Fire Mage (11 page)

But after an hour or so of waiting out the storm, the wind slowed and the clouds dissipated. An eerie calm possessed the desert as the soldiers stared around in wonder. Then one of the soldiers let out a shrill whistle, and Talis turned and noticed that the others behind him were staring at the western horizon.
 

“Raiders,” shouted Jarvis.
 

Talis squinted. Far away, a dust cloud swirled towards them.
 

“Prepare to ride!” Jarvis yelled, charging around his men. They gathered their gear and mounted up. “Battle formation, but keep it loose and fast, I’d rather not engage whoever is out there.”
 

Talis scrambled onto his horse, and rode after them, the wind stinging his face as they sped north. The horses of Naru were famous across the western world. Bred for speed and endurance, the thoroughbreds selected for the expedition were among the finest champions of Naru. But as Talis glanced back, whoever was chasing them rode like demons….

An inky-black sandstorm swirled behind the group chasing them, the fringes of which reached up to the zenith. The storm rose higher and higher as they gained on them, until it seemed that darkness would blot out the sky. White uniforms against the blackness. Jiserians.

The enemy soldiers on horseback didn’t travel alone. A hundred feet in the air behind them flew three figures in blood-red cloaks. Shadow tendrils lapped at their legs, shrouding their feet. Outstretched hands creating the power of the storm. Talis watched as the figure on the left dove from the sky and brought a spiraling arm down, a black lance of shadow and sand. The storm aimed directly at their party.

Talis stopped and gaped. His horse reared, spooked by the fury of the elemental assault. They would die out here. Or be captured and taken as slaves. Or worse, tortured for information. How could the Jiserians know they were out here?

A few seconds before the spiraling arm struck, it curved inwards and away, sending a blast of cold, sulfuric air washing over them. Talis froze, clearly seeing the Jiserian soldiers now. They weren’t human. At least not anymore. The soldiers and horses were all bone and rotting flesh. Swirling red and gold orbs blazed in their eye sockets. Talis glanced up at the figures in the sky.

Necromancers.

Talis gripped his short sword, feeling heat burning up his arm and racing down his spine.
 

Jarvis rode to the front, as if he could stop the overwhelming force. “Stay back!” Jarvis brandished his two-handed great sword.
 

The undead soldiers raised their swords and axes and halberds as they charged them, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake. They rode in a twin blade formation, splitting before they reached the party. Circling, the undead soldiers paused, leering at them.
 

The lead necromancer flew down from the sky and landed twenty feet away. A pool of shadows swirled in her webbed hand. “You will surrender.” She extended her palm towards Jarvis. Talis had never seen such a terror before. Waves of shadowy mist billowed from her figure and light spilled in from above and illuminated the mist. Her eyes were radiant and cruel, yet her face appeared like a child.
 

“Go to hell,” shouted Jarvis, and raised his sword.

The woman chuckled and brought her hands together, sending a wave of shadows and light speeding at Jarvis. The force slammed into him, knocking him fifty feet back.
 

“Surrender…or die,” the woman said. A devilish smirk appeared on her lips.
 

“What do you want with us?” shouted a soldier. “We’re a simple scouting party—”
 

“You lie,” the woman hissed, and set her face into a twisted scowl. Now, she seemed a thousand years old, spidery veins on her neck, pulsing and black.

Another necromancer with a shaved head landed to the right. “Hand over the boy with the map case.”
 

“I sense the power.” The woman strode forward until she was inches from the soldier’s face. Her palm twitched. “I sense a powerful relic is near.”

Talis shrank back behind the soldiers, wanting to find a hole and disappear forever. They were looking for him.

Some strange power came over Rikar and he marched up and stood next to the soldier. The woman had gazed at him as he approached, as if her eyes searched his soul.

“You know of magic.” She frowned. “Yet you are not the one.”
 

“Deal with me, not the young ones.” The soldier stepped in front of Rikar.

“This one talks too much,” the bald necromancer said, and released a flood of demonic faces at the soldier.
 

He grabbed his throat, his face turning ashen, neck bulging and throbbing, and dropped to his knees, face planting into the sand.

“Now the map, and the boy, if you please.” The woman eyed the other soldiers.

“I have a better idea, let’s kill them one by one—”

“Patience, Oren, patience…”

“Talis,” Rikar said, “you might as well show yourself.”

As Talis stepped out, furious at Rikar for giving him away, he caught the woman’s gaze and the feeling of power grew from the sword in his hand. It built up into an uncontrollable rage, which he fought to suppress with all his power.

“This is the one.” The woman flew forward to where Talis stood.

Talis withdrew the map case and displayed it to the woman. “Is this what you are looking for?” he said. He used the moment’s distraction, stepped forward, and plunged the sword into her heart.

A wailing and hissing sound was heard as she vanished, her body melting into ash. The blood-red cloak wrapped around her floated to the ground.
 

Half the undead soldiers and horses collapsed around them. Bones clacked against bones, wilting on the sand. The sky cleared. Sunlight rained down on the dark army.

Talis fell to his knees, dizzy from the exertion, blinded by the sudden outpouring of light.

“What do we do now?” Rikar yelled, and stared at the glowering faces of the other two necromancers.
 

Talis laughed madly. He’d killed a necromancer and it felt amazing. Not some wild animal in the swamplands. The most feared opponent on the battlefield. A Jiserian necromancer.

After a brief moment of sunlight, the darkness rained down once again. This time it came with a fog so thick it suffocated all visibility. Talis heard a moan that sounded like a soldier being struck. Mara screamed. The sound of steel shattering bone and armor. A deep, booming roar that echoed over the sand, as if the fog itself was the source.

