The next morning was brighter and louder than usual. Everything hurt. Sarien’s head most of all. After forcing himself to eat a little of what was offered for breakfast in the inn, he left and headed toward the camp where Heylien and the servants spent the night. He’d left his spear there, and wanted to ensure it was safe. There was something about the weapon that made others feel ill at ease, especially Goslin. Sarien felt nothing and it worried him a little.

As he approached, a man came riding out from between the tents. It was Slakt, Hart’s last remaining guard.

“Where are you going?” Sarien asked.

“I’m leaving. Can’t stay with these people anymore. I don’t care if that means no longer being able to work as a Tarkum guardsman. I’ll just apprentice as a smith with my father.”

“You think it’s Goslin’s fault your men died?”

Slakt shrugged. “To an extent, yes. It’s also all their faults that we are out here at all. Their folly.”

“Helping those villagers was a good thing, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” Slakt said. “But I have a wife and a young daughter. Me dying for a good cause will not help them. What will the wives and children of my dead companions think of their good deed? Good deeds don’t put food on the table or a roof over their heads. It only leaves widows and broken families.”

“I didn’t know,” Sarien said.

“And your friends don’t either. That’s what I’m saying, pyromancer. It’s dangerous to be a common soldier when the nobles start playing heroes.” Before Sarien could respond, Slakt nodded curtly and galloped away.

Their conversation left Sarien with a hollow feeling in his gut that he didn’t know what to do with, other than make sure that in the future he considered those around him when making decisions that would affect them. It was the most he could promise to himself and the dead soldiers.

His spear lay where he’d left it, and the dark swirling power inside him throbbed into life when he approached it. When he grabbed the weapon, he felt a sudden connection. Whatever he’d done when he killed the bandit, the result was a speck of his power becoming imbued within the spear itself. That was the only way he could describe what had happened.

Sarien assumed a ready stance and then thrust forward and up. The nausea had lifted somewhat once he took in some deep cleansing breaths, and each thrust improved his mood.

By the time he’d worked up a sweat, people were bustling about around the tents. Sarien moved some distance away to make sure he didn’t accidentally hit anyone before continuing. He repeated the pattern of the quick step forward, the jab, and the step back again and again until it flowed like a continuous dance.

In the corner of his eye, he spotted one of the cooks walking with a basket.

KILL HER.

Sarien stopped, dumbfounded. Had he actually heard that, or had he just imagined it?

“Hello?” The question lingered in the air with no answer. Still, the power inside him reacted, spiking as the next unspoken words appeared from nowhere.

WHERE AM I?

Sarien spun. “Who said that?”

I DID.

His eyes widened as they dropped down the spear in his hands. The voice sounded in his own head, but it came from inside it.

“What is going on?”

No reply came.

“Is someone in there?”

Nothing.

Not sure what to expect, Sarien concentrated and brought forth the black flame in his right hand. It danced, flickering with jerking movements. When he touched it to his spear, a scream echoed.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAA

It was wordless, with terror so strong Sarien could taste it.

MAKE IT STOP.

He pulled back, withdrawing the power from the spear. The screaming stopped immediately.

DON’T DO THAT AGAIN

“Then tell me who you are.”

MY NAME IS TORSTEN. I WAS IN THE WOODS, WAITING IN AMBUSH.

“Wait. You were one of the bandits?” Sarien got a sinking feeling in his gut. “Did you attack the one holding a spear?”

YES.

“I think I killed you.”

I AM NOT DEAD. WHAT DID YOU DO?

“I’m sorry, I don’t know.” He’d trapped a man inside his spear somehow.

No, not the man. Sarien could still see the bandit’s lifeless body at his feet. This was something else. A man who joined bandits and kidnapped women and children for ransom should not be pitied, but in that moment Sarien couldn’t help it. “Can you do anything in there?”

DO?

“What are you doing?”

Sarien spun to face Kax. He hadn’t heard the young man approach. “It’s my spear! The bandit is in there!”

