Sleeper Of The Wildwood Fugue (Book 7) (39 page)

The spell that Nyx has been preparing behind her back sputters when she loses her focus, causing the Ifrit to smile. He stomps on the ground to send a narrow wave of fire at the half-elf who dives out of the way. She hurls a lightning bolt that hits Sutter in the forehead, blinding him and knocking him back. Taking the opening, she batters the demon with fists of solid wind and drives him towards the edge of the volcano. With a yawn, Sutter takes a step backwards to drop into the magma and disappear from view.

“This won’t be good,” Sharne mentions as she presses against the far side of her protective cage.

Nyx looks across the volcano to see Delvin and Timoran fighting, her attention stolen for a precious instant. When Sutter leaps out of the magma, she is barely able to create a shield to block his punch. Molten rock covers the half-elf, the coating solidifying around her spell when the Ifrit roars. Leaving burning footprints on the ground, he approaches the shell and sighs in disappointment. Nyx loses her temper at the sound and bursts the thick covering with an explosion. Whipping her arms, she hurls the chunks of basalt at Sutter who puts his hands up to melt and absorb them. The pair circle each other with Nyx creating blue flames in her free palm and the lesser demon growing gloves of intense heat.

“You’re still holding back,” Sutter says in dismay. “What has you scared?”

Nyx blasts the Ifrit with a plume of flame that tickles him until she changes it to an icy cloud. He falls to his knees and his skin turns a lighter shade of red as frost appears on the tips of his mane and tail. Pounding his fists together, Sutter emits a burst of sweltering heat that warms him up and makes Nyx dizzy from sudden dehydration. She stumbles and tries to shake her head clear, but she can barely remain conscious. Raising the scepter over her head, the half-elf conjures a raincloud that drenches her and cools her off. The cloud fires lightning and wind to keep Sutter at bay as it gives Nyx the water she needs to recover. She grabs her creation and turns it into a hurricane that she fires at the lesser demon. He is shoved back, but it is not strong enough to knock him off his feet.

Sutter is about to charge Nyx when he notices her eyes briefly shift to his right. He turns to see that Sharne is nearby, the holy woman cowering in the protective shell. For a moment, the Ifrit considers ignoring her, but his demonic nature urges him to use her against his enemy. He pounces and grabs the defensive spell that protects her from his claws and flames. Sutter lifts the screaming woman over his head and tosses her into the volcano. He aims for her to fall a few feet away from the wall to give Nyx a slight chance at saving her.

“Save her or-” Sutter begins to say.

The caster does not stop to hear the Ifrit talk as she leaps into the volcano. A gust of wind drives her after Sharne and she cancels the defensive shield to grab the holy woman. Nyx creates a new shell around them, but she has no idea if she can protect them from the churning magma. Desperate and terrified, she hugs Sharne close and prays to Gabriel, Gola, and Cessia with all her might. As if in response, the scepter envelopes the two women in a cocoon of crimson light that plunges into the molten rock below.

*****

“Such a disappointment, but I shouldn’t have expected anything else from you,” a female voice says as Nyx wakes up. “You’re horribly trained and a specialist. I should have let the volcano eat you. Then again, that’s still an option if you fail here. Don’t worry about your little friend. I have no problem with her and her people kept me safe for centuries. I’ll send her home when we’re done here.”

Nyx finds herself covered in ashes and standing within a large nest of charred trees. She shakes the gray flakes from her arms and hair, earning a derisive laugh from the woman before her. Clothed in a black dress that sparkles like a starlit sky, the pale-skinned lady scratches the head of an orange bird perched on her exposed shoulder. The vibrant animal nuzzles her chocolate brown hair and coos into her ear. With a gentle nod, the woman sends the bird to Nyx and it flies around her, its long tail feathers tickling the half-elf’s nose. While the young woman is distracted, her hostess silently glides closer. The bird sparks and soars away as the woman roughly grabs Nyx by the chin and their matching, violet eyes meet.

“You must be Casandra,” the young caster says, unsure if she should be scared or in awe of the channeler. “So why are you here and is that bird what I think it is?”

