Prophecy of Magic

Chapter 1: Battle of Wolves

Arrows whistled through the blood-saturated air and into the fray of battle. Fierce warriors were backed against their own homes by the invaders, and children were slaughtered without mercy. Lycirion felt the true hopelessness of the situation when yet another wave of attackers swept through the village. Berasien, the village’s healer and scholar, stood in front of the bush in which he had hidden Lycirion, with fiery determination in his eyes. The villagers had often teased Berasien for his reluctance to participate in battle and his preference for the indoors, but he was a traveler before he made his home in the village and knew more than a thing or two about fighting.

            Several attackers appeared before him with grimaces marking their faces. “What’re ya doin’ old man?” one of the men drawled.

            “Did you run from the fight?” another asked as he advanced. Lycirion struggled against the spell Berasien had placed on him, but to no avail. There were no spells that he knew that could be used to free himself. He feared that Berasien would be defeated immediately, but to his surprise, the old man had quick and sure movements which showed no indication of his age. He stabbed one of the men in the center of the chest, pulling him in front to shield himself from a few more attacks, and then slashed again wildly at the invaders, refusing to back up or turn away.

            Lycirion immediately recognized the actions meant to protect him, and he struggled all the more against his invisible restraints. The battle lasted several more minutes as more invaders appeared to join the attack, but Berasien remained standing, he faced off with the final warrior, a woman dressed in red. It would have been an even match if it weren’t for the exhaustion Berasien felt, partly from fighting, and partly from holding the binding spell on Lycirion.

            “You are a worthy opponent.” The woman declared, tossing her dark hair over her shoulders. “Come.”

            Berasien didn’t need any more invitation, he charged forward recklessly, but she simply danced nimbly out of the way and moved behind him in front of the bush where Lycirion crouched. She quickly reached in between its leaves to draw out the boy, relishing the look of pure fear in Berasien’s eyes. That is, until her gaze caught Lycirion’s. Lycirion was a young child of about eleven, but in his tribe, children started learning the arts of war around age five. He was the most promising of the children, being both intelligent and strong, but he also held a darkness in those eyes, an evil that sent a chill down even Berasien’s spine from time to time. Now, the rage and anger in his black eyes was so dark and cold that the woman actually dropped him when she saw it.

            “You-,” she is cut off by Berasien as he rammed into her side, simultaneously digging his knife into her gut. She pushed him away and clutched her stomach, the boy forgotten. Quickly, the woman managed a quick slash at Berasien’s neck, which was undefended. The old man crumpled, and a second later, the spell on Lycirion was released.

            Lycirion leapt from the ground where he was dropped as soon of the weight of the spell disappeared. He approached Berasien, all the while muttering the only healing spell he learned. Instinctively, he knew that the spell wouldn’t work, Berasien wouldn’t have let the binding spell go if he wasn’t already dead. Before Lycirion even had a second to mourn, the woman swung a blade towards his head. He easily deflected it with his own and slashed at her already wounded stomach with a lethal blow. She was dead in seconds. Lycirion didn’t even look at her, he turned to Berasien again.

            Lycirion bowed his head as he remembered days long past of Berasien teaching him, and encouraging him to develop his intellect alongside his strength. Berasien was the only one in the village that saw value in knowledge as well as fighting, and had been a friend and intellectual companion. His own parents were powerful and amazing warriors and very proud of their strong son, but he didn’t have as close relation to them as he did Berasien.

Still, they were family, he resolved, and he would join them in battle. He stood up from his crouch over Berasien’s corpse with a snarl, you are a warrior now, not a child. This is no time to wallow. He left behind Berasien’s body without a second glance, heading determinedly to the closely gathered huts in the center of the village. The few fields in the village were trampled and nearly unreturnable, many huts had been burned, and the bodies of other children were caked in blood and dirt, some with weapons still in hand. Lycirion felt shame rise up inside him at having been cowering while the other children fought, if only it weren’t for that binding spell. Berasien must have known that he would jump at the prospect to protect the village; he supposed Berasien had only been trying to protect him. He wasn’t grateful.

