Authors: Greg Curtis
But he had to dig.
Ryshal sat on the ground in the Fiore Elle, staring at the window hanging in the air and her husband in it, worrying. But also wondering. It was late, night had fallen and she was exhausted just from watching and worrying. But her husband still stood where he had been. He was a silent figure. In fact he looked almost a living statue with his head bowed, but Ryshal knew he was working furiously. He was sending his magic streaming into the rock beneath him. He had been doing it for hour after hour and in all that time he had never moved. He never said anything. He never did anything but concentrate. And she was sure that wasn't possible. No one could maintain that sort of concentration and stillness for so long? At the very least he should be cramping up. Shifting his weight about on his feet to relieve some of the strain. And yet he just wasn't.
The elders were no help. In fact she guessed that as they maintained their own vigil around the window with her that they were just as confused as she was. And not just by Samual's unending concentration.
Even though they were huddled about in their own small groups, she had heard Elder Bela tell the others several times that Sam could not possibly have called the roc. That it was a calling far beyond his ability. It was beyond that of most masters. And yet he was only an apprentice.
She had heard several others say that what he was doing was of the Goddess. The priests had even been called to consider the matter. She hadn't unfortunately heard what they'd decided. But she had heard one of the elders say in passing that this was the calling of the Fire Angel. That he was finally doing what he had been called for. That scared her perhaps more than anything else. After all, the last Fire Angel had died according to the legends. He had given his everything to the battle and it had destroyed him. This seemed very much the same to her.
“You should eat something.”
Ry looked up to see Mayvelle standing there with a cup of something hot in her hands for her. The warrior woman had turned up several hours before – why Ry didn't know – and had stayed ever since.
“I can't eat.” Still, she accepted the cup. Tea helped she had discovered. Maybe it was simply the act of holding something in her hands and having something to do. Maybe it was the smell.
“I understand.” Mayvelle unexpectedly sat down on the grass beside her. “It is always this way before a battle.”
“You think there will be a battle?”
“I know there will be a battle. I am vero eskaline. Storm blood like my brother. And my gift is in war. There will be a huge battle. But I doubt your husband will be fighting it.”
“What?” That had caught Ryshal's attention where nothing else had.
“It's one of the things that I saw when I first saw your husband. My brother. Before I knew him as either of those things. And before he knew me. It was the night after the battle for Shavarra. We had lost and were retreating, and we passed by Samual's home. And when we did I felt it. Not him. The war.”
“It was chilling. We had already lost a terrible battle. A great many of our loved ones were dead. Many more were injured. Our home was gone. And we were running. I thought then that there could be no worse day. But when I saw your husband standing on the balcony of his home with a torch, calling out to us as we passed, I knew it was only the beginning of something worse.”
“I went to him then, telling him what he needed to hear. That there was an enemy chasing us, and that he needed to flee. But even as I did so I knew that I had to. Not because it was my duty, though it was, but because it was part of a greater plan that he be told. That it would be the calling of him. And I did not even know who he was then.”
“I have felt this same thing every time I have been near him since then. I can feel the forces swirling and aligning themselves around him. And when I saw Heri I felt the same thing. He is a vile creature, but he too is caught up in this somehow. He has a part to play and he cannot and will not be allowed to pass from this world until he has played it.”
“Heri?” If there was one person that Ryshal would have thought not involved in this war it would have been Heri. He would not risk his life in any battle. In fact he despised those who were willing to do so. Fighting to him was a foolish endeavour. He only cared about winning.
“You thought it was by chance that he happened to have the ancient devices that will be needed to destroy this cavern? That he found the Dragon before we did?” Mayvelle's eyebrows rose in question.
“That was not chance. That was part of a greater plan that we do not know. And maybe we will never know it. This is a war between sides we do not see. Fought by players we do not know. Gods, ancients, maybe others. And it is fought to ends we can only guess at. The priests might one day claim it is a war between the Goddess and Crodan the Mountain. I don't know if that's true.”
“But what I do know is that both sides have called on their champions. Those who will do what needs to be done when it needs to be done. And so the Fire Angel is called to one side, the Dragon to the other. But these champions are not the warriors who will fight the battle. Nor are they the commanders of the armies. We do not see the commanders. The champions are in large part figureheads. The foci of the sides. And they will both be stoutly protected. It is a bit like when the humans go to war. When the king falls the battle is lost.”
“They cannot be allowed to fall.”
“You are speaking of what you hope, not what you know.” Ryshal didn't want to say it, especially to the warrior woman, but it was the truth.
“Perhaps, but I have faith. You should too.” Mayvelle managed a smile, and for the first time her face became something other than hard. In fact she could almost have been described as beautiful – in a stern way.
