Chapter 1. The Light in the Woods

Alastair trudged clumsily along the woodland trail. The first bite of winter was in the air, but Alastair had drank quite a lot and couldn’t really feel it. He could scarcely hear the sound of twigs snapping beneath his feet as he walked. The music ahead was too damn loud for anyone to hear him, no sense in being careful. The loud beat of the music blared, with the occasional screaming from the singer and shredding of a distorted electric guitar. He used his staff to catch himself as he stumbled over a root; his black stewards cloak tangling somewhat between his legs as he narrowly escaped a fall.

Alastair wasn’t a steward anymore, he retired. Well, he was forced to retire when the Stewards Guild decided to stop using battle mage’s. The mages were an old kind of wizard. Magic, spells, summoning circles, it’s real. Only battle mages didn’t rely on wands like the new breed of magicians. Sure they knew how, but nothing beat a wizard's staff. They were so versatile, you could do anything with them. Spells, ritual magic, elemental magic, and in a worst case scenario they made a hell of a club.

“Dammit,” he cursed to himself. He was too drunk for this woodsy adventure bullshit. Good thing he got a retainer for what he was doing. He pulled a flask from his chest pocket and took a long pull. The rum burned as it went down, in that old familiar way. He got closer and saw a blazing campfire sending embers high into the treetops above.

“That’s gotta be a fire hazard,” he said to himself. He could see the outlines of people from the firelight. He counted two men and two women, all sipping on cheap beer while looking into the flames. Sitting on a camp chair was another man and woman. Well, he could hardly call what they were doing sitting. The man was harder to see, but the woman was curved in ways that would make men glance, and they were...well they were doing things that would make your mom blush.

Alastair circled to get a better look at the woman. He pulled a picture from his pocket and waited. If the two of them would detach their faces for a second he could get a better look at her. The man kissed his way down her neck and the woman's back arched and her head reared back in pleasure. It was her, Rue was her name. The wife of Alastair’s employer. Her husband claimed magic stole her, and contacted Alastair via his best friend and roommate. It looked to Alastair like the woman was here of her own free will, case closed, easy money. Ha! He wished.

He looked at the folks standing around sipping their cheap beer. They were just standing there, swords sheathed, not offering harm. Well, other than the fact that they had swords,. iIn the twenty-first century. Alastair rested his hand on the hilt of his own sword and sighed. Loud emo sounding music,. sSwords,. ggGothic clothes,. hHe knew who they were. They would probably know him on sight too. Well, no sense waiting, it was time to get to work. He drained his flask of rum and replaced it in his chest pocket, then circled around the fire again, still on the outskirts, still stumbling with every drunken step. Finally, he reached the side to the back of the girl.

“Fire Marshall!” he hollered as he stumbled out into the light of the fire. “Those flames are a might close to ticklin’ the bottom of those tree branches.” The men and women flinched, hands moving towards their swords, but none of them drew. Apparently, none of them recognized him. That was a relief. At the very least they wouldn’t know what he was if it came to blows. Any advantage he could gain over an oathbreaker paladin he would take. That also meant none of them were seasoned and wouldn’t likely know how to deal with magic. Any seasoned Paladin who was around for the unholy war, could identify a battle mage on sight.

The man on the chair detached his face from the woman with a slurping sound and looked at Alastair. “Who the hell are you?” He sounded like a hillbilly. Hell, he looked like a hillbilly. The woman on his lap kept kissing his neck while he spoke. She was either on drugs or under the influence of magic in some way or another.

“I just said fire marshal,” Alastair slurred. “Who are you?” Alistair moved to an open cooler and pulled out a bud light. He bent the cap off the bottle and drank. It was cold, refreshing, and watery. Alastair didn’t understand why people hated watery beer. It was like water, which is delightful, but could still get you drunk.

“I’m the tooth-fairy,” the man said. He looked around to the oathbreakers, but they didn’t seem to appreciate his humor. He realized it and looked back at Alastair.

“I’ve met the tooth-fairy,” Alastair said. “And she’s a hell of a lot scarier than you.” This had better work. If Alastair was wrong, he just wandered into an encampment of oathbreaker Paladins, drunk.