            Lycirion came upon his own hut, his mother and father’s bodies were splayed out before it, blood covered their blades and armor (most of it not their own), and angry scowls marred their faces, even in death. He only had to take a quick look inside the hut to see that, as expected, his younger sister was also slaughtered, laying defenseless upon her child’s mattress. Seeing he could do no more for them, he moved on, creeping silently through the village and holding his sword at the ready. The remaining invaders stood at the opposite side of town, near the forest and Lycirion noted with satisfaction that their original fleet of about four hundred had dwindled to a mere seventy or sixty.

            That satisfaction dissipated, however, when he caught sight of fifteen or so men and women from his village huddled together in the center of them. Most of them were crying, but a few kept their spirit about them, despite none of them having been warriors. Most of them were village prostitutes, chefs, or apprentices for other jobs. No doubt they hadn’t learned to fight, and normally they would be protected by the warriors, but…

            “I’ll present them to the master, I think he’ll like them,” one of the invading men murmured, referring to the villagers with a lecherous grin. Lycirion realized that those captured were all the youngest and most attractive of the non-warriors with some as young as ten years old; he felt his stomach churn.

            “Who cares if he likes them? They’ll warm our beds for one night, then we’ll kill ‘em.” one of the female invaders snarled.

            Those of the villagers that had kept their heads high now drooped. Fear silenced their anger, and they had now become nothing more than cattle. Lycirion turned away in disgust, to him, it seemed that they had thrown away their pride as members of the village.

            Just then, one of the invaders came from the forest, shouting urgently, “I found the Wolfmaster!”

            Another one followed after him with a familiar face in tow. La’ram, the Wolfmaster, was undoubtedly the most important man within the village. The secret to the power of Lycrion’s village lay in the use of wolves as fighting companions, and each of the warrior families had a wolf of their own. Every day, the Wolfmaster took the wolves out to hunt and train for battle, which had been the reason the wolves were gone from the village, resulting in the terrible slaughter. In short, it was the arrogant belief that none would dare attempt an invasion into their village with all of the villager’s battle prowess which led to Lycirion’s village’s demise.

            In any case, the only one that the wolves listened to other than their corresponding families was La’ram, though an order of La’ram would override any familial ties. La’ram could leave the wolves off their leash any time, and they would still obey, but the families never took off the leash (with an exception to battle) because the wolves were wild first and foremost, and were prone to eating children who came too close.

            The wolves were nowhere to be seen, and La’ram looked grim. “Where are the wolves?” one of the invaders asked.

            “Over here.” The one holding La’ram answered. Unluckily, La’ram had chained the adult wolves while he was training a few pups in the forest. The pups had been slaughtered and the adult wolves were trapped by a lock which only La’ram had the key to. La’ram’s capturer had already noticed the wolves held just inside the forest, a bit away from the village, and he led two invaders, one who seemed to be a commander, and the other the second-in-command, to them.

            The wolves were chained to metal posts, because ordinary rope and wood would snap under their great strength. The invaders stared at them appreciatively, seeing their black and silver fur, strong muscled builds, and vicious fangs. “We’ll take them as our own.” The chief ordered.

            “They won’t listen to you… you murdered their families. They’re smart enough to know that.” La’ram spat angrily. The second-in-command turned to him curiously.

            “Can’t you still control them?” the second-in-command wondered.

            “I won’t command them for you.” La’ram said, with a dark glint in his eyes.

            “Then they’re no use to us.” The chief decided. He nodded to his second-in-command. “Kill them.”

            “Yes, Chief Roike.” The second-in-command agreed, stepping towards the wolves with knife in hand. La’ram lashed out against the man holding him in place, but he was being held by powerful restraints.

            Lycirion itched to free the Wolfmaster and fight off the invaders, but he knew that the two of them weren’t enough, and he wouldn’t be able to get close enough to free the wolves without the invaders noticing him. He continued to weigh his options, and unfortunately, he then learned that inactivity could be lethal.

The second-in-command had slit the throat of one of the wolves, and she held the next one down just as she had the first, but this time, the wolf freed itself from the woman’s grip and locked his jaw around her throat. Another wolf grasped her arm with his teeth and tore it off completely. The scent of blood spurred the wolves into action, and they began to tear apart and eat the woman’s flesh. The other two invaders watched silently, not daring to intervene.

            La’ram started to laugh deliriously, and Lycirion felt sadness at seeing the once proud man overcome with misery, “You see? You can kill our families, but-!” The chief interrupted his speech by removing the man’s head with a swift swing of his blade.

