Wolf Awert - Ringwall's Doom

At the last word he unleashed a wave of fire; the prince managed to deflect it, but the force of the attack knocked him flat on his back. Uul ran forward and strengthened the barricade. Auran-San flung fragments of meteorite at Uul, but they melted down to glowing droplets and hit the floor. Splitters of rock sliced at Sergor-Don’s skin. Auran-San called roots from the ground and sent Water to follow his Fire in an effort to boil the prince’s blood, and he pushed his foe through the hall.

Prince Sergor-Don was no match for the old sorcerer, but he fought back. Now was the moment to see whether his chosen guards were up to the challenge. Auran-San’s Metal attacks were held back by Uul, whose shield was flawless and did not give an inch. But Metal was not Auran-San’s only weapon – he switched between the elements at the speed of a galloping stallion. It was clear that he drew pleasure from playing with the prince.

“Enough!” he suddenly shouted into the din of crackling air and sparks. Silence descended on the hall once more. The flames flickered out and died. Into the silence the old sorcerer pointed a finger straight at the prince. Sergor-Don let out a scream and pressed his hands against his head. But as quickly as the vice had tightened around his brow it relinquished its grasp. For a moment Auran-San seemed uncertain. He stretched out a second finger and the pain shot through the prince’s feet into his legs, where it evaporated and left only a tingling sensation. The sorcerer raised his second hand to the ceiling and threw something at the prince. Sergor-Don was hunched over in pain and could no longer make out what was happening around him. He did not see a great stone loosen from the ceiling, just above Auran-San. It cracked like a nut that had been thrown in a fire as the stone came down upon the sorcerer’s head and crushed his skull.

“Take him away,” Sergor-Don coughed once his tongue could form any coherent sound again. “And open the doors for the King of the Fire Kingdom. Or is there another San who would deny my claim?”

The young king stepped out into the open, his magical guard behind him. The crowd and many soldiers in it burst out in cheers. Only the court sorcerers remained subdued. Sarch had sheathed his blade, Astergrise still held his weapon drawn. Haltern-kin-Eben was nowhere to be seen.

It was a day of joy, and Gulffir celebrated the first step into a new age. But many of the elders remembered earlier festivities that had been far more joyous. Too many shadows tainted the air. The Fire Kingdom finally had a new king, and the time of waiting and uncertainty had passed. But what a king they now had, who turned everything upside-down, who killed a court sorcerer with magic, whose chosen guard made up of half-arcanists had defeated as experienced and powerful a sorcerer as Auran-San as handily as a griffon kills a dove.

Those blessed with property could only lose under King Sergor-Don. Those with nothing could only win. And so there was drinking, dancing and laughing, but the royal household retired early. Worldbrand hung over them like a black cloud. No, security and trust had not been won that day. Instead, fear and unpredictability would rule the future of the Fire Kingdom. However, brave minds knew that limitless possibilities were open to them. The king had no more councilors; his guard was made up of just five sorcerers. The troops were disquieted and veteran generals trembled for their ranks. The almighty Haltern-kin-Eben had fallen from grace, even though he still held his position. The only one who had made it through the events unscathed was Astergrise.

King Sergor-Don reveled in the celebrations in his name. He had achieved what he had set out to. He was the new king and had destroyed his opponents. Nobody near him was strong enough to challenge him, and with every day the sun gave him he would grow stronger still. And yet his triumph too was not perfect, his smile even thinner than usual. He had underestimated the old man. The body might falter with age, but magic was seldom great in youth. He had hoped to subjugate Auran-San with the aid of his new shields, that they might together destroy the magic of the Other World. But Auran-San’s attacks had been too surprising, too wild and strong. He had not accounted for such ferocity. That was a mistake he loathed himself for.

The fact that he had won the fight was little encouragement; he had been unable to loosen Auran-San’s vice-like grip on his head, unable to stop the pain in his legs, unable to hear the last, fatal cast the sorcerer had attempted. Whatever had happened, he was not the victor. At least, not alone. Which of his guards was strong enough to break Auran-San’s spells and kill him?

King Sergor-Don called for Skorn-Vis and Uul.

“I grant you a temporary respite from your duty to defend my life,” he said quietly. “There is a more pressing matter. Go out and find powerful sorcerers. Search for them in the troops or wherever they decide to be. Search among Astergrise’s bowmen. Any sorcerer who knows how to use bow and arrow, or any marksman who has a spark of magic within him, is a gift to me. Do you understand?”

Skorn-Vis furrowed his brow and said cautiously:

“A sorcerer who has mastered a weapon is as rare as a warrior who knows magic. That is simple to understand. The rest only you understand, sire, for only you know why you seek such people.”

Sergor-Don stared at Skorn-Vis and attempted to reach the depths of his soul through his eyes, but failed.

“Your name, sorcerer. Vis is not honorific, it denotes no rank of lineage. Who has Wit in their name, what does it mean?”

“Everyone in my family has Vis in their name, my liege. It truly is not of honor or rank. It means ‘white as the mountain snow,’ where my ancestors came from. Others say it comes from wisdom, but that must have got lost long ago.” Skorn-Vis’ lips curled a little in his usually stoic face. “It may also come from wide, as in, a broad view, or open mind. Whatever it means, it merely shows my family’s origin, far from the desert.”

“So your ancestors’ birthplace is a legend, and like all good legends it’s wrapped in a veil of mystery.”

“As you say, my king.”

“And how long have you been at court?”

“Not for long, sire. The mares that carried their foals when I arrived may still call a stallion’s attention. As Ringwall measures it, no more than ten winters perhaps. I never counted the days.”

“You were under Auran-San’s command, yet you did not help him.” The king’s voice was objective. Although the answer to his words was what he wanted more than anything out of this conversation, he was satisfied with the simple statement.

“The other court sorcerers did nothing to help him either, my liege. We all swore fealty, but the order of our oath is to the king first, then the kingdom, then our leader. The king was dead. Our oath bound us foremost to the kingdom. You were at the time the one true claimant, and I had sworn to defend you. As I will continue to do, as long as your plans allow it.”

Skorn-Vis knelt down and kissed the hem of the king’s robe. King Sergor’s eyes left the sorcerer’s head and found Uul’s wide open ones. It seemed he had absorbed every word spoken between the sorcerer and king like a piece of cloth.

“And your name, Uul?”

The boy formed a loose ball with his hands, thumbs side by side. He raised his hands to his mouth and blew into them, calling forth a wailing, yet alluring sound. It was unlike anything in the plains and echoed out dimly.

“That is no sound of the land.”

Uul looked rather helpless. “I was told it was a sound of the forest, but I don’t know the forest. Someone once told me they heard a similar thing in the rocks, but that could have just been the wind howling in the crags like my own breath in my hands. It was they who knew the forest who gave me my name. It has no meaning.”