“Want me to kill him?” one of the Paladins asked.

“You wouldn’t kill a government official would you?” Alastair said with a hiccup.

“I became a paladin at the end of the Holy War. I know what you are battle mage.” the paladin said. Alastair eyed him closer. His vision was blurred, but the man did look old enough. Paladins who embraced their calling aged much slower than normal humans. But still, if he had seen action he wouldn’t have waited for a command to attack, he would have responded the moment he saw Alastair.

“Look,” Alastair said. “I’m not here to stir up trouble. I just need to know whether the lady is here by her own free will and choice or not.” The paladin’s leader tensed visibly, the damn traitor! He had pledged himself to the light, and now was nothing more than a thug. Then again, so was Alastair.

“You come into our camp, obviously drunk, steal our beer, then say you don’t want trouble?” the paladin scoffed. “You sir, have found trouble.”

“I don’t think so,” Alastair said, trying to sound as philosophical as he could. “We’re all just people here, each enjoying a nice little buzz.” He stopped and let out a belch. It tasted like beer and rum. “Judas, that’s what I’m going to call you, I think we all ought to get along, do our parts, and move on with our day.”

“I recommended we kill him,” The paladin said to the man on the chair.

“You got one chance to leave, boy,” the man said. “Go now or don’t go at all.”

Alastair was too drunk for this. He had to pee, but didn’t want to break the seal on his night just yet. He also felt as though he was going to throw up. Turns out a fifth of Captain Morgan was a little much.

“Rue,” he said, mustering up as much of his drunken will as he could. He infused the will into his next words and let loose a spell at the woman. “Nuncas servitas!” She stopped kissing the neck of the hillbilly. In fact, she stopped doing everything. “God no,” Alastair breathed. The lead Paladin pulled his sword a few inches from its sheath then froze. He didn’t seem to notice the spell.

“What did you do?” hollered the hillbilly.

“I am a battle mage,” Alastair said. “I know magic you couldn’t fathom.” He had to taunt the hillbilly. He wanted a magical confrontation. The trick was not getting killed by the oath breakers.

The hillbilly grinned a wide, shit eating grin. That’s it, want the power, lust after it, take it. Alastair needed him to take it.

“Sir?” the oath breaker said. He didn’t like the hillbilly and didn’t bother hiding it in his voice.

“I don’t want him dead,” the hillbilly said. “Bring him to me.”

The Paladin sheathed his sword completely then grinned at Alastair. “My pleasure.” The man clenched his fists. He wore black leather gloves with metal studs over the knuckles.

“No need for violen…” Alastair started. Too late. The oath breaker hit him in the stomach. Alastair’s drunken reflexes didn’t react at all, not even to tense the muscles in his gut. He folded over the oath breakers fist, losing some of the contents of his stomach onto the man's shiny black boots. Alastair let his staff fall to the ground.

“What the hell?” the oath breaker spat in disgust.

Alastair gave himself a moment to catch his breath, then said “If those are real leather, you might want to clean that off. It’ll ruin them for sursies.”

Alastair looked up at the oath breaker and gave him his most irritating grin. The paladin brought his fist down on Alastair's cheekbone and let him collapse on the forest floor. Maybe the grin was too far, tomorrow would tell. As for now, Alastair was too drunk to feel much of anything. Another paladin came to Alastair and helped their ringleader drag the battle mage over to the hillbilly. The hillbilly shoved Rue from his lap, then stood and did up his pants.

“You have secrets? You know magic?” the hillbilly asked rhetorically. “I ain’t bout to let those secrets slip on through my fingers when I can just take ‘em.” The hillbilly pulled Alastair's head back by the hair and looked into his eyes.

There’s an old saying that the eyes are a window to the soul. The old saying was completely true, which is why this would-be sorcerer wanted to hold eye contact. It’s the easiest way to connect with someone to the untrained magician.

“There you are,” Alastair breathed. He could feel the greasy touch of the hillbilly on his mind. It was abrupt, coarse and unrefined. No wonder the girl went limp when he severed the link, Alastair just hoped that there was no permanent damage.