            “Leave the wolves and follow me.” Roike ordered, and the invader who had been holding La’ ram dropped the corpse, following after.

            “But the master said to kill everything, shouldn’t we check for survivors?”

            “Who cares? He’ll be pissed if we’re late. Besides, this is a village of prideful warriors, none of them would have run from battle. Even if one did, who cares about a coward so gutless he would run while his family was slaughtered? Let’s go now.” Roike said, motioning for the other invader to follow.

            Lycirion felt a dash of red-hot anger burn his stomach and chest at Roike’s words. He dragged himself out of the shadows just as the invaders disappeared into the forest. With his anger still burning inside him and images of Berasien and his mother’s and father’s bodies in his mind, he went to the wolves. As they were still eating the woman, they took no notice of him, until he sprung the lock which held the first ten of them in place. Slowly, one wolf turned and gazed at him emotionlessly. Lycirion freed the other wolves just as the first group had finished their meal, licking their chops.

            One of the wolves started to follow the invaders at a leisurely pace and the rest began to trail behind it. Lycirion wanted to shout at them to run, but he had often been told by the Wolfmaster not to excite the wolves lest he wanted to lose an arm… or worse. The last of the invaders had already fled into the forest by the time the wolves and Lycirion got to the south entrance of the village. He expected the wolves to catch a trail or something, but they trotted with the same casual gait into the village.

            The first wolf to arrive promptly tore into the corpse of the nearest villager, starting with his left leg. The other wolves followed suit until they all had taken large portions of each villager. It was then that Lycirion noticed that there were no corpses from the invader’s side in the village, but he had no time to think too deeply on the subject. He rode on the disgust and anger in his chest as he pounced onto the nearest wolf, severing its head with his blade.

            Out of the corner of his eye he saw another wolf trying to eat a little boy he recognized from around town, Moia was his name... Lycirion leapt onto the wolf’s back and buried his hidden blade into its side. The beast snarled, and quickly twisted until the boy’s grip loosened. With a final fling, Lycirion was deposited into the dirt. In the process, the wolf’s wound became more severe, and blood gushed onto the dry dirt. Lycirion expected the wolf to run and preserve its life, but the wolf rounded on him again, deciding to use his last breath to kill him.

            With a startled shout, the boy was pinned, and the wolf’s claws had dug deep into his shoulders. Not enough to kill him, but just enough to leave a nasty scar. Thankfully, Lycirion was able to hold the wolf’s mouth away from him using his blade, but he had accidently pulled it in such a way that he was holding the blade and pointing the handle at the wolf. As it was his lifeline, he gripped the blade so tightly, blood dripped down his palm. In this moment of weakness, and at the smell of fresh blood and fear, all 96 of the village’s wolves turned to him, jumping at the chance of fresh meat and a good hunt. The one he was holding away seemed to decide the handle wasn’t dangerous, he grasped it between his teeth and pulled it easily out of the boy’s grip.

            There was a second’s pause between the wolf taking the sword and the wolf trying to pin Lycirion completely again. Of course, Lycirion used this moment to the best of his ability, he ripped his shoulders out from underneath the monster’s claws and thrust his hand into the wound his blade had caused. The beast howled in agony, but Lycirion made no notice of it, he merely continued to blindly rip apart the edges of the open wound until he eventually pulled out something vital and the wolf stopped squirming. The corpse dropped on top of him and he pushed it off with a growl. As soon as he stood, all his lessons came back to him now as he readied his stance, prepared to fight off all the wolves if he had to. At first they were eager.

            Two leapt for Lycirion at once with their jaws wide and saliva shining off their pure white fangs. With ease of practice, he slit the throat of one and pinned the other, quickly scooping out its heart. He barely had time to register the third wolf which had jumped from behind and raked its claws down his back. Lycirion immediately dropped onto his back, crushing the wolf. It didn’t let go, so he pulled an arrow which was conveniently laid near his head, from the ground and stabbed the arrow head into where he approximated the heart to be. The wolf was still clawing at his back, so he began to stab the wolf into its own wound repeatedly, twisting the sharp arrow point to deliver the most damage.

            The wolf let go.

            Four, five, and six more wolves attacked. Four, five, and six wolves were dead. Pain and exhaustion was starting to seep into his bones and his knees began to shake. His movements were slower and more muddled as his wounds began to hinder him. Quickly, twenty wolves were dead, but 76 still remained standing, albeit more cautious than their predecessors. Eventually, they seemed to realize Lycirion was exhausted, and they began to close in on him.

