Battlemage, second draft

            I have always known war. Since my childhood, I rode into battle, along with my sires, casting destruction. Before I rode into battle, I had been instructed in all the ways of magik, for I am gifted. Though my blue skin burns with an equally blue flame, all the essences of magik flow in my veins. While most mages master one of the skills they are born with, I have full have supremacy over both.

            I can remember a time when the other children mages, and I, practiced our skills in the old dungeon beneath the castle of our Master. The green boy and I would hurl rock and flame at each other, then the yellow girl would heal us. The yellow girl was the elder of the three of us, and watched us while our sires attended to matters of the court. I do not recall the sires of the yellow, or the green child, very well. I do recall the day the yellow mage became Healer for our Masters. It had been the fourth, or perhaps the fifth, march I accompanied. I know not who we marched upon, nor the goal of our campaign, such is not the knowledge privy to mages. Ours was to assistant our forces, when opposition was found, we fought.

            Swordsmen, Lancers, Horsemen, and Archers moved with precision. The grown mages, a yellow Healer, and a red Battlemage, set us to work.

            "Green, raise up a wall around the Master and his personal guard."Commanded the Battlemage, the very woman who bore me. "Blue, rain brimstone on the enemy archers, that will give our men a chance to flank them. Yellows, be ready for the wounded, they will be here shortly. I will go to the Master to receive any missives he has for us." A sphere of coloured wind carried her away, moments before arrows pelted us from above. Quickly I blasted flame above us, in an attempt to burn them away. Sadly, I was not fast enough, two arrows cleared the blaze. One lay on the ground, singed. The other protruded from the arm of the Healer. The younger yellow, immediately began to pluck the arrow from the wound, but the Healer stopped her.

            "Save your energy for the fight. I can tend to myself." He ordered. "Remember how I instructed you? Certain wounds can wait, but others are more pressing. Look there, I see the Battlemage returning." Thus the fight continued, the green and I following the directions of the red Battlemage, and the yellow healing with the guidance of the Healer. As the day wore on, the Healer grew ragged and weary. At last, the Master sent word that we were to return to his camp, while the warriors finished their work.

            The Yellow pleaded to the Healer. "Let me care for you now."

            "There is no need," The healer wheezed, "I have dealt with myself sufficiently."

            "But you are not well!" The younger exclaimed.

            "Of course I'm not well!" The Healer countered harshly. "I'm dying."

            "How?" I demanded, the green and I had kept all other attacks at bay.

            "The arrow." He answered. "It had been poisoned, courtesy of an orange mage."

            The green mage lowered his face, "Come, Fa..., Healer. I will see to your resting place."

            And with the death of the Healer, the yellow garnered her title.

            Over the years wars were waged, battles were won and lost, and the other mages were lost to time. With no kindred to assist me in the furthering of my magikal prowess, my other skills withered. Yet there was always another battle to ply my abilities.

            In my 30th year, long after my lineage had fallen, and while I found no sign of a suitable suitor in the realm, my Masters went to war again. With a three day march ahead on the road to our destination, a vision appeared unto me, unbidden. Walls of a ancient castle, surrounded by a moat, towered before me. The architecture unknown, the foliage strange. Portions of the castle walls are crumbled, and worn with age, while other sections are enveloped by the foreign plants. The walls of greenery appear to hold the stones in place .At the top of one wall stood a man, muscular and tall, broad of shoulder and with a deep chest. His skin was pale, colourless, and marked about with scars. Though his skin was as white as a cloud racing across the sky, his hair was a hue similar to the peoples of my own realm; brown and straight. His face was firm, like baked clay, but his eyes glowed. The blue-green orbs lingered in my mind as the scene disappeared. The apparition troubled me. How could a fortress of such size fall to disrepair? Strife is one of the constants of life. With a weak stronghold, how would a Master maintain his control over his realm?

            At that moment, our flanks were undulated by fighters. Hordes of brown skinned swordsmen and spearmen slash and carve at my fellow warriors. Urging my steed towards the mid-region of the warring throng with my knees, I begin my series of battle spells. Without any other mages to lend support, I am no major part of the attack plans. My hands curl into fists, I push them down, creating a ring of lava around the Master at the rear of the battle. After that I flatten my right hand, with palm facing down, swipe upward in a smooth graceful arc. The flame enchantment on weapons gives an offensive benefit as well as a defensive one to my Master's grey skinned men. Then as I raise both my hands to point at my personal guard, the man from the vision, strode into view.