“Lemme in, boy!” the hillbilly drawled. Alastair locked his mind, creating a psychic barrier.

They didn’t teach this anymore. Dealing with psychics was just so uncommon that it didn’t seem to be a need, but Alastair remembered. He could feel the psychic tendrils of the hillbilly, reaching and prying, trying to find a way into Alastair's mind. The pressure was strong, but Alastair had experience with psychics. This was a walk in the park.

“It’s gonna take more than that!” Alastair yelled.

“Ya can’t stop it boy!” the hillbilly hollered. He leaned close enough to Alastair that he could smell the man's breath. The pressure on the wall doubled. If this man had proper training he could have been a powerful psychic. Fortunately, you didn’t need to be powerful to erect a psychic barrier, you just had to know how.

The hillbilly pressed harder still. Alastair screamed, the hillbilly screamed back, then Alastair dropped his defences. He felt the psychics power invade his mind, encompassing all of it, including the alcohol. The effects of the booze evaporated from Alastair, which meant they were entirely on the hillbilly. Alastair's eyes came into focus and the hillbilly shifted into high definition.

“I’ve never experienced what you’re feeling, but I’m told that doesn’t feel too good,” Alastair said, in a low, threatening voice. “I think it’s important for you to know that if I can’t save her, I’ll kill you.”

The hillbilly recoiled and tumbled backwards in his camp chair, hitting his head on a rock. “Kill him,” he yelled in a panic. Alastair jerked his arms forward, throwing the Paladins to the ground on either side of the hillbilly, then rolled backwards to his staff. He came up, staff in hand, teeth bore.

“Oathbreakers,” he snarled. They flinched at the word. They didn’t like the phrase, they thought they were death knights or paladins. Oathbreaker was a slander. “You might want to draw your swords now.”

They did. The two that he threw stood, brandishing their own swords and began to circle around Alastair. Typical pack hunters, one would attack from the front to distract him while the others tried to cut him down. Oathbreaker 101, circle a mage and cut him down from all sides. That worked on a battlefield where enchantments had ruined mage portability, but here? In a forest? Alastair had checked, and there were no such enchantments in place.

He grinned wickedly then focused his will, concentrating it. He spread it through his body, strengthening himself. Then, he lept straight up. As he went into the canopy of trees he hit the trunk of one with his staff, launching himself to the side. The paladins would follow, they were more than just regular old vanilla humans. He clung on to the bark of one of the trees and concealed himself in his cloak. He heard the paladins land on branches in the treetops near him, one was on the branch just a few feet from him.

He wasn’t sure what it was, but magicians always wanted the high ground. Something about fighting a foe who had the high ground seemed unappealing as all hell.

“He’s up here,” growled Judas. “Find him!” The paladin’s spread through the treetops to search. Alastair didn’t want to fight them at all, let alone all at once. He peeked from the folds of his cloak and saw the ringleader disappear higher into the tree.

Alastair pointed his staff at him and sent a jet of wind at the man's back, launching him high above the trees and out of sight. The man yelled as he went, calling a command to the oath breakers. Alastair listened, and could hear them clambering back to the clearing. He lept behind another trunk and waited, then swung his staff at head level. A female paladin stepped out at the sound and he hit her hard in the forehead. She dropped over a branch without a sound. He checked her pulse. She was alive.

He would feel bad about clubbing a woman in the head later, but for now his benevolent sexism would have to wait. He jumped to another tree and crouched low on a branch. The paladin he ambushed this time landed on the opposite side of the tree and swung around. This was a big man, bigger than Alastair himself by at least fifty pounds. Alastair swung the staff and the man ducked, dropping out of the tree. Alastair dropped after him. The man pulled his sword from his sheath, but Alastair hit it to the side with his staff and the two weapons fell out of sight. Alastair landed on the man, well, sort of. The man caught Alastair by the throat.