            A blue-eyed wolf which got too close had its throat slit ruthlessly, and the others began to back up. Lycirion finally resolved that this was the best option: dying whilst surrounded by his friends and family as a warrior. No one would shame him for dying while pitted against these powerful creatures. This thought came first from a life full of battle conditioning, but his second thought came from his instinctual side: He needed to survive, even if that meant running away.

            These two ideas fought for dominance in his head. A few of the wolves seemed to smell his hesitation and the slight sting of fear within him. One began to eat one of the corpses in an act of defiance. Two thoughts were shoved aside, and a third one, pushed through. With an animalistic roar, he descended onto the nearest wolf, pinning it to the ground. It struggled and growled, but it didn’t whimper.

            A faint smile played on Lycirion’s lips as he bent over and sunk his teeth into the back of the wolf’s neck. It wasn’t hard enough to seriously injure, but the wolf stilled at the sign of dominance. Lycirion straightened and looked the wolf straight in the eye, keeping his swords down and unthreatening. To his satisfaction, the wolf lowered his eyes, bent down so the belly brushed the dirt with its tail between its legs and bared its neck.

            He turned away from the wolf and took long, confident strides towards the Wolfmaster’s body, which he noted hadn’t been touched. He pulled a small flute from the Wolfmaster’s coat, and studied it for a moment. The wolves had followed him, so they now all crouched nearby. With tender care, he played the only tune he knew from watching the Wolfmaster. Somehow, he made it through the short arrangement of notes without squealing or faltering. At the sound of it, the wolves all migrated towards the posts they had been tied to before.

            He had warped the locks on the chains while freeing the wolves, so he couldn’t chain the wolves again, but he brought them the bodies of the other wolves he had killed to eat while he tried to find food in the village. Unfortunately, the meat and crops which were already stored had been stolen, and Lycirion was just barely able to catch a rabbit with his wounds bothering him. The wolves stayed in place, so he looked through the healing hut for medicine to apply to his wounds and bandages. He learned enough about healing from Berasien to bind his wounds properly.

            He cooked the rabbit far away from the wolves, because he knew that fire agitated them and often prompted them to attack. The Wolfmaster gave them that instinct so that is our enemies attempted to use the wolf’s fear of fire against them, they would be in for a ‘rude awakening’, as he had said. Whatever that meant.

            When he had eaten and his wounds had become numb, he started to feel the pull of sleep. Somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to sleep in any of the huts, especially with the bodies lying around everywhere. Besides, he didn’t want to feel trapped, helpless. Instead, he made himself a makeshift shelter with a bed made of leaves and grasses, covered with a ragged (but blood free) cloth.

            He felt he had barely dropped into unconsciousness when he sensed a presence uncomfortably close. The soft growling sound was his only warning before he was attacked. The wolf had dug its claws into Lycirion’s chest. It didn’t move, seeing he was awake, only staring silently. Lycirion kicked it in the stomach. The wolf hit the dirt with a thump and whined. He pulled out the flute again and played the tune he knew. Slowly, the wolf trotted away, but Lycirion still found he was nervous about the encounter. He followed the wolf back to the posts with the intention of killing off all the wolves at the same time.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

            They were too dangerous, and likely to kill him the moment he let his guard down. But he saw something interesting when he entered the clearing: a female wolf giving birth to pups. New additions to the pack. Lycirion sat down beside her, and she began to inch away in fear for her and her children’s life. Lycirion ignored that and instead placed a gentle hand on her side. She stilled just as she birthed the first pup, and Lycirion held the baby wolf gently. This was what was left of his family, and in that moment he vowed to defend them until his last breath.

{Four Years Later}

            Lycirion placed the rock on the book and set it down. He focused intently and put his hands out in front of him. In a single blast of fire, he easily incinerated the entire tree in ten seconds. Now, he no longer needed to chant for his magic to work, and he was very proud of that. He had learned many spells from the books Berasien left behind, and even a few other things about healing and such. The spells he learned he intended to use for combat, but they took too long to work properly, so he had mostly relied on his sword. He had killed a few bears with the help of the wolves using magic though.

