The Forsaken Hero

The inquisitor shot King Vorinth a glare. ”You mistake caution for fear. Your arrogance is unfounded.”

The two mages spoke so cavalier it was difficult to believe they were just a few feet from the edges of Fyren’s blade. But the four seventh-level inquisitors were more than just fodder. They moved in perfect harmony, utilizing their numbers to offset the difference in strength and speed. Every clash of their swords released shockwaves that buffeted my wards, but Fyren’s blade couldn’t penetrate their teamwork.

”Now then, if your servant’s occupied, that just leaves you,” Vorinth said, shifting his gaze to me. ”I’d ask you to surrender, but that would take all the pleasure out of this. And please me, you will.”

He procured a staff from somewhere, a regal length of solid gold tipped with a shining prism. It scattered rainbow light, and the mana in the room shifted, drawing to him like water circling a drain. The fullness of his aura gripped the room, and I gasped, my chest tightening. His soul was even stronger than mine, sitting just beneath the threshold of the ninth level.

His attack came before I realized he’d acted. Seven rays erupted from his staff, each a different, each a different mana type. They struck my wards in the blink of an eye. Fire burned, frost crept, and lightning crackled, enveloping me in a storm of elemental fury. My wards shivered, but Adaptive Resistance held.

The magic died abruptly, and Vorinth frowned, beholding that I was unharmed. I took a small step back, but there was nowhere to retreat, not unless I dared brave the silver light leaking from the main chapel alone. I didn’t.

”Interesting,” the king murmured, pursing his lips. ”Even an eighth-level spell with as much diversity as that doesn’t sneak through. And here I thought you were only truly resistant to Sun and Fire magic.”

I swallowed hard. I didn’t like how familiar he sounded when I myself knew nothing about him. Usually, any knowledge imbalance was strongly in favor. It was the only way I’d survived this long.

”Xiviyah,” Fyren called, sparing me a glance between blows. His ease was particularly impressive, even a little unsettling, given Lord Lyran had joined in the battle against him. ”Can you handle this?”

I took a breath, my tail stilling. I met Vorinth’s eyes. A small tremor ran through me, but my grip on my staff was firm. I didn’t answer, but I didn’t have to. Fyren’s lip curved in a smile.

”Good.”

Vorinth’s face twisted in anger as I stood against him. He muttered under his breath, and eight magic circles blossomed beneath his feet. Their pressure slammed against the hallway, making it shudder. Dust rained from the ceiling, and I took an unsteady step.

He hadn’t chanted on the last one. Interesting. But his speed was still exceptional, easily surpassing the quickest eighth-circle spell I’d ever cast.

”Supreme Dissonance!” he cried, finishing his spell.

A violet ray shot from his staff, bearing the same discordant wavelengths of dispel magic and mana storm. This time, his chant had given me enough time to respond, and I cast my own spell.

”Mirror Lock!”

A shining wall appeared in front of me, glimmering translucent with rainbow colors. A simple sixth-circle spell. Hardly sufficient to block something nearing the peak of eighth. Vorinth’s triumphant expression showed he knew as much. He poured even more mana in, causing the realm to tremble.

And then the attack struck.

My magic shimmered like a soap bubble. Vorinth’s spell ricocheted back the way it came with increased intensity. The King’s eyes widened, but there was nothing he could do but watch as his attack took him head-on.

It detonated on his wards, and instead of an explosion, it wrapped around him like a cocoon. Bright colors flashed and popped as runes failed, and his weave began to untangle. He attempted to dive out of it, using his aura to shunt it off, but an eighth-circle spell wasn’t so easily thrown. It clung to him like a swarm of moths chasing a lantern, stripping his wards and the enchantments from his magic items.

”Damn it all!” he cursed as he finally resorted to throwing raw mana at it. The violet light brightened, then dispersed, overwhelmed by the sheer quantity it had devoured. His wards were gone, his robes’ enchantments a patchwork, and his staff’s light wavering. Even his spatial ring had dimmed slightly, usually the last of a person’s magic to be affected by anything.

”What did you do?” he cried, leveling his staff at me.