“Gnnf,” Alastair weezed. He brought his legs around the man's arm and locked him into an armbar for a half a second, just long enough to break the grip. Too much pain would make him scream, screaming meant the other oathbreaker would collapse on him. The moment the man released his throat he let him free and dropped back down to his feet. The oath breaker wasted no time, and sent a quick jab at Alastair's throat. Alastair ducked it and tucked himself behind the man. A heel trip later and the man was on the ground, with Alastair on his back.

Alastair wrapped himself around the man, locking in a rear naked choke hold as tightly as he could. “Go to sleep big fella, I’m not gonna hurt ya,” he whispered in his ear. After a few moments, the paladin went limp. Alastair stood up, and looked for his staff. He found it a yard or so away lying next to the paladin’s sword. He reclaimed it, and walked as quietly as he could to the clearing. The loud music at the clearing still made it a little unnecessary though.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

The hillbilly was still there, sitting with a bleeding head. Rue was still right beside him, though the last oath breaker was missing. She was either there, waiting in the darkness beyond the edge of light, or she hadn’t heard her leaders call.

“This is a trap,” Alastair said to himself. He was pretty sure that was true, but he didn’t have time to wait for the older paladin to get back either. His wind gust would buy him maybe five or ten minutes. Of those ten he had six left at most.

He walked into the clearing, where the music was still loud and unpleasant. He thought of destroying the speaker but it looked expensive and he didn’t want to be liable for that. Instead he walked straight over to Rue, turned her, and looked directly into her eyes. One pupil was so big it had to be the size of a nickel. The other was a tiny black pinprick.

Alastair’s hairs stood on the back of his neck, and he thought he could hear something. He couldn’t tell what, it was like white noise just outside of his hearing. (Sentence structure here doesn’t work. Maybe “The hair on the back of Alastair’s neck stood straight. He thought he could hear something, though he couldn’t tell what. It was like white noise just outside of his hearing.”)

“You’re outnumbered and drunk,” came Judas’ voice.

“I figured it was a trap,” Alastair said. “Might as well get the party started.” He turned and saw both death knights standing there, the female, glaring daggers at him. Instead of the normal sword, she held two sai’s. They each glowed with a sickly purple hue.

Her leader had a katana. A freakin’ katana! There’s no way he knew how to use it.

“Where’s the guy with the nunchucks and bow staff?” Alastair asked. “And why aren’t you green? And where are your shells?”

“A funny man, I don’t like funny men,” the oathbreaker said. His katana ignited with the same sickly purple as the woman's sias, releasing a thrum of magic in the air.

“As a connoisseur of standup comedy, I’m deeply offended on a personal level,” Alastair said flatly. “I’m curious though, how did you get back so fast?”

Judas rotated his wrist, exposing a mechanical device on its backside. “Grappling hook,” he said.

“Enough talk!” the woman screeched. She dashed forward at inhuman speeds, still low to the ground as she moved. The man matched her speed and charged Alastair, Katana held high in the air. At the last second the woman leapt at Alastair's face, Sais flashing toward his eyes. At the same time, the man swung his katana around behind him and brought up a slash.

Alastair spun his staff, deflecting the sais, then absorbing the blow of the swinging Katana. The upward momentum of the Katana was greater than Alastair had thought it would be, and the spinning staff wasn’t quite enough to stop it.

Alastair tightened his grip and was lifted off the ground, up and backwards. The throw flipped him over and he landed roughly on his stomach. He looked up and both oathbreakers had fallen back and were pulling Rue and the psychic away on the far side of the fire, disappearing into the trees. They were fast, like olympic-runner fast.

“No,” Alastair said. He channeled his power and reached out with it grabbed (grabbing?) at the ambient magic. Magic is all around us, through everything, living and not. Magicians didn’t use magic in this way, battle mages did. He drew the ambient magic into his staff, runes along the side glowing brightly as the energy flowed through it. He held it there, letting it mingle and mix with the magic of his staff, then absorbed it into his body. The rush was exhilarating, but he didn’t have time to enjoy it.

He would say he ran after them, but run didn’t seem a strong enough word for what Alastair did. It was a sprint, but more akin to a cheetah than a man. He blurred through the trees, overtaking the oath breakers in just a few short seconds. This burst of energy wouldn’t last long, so he had to make it count.

