John Forrester - Fire Mage

The afternoon sun filtered through olive leaves, casting quivering inky shadows across the cobblestone street. The lazy windless time of day when many citizens took naps or drank milk tea and played cards. Talis and Mara snuck along the winding corridors of upper Naru, until they found the door that led down through the darkness to Shade’s Gate and out into Fiskar’s Market, where old men and women sat about sighing and chatting disdainfully with each other. They glanced suspiciously at Talis and Mara as they darted through the market.

Back behind the stalls, down a dank, smelly corridor, they found The Tame Shrew, one of the oldest and least respectable taverns in Naru. Outside the faded red tavern door stumbled two old drunks locked in a cheerful arm-grasp. They teetered about precariously singing familiar songs of war and adventure. Talis and Mara skirted around the duo and made their way inside the dark tavern.

Conflicting smells overpowered them as they entered: sweat and ale and roses. The tavern owners’s wife had a rooftop garden where she grew many fragrant varieties of roses, and she clipped the strongest-smelling ones and kept them in an old, ceramic vase on the middle on the bar. Despite her earnest attempt at eliminating the other foul smells in the tavern, the stench remained.

“There’s a quiet table over in the corner.” Mara lowered herself down and squeezed past a man and a woman having a furious argument about…Talis thought it sounded like a lover’s quarrel.

When Talis sat next to Mara, the woman burst into tears and stomped out of the tavern, leaving the man to stare stupidly at the mug of ale he was holding.

“I don’t supposed he’ll be standing after a few hours,” Mara whispered.

“Two hours at the most.” Talis motioned a serving girl over. “Could we have two…honey meads?”

Mara’s eyes lit up and she smacked her lips in anticipation. “And a slice of chocolate and raspberry cake?”

The serving girl eyed Mara disdainfully, but she twisted around and stomped back behind the bar and filled two mugs with golden brew from a barrel.

“She doesn’t like me much…” Mara scrunched up her eyes and lips in imitation of the serving girl’s pouty expression.

Talis chuckled, most girls he knew despised Mara, something about her came off as wrong to them. She acted like she wanted to take every ideal for how a girl should live and smash them with her own contempt. And that was exactly why he liked her so much.

“So you think we can beat Rikar and Nikulo?” Mara accepted a mug of ale from the serving girl, and frowned, peering at the bar.

“Don’t get all upset…I’ll have your cake out soon enough.” The serving girl muttered to herself and charged off again after giving Talis his mug.

“Honestly?” Talis took a swig of the sweet honey mead. “I don’t think we have a chance of winning against them. The question is, can we survive long enough to keep from getting murdered by Rikar? How many people has he killed in previous competitions?” Although Talis knew magical healers stood ready to cast healing spells on injured combatants, sometimes nothing could done, like the time Rikar sliced off someone’s head.

“You’re so optimistic…” Mara rolled her eyes in disgust. “Maybe I’ll visit the old witch that sells curses after all. And here I am, drinking my mead and thinking we could actually win…”

Talis poked her affectionately in the arm and grinned. “Here comes your cake…thank you, miss…go on, eat up, don’t make a face, you’ll feel better with the chocolate swirling around in your belly.”

“I’ll feel better holding the Blood Dagger and handing it to my father and mother.” Mara gulped down a bite of cake and squeezed her eyes closed in delight. “Mmm, I can picture it so clearly… Mother, Father, I’ve won, and there’s no way I’m marrying Baron Delar’s fat old warthog of a son.”

She opened her eyes suddenly and fixed her gaze on Talis. “You will do all you can do to help me win, won’t you? I really mean it. I’ve known you forever and then some, and if anyone can help me out of this…situation…you’re the one.”

Talis swallowed another gulp of mead, and nodded, unable to break away from the sight of Mara’s earnest eyes. He would do anything to help her, and besides, winning against arrogant Rikar would be more of a prize than the Dagger itself.

If he survived.

As Talis stared up past the stone arena, stars twinkling through the black velvet sky, he could sense Mara stalking up to him. The familiar scent of roses wafted over him, the scent of Mara and the scent of House Lei’s gardens.

“I prayed to Zagros, Nyx, Nacrea, and to Nestria…” He turned and smiled at Mara as she approached.

“What say the heavens?” She stared up at the four moon sisters, her hands reaching out like she could caress the stars.

The moons were splayed across the sky, speaking of a secret. The Diviners of the Celestials would call the moons’ alignment “Three Sisters Conspiring Against the Brilliant One.” The cruel plot against the one of light. Fate was strong today, for or against you. Talis frowned.

He and Mara had been a sparring team for seven years, ever since he’d survived the initiation allowing him to wield the blade at six years old. This was a contest for reputation and favor, and the right to compete in the Arena of the Sej Elders. As Mara hoped for, it would mean she could get her wish and ask her parents to call off the marriage between her and Baron Delar’s son. For Talis, he hoped winning would mean praise and recognition from his father, praise he’d craved all his life.

Mara twirled her twin nine-inch blades, and paused, staring at them with satisfaction. She handled them like pets. “Be careful of Rikar’s twirling strike. Go for a foot sweep if you see him start to spin.”

Talis thought of Rikar’s deadly dances at previous matches, severing heads and breaking bones. In one case the healer couldn’t do a thing to save a boy, even with magic. Talis wanted to be brave, but bloody images of contestants at previous matches flashed in his mind.

“Ready?” Talis aimed his short sword at the arena, and Mara brandished her daggers as well, a look of intense determination flashing in her eyes. They strode into the arena, the House of the Warrior, and smelled air thick with cedar and sweet incense. Hairs stood up along Talis’s arms and he clenched his mouth to keep his teeth from chattering. The dark, silver and grey stones shimmered, catching the torchlight along the tunnel leading into the circular arena.

Inside, a round opening above allowed moonlight to shine onto the sandy floor. Great two-handed swords and halberds and spiked shields were mounted on the stone wall. Torches flickered in between, whipped by the wind. His cheeks stung from the cold. A red circle had been drawn in the center, marking the boundaries of the contest. The arena was quiet and empty, except for Nikulo and Master Jarvis Numerian, a giant of a man, muscles rippling underneath his banded leather armor, a twisted scar marring his otherwise noble face. Talis felt relieved that Jarvis, who was friendly to House Storm, judged today’s match.

“We challenge the undefeated for the right to hold the Blood Dagger,” Talis shouted, and glanced around, wondering where Rikar was.

Nikulo strode forward, his protruding belly waddling from side-to-side, and clapped his leather-studded jerkin. He pointed the bladed tip of his metal staff at Talis and Mara. Somehow Talis didn’t feel so intimidated at Nikulo’s scowling face. Although Nikulo was a fierce competitor, Rikar was the malicious one.

“Do we have a complete team to battle the challengers?” Jarvis spread his arms wide.