            He cut through waves of swordsmen, unflinching at the wounds he received. He didn't hew men down, simply incapacitated them and continued on. My hands freeze in the air. He moves with grace and purpose, akin to a wild beast. A block here, a parry there, I watched him, hypnotized by his movements. Pressing forward, not matter the obstacle, he makes his way to my side. For my own defenses I have at my disposal a plethora of brimstone, lightening, and disemboweling spells, yet I used none of them. My mind recoiled from the evidence my eyes presented to me. Drawing closer by the heartbeat, the equivalent of a living marble statue, a being who may have well been the product of a dream, was undeniably real.

            A snippet of song, from a memory half forgotten, filtered through my mind. White is immune to magik of all kinds. Even as blades of my own protectors swung towards his back, he turned not to face them, but looked unto me alone. As the light of his eyes beckon unto me, I compel my mount forward, closing the distance betwixt us, until he is close enough to touch. My hand, of its own accord, extends up to feel his face. A flash of colour encircles us, and we are whisked away from the encounter. Somewhere, our foe has a red mage.

#

            Since that day I have not seen the fury of war. All my existence is the luxury and serenity of the palace of my captors, the Allard. My days are spent strengthening my skills in foresight and healing, a task now accomplishable with the help of the other mages attached to this court. The lords of this citadel ask nothing of me but what is needed to further my knowledge, or for my care.

            The only restriction placed on me is that I stay in the interior of the castle, the war still rages somewhere after all. There are mages, auralplorers, who can locate someone via their aura. An auralplorer is both the most despised, and revered, of the magik kin. Meager amounts of coin will sway them to any cause, in truth, they enjoy the hunt. Their skin is a deep black, reminiscent of obsidian stone, signifying the strongest flow of power possible. My aura is strong, being in a corridor near a room with a window would leave hints and traces of my being.

            I am ill at ease in my new surroundings. Daily I learn of one misdeed or another plighting the land. A purple mage, skin burned along her left arm, told me how she fled from her home. Men had come to her village, and began rounding up all the mage folk. Those who relented where caged like animals. Those who struggled, were marked, forever recognizable, no matter how far they fled.

            With each passing day they pour into the castle, and I am surrounded by mages and warriors. Many speak of death, and families lost. Yet there is no fighting. I lash with fire at no man, save the warrior from my apparition, who yielded to no force upon the field. Here, he is my protector, as the other fighters watch over the other mage folk. As I wander around the palace he trails in my shadow. Occasionally members of the court ask me for demonstrations of my powers. I've blasted him with gale winds, pour molten lava upon his brow, encased him in a wall of ice, and run him through with ether blades. Yet always he remains impassive.

#

            A fortnight after my arrival to the castle, I found myself alone with my guard in a small garden at the center of the castle. In all the time we had been together, not once had we truly spoken.

            "Warrior, why is it the Allard Family have gathered all these mages in one place? Do they plan to use them all in a mighty siege?" I inquired, while kneeling down to examine blossoms of vibrant red.

            "The Allard family is not gathering all these mages, nor are they preparing to do battle." He answered in a clear, light voice, from somewhere just behind me.

            "If that is true, then how did they get here?" I pose, plucking one flower from the ground.

            "Word is spreading that the Allard family is offering refuge to any who would take it. You have only encountered the mage folk. Still more are the greys who occupy the outer walls of the castle. People from many regions have come to find sanctuary within the walls of the village around the castle as well." He replied. I twist around, in order to look up into his face. There is no merriment twitching at the corner of his lips, nor does it dance in his eyes.

            "I do not understand." My confusion kept me rooted to the ground.

            "They were hunted and trapped, like animals." He answered, calmly. "Worse. Simply items a man brings to his home."

            "They are mages!" I railed, rising up from my spot on the ground. "We are to serve a Master. And serve well, just as you serve the Allard, warrior!" I scold, waving a finger in his face. His face remained unresponsive.

            "Mine s not to labor for the Allard family." He replied quietly.

            "What do you mean?" I ask, stepping away from him slowly.

            "I am an ally with the Lords. I have been as such for many a year. They were friends of my fathers." He paused, then trod to a nearby bench, and sat. "I am the last of my lineage, and my family's bastion lies empty. I am here to search for strength in the land that may help me oppose my enemy. I.." His voice wavered, and he turned his face away.

