4 - An Alternative Rout
Fenn shivered as he threw another ball of flame among the spirits’ ranks. He still wasn’t used to the numb chill of magic leaving his body. It was fascinating, really, the simplicity of the process. According to Kaleepo’s teachings, there were three ingredients necessary in the creation of fire, first fuel, then energy such as a spark, and air, or more specifically one part of air. A part called Oxygen. Magic, being a form of pure energy, was rather easy to use for generating heat or sparks. If you pressed the image of something like lamp oil, for example, towards a bit of magic it would take on some of its properties, or if you focused just on the properties you wanted it to take then it would do so to a certain degree. It required a fair bit of concentration to perform such actions with any finesse, but to do something as simple as draw a bunch of oxygen from the surrounding air and compress it near a well fueled flame, wasn’t much harder than a few seconds of concentration. Apparently a better understanding of the components and forces employed would make it more efficient in its usage of magic.
The monsters shied back from Fenn in fear of his amulet, and of his flames. He made use of their trepidation and lunged at one of them, pulling Morigant’s sword across the creature's chest and leaving it to die. A grating call like shattered glass broke out across the battlefield, originating from the tallest of the spirits he had seen. It stood a full head taller than Fenn, had some traces of muscle bound taught about its slender form, and bore in its hand a great branch fashioned as a club. The other spirits stepped aside clearing a space for them as the tall spirit advanced towards him. It seemed that he had been issued a challenge, though Fenn felt he had little chance to decline. He would have to meet it then.
Fenn opened by throwing a fireball at the approaching spirit, but this one was far quicker than its smaller companions, sidestepping the blast as it quickened its advance. He fumbled his mind through the process another flustered fireball leading the spirits path, but it slipped by once more and rounded to his left. Its steps faltered but for a moment in the face of the blinding sunlight of his pendant but steeled itself a moment later. Fenn used its momentary distraction to slip just to the side of its powerful swipe and land a cut across the spirit’s arm, but the cut ran shallow. Fenn wondered if his cut had been poorly aligned, but mere moments later the spirit returned with a second swipe. He jumped back as quick as he could, but his injured foot lagged and the swing caught his left shoulder sending him rolling across the ground. He just barely managed to land in a crouch bringing his feet beneath him again.
He couldn’t hit it with his fire blasts, because the monster was too quick. But between the gap in skill and its tough hide he knew that he would lose a duel of weapons. He needed a way to light the bastard without it dodging. Making an attack with his blade to coax a dodge and then launching a blast when the foe had committed to it might work, but Fenn was certain that if he tried to apply such focus within arms reach of the spirit would be a death sentence. If only I had a torch to strike at it with. But then again couldn’t he make one? Fenn pushed at his magic, wrapping it about the length of his blade. Then, he ignited it.
The tall spirit jumped in fright at the sight of Fenn’s flaming blade, worry growing on its face. Fenn seized the moment and charged after the creature, his own left arm hanging limp from the previous blow. The spirit frantically brought its massive club around in a heavy downward strike, in an attempt to keep him at bay. He grit his teeth struggling to split his focus two ways, as he sidestepped the spirit’s wild swing and drew a burning line across its chest. The creature's flesh boiled and sizzled catching to the flame like dry tinder. The spirit dropped its club and hurried trying to pat out the fire before it became engulfed, but Fenn was still there, and he continued to draw cut after burning cut upon its increasingly alight form. The tall spirit fell to the ground flailing in the hopes of putting itself out, but the fires now ran too deep to douse and it soon lay still.
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.
The spirits surrounding their fight cried out in shock at the tall one's downfall. One by one, the spirits all across the battlefield began to notice the fate that had met, what Fenn assumed was their leader of sorts. One by one the villagers saw it too. The eyes of all rested upon him, daybreak pouring from his pendant, tongues of fire wrapped around his blade, standing victorious over even the strongest of the spirits. The villagers cheered and rallied, a surge of strength accompanied their growing hope of seeing morning. Then the first spirit turned to flee, then the next. One after another they fled into the northwest, incurring heavy losses as they ran disorganised from the battlefield.
The night had been won.
=====
Through the showers of praise and relentless questions from his brother and the other villagers, it took until the sky began to brighten and the sun started cresting the horizon before Fenn was finally able to find his bed, and rest. He collapsed upon it within seconds and his consciousness soon faded too. Sleep enveloped him in its warm embrace for a time, held deep in a restful, dreamless oblivion. But then, something shifted in the air, and a dream formed within his mind.
=====
Fenn felt the touch of mushrooms underfoot, as his surroundings faded from nothing into someplace familiar. He stood in the sunlit clearing, the place itself as though painted with thick oils and broad strokes. The brook running through it was sluggish, and thick as though it ran with those very same oils.
A familiar face popped into view from above, as Lem hovered down. They grew close, inspecting every inch of Fenn’s face with a stern glare set onto their own. Then they backed away, and let out a long sigh.
“I give to you but one rule -For your own safety no less!- and even that you cannot follow!” Lem exclaimed, “Just one!”
“I-I’m sorry Lem, but-” he tried.
“No buts! Besides, it matters little now.” they said, “You have now taken the first step on a journey that I anticipate will be worth watching progress, but I think you will be able to stir up far more trouble for yourself if I leave with you a parting gift…” They trailed off as the painted world began to drip and fade, returning to the nothing from before.
“Wait! What do you mean by a parting gift?” he cried.
“Well you’ll have to keep your bargain somehow won’t you?” they replied, giggling as oblivion reclaimed him once more.
=====
Fenn slept long and deep, resting his weary mind and body all through the day. He finally awoke in the late afternoon, sun well on its way down. He ached all over, his general soreness melting finely into the edges of his more acute injuries. He had taken a hit to the left shoulder, and right leg. It would take more than sleep and well wishes to put these wounds behind him. He laid back and groaned. There would be a fair bit of explaining to do once he was up again. That and mourning, not all had made it through the previous night. The battle had been won though, the town saved. There would be time for stories and memories later though. Fenn rolled over and out of his bed. For now, perhaps he would find something to eat.
As he stumbled through the door into the hall, in search of a hearty meal, something strange had slipped his notice for now. Something out of place rested upon his night stand.
It was an item of great curiosity, a bright red rotary telephone.