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.
