The land was burning before Samuel as he looked on in wonder and horror. The fields of grass were scorched, and withering, turning black as the life left them. The men below him were fleeing in animal terror, their instinct spurring them on to leave as fast as they could. He wondered how one figure could cause so much devastation, affect so much with just their presence. Then the sound hit him, and he thought no more.
The wrath consumed him, blinding him, burning him. He fought against its smothering influence, pushing back with all his might. But it was all he could see, all he could hear, all he could sense. Before his eyes, he saw his enemies. Peran, the arrogant mage who had tried to kill him. Knarlick, bloody and sneering. Menikos the leviathan, its eyes burning with hunger. Neratas, dripping with corruption, bearing down on him with his sheer size. He felt the rage pour itself into his very soul, devouring all that stood in its way. He reveled in the fury, the power, and the triumph.
Then, out of nowhere, he felt it all wash away. His mind cleared, and his eyes flickered open. He wasn’t above the army anymore. He was above a pond, serene in its smoothness. He felt at peace, surrounded by a faceless warmth. It coated him, embraced him, and filled him. It was the warmth of his mother, the love he felt whenever she held him to her, whenever her soft voice read stories to him before bed.
“Well done,” a voice said. He turned at once, and found himself facing…
“Who are you?” He asked, his voice shaky.
“I am you,” the specter said. “Well, a part of you. The best part of you.”
It did indeed look just like him, Samuel thought. But then again, did it? As he watched, the image shifted. It shrank, the face becoming more round. The hair lightened even as it grew longer, shifting from the black to a muted red. The eyes, a gentle and warm green, smiled up at him. He felt himself dropping to his knees, though he neither fell through the surface of the pond nor disturbed it. He felt his eyes filling as he looked up into the face of his mother for the first time in over a century.
“My sweet boy,” she said, her own eyes crying. She smiled down at him as she put her hands to the sides of his face. “You’ve grown so much.”
“Mother,” he said, his voice so soft that it was nearly inaudible. “How can this be?”
“I told you when you were young, didn’t I?” She said, one hand now stroking his hair, the way she did when he was a child. “I’ll be with you always.”
He blinked, and they were back in their old house. He was on his old rickety bed again, and she was sitting on the edge, one hand gently stroking his hair away from his forehead. He looked up at her in silence, drinking in the sight of her. The simple fact of her presence filled him like nothing else had ever done. He felt all of his worries, all of his fears, and all of his pains drift away. He was whole again. He was home.
“I told you, didn’t I?” This was another voice. In an instant, he was back at the dining table. His mother was toying with the edge of her glass of water, staring across the table, smiling. Samuel turned, already knowing who he’d see. Sure enough, there he was, seven years old, mouth full to bursting with roast chicken. “It helps to mark your place when you leave.”
“That way, you don’t get lost,” Samuel said, finishing the statement he’d heard almost seven years ago. He blinked slowly, suddenly understanding. “That’s what you meant. I have to remember where I left off.”
The boy finished chewing his mouthful, swallowing before he replied. His blue eyes shined as they met the violet of his older self. “Yes.”
“So if you’re my mind,” Samuel said slowly, turning back to his mother. “That means that you’re-.”
He couldn’t say it, but he knew the truth. She was his soul. She was the core of him, she was everything that was good in him. She smiled warmly at him, and ever so slowly, nodded. “You see now, don’t you? We’re a part of you, just as you’re a part of us. You have everything you need.”
They were at the pond once again, with no trace of his younger self. Slowly, Samuel stood. He towered over his mother now, whose head barely came over to his shoulder. But she felt larger than life as she looked up at him, her green eyes shining with pride. He smiled at her, the first true smile free of pressure in quite some time. “I understand now.”
“Good,” she replied, patting his cheek. “Then you should go. There are people that need you.”
“What?” He asked, suddenly alarmed. “But I don’t want to leave you. I want to spend more time-.”
“You can come back whenever you want,” she said, cutting him off. “I will always be here, my love. But for now, you have a responsibility.”
“I have to protect them,” Samuel whispered, suddenly remembering what had happened. “They’ll die without me.”
“Of course.”
Samuel took a long, deep breath, and let it out in an equally long sigh. It had never been harder to return to the reality of his life as it as now. He looked deep into his mother’s eyes. “Are you sure you’ll be here when I return?”
“Where else am I going to go?” She said, her smile widening. “Return soon, my love. There is much I must show you.”
Ignoring that last tantalizing comment, Samuel nodded his understanding. Might as well get it over with, he thought. He took another deep breath, then swiped his hand through the air. The scene before him vanished, and he was once more in the air above the army. The scorching power of Bora Bora’s roar still burned him, but its intensity seemed to have faded slightly. This was not true for the men below him, who were cringing away from it, their skin blistering.