Turning, he charged through the mist towards Mara’s voice, trying to protect her. Out in the edge of the fog, Talis noticed Rikar talking with a shadowy figure. He turned his head towards Talis, as if surprised at being found. The figure disappeared into the fog. Rikar frowned at Talis. What was Rikar doing?

Soon four undead warriors strode towards Talis, leering at him, weapons raised. The fog lifted, and Talis could see they were beaten. Rikar charged at the undead, slicing off a leg and kicking another over. Talis joined in, severing the other two in half.

But the necromancers, hovering fifty feet off the ground, shot a stream of grey and black particles towards the slain undead, causing them to reassemble back to life. The undead warriors shook their fists above their heads and glowered at Talis. Looking around, Talis could see they’d lost. Almost every soldier from the party had been slain or beaten down. The undead surrounded them and the necromancers floated down to gloat over their victory.

“We can’t die like this,” Talis said, edging close to Rikar.

“Dying is for quitters,” Rikar said, and raised a ruby to his lips. He whispered a name, a name that Talis could barely hear, a name that sounded familiar, like from his nightmares. Aurellia… The ruby glowed red and bits of silver shimmered inside.

Instantly, it was dark again, so dark, Talis couldn’t see his hands.
 

A rumbling sound, as if millions of bison charged across a plain. Then a whooshing sound, like when the wind from a storm races through the trees. Brilliant lights pierced the darkness, forming a magical portal, filled with shadows and light.
 

An ancient man, face distorted and leathered, wearing a black hooded robe, stepped through the portal and glanced around, chuckling to himself like he knew some secret joke. He rammed his ruby-tipped staff into the sand. An explosion of red and orange and silver light shot out in all directions and vaporized the undead warriors and horses.
 

“Be banished to eternal night,” he said, his voice slow and slurred, and he aimed his staff at the bald necromancer, and pointed a finger at the other. A rift appeared in the sky and moans and screams of agony from a million dead souls cried out from that rift, as if the sound came from the torments of the Underworld.
 

The necromancers were pulled (or rather the darkness enveloped them) into the rift and they fought and shrieked against the force, but in the end lost the struggle.

And then the shadow portal came to the old man, rushed over him, and consumed him, until he too disappeared.
 

The air was clear. The sun was strong. The wind, cold from the north.

After the dust settled, Talis felt the cold dew falling, sending a chill under his skin. He’d searched through the bodies, bones and fetid flesh and soldiers still dying, trying to find Mara and Nikulo. Rikar helped, illuminating the night with a shimmering orb, turning over bodies, revealing the hideous faces of undead and former living alike. Finally, a trembling lump lifted itself up, a dirtied face staring around in horror at the destruction.

It was Mara! Talis felt a wave of relief and joy washing over him like a warm summer rain.

“I was so worried…I’d thought you were killed,” Talis said. “Thank the gods you survived.”
 

“What are you doing here?” Rikar eyes went wide.

“You think I was going to let you guys go off on an adventure by yourselves?”

“This is not some kind of game…you could have been killed,” Rikar said. “And your family is probably worried sick about you….”

Mara scoffed. “Forget about them… They want me to marry some old pig.” She glanced around at all the undead bones lying around. “When they attacked I knew it was best to pretend I was dead. They went right after the soldiers and ignored me.”

“You did the right thing.” Talis brushed the sand off her clothes.

“Nikulo is probably shivering in his boots, somewhere around here.” Rikar squinted, peering out north.

“He was close to me,” Mara said, “before Talis attacked….”

“Let’s find Nikulo and whatever supplies we’ll need.” Talis rummaged around, checking the bodies for Nikulo. Where were the horses? All their packs, their food and supplies. Even if the threat of attack were over, they’d die out here in the desert without a way out and means to survive.

Rikar whistled, calling Talis back to where he was searching with Mara. Mounted on horseback, Nikulo grinned in his cocky way, holding the reins of a second horse.
 

“Couldn’t let these two run off,” Nikulo said. “I tried to find others…” He stopped when he noticed Mara. “You little she-devil! Who let you come along?”

Mara smiled, flushing a bit. “Nice to see you too.”

Nikulo chuckled, and glanced at Talis. “You look terrible, like something sat on your face.”

“Well, what happened to you?” Rikar swaggered over to Nikulo’s horse. “Were you around for the attack?”

“I was trying to stay alive, crawling away just the moment they attacked.”

Rikar scanned the northern horizon. “Looks like we’re on our own now, two horses, a few packs, some water, and how many days riding north until we—”

“Get out of this hellhole?” Nikulo frowned. “Two…maybe three days riding. I grabbed this horse and managed to track down the second…luckily the horses came to me…this one licked me….”

“North? Why would we continue on? The party is demolished…shouldn’t we return to Naru?” Talis said.

“And give up?” Rikar sheathed his sword. “I think not. We have the map in your possession. The Elders said that the champion commanded you to go…”

“I’m not saying give up, I’m saying return to Naru and resupply.”

“If one Jiserian raiding party found us so easily, what’s to say another one won’t again if we return?”

“Rikar has a point,” Mara said. “We’re lucky we’re alive. I say we keep going on.”

Of course Mara wanted to keep going on, if she went back to Naru, her parents would kill her. And it wasn’t luck, it was whoever Rikar had called…he saved them, this Aurellia. Who was he, anyways?
 

“Did you find any other survivors?” Nikulo said.

Rikar frowned. “I’m tired of dead bodies. I went through plenty looking for you and Mara.”

“I’m going to look…in case there is someone I can heal,” Nikulo said.

Talis rummaged through the mess, trying to find anything useful for the trip. Most of the horses had fled after the attack. Soldiers from his father’s armory—who he’d barely known—lying dead on the sand. There were too many to bury.