Chapter 442: The Shamans of Evenfall Part 3
Stryg sighed and gestured to the class, “Again.”
The shamans and other mageborns glanced at Rowal, singed and bruised, then at the unharmed blue goblin. The class looked at each other uncertainly and muttered in nervous hushed whispers.
“This isn’t a debate, it was an order. If no one stands up I’ll begin choosing myself,” Stryg warned.
“I’ll face you,” a young woman spoke up and stood to her feet. She strode towards the dueling arena, her gaze never breaking away from Stryg.
He cocked his head to the side and his lips curled in a subtle smile. “It seems there is still some courage left among the shamans of Evenfall.”
“I am no shaman,” she snapped. “That ‘honor’ falls to her,” she said sarcastically and pointed at the older woman standing to the side, the archmage Vexia.
Vexia hissed at her disrespectful tone. The young woman hissed right back.
Stryg raised his eyebrow, “I take it you two are not on very good terms.”
“The Storm Howlers need no shaman. You have proven that today more than anyone,” the young woman said.
“Ignore Elawyne’s words, War Master, they are but the rants of foolish youth,” Vexia said begrudgingly.
Stryg frowned. Vexia might have been inexperienced in combat but she was still an archmage. If any of the Blood Fang had spoken to an elder of the tribe in such a manner they would have been beaten bloody if not outright killed.
“Why do you not strike?” Stryg asked curiously.
Vexia sighed, “It would not bode well to strike down the daughter of the Warrior Elect.”
Stryg blinked in surprise. “You’re the daughter of Lykos?”
Elawyne nodded proudly, “I am.”
“Few have the honor of knowing their true fathers among our people. Consider yourself lucky,” Stryg said quietly.
“I do. I strive to live up to his legacy every day,” Elawyne said reverently. Her expression turned dark and she glared at the rest of the class. “Which is why I shouldn’t be here, stuck with a bunch of shamans who’d rather hide in the Silver Keep than take a single step out into the world.”
“You do not wish to be here?” Stryg asked.
“I should be with the warriors, training side by side with the ones who will face our enemies in battle,” she replied.
“Elawyne is a mageborn, a very skilled one at that. Her abilities would be better spent leading other mageborns,” Lumi said.
“With respect, Elect, I am a warrior, not some silly shaman,” Elawyne said between gritted teeth.
“With ‘respect’ you are a Sylvan and you will follow the way of the Sylvan. If an Elect gives the command you will follow it,” Lumi said.
“But you could change your mind! I know you can! Please, you don’t need me here, I’ll only be a burden. Just send me back,” Elawyne pleaded.
“I was not the one who gave the command for your allocation here,” Lumi said pointedly.
“What? If not you, then…!” Elawyne’s eyes widened. “My father…”
Lumi nodded at Stryg, “You may begin when ready.”
“Very well,” he answered.
Elawyne clenched her jaw in frustration. Blue electric tendrils crackled at her fingertips.
“Calm yourself, Elawyne,” Stryg warned as he channeled blue mana into his veins. “To cast storm spells you must be in full control of your emotions, otherwise you risk—”
“Shut up!” she yelled and hurled a bolt of lightning at him.
Stryg raised his hands reflexively; blue mana materialized by his will and formed a dome of water around him. The lightning crashed over the water and dispersed in a cloud of steam.
Elawyne shouted a war cry and rushed into the mist. Brown mana surged through her muscles, dyeing her skin with a bronze sheen. She swung her arms in wide arcs, each strike faster than the last.
As the mist dissipated, the onlookers grew quiet. Elawyne’s attacks had only grown stronger and faster, yet Stryg hadn’t left his spot. He stepped around Elawyne’s fists, ducking beneath her hooks and swerving past her jabs, all the while his feet shifted in place, never leaving his original spot.
“Your forms are sharp! Your father taught you well,” Stryg said in a calm, but appreciative manner.
“Stop mocking me!” Elawyne screamed and launched a flurry of attacks.
Stryg’s lilac eyes darted everywhere and he dodged each strike with short step finesse. “I do not mock you. I’ve met few warriors more skilled in hand-to-hand combat than you—”
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“Stop talking and fight!” Elawyne yelled between breaths.
“—But your anger makes you predictable,” Stryg’s hand shot out and caught her right fist in his palm.
Elawyne stared at his hand in shock. His wrists should have snapped from her punch but instead, she felt as if she had hit an iron wall. She glanced down at his hand and stiffened. A bronze sheen and yellow scales covered his hand.
“Dual enhancement…?” Lumi muttered from a distance.
Elawyne roared in exasperation and swung her left fist at his face.
Stryg caught her other fist with his free hand and smiled wryly, “As I said. Easy to read.”
“Just shut up already!” Elawyne pulled her arms back, or at least she tried to. She planted her feet on the ground and yanked back, but no matter how much she tried, her hands remained in his grip.
“Storm Howlers are said to be fearsome warriors in battle. The stories say the vengeful rage of our ancestors flows through them. I see the rage, but I do not see the warrior,” Stryg lamented. “All I see is a daughter lashing out in anger.”
“Arggh!” Elawyne leaned back and kicked him with all her might.