            Thinking of the wolves, his favorite, and the first of many which he had witnessed being born, Shikra, nudged his side. Lycirion bent down and looked into Shikra’s eyes to see a warning of danger there. Without hesitation, he stored his books and left the ‘library’ with Shikra. After all, his wolf’s instincts were never wrong and they had often helped him get out of sticky situations. He whistled a soft tune to the other wolves which meant, ‘stay in the woods’. Since most of them were hunting anyway, it didn’t take long to empty the village just in time for the potential enemies to enter.

            They rode huge powerful animals which Lycirion had never seen before, but he recognized as ‘horses’. Apparently, there had been a powerful tribe which rode horses not long ago, but they were wiped out by Lycirion’s tribe, so these men must be from the ‘Kingdoms’.

            Lycirion didn’t know much about the Kingdoms, since no one in the tribe spoke of them, but he had read a bit about them in Berasien’s books. There was supposedly something called, “St. Andfrea’s Academy” there where the nobility learned magic. It was also the only place where all the Kingdoms came together for anything other than war.

            Anyway, the men on horseback wore elaborate armor with strange designs on it which resembled magical text. Lycirion suddenly realized just how sloppy his own armor was, which he had made himself (making clothes is not his strongest point). It was made of bits of leather and steel melded together to protect his biggest weak spots. His hood was attached with plates of metal to make it more like a helmet and his armor long sleeves, patchwork gloves, and worn boots. It was nearly impossible to see what he looked like, and his age could only be guessed at (unless he spoke). It was useful against the occasional group of bandits or other criminals which tried to take over his village. Or rather, what was left of it.

            But these men didn’t look like criminals. And as they neared, Lycirion saw that there were several men trotting beside them on foot in much less ornate dressings. Maybe they were servants? Then, the final man on horseback trotted into view. Unlike the others, he wore long robes and he had blond hair where the others had brown. Somehow, Lycirion could tell just from looking at him that this man was like him: he radiated magic.

            The group stopped in front of the graves which marked the places where the villager’s bodies lay. A couple of the men shuffled uneasily at the sight of them. “I thought the savages burned their dead.” One of the men murmured in a language he had learned from Berasien, but had mostly forgotten. Berasien had said it was ‘the most important language to know’. Could Berasien see the future? Lycirion wondered.

            “Too many must have died at once. Not enough time to burn…”a second man intoned gravely.

            “Wars? Illness?” one third piped up.

            “Whatever it was, someone must have buried the bodies.” The sorcerer concluded darkly. The men fell silent at those words, and there was some more awkward shuffling as the leader of the procession dismounted his horse and glanced around. Lycirion noticed that this man had an air of command around him the others didn’t. Not even the sorcerer.

            The leader scoffed “No one has been here for years, you bunch of cowards,” He pointed his finger, “Take some wood from the huts that isn’t damp and burn it. We’ll need light and heat before nightfall.” He spoke in a clear, authoritative tone which reminded Lycirion of his father. He shook his head as a feeling of nostalgia clouded his consciousness. No time for that now.

            The other men said nothing. They dismounted and started to take apart the huts with ease and nonchalance. As if they weren’t tearing down the homes which once held Lycirion’s friends and family. As if they didn’t disable the only proof of livelihood which had been left behind. There was an unexpected surge of anger in his chest. He would have thought that, by now he had gotten over his village’s destruction.

            It was with this anger controlling him that he stepped out from the cover of the forest. Shikra came at his heels. They always worked together after all. The other wolves reacted similarly, silently surrounding the village with their numbers of 105. The men in armor and servants continued gathering wood and unloading the packs on the horses obliviously. Only the sorcerer and leader stood by while the others worked.

            Just as Lycirion had stepped close enough to be seen by the men, the sorcerer straightened. He swiveled and angled his head, as though he were trying to hear something. The men around him looked curious, but said nothing and they continued their work. The sorcerer murmured absently, “The village is surrounded…” He sounded rather uncaring about it, and that irked Lycirion for some reason.

            He stepped ever closer, and finally, the leader noticed him. “You there… who are you? A villager?” Lycirion didn’t respond, “What happened here?”

What right did this man have to ask what happened? He’s taking stealing from the graveyard! Lycirion fumed.

At this point the servants who were starting fires looked up curiously. “Who is surrounding us? The other villagers?” The servants began to become agitated.