Kax raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

LET ME OUT OF HERE

“You don’t hear it?”

“Don’t hear a thing, other than you sounding crazy.” Kax’s eyes flickered left and right, and he looked a little uncomfortable.

“Let me hold your sword,” Sarien said.

Kax unsheathed it, held it for a moment, looked at Sarien, and then handed it over with obvious reluctance. “You better give it back.”

Sarien let the spear fall to the ground as he took the sword. “Is anyone in there?” he asked.

Silence.

“You better speak.”

More silence.

Sarien sighed and let his black flame run across the obsidian surface.

AAAAAAAA

“Will you talk with me?”

I’LL TALK. PLEASE STOP.

“Can you hear that?” he asked Kax, who just looked uncomfortable. Kax shook his head.

Sarien handed it back. “What about now?”

“H-hello?” Kax asked, looking intently at the sword. He paled visibly. “I hear it! Heard it before, but thought I imagined it!”

“It’s the bandit I killed with that sword. The power trapped him inside.”

“And that made it so the blade cuts through anything?” Kax asked.

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

Sarien shrugged. “I don’t know. Don’t understand anything about this.”

Kax swung and cut through a thick branch on the ground with ease. “Well, I don’t care about bandits. If he has to stay in there to keep the blade sharp, then stay in there he will.”

“But it’s like a prison,” Sarien said. “Or it must be.”

“How do you know? The man is dead. You saw his body,” Kax countered. “He’s not doing anyone any good. This might be the best thing he’s ever done with his life!”

Sarien shook his head. “I don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to like it, my friend,” Kax said.

“I think I should take that blade back.”

Kax shook his head. “Just try it.”

“Hey!” Goslin yelled from over by the tents. “We’re leaving soon. Better get ready!”

“Look,” Kax said. “I mean no disrespect, but you’ve shown me the perfect weapon. I’m not going to part with it. I was kind of hoping you’d make me another one. Short swords work well as pairs.” He sheathed the sword. “But I can see you’re not ready to do that. Just think about it, will you?”

“I’ll think about it.”

With Slakt leaving, that meant every single soldier they’d brought was gone. Several of the servants left as well. Even though it meant that they might have to begin cooking their own food, the food supplies had been fully stocked by the villagers, at least, so they wouldn’t go hungry.

Tomford’s combat instructor were still with them, along with a few servants, Goslin’s manservant among them. And Anicetus, of course. Tomford and Emeryn both looked a little gray and tired on account of having spent so much of themselves in the fight.

“Need to keep from getting hit,” Tomford mumbled, as he rode next to Sarien.

“Where to next, great leader?” Hart asked Goslin.

Goslin’s eyes were red, and he looked as tired as Tomford and Emeryn. The man couldn’t have slept much. “Primie Woods.”

“What’s there?” Kax asked.

Heylien visibly shuddered. “It’s where people have disappeared, troops included. Didn’t think we’d go there, of all places.”

Goslin nodded. “They have urgent need of assistance, and we’re going to give it to them. This time, we’ll be more prepared. No more deaths from here on out.”

“What then?” Emeryn asked. “Are we going village to village until we’ve saved them all?”

“No,” Goslin said. “We’re going to those in need who are near enough to our path. After Primie, we’re heading to Kleotram by the border to meet with the lord there, and then we’ll pass over into Tyriu. From there, we’ll head straight to Tyralien.”

“Do we know anything about what we will find at Primie Woods?” Lana asked.

“Not much,” Heylien said. “Just that there’s a stink of blood about the place.”

Emeryn sighed. “Lovely.”

The group waved and smiled at the villagers as they rode through but fell silent and contemplative as the road stretched out ahead of them. Kax sold the wagon and all its contents in the village, saying he didn’t need them anymore.

The main group rode on horses with two wagons following behind them. One held Anicetus, Tomford’s combat instructor who Sarien still hadn’t been introduced to, and a groom. The other carried the few remaining servants.

Heylien rode ahead as usual, which seemed to be his preferred way of travel.

