master Baribariso, Legendary Wielder of the Kalashi Sword, Undefeated in Battle, Yet Defeated by Old Age…

“I’ve heard of him,” Mara whispered, tracing her fingers over a carving of a lion with long fangs.

“Champion from an age past. Do we dare hide inside?”

“This is a place of refuge.”

“Mice chattering away…so easy to find you.” Calasar lifted his fingers and aimed at Talis. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

“He has a bad temperament,” the woman said, “you’d best do as he says.”

“Leave us alone…” Mara thrust her dagger out.

The sorcerers broke into laughter, wide smiles stretching across their faces, as if they were in pain.

“You expect us to be scared of a little mouse with a dagger?” Calasar said.

Talis tried to remember what he’d done to cast the fire spell. If he could only cast it again. He raised his hands towards Calasar, then stopped. Calasar had a long, nasty scar that stretched across his face. When he grinned, it was more like a snarl. Talis knew he didn’t stand a chance of defeating them.

“If you’re thinking of casting a spell, beware,” the woman said. “He’ll make it very painful for you. You’ll stay alive, and yet Master Calasar has an amazing knack for delivering excruciating pain, especially to the toenails and fingernails. Imagine! An electrical spell that only inflicts pain to the tips of your fingers and to your stubby little mouse toes. Simply genius.”

Mara lowered her dagger in defeat, casting a wary glance at Calasar.

“I won’t hurt him.” Calasar grabbed Talis by the wrist. In a flash of brilliant light, Calasar summoned a dark and shimmering magical portal. “Inside you go. Tell your friend goodbye, for it’s likely the last time you’ll ever see her.”

“No!” Mara shouted, and grasped the blue amulet hanging from her neck. “Hear me, Goddess Nestria, my plea is simple and my heart pure. Prevent these dark ones from taking my friend.”

Calasar turned and laughed. “The little mouse begs to the Goddess of the Sky? As if Nestria would ever hear a mouse’s plea? Sooner Zagros would take you-”

At the name of the Lord of the Underworld, low rumblings and hissings were heard throughout the crypts, as if all the dead masters of the Order complained in unison. A rushing wind struck their faces, a hot wind, smelling of pine and storm. Dust also came, blasting their eyes, and Talis fell to his knees, pinching his eyes together, trying to make tears to clear his vision. But the wind only increased, striking so fiercely the stones of the mausoleum made an awful splintering crack.

“Who dares violate my house of rest?” a high, nasally voice boomed. Talis could hear a loud stirring inside the mausoleum, as if the champion was waking from a long slumber.

“It sounds as if the Goddess has heard this little mouse’s plea after all,” Mara said.

“The dead obey Calasar,” the woman said. “He’s mastered the shadow and the necrotic arts.”

“Including one such as I?” A shriveled, pasty mess of a man stumbled out of the mausoleum, wearing a ringmail coat and leggings of some dull silver alloy. He coughed and vile dust spewed from his lungs, the stench of spoiled flesh and organs. He lifted a curved blade with great difficulty, and stared along its damaged edge. Sighing, the man growled a deep growl, as if angry at his condition. Soon the withered and dried flesh under his skin wiggled to life, filling his body with youth once more. His bald flaky scalp turned ruddy and chestnut hair grew down to his shoulders. And yet a scar on his neck, present in death, remained.

Calasar strode up to the champion, stopped, and stared up at the inscription. “Master Baribariso, I presume?”

The champion scowled at nowhere in particular, flourished his sword, and allowed it to slice cleanly through Calasar’s neck. Master Baribariso grunted, ignoring the head gurgling bloodily on the ground.

“And you, my pet?” he said, staring tenderly at the woman.

She shrieked, and chose instead to flee inside the magical portal, which closed up behind her in a vast whooshing sound.

Master Baribariso sniffed, glancing around. “Such cowards exist in this time. Who has summoned me?”

Mara shrunk back, inviting the champion’s stare.

“Little one, be not afraid…I won’t harm you.” Master Baribariso sheathed his sword, and with a long sigh, arched his back. “I am tired from my long sleep. It pains me to find myself back in mortal flesh. The Fair Seas of the Underworld were so kind to me.”

“Have you seen my brother?” Talis said, his voice trembling. “A stout young man, Xhan Storm.“

“Ah, names and titles and grand positions…none are of importance in the Underworld.” He touched his head, as if trying to remember something. “I had a name once, before the shroud of death washed my memory clean. What was it now?”

“Master Baribariso-”

“Yes! That’s it, what a grand name. Now it’s all coming back.” The champion placed a finger on his forehead. “And there is more, so much more. I have a message for you-both of you-today is a day of war and mourning. Mothers are weeping above in the city of Naru.” He tapped his head, and reached out his hand, as if grasping something from the sky. A shimmering mist appeared and from within it he withdrew a circular map case with a golden clasp, shaped in the image of the sun.