“I did not think you were the type?” And truthfully she hadn't thought that Mayvelle was a woman of faith. Rather she was a woman of steel. She believed not in the Goddess, but in what she could do herself with sword in hand. A lot of soldiers were that way.
“I wasn't. But then I met a man.” Mayvelle managed another smile.
“I'm happy to hear –.” Ry had been about to give her her congratulations, but before she could, Mayvelle cut her off.
“Not that sort of a man. They run from me. A trader, human with a strange beard and a good ear for listening. A good mind for asking questions too. And as I told him my tale, he asked the questions I should have thought of.”
“Questions?” Ry didn't understand.
“For you. Because it isn't only the champions who have been called. It is all the pieces on the board. And you are one of those pieces.”
“Me?” That Ryshal couldn't quite believe she'd heard. Because she was no soldier and no king. No lord and no elder. She was just a frightened wife.
“You.” Mayvelle nodded to emphasise her words. “Because as the trader said, you have done two things that do not make sense. The first is that you did not see Heri for the threat he was to you and your husband. Yet you are an elf. The daughter of traders. You see people as they are. You see to the heart of them. So how did you not see his dark designs?”
“I did, but …” Her voice trailed off as she thought about it. And as she realised the woman was right. She had seen. But she had not spoken out as she should have. And she didn't know why. She should have gone to Samual. She should have begged him to leave early. She should have told him all that was in her heart. He would have listened. He would have done as she asked. But she hadn't.
Eventually she thought of something to say. “And the second?”
“You survived. And as my friend pointed out, that was a hard thing to do. Human dungeons are terrible places. Especially for an elf. But you survived. How?”
“I had faith. In the Goddess. She brought me comfort. And she told me that Samual would come.” And that was the truth. Was it proof of anything more though? She didn't think so.
“Exactly!” Mayvelle almost seemed to pounce on her words. “You had faith. But did it ever occur to you that you had a reason for that faith? Certain knowledge?”
“Pardon?” That Ry truly didn't understand.
“Think of this as a war. An ancient war with players preparing their forces. And think of Samual as one of those pieces. You were the impetus that drove him to become the Fire Angel. First you were captured and imprisoned. And from that moment on he could do nothing more than grow in strength as he prepared himself for the battle to rescue you.”
“And then you survived. Because had you died he would have been broken. He could not have become the Fire Angel.”
Could she be right? Ryshal didn't know. It didn't seem right. And yet she couldn't put her finger on where it might be wrong. Because it made sense in a way. But it would mean that she had been used. Maybe by the Goddess herself. And she didn't like that.
For ages she simply stood there, thinking about it. Trying to work out what she should even think about it. And she would have kept doing that save that Mayvelle finally interrupted her.
“Now you should drink your soup and then you can tell me about your husband. And about how best I can apologise to him.”
“Apologise?” Ryshal was caught by surprise. Somehow she hadn't thought Mayvelle the type to apologise for much. She was a proud woman.
“I spoke to Heri and I saw the truth in his eyes. I heard it in his words. He is a heartless creature raised by a heartless mother. A child spoiled by his very birth. He knows only the lure of power. And if a mother can do that to her only child, then what must she be able to do to a woman who stands in her way?”
“My parents were true in their belief that the king had some hand in his wife's death. But it seems they were wrong. And now I am left wanting to know something of my first parents. Things that only my brother can tell me. A man I have given grave offence to.”
“He will forgive you. Have no fear.” Ryshal put down her tea and reached for the warrior woman's hands. “For all that he may be a soldier with a soldier's manner, he has a heart as good and pure as any I know. It is why I love him.”
“And this –” she indicated the Window and Samual in it “– is done for love. He does not fight out of anger or fear. There is no thought of gain or glory in his heart. No righteous crusade even. He fights only to protect those he loves. So simply speak from your heart and he will forgive you. He will tell you whatever you wish to know.”
It felt good to be able to tell Mayvelle that. To give her perhaps a little comfort. But even as Ryshal spoke she felt a touch of fear. Her husband fought for love. He fought for those he loved. And if he died he would die for them too.
He would die for her. And even if Mayvelle was right, that didn't guarantee he would live. If there were gods on both sides there were no guarantees. And in any case, even those on his side only needed him to live long enough to do whatever they needed done. After that he was on his own.
“Samual!”
Sam started as he heard his name called. But even as he did he realised the Elder had been calling him for some time. He just hadn't been listening. He had been lost in concentration as he focused on his work. Forcing his Earth magic ever deeper into the stone, and using it to push it apart and create a round shaft. He had to concentrate. Partly because he was so tired after having stood there working at it for so long – two nights had passed while he did nothing but concentrate on the task. And partly because as the shaft went down ever deeper into the mountain and further away from him, it became harder. If he'd had the strength of a master it would have surely been quicker. But even a master he thought would have had difficulty exerting his will on stone more than a league beneath him.