            "Royalty."I whispered, then bowed down low, as I was taught long ago."Forgive me," I spoke just loud enough to be heard. "I will speak of this no more."

            "Wait." His voice was once again light, and drawing near. He knelt before me, his knees almost touching mine. "It is my desire that you know." His hand lifted my chin, and his eyes pleaded with me. "My Mother and Father had no other children. Thus it lies upon me alone to bring justice to those who harmed them. However, over the years I have found that the ones responsible have committed many foul acts. So I am recruiting all that would assist. The Allard family have a vast army, and great deal of resources. They to seek an end to these vile ones. To dispense justice on your Master."

            "My Master? Warr, um, Lord..." I started, but did not know what to say.

            "Please, call me Roberto." He gently interrupted. "Which reminds me. What is your name?"

            "I have told you, and all the courtiers, I am Battlemage." I responded painfully. His face grew impassive once again.

            "Not the title you were called by." He sighed. "The name your family called you. The name you were born with." He asked, a slight hint of sternness in his voice.

            "The guards that watched us called me childling." I closed my eyes, fighting to hold back the tears. "The one who bore me called me Little One. I do not recall what the one who sired me called me." A hand wrapped around the fist I had formed on me knee. I opened my eyes, and saw the softer face from before.

            "It appears that they did not allow your parents to properly name you. A suitable one shall be found for you." His lips remained parted, as if some other thought remained silent, waiting to be spoken. Just at that moment, a red mage ran into the garden.

            "Truce, a truce is to be struck!" After his last words, a swirl of colours enshroud him, and he disappears.

#

            It has taken a fortnight to, but army of my Master has made its way to the very walls of the village which lies roundabout the castle. Wounded fighters tell any who listen how fierce the fighting had been, but now, a truce has been struck. While the army of my guardian's friends stand aside, the other will be permitted to retreat. Once the hostilities are ended, the two sides will send forth emissaries and begin a proper parley. It will take a day, at the least, to maneuver all the forces involved. That will leave the night as a time of rest.

            Whilst I lay in my bedchamber pondering what little I knew, a song from my childhood flits through my mind.

Red is the mage of Spirits and Air,

Orange is the mage of Animal and Plant,

Yellow is the mage of Water and Life,

Green is the mage of Earth and Aura,

Blue is the mage of Fire and Death,

Violet is the mage of Visions and Mind,

White is immune to magik of all kinds,

Brown is weak, and uncontrollable,

Black has all the power, and is most rare,

and the grey has nothing.

            "Cunning! The greys have a mind as sharp as a blade." I exclaim, as my thoughts flow. The mages that have come for asylum are alike in one facet only, their youth. Not a single mage I have met in my time here has lived more than 40 years, with many of the nearing their twentieth year. A young mage, without guidance, or challenge, can be manipulated easily. I had seen it as a child. The yellow mage had no parents, and the father of the green died while he was young. My mother was taken away not long after that, and my father had been long since gone. How easy I conformed to my master's biding.

            Before I could sit up, an attack is sprung. I hear a brief fight from the antechamber, then my defender enters the room. He bears a long, white cloak that I have enchanted in the event that an escape must be had. In three quick strides he crosses the room and envelops us within the aura hiding cloak. The plan was for him to carry me off to safety, through tunnels beneath the castle.

            Before he places a single hand on me, I heal him, then bless him for battle.

            "I am Battlemage, it is what I am born for, as are you! Warrior, let me join you in combat, let me fight by your side!" I cast a small light between us, that I may once again gaze into his eyes.

            "Battlemage is not who you are!" he pauses visibly torn between duty and the desire to fight, "You are not required to fight. I must see to your safety."

            "The Lords of this castle will defend it until the last stone has been turned. Yet it is not their battle! My master is the cause for all the pain and suffering you and so many others endure! He would have me back as well." My voice wavers on the last word, and in that instant I sense something soften in him. "If I am not to be Battlemage, let me be your friend, and stay by your side, fighting the villains that took your family."

            "You are more than a friend to me, you are Chothaímid." His thick arms embrace me, pressing my body close to his. Our lips meet and the blue flame of my magik deepens into a violet. "You are cherished." He whispered into my hair. For but a moment longer he holds me. We break apart and dash into the antechamber, following the sounds of fighting, and another revelation befalls me. Our first child will have orange skin.