“Get down!” yelled the man, dropping the hillbilly. He turned, bringing his sword to bear. Alastair swung his staff, deflecting the sword down, then brought it around at the chest of Judas. The paladin brought up his gloved hand and clenched a fist in the air. The same sickly purple energy that surrounded his blade created a cushion between him and Alastair’s staff.

The impact was violent, and the oathbreakers shield cracked, sending off splinters of purple as the man was sent flying between trees away from his victims. The female oath breaker didn’t miss a beat, and twisted Rue, using her as a shield between her and Alastair. With a flash of purple, the bright tip of the womans sai was pressed to Rue’s throat.

“Now what mage?” she sneered at Alastair. She had him, he didn’t know a single spell that could get Rue out of her grip. He wasn’t in danger, he still hadn’t even drawn his sword. He didn’t feel like this had to end in death, so he didn’t draw the sword.

Judas rose from several paces away, and lumbered back into the clearing. A sound from behind Alastair on his left and right told him the other two oath breakers had returned to the fray as well. Okay, maybe he would need his sword. He placed his hand on the hilt, magic thrumming from it to his fingertips.

“Seems like you’ve lost battle mage,” Judas said with a sneer. “Throw the staff down, and get your hand off the damn sword!”

“I’m trying to figure something out,” Alastair said. “Maybe you can help me.”

“Don’t talk, kill him!” moaned the woman with the sais. If Alastair didn’t know any better he’d say she sounded aroused at the idea. Judas looked at her, then back at Alastair.

“You can try,” Alastair said. “But if I were you, I’d want to hear about what my problem is first.”

Judas looked back at the woman, then at Alastair again. “What?” he barked.

“No!” screeched the woman. “You’re weak Judas!”

“Wait, your name really is Judas?” Alastair asked. “Damn I’m good!”

“Hold your tongue, or lose it!” Judas barked at the woman.

“Okay everybody, let’s all calm down,” Alastair said as soothingly as he could. “We don’t need anyone here to die. That’s my problem, how do we peacefully get out of this without bloodshed.”

Judas actually laughed. “The mage is scared!”

“Yes,” Alastair admitted. “I am. I’m afraid Raphael there is going to hurt Rue.”

Judas chuckled again, “I think you’ve bitten off more than you can chew, I think you’re afraid for yourself.” This time it was Alastair who laughed.

“Can we talk, or does it have to be blood?” Alastair asked.

“Blood,” Judas said in a hiss. Alastair began to pull his sword from his sheath, but stopped. It didn’t have to be time for blood. He still had a few more tricks up his sleeve as it was.

He swung his staff high above his head, letting it spin like the blade of a helicopter. The wind gathered with it, and shot it up into the air. He could feel the pressure of the air, trying to push the staff further up, but his magic held it tethered to him. The downcurrent of air was as stifling as it was deafening. He focused his inner eye on the air, and pushed it at the weapons of the oath breakers. They shot from their grips and outside of the tremendous circle of air the staff now made.

“Are you sure about the blood Judas?” Alastair yelled. As he did, he focused again on the air, creating a tight circle around the oath breakers and himself. He couldn’t help but grin. It wasn’t fair, it was four on one. They should have brought more people with them for it to be fair.

“Kill him!” Judas yelled. The first oathbreaker to move threw Rue violently to the ground, then charged Alastair as quickly as she could. She must have been used to sparring with men who took it easy on her, Alastair didn’t have time for sexism though, and punched the oath breaker with such speed and ferocity that the woman's head shot back, neck breaking. She fell to the ground, paralyzed.

Against a normal human, that would have crossed a line for even Alastair, but this woman, even as an oath breaker, had the paladin's blessing. She would heal. It was much more difficult to kill a Paladin than even a magician. Sure magicians were stronger than paladins usually. But a big Paladin would be stronger than a magician, and infinitely more durable. A magician was more durable than a human, but a broken neck? That’s months to years recovery for a magician. For a paladin? Hours to move again, days to function normally, and with any luck, a lifetime to forget.