“Elder Bela?” Sam didn't take his thoughts off his work.
“You're out of time. The steel drakes are on their way.”
Those words robbed Sam of his concentration. It was too soon! But as he turned around to face the southern skies where he knew they would be coming from, he knew the Elder's words were true. He could see them in the distance. At the moment they were little more than a collection of sparkling wisps in the distance. But he could see an entire cloud of them.
“Alder's balls!” He cursed.
Obviously the Dragon had landed his army somewhere to the south of here, unhitched the drakes from the balloons they were towing, and sent them to the mountains. They would be faster if they weren't towing the rest of the army. Did that mean the Dragon knew what he was doing and had sent them to kill him soonest? Or was he just in a hurry to secure his new base?
Either way it didn't matter. The drakes would arrive long before he was ready. They would spot him and battle would ensue.
It was simply too damned soon! Sam almost screamed with frustration and panic when he saw how close the steel drakes were. He needed more time. At least another half an hour. Probably two hours. But he had at most a fraction of that time. The drakes were slow flyers, but not that slow, and he was out in the open. Exposed.
What should he do? Should he simply activate the sun burst, drop it down the not quite complete shaft and hope it did what it needed to? He wanted to. Because then he could simply climb back on the roc and fly away to safety. But he couldn't do that. There was only one sun burst and he had no idea how powerful it was. If it failed because it wasn't close enough to its target that would be a disaster. There would be no second chance.
To add to his problems if he stopped digging and put all his strength into fighting the drakes, he couldn't win. There was no chance he could hold off so many steel drakes. Not on his own. And the roc couldn't either. It looked ready to try. It sounded ready as it screamed its battle cry. The sound was piercing and damn near boiled his blood. But the roc was still only flesh and blood against steel. It would destroy some of them. Maybe many of them. But in the end it would fall. And if he instead kept digging he still wouldn't reach his target and the sun burst might still fail while he would die waiting to use it.
His magic simply wasn't enough. Fog wouldn't work, because even if he could generate enough the drakes would simply blast the entire region with fire. The Dragon would command them to do so. He had learned that lesson once already. And sooner or later they would hit him. A simply breeze could have taken them all down, but he had no trace of weather magic. And as capable as he was with his Earth magic he couldn't create a dome large enough and strong enough to defend himself against them in the time he had available. And an ice shield would not hold against concentrated drake fire. It was force as well as fire. Their fire ultimately overwhelm it.
If he fell the cavern would survive. The Dragon would claim it. And in time his armies would spread out across the entire world. He would not be stopped. And eventually everyone Sam knew or loved would be killed. Ryshal would be killed. He could not let that happen.
The whole thing was a riddle with no right answer. Every choice was wrong. Every choice led to failure. And now everything was falling apart. If only the drakes hadn't arrived so soon!
Sam was desperate. Frantic with worry. Barely able to think. But it didn't matter that it was too soon. It only mattered that he had to do something. But what?
And then it came to him. A whisper. An idea. The answer to a prayer he'd been too desperate to even make. A shape that he hadn't ever seen before. A magic that wasn't even possible. No wizard could do what he was considering doing. It was a desperate gamble. But he was desperate and it was the only chance any of them had.
Sam called the already raging roc to him, and despite the fact that his nature magic was waning it came. It even lowered its great head into his arms when he ordered it to. Maybe it knew his plan. And then he gave it fire.
It was a shocking enchantment. Sam had no idea whether it would work. Whether it even could. But all he did know was that he had to try. So he drew all the fire he had and pushed it into every muscle and fibre of the great bird. And it took so much. His sword when he enchanted it, could hold a powerful spell. His axe an even more powerful one. But against the roc they were nothing. This was taking every ounce of fire magic he had. As much as the fire rings had.
Still he continued to draw on the magic and force it into the roc no matter the pain, and somehow he filled it. There was no room left. No part of the roc that was not filled with fire. And finally when the entire plateau was a flat lake of ice and every trace of fire in him was gone, he knew it was time.
He spoke the word. A word he didn't even know. It was simply there in his head. Mostly it seemed like just a sound; a collection of syllables that might not even have been meant to be uttered by a human throat, and the fire was released. All of it. And it was glorious.
There was light and power, flames and fury, and the roc caught fire in front of him. It exploded as it burnt from the inside out, and yet even as he was hurled back from the beast by the blast to come crashing down on the ice, Sam saw that it wasn't consumed by those flames.
But then it couldn't be. The phoenix had been reborn.
As he lay there on the stone terrace, staring up at the flaming beast, Sam found himself all but overwhelmed by the sight. Staggered by the understanding that he had done this. Created this. Because this was magic that surely no wizard could ever have. It was simply too much.