The sorcerer spoke up again, “No… They are not people. They are... wolves.” He seemed less distracted as he said these words. The nervous men and servants relaxed at the mention of wolves.

“Well that’s fine, then.” One of the men in armor said. He had already taken down enough wood for his own fire was seated next to the sorcerer. A servant began to brush the man’s hair carefully with his head bowed. “If it’s just wolves, I mean.”

Lycirion felt insulted that he did not see the prized battle wolves as threats. No doubt one battle wolf was worth three of him easily. With an uncharacteristic impulsiveness, he hissed, “They are no ordinary wolves.” He paused, but decided that the damage was done and it would be better to use the situation to his advantage, “They are battle wolves: the most ferocious beasts in the land. They also have a craving for human flesh.” Well, that was true.

The leader laughed, “Oh, it is just a boy. Battle wolves, eh?” He chuckled, “Nothing to the knights of the academy.”

“Or the future Great Magician of Lore.” The sorcerer added.

Lycirion scowled, “We’ll see about that.” He huffed and whistled a sharp tune to the wolves. An order to advance on the humans they had trapped. Like clockwork, the wolves were in place; closing in on the unaware humans with magnificent choreography.

The servants scrambled back in surprise at the sudden appearance of the wolves. Their eyes glowed with something similar to malice, but it was really just hunger. Their lean frames held powerful muscles and their fangs jutted out irregularly. Their claws were unnaturally long and sharp. One of the villagers whimpered and murmured something about the wolves being huge. Lycirion grinned in satisfaction at their fear. Finally, he had their attention. This was never a problem before.

“Why are you in my-,” The boy corrected himself, “our village.”

The sorcerer held up his hands in surrender, but Lycirion frowned when he didn’t smell any fear from him. “We’re not here to cause harm to your village or your wolves.”

“Then why?” Lycirion wondered why he asked. Why didn’t he just kill them already? But… the man had magic like him. Maybe if he was cunning, he could learn how to use magic more efficiently. He might never meet another magic-user again.

“We’re from the Academy… oh,” the sorcerer paused and tilted his head with a look of pity, “an academy is a place where -“

“I know what it is.” Lycirion interrupted irritably, “What about the Academy?”

The sorcerer looked momentarily surprised, “There is an illness there. It’s infected most of the students and faculty. We hear there is a phoenix in these woods and we were hoping-.”

“The phoenix is not here for your use; it is the protector of these woods. Taking it would make you an enemy of every single village in these forests… including mine.” The phoenix was a powerful creature with a unique relationship with the villages and their people. It enchanted the forest to make the animals stronger, smarter, and willing to protect the forest and its villages. It even occasionally gave away tears to the people for healing, though it had been many generations since something like that had happened. In exchange, the villagers were all extremely protective of their phoenix, and would do anything to keep it safe. Some said that exceptional warriors had been “blessed by the phoenix”.

“No, you don’t understand, we will pay for it. You can get anything your heart desires if you only lead us to the phoenix. Money, power, women, it doesn’t matter. We only need the one phoenix. It’s meat, and bones should be enough to make a cure for the-.” The sorcerer stopped upon seeing the boy’s expression contorted in rage.

“You would kill the phoenix?! I don’t want whatever you have, it’s useless to me!” Lycirion snarled. “Leave this place!”

            The sorcerer paused for a moment, seemingly taken aback. He murmured something about time and lifted his hands, “If you won’t tell us willingly, how about this?” The sorcerer whispered some strange words different than anything Lycirion had ever heard. He could tell, however, that the words were filled with magic. Suddenly, there was a series of growls, and Lycirion’s wolves were dragged out into the middle of the village by an invisible force. Lycirion was proud of the fact that none of the wolves whimpered pathetically, but some of the younger ones squirmed against the magic.

            Perhaps the sorcerer thought Lycirion would be scared or confused, perhaps afraid of magic, or afraid for the wolves. But Lycirion wasn’t. The sorcerer didn’t know that Lycirion considered the wolves to be fellow warriors. And he knew warriors were always prepared to die in battle. Even though they had been everything to him those past four years, after losing his entire village, he lived solely by the warrior code. As for not being afraid of the magic despite not being half as good at it… well, Lycirion was a bit too reckless.