The other oath breakers stood, shocked at what they saw. It only lasted a few moments though, and the paladins rushed forward, swarming Alastair. He ducked a heymaker from the large male, and threw an elbow into Judas’ gut. A sharp stab in Alastair’s neck stole his attention. The other woman had jumped on his back and bit down hard. Alastair could feel the blood drip down.

He cried out, tearing the woman from him and throwing her to the ground. A pair of arms wrapped around Alastair from behind, and the large male dressed pressed him forward, forcing the mage to take a knee. The woman scrambled and came back at him, kicking Alastair hard in the side of his knee, forcing him to kneel.

He struggled for a moment, but couldn’t catch his breath easily with the big guy crushing him.

“Easy with the anaconda squeeze,” Alastair said.

“Don’t engage with him,” Judas said. He walked into Alastair's field of vision, and broke a branch off a nearby tree. “He’s got a mouth on him, let’s see how much he runs it when we are done with him.” He swung the branch down on Alastair’s head. Light flashed across Alastair’s vision, and for a second he thought he was going to lose consciousness. Judas moved around, but was more of a blur than anything else.

Alastair laughed as the blood trickled down his face and blurred his vision even more. “For a second, I thought you ruined my glasses cause I couldn’t see. Then I remembered, I don’t need glasses.”

“Shut up!” snapped Judas. He swung the branch again, pelting Alastair in the stomach. Alastair didn’t feel it through the haze over his mind from the first swing.

“I’m really gonna be sore tomorrow,” Alastair said under his breath.

“What’s that?” Judas mocked. “Getting quieter? We’re already breaking him! Weak assed battlemage can’t handle a paladin.” A gasp on the ground from the paralyzed female told Alastair her breathing had restored.

“I said, if you start with the head I won’t feel what comes next,” Alastair said as clearly as he could. He didn’t want a misunderstanding. “Now, it’s your last chance to surrender.”

The three oath breakers all laughed in unison. “You really think you have a prayer against us?”

“Well, I was secretly hoping help would show up, but I guess I’m on my own,” Alastair admitted. Judas started to talk again, but Alastair ignored him. He focused on his staff, still flying high above, trapping them within a circle of violent wind. He guided it into the man on his back, creating a cyclone that ripped the man upward. Alastair had planned on going with him, but his leg had become tangled in a vine and instead the man was thrown high above him, past Alastair’s staff and into the woods. The torrent had also thrown the last female from the fray off to the darkness.

Judas rose his branch to swing at Alastair again, but Alastair had one more trick up his sleeve. From the folds of his cloak he drew a revolver and pointed it at Judas. The oath breakers eyes widened, as he dropped the branch. A bullet to the brain was a sure way to kill an oathbreaker.

“Now you don’t want blood?” Alastair said. “Too late.” He pulled the trigger, and the hammer of the gun pulled back, then shot forward with a crack of thunder. The bullet hit Judas in the left shoulder, spinning the man and sending him to his back. Alastair stepped forward, and pointed the gun down at Judas.

“Please!” Judas pleaded, rolling onto his back. “It was just a job, we were hired for security.”

“A woman lost her mind,” Alastair said. “Do you think I can let you live after that?” Judas probably didn’t know, but Alastair really wanted an answer. If he didn’t have to kill, he didn’t want to. He thumbed the hammer back, for dramatic effect. A jet of light shot from the trees and hit Alastair’s revolver, turning it into a piece of wood.

“STEWARDS! SURROUND THEM!” a woman's voice yelled through the trees. Silhouettes began making their way noisily through the trees on all sides.

Without hesitation Judas rolled and grabbed the paralyzed woman with his good arm and sprinted into the night. Alastair reached up and his staff shot into his hand. He pointed it at Rue’s motionless form and drew her to himself through the air. He held her firmly against himself as he turned in circles, trying to find a way away from the stewards. He was surrounded. This was the last thing Rue needed, the stewards guild in her life.

“Battle mage, stand down!” the woman yelled. The silhouettes closed in on him, staying just outside of the moonlight.