Stryg released his grip and side-stepped her attack. He dropped to the ground in an instant and swept his leg at her one remaining standing foot. She yelped in surprise and toppled over heavily.
She groaned in pain and grimaced. With trembling movements, she struggled to her feet.
“Stay down,” Stryg warned softly.
She gritted her teeth and glared up at him, “I said shut—”
Stryg flicked his wrist; a water whip lashed out from the tip of his finger and wrapped around Elawyne’s waist. He flicked his finger up and the whip sent her careening into the ceiling. Her breath was knocked out of her as her ribs cracked against the stone ceiling. She tried to move, her limbs flailing about, before the whip slammed her right back into the hard ground in a heavy crunch of broken bones.
“By the gods, stop! She is the Warrior Elect’s daughter!” Vexia shouted in a panic.
“Lumi, do something!” The arch-shaman Greznok yelled.
The Shaman Elect stared into Stryg’s cold eyes and shook her head faintly. “The War Master is aware of what he is doing… Let him be.”
Stryg brought Elawyne towards him, her battered body hanging in the air by the water whip wrapped around her waist. “I think it’s time you shut up and listen, hm?”
Elawyne looked up at him with her right eye, her left was already beginning to swell shut. She groaned softly in response.
Stryg stared at her, waiting for her to say more, but that was all she could muster. “I’ll take that as a yes.” He turned to the class, raised his open hand, and made a fist, “Anger will always have its place in battle. Here,” he thumped his fist over his heart. “Never here,” he tapped his forehead.
“...Wise words, but one that can take many years to learn,” Lumi noted.
Stryg glanced at her and after a moment nodded. “You’re right. I still struggle with the lesson. Hell, I used to fuel my spells with sheer anger and frustration. And it worked and I grew strong.” He sighed, “Until I didn’t. In the world of spellcasting, anger can only take you so far. If you want to make a giant fireball, emotions can help fuel your will, but if you want to create a fire that burns hot enough to melt steel, then you’ll need the intricate spell weaves that only come through calm collected thought.”
“Which is why we meditate,” Lumi added. “A mageborn must dedicate himself to the art of meditation if they wish to master such weaves, isn’t that right, War Master?”
Stryg scratched his cheek, “Ah, yes, I guess…”
Lumi frowned. “You guess?”
“Well, I never really mastered the art of meditation.” Stryg lowered Elawyne to the ground softly. He crouched down next to her and placed his hands over her body. White light flowed out from his fingers and began to knit her wounds.
“And yet you are a master of five chromatics,” Lumi muttered.
“This should hold you for now,” Stryg whispered to Elawyne. “Someone call in a couple of guards to carry her to the Celestial Temple. Ask for Aurelia, First Mother of Blood Fang, she’ll take care of the rest.”
“You’d have Aurelia the Blooded waste her time knitting back a few broken bones?!” Greznok asked.
“You guys are the ones who said Elawyne’s the daughter of Lykos,” Stryg shrugged.
Greznok crossed his arms, “And what makes you think Aurelia would even accept such a meager task? You may be War Master, but she is still a Favored of the Moon, she need not listen to your request.”
“I have a feeling she will. Now go get some guards,” Stryg said.
Greznok furrowed his brow, “Me? I am not some servant to go and fetch—”
“That wasn’t a request. It was an order from your War Master,” Stryg said evenly.
Greznok scoffed indignantly and glanced at Lumi for support.
Lumi smiled innocently, “Well, what are you waiting for? The War Master has spoken.”
Greznok cursed under his breath and stomped off in search of the guards.
Lumi stepped closer to Stryg and spoke softly enough that only he could hear, “You’re hers, aren’t you?”
Stryg looked at her questioningly.
“You’re the reason why Aurelia left Evenfall all those years ago. I should have realized it sooner. The magical talent, the looks, the arrogance.”
He leaned over her shoulder and whispered into her ear, “If I were, what do you think I might do to someone who threatened my family?”
A sweet chilling shiver ran down Lumi’s back. Her lips curled into a faint smile. “I’d imagine it would make you a very interesting individual. One who I think would— appreciate the friendship of an Elect.”
He stepped back and looked at her, “And why in all the bloody realms would I want your friendship?”
She leaned forward and looked up at him with a smirk, “Because I am the only Elect who will give it to you. The others see you as a threat and for good reason.”
“And you don’t?”
“Oh, no. You are most definitely a threat, but unlike everyone else here, I see you for what you are.”
“And what’s that?”
She smiled. “The next Sylvan king.”
He frowned. “The Sylvan have no king.”
“And the Mother Moon had no Chosen. Yet here. You. Are.” Lumi tapped his chest with her finger, “You may ignore it, you may deny it, but they already whisper your names in the streets with the same fervor they speak of the goddess. To them you are her avatar, her blade in the darkness, her voice in the storm, her will given form. It is only a matter of time, and then, well, it won’t matter what you say or do, they will want to crown you.”
“You’re wrong…” he muttered.
“Am I?” Lumi stepped back, her hands folded behind her. “I thought I’d need to stop you before that, for the good of our people. You are after all the man who is dragging our army halfway across the realm to fight in a battle we have no part in. But now, mm, I finally understand what drives you. I think you might actually have what it takes…”
“To do what?”
“What Koval the Unifier could not. Destroy them all.”