There was no point offering an explanation. Besides, how would I explain it to him? It was his fault for daring to challenge me with fate magic. Besides, raw mana like that had almost no penetrating power, relying on picking apart runes rather than destroying them. After all my practice against Emlica, slanting my spell to deflect it was second nature to me now.

Before he could piece together what had happened, I waved my staff, casting three sixth-circle spells at once. The hallway rocked as the walls and ceiling collapsed, and stone, glass, and mural tiles clumped together, condensing into three elementals. They were smaller than the one before, merely ten feet tall, but they blazed with the enchantments of the materials they were forged from.

Chapels, store rooms, and terrified priests were exposed in the gaping holes, and the entire building shook, destabilized after losing so much load-bearing material.

But I wasn’t here to preserve the cathedral. The opposite, actually.

The three elementals charged Vorinth, closing the gap in a few heavy steps. He stumbled back, casting another ward just in time to catch the first of their blows. At the same time, he stomped on the ground, and a magic circle appeared beneath one of the elementals. A torrent of fire burst from the ground, enveloping it, but when the flames faded, its stony flesh wasn’t even singed.

”How!” he gaped, staring at it in disbelief.

He shivered under their assault, and he shot me a venomous glare. He started chanting, and eight magic circles materialized around me. My breath caught in my chest as the weight of their mana pressed on me. I struck the but of my staff against the ground, releasing a wave of mana. Unfortunately for him, I’d long since predicted this and had been readying a spell.

”Shining Aegis!”

A gleaming silver sphere winked into existence around me, a heartbeat before his spell detonated. Flames, white-hot and blinding, surged around me, cutting off the outside world. The roar of the explosion surpassed the safety bounds built into my wards, and everything went mute.

The Shining Aegis began to hum. I felt the vibration in my feet and my horns. The air grew hot and dry, stifling my breathing. Small cracks began to form in the shield, and I winced, clutching at my chest. Adaptive Resistance burned hot.

A low rumble breached the silence, and the ground trembled violently. I stumbled a step, nearly falling, but managed to catch myself on my staff. Stones penetrated the veil of flames, smashing against the Aegis. They melted before my eyes, running down the shining sphere in viscous rivers of glowing red.

At last, the firestorm ended, leaving me on a small patch of untouched stone in a literal caldera. Molten stone ran in rivulets, pooling in steaming ponds of molten red. The cathedral had disappeared around us, and fires had consumed the garden. The courtyard walls were blackened but stood, the closest structures to have survived. Chunks of masonry littered the scorched gardens, torn from the foundations by the force of the blast.

Fyren stood with his arms crossed, his sword driven through the chest of an inquisitor, pinning him to the ground. Fires wreathed his body, but couldn’t touch him. Of the other inquisitors, only Lord Lydan still stood. His white cloaks were singed, and he wore a frown, glaring at Vorinth.

The king knelt on the ground a short distance from me, his breathing ragged. A few wisps of fire curled across his royal cloak, and he was smeared with ash and grime. He rose unsteadily, gripping his staff so hard his knuckles whitened.

”Very impressive. I underestimated you, but...” His eyes glinted with malice, his face set in a furious grimace. ”You’ll find I’m much more than a single ace in my sleeve.”

He raised a hand, a white band glinting on his finger. I tensed, preparing another spell, but before he acted, another shockwave struck my wards, this time from behind. I turned, glancing over my shoulder.

Behind me, the inner walls of the cathedral still stood, shrouded in that same silver light. It radiated power in waves so dense they were visible as distorted shimmers in the air.

”Enough!” Lord Lydan cried, backing away quickly, his face pale. ”Your Majesty, we must retreat.”

”Damn it all,” Vorinth cursed, lowering his hand. He shot the cathedral a scowl, his face flushing in rage. ”This isn’t over, filthblood.”

”Yes, it is. Retreat. Now.” The High Inquisitor’s voice brooked no argument. Vorinth took one last look at me before the two turned and fled.

”You did well,” Fyren said, lifting his sword. The inquisitor’s body disintegrated beneath him, scattered on the currents of hot air as his boots moved toward me.

”He was strong,” I whispered, gazing at the silver light, my tail quivering. ”But in the end, he was just another mage.”