The day was crisp, bordering on cold, despite the sun shining without a cloud in the sky. Birds serenaded them from beyond the tree line.

Sarien could almost believe the day before hadn’t happened, as long as he didn’t close his eyes too long. Flashes of all those men dying appeared unbidden in his mind. In that moment, it hadn’t affected him as much as he thought it would, but now that he had some time alone with his thoughts, he couldn’t shake the visions of his spear ripping into the bandit, skewering him like a pig. It didn’t help that the very same man spoke to him as soon as he held his spear again.

Sarien turned his thoughts away from the man trapped inside his spear and his terrifying new power. He thought about his father and wondered where he was now. Maybe he would have answers.

Not a single story he’d read told of someone outside the established magic system. Pyromancers, aeromancers, hydromancers, and geomancers. Those were the elemental powers of the realm. Though, Sarien had learned somewhere that power was hereditary. Shouldn’t that mean he should have a normal spark like his father?

Trym the Pyromancer. He pushed the thought away, the lies that his father told him for years, not wanting to sour his mood.

Instead, he rode up to Tomford. “How are you doing?” he asked, looking up at the much taller man.

“Tired,” Tomford grumbled. “I used way too much of my stream yesterday.”

“Healing yourself?”

He nodded. “Myself and others. How’s your shoulder?”

Sarien tested his arm. “Can’t feel a thing. That power of yours is astounding.”

“I guess,” Tomford said.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s just that healing takes so much out of me. Healing myself is a little better, but a few scrapes and then I’m exhausted. There has to be a way to improve.”

“Isn’t that what Anicetus is teaching you?” Sarien asked.

Tomford winced. “Yes, but I’ve been pushing off my lessons. All year, if I’m being honest. I can’t stand all his preaching.”

Sarien nodded. “Ocea.”

“Right. Good old Ocea, the dread of the seas and the lakes. But the dread is dead. I don’t see the point in believing otherwise.”

“I understand,” Sarien said. “I don’t know much Eld, except that he was terrible.” He cleared his throat, feeling a little stupid about giving advice to someone obviously more experienced than himself. “But maybe you should indulge him a little, to learn, if nothing else.”

Tomford looked back at the wagon, where both his tutors rode, and sighed. “You’re right, Sarien. Thanks. I need to improve with the healing as much as I need with the fighting. I need to become more efficient.” He pulled on his horse’s reins and headed to the wagon.

Sarien rode by himself for a little while until Hart fell back to join him. “What did you think about the fight?”

“What do you mean?” Sarien asked.

Hart shrugged. “Did you enjoy it? Fighting.”

“No. Don’t think so,” Sarien said. “I was mostly just scared and confused.”

“Oh. Is it weird that I liked it? Made me feel alive.”

The big man was growing out his beard, or had neglected to shave, and kept scratching at the stubble. He looked a little apprehensive to Sarien.

“I don’t think it’s uncommon,” Sarien answered carefully.

Hart brightened. “That’s good to know.”

“So, why are you out here? You grew up with Goslin?”

“Yep, and Kax. The three of us ran around Fyrie as children and on each other’s estates.”

“Must be nice,” Sarien said.

Hart hummed. “I’m mostly here because they are and I get to fight. There’s something about it that just makes me feel, I don’t know, good? Yeah, good. Like it’s what I was meant to do.”

Emeryn rode a little off to the side, and she glanced at Hart, listening in on their conversation.

“Did you like it at Eldsprak Academy?” Sarien asked.

Hart thought for a moment, then replied, “No, before that, I think. I’d spar with Kax and Goslin using branches and stuff until Kax had to go away. Then Goslin didn’t want to anymore.”

“Oh? What happened?”

“Nothing between us, if that’s what you mean,” Hart said defensively. “It was Kax’s family.”

He didn’t say anything else, but Sarien’s curiosity made him prod a little. “Kax’s family? He mentioned his parents dying.”