            In any case, Lycirion charged. He nearly made to draw his sword up towards the sorcerer’s neck when he felt magic holding him down tightly. That helplessness, it was similar to the feeling he had felt when wrapped in Berasien’s binding spell. That had been powerful and scary, but this was something else. The immenseness of the magic laid upon him was incredible and extremely constricting. He felt the familiar rise of panic in his chest, but he quickly crushed it. Experience told him that fear and panic made the wolves rebel against him. They were, after all, barely kept in check with his power.

“Is there a way other than killing the phoenix?” the sorcerer asked casually.

“…” Lycirion remained silent resolutely.

“I said, is there a way other than killing the phoenix?” he repeated, applying more pressure on Lycirion.

Lycirion barely managed to keep his face calm and expressionless with the amount of pain he was in at this point. Binding spells weren’t supposed to hurt, right?

“Look. We’ll find the phoenix anyway. I don’t want to kill it either, but we’ll have to if you don’t tell us another way.”

“Release me.” Lycirion ground out, trying to keep his voice steady.

“Huh? Oh shit! Are you okay?” The spell was released and the sorcerer took a step closer to Lycirion, as if to check if he was alright.

“I’m fine! Back up!” Lycirion held his sword up again immediately, despite the dizziness he felt at being released. He considered how foolish it was to tell an enemy who could attack him no matter the distance to ‘back up’, but it was more comforting that way.

“So?” The sorcerer seemed to get increasingly impatient.

“You can heal with phoenix tears. They cure any illness and fix any wound.”  Lycirion answered reluctantly.

“Tears...? How do we get tears from it?” The sorcerer asked.

“You ask for them.” Lycirion answered as though it were obvious.

“…Okay. So… I need you to help us with this. You are a villager, so you know where it is, right?”

“The phoenix comes when we need it.” Lycirion answered vaguely.

“I need you to show us.” The sorcerer states.

“No. Not without compensation. I do nothing for free.” Lycirion growled, “What can you give me in return?” He wondered if the sorcerer would agree to what he asked.

“Um, Money, Food, Women, Land, Prestige…?” the sorcerer glanced at the boy. Lycirion shook his head at each possibility disapprovingly.

“No. Not interested.” Lycirion sighed.

“What then?” the sorcerer questioned in exasperation.

Lycirion paused and considered the man for a second. He answered slowly, “I want you to teach me how to do what you did to me… and the wolves. And anything else you know.”

The sorcerer seemed shocked at the request, “You want to learn magic…?”

“Yes.”

“Something like that… well… that isn’t something anyone can learn. You have to have aptitude.”

“I already know some magic.” Lycirion told him rather proudly.

            “Then, in that case, I’ll try my best to teach you.”

            “Good. Give me your hand.” The boy took the sorcerer’s right hand without waiting for a response. He swiftly and cleanly made a neat and shallow cut on the sorcerer’s hand from his thumb to the other side of the palm. The sorcerer gasped in pain and let out a soft exclamation, which Lycirion ignored. On his own hand, Lycirion made a slightly deeper cut through his glove from the base of his fingers towards his wrist. He took the sorcerer’s hand and shook it firmly. “The deal is done.”

            “That is very unsanitary…” the sorcerer mumbled looking at Lycirion strangely. Suddenly, the wound on his hand disappeared and he straightened, “Let’s get going then.” The wolves were dropped and all of them simultaneously backed away from the sorcerer. Lycirion understood the feeling.

            The ‘leader’ of the group, who hadn’t reacted to any of the happenings, ordered his men to ready themselves again. The servants repacked the horses and the men in armor clambered back on.

            “I thought you were just some kid, but you certainly can hold your own.” One of the men in armor said to the sorcerer as he passed. The other men in armor laughed, and the oppressive feeling in the air disappeared. Strangely enough, Lycirion had forgotten the men were even there.

            Before the sorcerer got on his own horse, he turned to Lycirion. “Sorry for binding you like that. I should introduce myself. My name is Hugh Foxe.” The sorcerer did a strange motion of bringing his hand up and down in an arc to his hip and bowing slightly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He looked to Lycirion expectantly.

            “I am Lycirion.” He told Hugh, deciding his last name wasn’t important. “Wolfmaster Lycirion.” It had a nice ring to it.

            “Well. We should get going then. Please lead the way.” Hugh mounted his horse, and Lycirion set off on foot with the servants walking behind him.