Alastair drew a circle on the ground with his staff surrounding the two of them, then muttered a hushed incantation and a symbol appeared beneath them. A vine sprang to life and dragged the hillbilly out of sight between two silhouettes.

“I’m a battle mage of the unholy war!” Alastair said, his voice deepening and shaking the trees around them. “I was there for the fall of the unholy sanctum, I stormed its gates in the first wave! I was there for the Great War against China! I was on the banks of the river as their armies fell and surrendered! I am not some wand wielding, spell slinging magician! I am a wizard! A Battle-Mage! I will not be cooed by the guild that forsook me and my kin!”

“Alastair!” the woman yelled. “Stand down!” Her voice faltered.

Alastair pressed his staff to the piece of wood and it turned back into his revolver.

“Drop the gun!” the woman yelled. “It won’t help you against us!” Another jet of light shot at him, but it was rebounded by his small rune shield.

Alastair knew she was right, so he houlstered his gun. Then, feeling the humming of power from his enchanted sword, he touched his fingers to it. It sent a small shock through him. A battalion of stewards would require the sword. Using the sword meant it was a fight to the death. That’s how the stewards guild worked though. They didn’t care about justice, they just forced compliance. Do it their way, or die fighting and be branded as a criminal.

“I’m not a bad guy,” Alastair said. “Which is why I’ll give you to the count of three to leave. One,”

“Don’t do this!” the woman yelled. “You can’t win!”

“Two,” Alastair said. He focused his will, and drew his sword. Light shone from it, illuminating the clearing in which he stood.

“Stop!” the woman screamed. Alastair could hear the terror in her voice, and regretted that it was going to get scarier for her even still.

“Three,” he said, more to himself. He gathered all the ambient magic he could in an instant. He channeled a portion of it through his staff, creating a protective aura around himself. The rest he channeled through his sword. It sent electric energy into the group of stewards directly ahead of them, exploding everything there with a thunderous crash. As it exploded he leapt out of the runic shield, it tried to hold him in, but the power of his staff let him pass through. Another jet of light shot at him, and the aura of his staff stopped it in its tracks.

He lept into a covering of trees where at least three stewards stood and spun, rending the forms in half. The light from his sword illuminated the falling forms, revealing what appeared to be two beings made completely of vines. Alastair didn’t know what trick the stewards were using now, but he wouldn’t stop until all of the vine men were destroyed.

A group of them appeared all around him, and he gathered more ambient power, expelling it with a flourish of his sword. It shot out in a shockwave, disintegrating the stick men in its path as it went. Alastair dimmed his sword and jumped high into the treetops, using the blinding light as cover. He lept from tree to tree, looking for the elementalist who was orchestrating this attack. The vine stewards closed in on the rune shield surrounding Rue. They wouldn’t be able to break it without the elementalist.

The elementalist would surely be searching the ground level for him, but if they took to the trees the elementalist would find him quickly. Faster depending on how powerful they were. Alastair heard a creaking behind him, and slowly turned to see a magical construct composed of rock, dirt and tree. It was incredible, the magic required to create a golem this quickly was nothing short of incredible. The golem didn’t seem to care that Alastair was admiring it, and it swung clumsily at the branch on which he stoodp. Alastair summoned a gust of wind which lifted him above the attack, and swung his sword down hard, severing the creature’s hand at the wrist.

The golem didn’t stop though, and mashed its wrist into the tree on which Alastair had stood. It pulled away, and over half of the tree joined its hulking form. Alastair had seen golems that would dwarf this monster, golems that were magically held together better. This golem had immense power behind it, but it wasn’t refined. He only knew of one person with this much power, who hadn’t refined it. Someone who had been too busy to refine such a gift.

He dropped to the forest floor, letting the wind that held him die away. Alastair sheathed his sword, and turned and walked to the rune shield, which was now overgrown and surrounded by a thorny vine.

“I need your help, she needs a healer,” Alastair said. The golem dissipated, restoring its pieces from where they were burrowed.

“I was wondering when you’d figure it out,” came an exacerbated voice.

“Florence, am I glad it’s you!” Alastair exclaimed as the portly healer strode into the clearing.