Hart looked a little uncomfortable again. “Kax feels responsible. You should ask him. It’s not my story to tell. Anyway, I came over to ask if you’d make me one of those swords, too. A black one?”

“I don’t think it would be a good idea.”

“Why not?” Hart asked. “You gave Kax one. You have the spear.”

“It made you uncomfortable to hold, didn’t it?” Sarien asked.

“Well, yeah, but I can live with that.”

“It’s because someone is trapped in there.”

Emeryn looked over sharply. “What do you mean?”

“The bandits. They speak to me, and to Kax, when we hold the weapons. It’s like I took something from them with those black flames and put it in here.” He tapped the spear that jutted behind him in its sheath. “I don’t know how, or what that means, but I don’t think I want to make any more of them.”

“Just one more?” Hart asked. The revelation of people trapped in the weapons didn’t even make him flinch.

Sarien frowned, staring back at the much bigger man. “No, Hart.”

Hart shrugged and rode away, muttering. Daisy followed after, keeping some distance from the horse’s legs.

“I think you made the right choice,” Emeryn said.

“About the weapon?” Sarien asked.

She nodded. “Killing someone is horrific by itself, but then to trap them inside an object? What kind of strange power do you hold, pyromancer?”

“Wish I knew,” Sarien replied. “But I’m no pyromancer, that’s for sure. Hopefully, my father will know something. The firemagi at the tower had no clue. All they did was cut into me.”

Emeryn’s eyes widened. “They did what?”

“The director of research experimented on me, then they tried to throw me into a cell when I refused to cooperate.”

“Sound like a lovely time,” she said. “I’m sure we’ll find someone who can tell you something. You can’t be the only one in the whole realm.”

“I hope so. I’ll experiment on my own, without hurting anyone,” he quickly added “I have to learn more about both the black spark and the white and why they’re divided. Right now, I’m fumbling in the dark.”

“It was like that for me too, still is sometimes,” Emeryn said.

“With the earth magic?”

“Yes. It’s not the same as your unknown power, and not as scary, but no one uses geomancy to fight.”

“I saw how you crushed that man’s legs yesterday,” Sarien said.

She winced and looked a little pale. “Yeah. I’m getting the hang of it by experimenting, gruesome as it is. Quite different from the tournament at the academy.”

“I take it you didn’t have to hurt anyone there?”

“People got hurt, one even lost his life, but it was nothing like yesterday.” She held up a finger, as if thinking of something. “The other reason for not giving a weapon got away from me.”

“What other reason?”

“It’s Hart. I’m not sure I like who he becomes when he’s fighting.”

“What do you mean?”

Emeryn looked around to make sure no one was close enough to hear what she said. “He told you himself that he really enjoys it.”

“Lots of people like fighting, don’t they?” Sarien asked.

She shook her head. “Not like he does. He has this anger inside him that unleashes only when he is in battle. Sometimes it feels like he could lash out at anyone, even Goslin. I heard Hart hit him in the face with a shield during practice once, hard enough to knock Goslin unconscious. Who knows what he’d do if he’s blinded by bloodlust?”

“He’d never hurt us,” Sarien said.

“I’m not so sure.”

A sound drifted toward them from their right. They both turned to look out across the farmland, not seeing anything in the fields. Sarien heard it again. Not just a sound, a snarling growl. “What is that?”

“More dogs?” They came up on Goslin and Hart, who had stopped ahead of them.

At several spots among the tall plants that grew in the field, they saw something moving swiftly.

“There’s more than one of them,” Kax said.

“I count twelve, maybe more,” Tomford said, jumping down from the wagon where he had been sitting with Anicetus.

“Get ready!” Goslin yelled. “Emeryn, Sarien, you stay behind us. Lana, get up on the wagon so you can throw your daggers. The rest fan out and protect the magic users and servants! Where in Eld’s breath is Heylien?”

Sarien stepped back and grabbed his spear, pointing it toward the unearthly growls just as the creatures came into view.

“Monsters!” Sarien shouted, clutching his spear so tightly his hands ached.