But he also understood that it didn't matter. The phoenix was reborn and it had been reborn for a reason.
“The drakes. Destroy them.” He gave the command and on some level understood that he was giving the beast its final command. The calling of the roc was ended. The phoenix was free. Free from him. Free from everyone. It would never be commanded again. Because that was its nature – freedom.
Sam didn't see the phoenix leave – it was too fast for that. Instead he saw a trail of fire in the air from where it had been, much like the trail that came from a cannon when it spoke. And when he turned his head in the direction in which it had travelled he saw where it had arrived. Or rather, he saw the after effects.
There was a glorious orange explosion in the air about half a league away. He could just make out what he thought were huge hunks of burning steel beginning their long, painfully slow, descent to the ground, trailing fire and black smoke. And even as he watched there were more explosions and more falling steel corpses.
It was so fast. Far too fast for the eye to keep up with. All he could see were the explosions, one after another, and the streaks of fire between them that he knew were the phoenix flying from one to the next.
“Samual?”
The elders were calling him, but for the longest time Sam couldn't pay them any attention. He couldn't do much at all except lie there and stare in wonder at the impossible creature he'd somehow wrought. At the complete destruction of the steel drakes. But finally he managed to tear his eyes away from the sight and give his attention to the elders in the window.
“I don't know elders. It just came to me, but it's not my doing.” He didn't know what else he could tell them. And soon his eyes returned to the battle in the distance.
Sam lay there watching the battle for a good little while, wondering how he could possibly have brought this magnificent beast into existence. How in any way he could have shaped the phoenix. But mostly he was just amazed at how dangerous the beast was. Stunned as the distant sky turned orange with the bodies of the steel drakes tumbling out of the sky.
He was relieved too because he knew none of them were going to make it to the terrace. None of them were going to come anywhere close before their remains rained down on the land.
But it wasn't all good news. Staring out to the horizon, he could just make out a distant wave of steel flowing towards him that he knew were the wolves. The wolves were fast, and though they couldn't climb – he hoped – the distance meant that he had only a couple of hours before they arrived. And when they did the mountain would be completely surrounded. He had also lost his ride home. When the wolves arrived, he would be surrounded. Trapped.
To add to his problems he was exhausted. Calling the roc and commanding it had been exhausting. His fire magic was all but spent. Nearly everything he had, had gone into the phoenix. His nature magic was running low too. He scarcely had enough magic left to keep himself going. All he had left was his Earth magic and that was waning as he dug ever deeper.
But still he had to continue. The phoenix had bought him the time he needed. Now he had to make that time count.
Somehow he staggered to his feet, and then walked like an old man back to the shaft he was digging. He was drained, but as he focussed on the task at hand, he determined that whatever he had left he would make certain was enough. The Dragon would not claim this cavern. Fair Fields would not fall. His loved ones would not surrender their lives to the steel vermin.
Once again he sent his magic streaming into the well. Pushing the stone aside as it dug ever deeper, always aiming straight for the cavern. And though the magic did not come as easily as it had, it still came. He just had to focus. To ignore the pain and tiredness, put aside his fears, and let it flow through him into the distant rock.
In time he could feel the shaft biting ever deeper into the stone, and he knew the end was in sight. It gave him hope.
Hours later he could feel it almost within his grasp. It was a matter of only a few paces, and the nearness of his goal almost undid him. The excitement was nearly too much. But he held on, pushing the stone aside as he forced his magic down the shaft, until finally in a moment of absolute wonder he felt it push through.
It was done! He would have screamed his triumph to the heavens above if he could have. But he couldn't. He had no strength left. None in his flesh. None of his magic either. And yet that didn't matter. The last part of his mission did not require either of those things. It only required a word.
He limped slowly across to his pack, feeling as though he'd aged a century in only a few days. But he felt stronger when he pulled the sun burst out of it and held it in his hands.
It was an impossible device. An orb of orange and yellow fire that he didn't really understand. But he understood power. He could feel it, just as he could the warmth of the sun. There was so much magic flowing through it. Far more than any mere wizard could ever possess. How had the ancients ever managed to contain that power within an orb? It didn't seem possible.
Not for the first time he wondered how his brother could ever have laid his hands on this ancient weapon. He hadn't even known they existed save in the ancient tales. And the tales were wild. They called them city wreckers and mountain destroyers. Things that couldn't really be true. The devices couldn't be that powerful. Nothing could be. Which was suddenly important to him since he was standing on a mountain with one of the impossible devices in his hands. Could it destroy a mountain? He had to hope not.
But in the end he knew that only one thing mattered. That the device was powerful enough to destroy a subterranean cavern. He just had to hope that its power wasn't such that it would reach him. And surely it couldn't. Not through the best part of a league and a half of stone above it? Praise the All Father he would be safe up here.