“Guide me, Mind of the Mother,” he said, raising both of his arms. “Bring me to our Mother’s warmth, so that we may be soothed.”
The prayer, simple as it was, was received. At once, his body flooded with the ancient power that resided deep within himself and the world. With a gentle sweep, he spread the power as far and wide as he could. It scraped away the pain and fury of the roar, and cascaded gently over the fleeing men. They slowed to a stop, looking up in wonder as their fear was taken away. The blisters faded from their skin, and they were soothed. Then, without warning, the sound stopped. Bora Bora was gone, finally ascended to the Divine Isles.
The silence that followed his absence, though fleeting, was palpable. Even time itself seemed frozen as the armies turned, as one, to survey the figure floating above them. Then, with an echoing roar born of many throats, the Mitene Union charged forward. The sound of their thundering steps cut through the shock of the Gorteauan force, even as it echoed out across the plains. Heartily tired of it all, Samuel dove for the ground. He hit the scorched plains with more force than intended, stumbling slightly as he ran to a stop. Then he raised both hands, and, with a yell of his own to match the charging soldiers, shoved his hands outward.
The blast of mana that erupted from him sent soldiers flying in all directions, soaring over the lines of their allies, only to come crashing back down, knocking over several of their comrades. Samuel turned sharply to the left and right, emitting more similar blasts, clearing the wave of soldiers that had turned to charge him down. In seconds, he’d won himself a large empty space. He’d also made sure that all the attention was on him. Putting as much force into his voice as he could, he shouted at them.
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“Enough!” The single word cracked over the heads of the men. Reinforced with Ki, his voice was louder than even that of their most vehement battlecries. It had the desired effect. The men halted, confused and unnerved. “That is enough killing today!”
Silence greeted his proclamation as the soldiers nearest him visibly lost their will to attack him. They turned their heads towards their sergeants, who in turn looked to the Captains. The uncertainty was palpable. Samuel shouted again, his voice just as loud. “Whoever your commanding officer is, come here! Let us grant the men some rest. We’ve experienced great horrors today.”
There was a lengthy pause as he waited for a reply. For a moment, it seemed there would be none. Samuel conjured a large flame in his hands, letting the flame flare up to a height of eight feet. The threat was effective. A subtle shift occurred in the ranks of men before him, then they stepped apart. Two figures were visible now, pacing towards him with all the haughty pride of a royal individual. Their chins were cocked back with disdain, and they showed no sign of fear or misgiving as they approached. The older of the two, a man in a light grey robe, stepped forward while the other hung back, watching Samuel closely.
“I am Elder Nezca,” the man said. His voice was high and reedy, not to mention his pompous tone. “Speaker for the Council, and acting Regent of the Mitene Union.”
Samuel couldn’t help but notice a flash of irritation in the eyes of the second person at the words. A bit of contention for his colleague, Samuel thought. He could use that to his advantage if his plan failed. He directed his next words at the one who had hung back. “What is your name?”
“That is not important,” He said. His accent was slightly different from Nezca’s. He also had more confidence in his deep tone, which spoke of experience with leading men into battle. “You are here to speak with Elder Nezca.”
“Elder Nezca is here to speak to me, actually,” Samuel said, a faint smile touching his lips. Now the flash of irritation came from Nezca’s eyes. It was a petty point, but it was one that he had won. “I’m requesting an armistice.”
The figure in the back perked up a bit at that, tilting his head slightly to the side. Samuel knew the man couldn’t detect any deceit in his words, as there was none. He turned to Nezca. “Let us end the fighting for today. Tend to your wounded, and send those unfit for battle back on your ships.”
“Why would we agree to that?” Nezca asked, stubborn once again. “You are nearly crushed. We could choose just to end this today.”
“Could you?” Samuel asked, arching an eyebrow. The sudden shift from friendly to hostile seemed to take Nezca by surprise. You don’t know as much about me as you should, Samuel thought. “I believe that would be unwise.”
Nezca sneered. “You’re weak after fighting that beast, and after facing Stephan. Err, that is to say, the late King Knarlick.”
That interested Samuel greatly. The man before him didn’t seem to show any sign of grief at his ruler’s death. He could have been more attached to Knarlick’s father, of course, he reasoned. But his time with the Rainhalls had taught him how to spot greed in a man’s eyes, and he saw such a thing in the man facing him. He didn’t want to back off now, because he feared it would show weakness. He needed the respect of his forces if he was to finalize his claim for power.
“I don’t know about that,” Samuel said casually, still with a deadly tone. “I expect I have enough mana to finish tending to this upstart invasion. Even if I should fall, you’ll still lose hundreds.”
The casual threat didn’t seem to faze Nezca. The Elder opened his mouth to retort at once, but the person behind him cleared his throat. Nezca stopped before he could form one word, and looked back in some irritation. The second man came closer, and whispered something into Nezca’s ear. Nezca took a moment to think something over, then, after deliberating, slowly nodded.