“It’s a phoenix and the true guardian of Helgard,” the woman answers, letting go of Nyx and whistling for the bird. It lands on her head, already looking a little bigger than before. “The demented champion that you and I destroyed found me during her travels. She told me of her destiny and promised a land for all of my children. The channelers have not had a place to call their own since the early days of the ancient Race War. I took her up on the offer and . . . was betrayed. The phoenix and I were combined to make her great beast and we attempted to destroy her. You know the rest of the story.”

Nyx creates a flame in her palm to attract the phoenix, smiling when the bird jumps to her wrist. “That demented gnome betrayed everyone and she got what she deserved. I promise to let you out of the scepter and separate you from the phoenix. I’ll have to defeat Sutter first.”

“Empty promises from a champion.”

“Why do you have a problem with me being a champion?”

“Because it was one of you who stole my freedom and ruined my bloodlines!” Casandra screams, shaking the nest with her rage. A storm appears overhead and crimson lightning batters the ground, creating fires in every direction. “I spent centuries rebuilding our people. I lost bloodlines to poor training, disease, death, or the misfortune of birthing a non-channeler. My reward was that an insane gnome railing against her destiny sealed me in a scepter. Now all of my work has been destroyed except for you and the chaos elf. Neither of you are much of a consolation prize since both of you have been badly trained. The other one seems to be of weaker blood too. I knew breeding with those fallen elves wouldn’t make the greatest addition, but beggars can’t be choosers.”

“If you’re so concerned with my training then let me beat Sutter and you can teach me how to be a channeler.”

A bolt of lightning hits the ground next to the half-elf, sending a shock of pain through her body and scaring the phoenix away. She dives out of the path of another blast, but a gust of chilling wind catches her. Nyx is hurled across the large nest and lands against the side, which crumbles into ashes. A hand of wood rises from the ground and smacks her across the face, igniting on impact and bursting into blinding sparks. The hair on the back of her neck rises, giving the caster enough time to create a shell and block the barrage of lightning. She remains curled within the shield until the storm stops and Casandra stands over her.

“You can never beat Sutter,” the woman claims, shattering the defensive spell with a gentle touch. “I sense that you have the power, but you’re too damaged. You hold back out of fear of losing control and hurting so-called friends. If Sharne was not there, you would have had a chance against the Ifrit. Instead, you restrained your power and left yourself weak.”

“So it’s wrong for a channeler to worry about hurting innocent bystanders?” Nyx asks as she stands. The ash on her face burns her eyes, but she is too angry to clean herself off. “No wonder our kind was wiped out and forgotten.”

“Watch your tongue, infant,” Casandra angrily snaps before trying to slap the half-elf in the face. Her blow is easily blocked, so she has a fist of solid wind punch the young woman in the chin. “We were a powerful and noble people who wanted nothing more than to live in peace. Our magic made us both feared and respected, so we got our wish. Then those arrogant elder dragons started the Race War to see whose favorite was strongest. They feared the channelers because we had the power to stop them, so they killed everyone except me. That’s the fate of our kind. An unnecessary genocide by creatures we thought were our friends.”

“What did you do?” the half-elf politely asks. With a snap of her fingers, she removes the ash from her body and ignores the scowl from her ancestor. “I remember reading that the dragons were killed by adventurers, but the war continued. Did you have a hand in that and fight in the war?”

“That would be the second betrayal done to our kind,” the elder channeler explains with a tired sigh. A throne appears beneath her, the shimmering gems and polished gold making Nyx shield her eyes. “I led a band of idiotic adventurers who stumbled along behind me as I killed the dragons. Like a child, I expected the war to stop when the great beasts were dead. Instead, it got worse and two armies emerged to battle over dominance. At the time, it proved that most mortals are nothing more than destructive children. So I kept the war going and played both sides until those idiots I called friends toppled me from power. They said it was for my own good, but they were too simple to understand what I was doing. If the world wanted to burn then I was glad to help it along.”