“Very well, Archmage,” he said, his voice still full of disdain. “I agree to this armistice. After you?”
Samuel hesitated a second or two longer, his eyes flicking between the two men. Then he took a deep breath. “Of course.”
He raised his right hand and made a flicking motion. At once, the soldiers who could see him began to fall back. They kept their weapons raised and ready for the first couple dozen meters or so, eyes still trained on their enemy. Then those around and behind them copied their actions, assuming that the order had come from someone of high rank. Which it technically had, if King Gorteau hadn’t rescinded his rights of authority. Samuel raised his eyebrows expectantly at Elder Nezca. “Your turn.”
It was the second man, however, that gave the order. He turned on his heel, bellowing in a voice that was clearly trained to echo across a battle. “Back! Fall back to the ships!”
Nezca and Samuel remained face to face as their respective allies backed, weapons ready for any tricks. After the gap reached about five hundred meters, the longest range they knew for an arrow or spell, they turned abruptly and picked up their pace, pushing even further away. Still Samuel and Nezca remained locked in a staring contest. Samuel was sure they were wondering the same thing. If I turn away now, will the other attack while my back is showing? But Nezca finally took a few steps back, staying that way until he drew level with his companion, and then they both turned and walked away. Samuel let out a long breath then, relieved that he’d managed to forestall events. With a quick gesture of his hands, he conjured a powerful wind and flew away.
“Who in the fresh hell do you think you are?”
Samuel stood patiently, letting Rainhall shout his anger out without interrupting. The furious general was loud and abrasive as usual, but he took care not to get too close. He wasn’t enough of a fool to physically touch Samuel, for he knew that wouldn’t end well. But still, his voice did become a bit wearing after the first few bellowed words. Even Aren Rainhall, where he stood at his brother’s right-hand side, was visibly losing patience.
“You do not have the authority to command the army!” Rainhall snapped, his red face darkening even further. “I am the General, not you! You are nothing but a common brat, playing at things that are above you!”
Samuel resisted the effort to sigh in exasperation, but only barely. All of Rainhall’s insults and issues with him boiled down to a single issue. He was a new noble, and therefore didn’t deserve the respect of the head of an old noble family like him. He knew nothing of Samuel’s father, of course, as most everyone had forgotten the old house of Bragg. Samuel had never felt it necessary to enlighten him of this information, however. He’d probably say it was a false claim, and drone on further.
“The King himself granted me authority,” Samuel said, doing his best to keep his voice level. “Surely that should be enough for you. Also, I’ve ensured that we have time to tend to our injured. Does that outcome not satisfy you?”
“You are nothing but a vagabond and a criminal!” Rainhall shot back. “First you besmirch the good name of my house with those peasants, and then-”
“Enough!” This shout was surprising, both in volume and its source. Both Samuel and Rainhall turned abruptly to where King Gorteau sat. His brows had contracted until they nearly formed a single line. He was glaring, not at Samuel, but Rainhall. “I’ve nearly lost my patience with you, Rainhall. First the rebellion, then the fiasco over your decrepit keep, and now this! If you know what’s good for you, you’ll shut your mouth, and listen for a change!”
His brother Aren, who looked mildly impressed for a change, cleared his throat. “We need to discuss our next plans. Lord Bragg, Lord Rainhall, if you please.”
He gestured to the table bearing a map of this part of the country. Samuel nodded his agreement. “Of course. Forgive my outburst, Prime Magus.”
Aren waved his apology aside as the two came closer to the map. Gorteau settled for throwing one more angry look in Rainhall’s direction, who seemed unable to meet his eyes, then directed his attention to the map as well. He stabbed one thick forefinger at their position behind the hill. “How secure are we right now?”
It was normally a question for Rainhall, but he looked to his brother. Aren Gorteau cleared his throat again. “As secure as we can be. There are no natural fortifications for miles, so we can’t entrench ourselves, but the hill offers us protection from artillery, and we have a regiment of archers and mages stationed at the top of the hill, to spot and counter any attempted sneak attacks.”
“I should post my tent at the crown of the hill,” Samuel put in. When the two brothers looked at him in some confusion, he elaborated. “They’re covering the army, but nobody is covering them. I can maintain my screen while I sleep, and react to any attack launched at them.”
Aren nodded slowly. “There’s good sense in that. Are you sure you can take that risk? We need you rested for tomorrow.”
“It’s no issue,” Samuel assured him. “And our scouts at the flanks are exceptional at spotting incoming threats. With how we are now, we can have one night of peace.”
“Well, if you’re sure,” Aren said slowly. He looked down at his brother. “Your Majesty?”
“Very well,” King Gorteau said decisively. “Lord Bragg, we’re counting on you. This meeting is over.”