“You tried to destroy the world?”

“I was angry and foolish.”

“Sounds like those people really were your friends.”

“Well they’re dead now, so there’s no reason to dwell on them.”

The awkward silence lingers as the channelers wait for someone to speak. Nyx is distracted by the phoenix strutting around in search of pieces of charcoal hidden among the scattered mounds of ash. She can feel Casandra watching her, but refuses to make eye contact with the woman. The apprehension reminds her of the first week of being an apprentice at Rainbow Tower. In her youth, Nyx was in awe of the power her masters wielded. Now she stands before someone who dwarfs them in experience and magic. The half-elf nervously chuckles when she realizes that the same potential is within her own aura.

“Your friends will be killed by Sutter,” Casandra casually mentions, snapping Nyx out of her thoughts. “They have less of a chance than you. The gypsy will put up a fight, but she’s not experienced enough. You need raw power to defeat an Ifrit without years of experience. I’m sure you want to save them.”

“Send me back to them!”

“Only if you defeat me,” the elder channeler says as the throne dissolves. She walks to the middle of the nest and faces Nyx with her arms crossed. “I told you during our first meeting that I would ask you a final question. Now is the time for it. Do you think you have the power to defeat me?”

Not waiting for an answer, Casandra unleashes a swarm of fiery snakes without moving a muscle. Caught off guard, Nyx can only sprint and dive away from the spells, using a compact wind spell to repeatedly bounce back onto her feet. She ducks a blade of lightning and plunges her hands into the ground to send a wave of wooden spikes toward Casandra. The attack shatters against a shield that takes the form of a prismatic fortress. With a piercing whine, spears of light rain down on the half-elf who bursts into a pile of ashes. A gust of wind whips around the burning nest, creating a thick curtain of gray. Fireballs launch from random directions, each one bursting into smoke on the barrier. A shower of acid pours from above, but it sloughs around the glimmering fortress and melts through the nest.

With a tired sigh, Casandra has a blast of hurricane-strength wind push the ash away, which reveals Nyx hiding a few feet behind her. The half-elf is knocked back by a geyser of scalding water, her skin burned by the unexpected spell. Pressing her advantage, the more experienced channeler repeatedly hits her enemy with jets of water and spinning clubs of ice. Growling in frustration, the younger caster flings metal javelins at Casandra. The woman does not move an inch as the projectiles snap against her shield, even when one of them is aimed perfectly at the center of her forehead. Bored and disgusted by Nyx, the slender woman has the ground behind the half-elf flip and smash her like an insect. She is mildly surprised when her battered opponent crawls out of the wreckage and collapses in a gasping heap.

“You’re like a cockroach,” Casandra says with mild amusement. She moves for the first time since the battle began, extending her arm for the phoenix to land. “I was afraid that your pitiful training had wasted your talent. Channeling is our life and magic is our most precious tool. You wield it like a child’s toy with all your running and jumping around. Though the other one is worse in that respect. I had such high hopes for you, but it seems the ways of mundane casters are too engrained in you.”

“Trinity and I are evenly matched,” Nyx states as she slips her hand beneath her to rub her aching stomach. She gets on her hands and knees, but cannot push herself up any further. “I have more magic power, but she beats me in hand-to-hand combat. So don’t talk like either of us are weaklings.”

“Who needs physical training when you have magic?”

“I wondered why you didn’t move during our fight.”

“Channelers don’t need motion to cast spells.”

“What if we lost our magic?”

“It would be like losing all of our limbs.”

A bolt of green energy fires from under Nyx and strikes Casandra’s shield with a crackling burst. The channeler’s smile fades when the projectile shatters her barrier and cuts across her side, sending a shock of cold throughout her body. She attempts to revive the defensive spell, but nothing happens even when she resorts to gestures and words. The sound of Nyx standing brings her attention to the simple crossbow in the half-elf’s hand.

“You idiot!” Casandra shouts at the approaching caster. “Channelers can’t use magic items that they didn’t design. The foreign aura temporarily locks our powers. Now neither of us have our magic.”