Chapter 29

Yren lifted his head and howled, his anger burning even higher. The one he wanted, the one he needed to kill had gotten away. He could not stand it, could not fathom it. Suddenly, his ire could not burn hot enough, his loathing could not burn hot enough. The one who got away was still in this world; if he burned everything, burned the world away, he’d kill that one as well. He raised his head again and howled anew, the fire of his rage rising high above him, towering above him, shooting a tower of blue fire a mile above him.

It soared up to the very roof of the sky, spreading out and across the sky like a new sun.

A scream cut through his howl. He ignored it at first – but then there was another scream. And another.

He let his gaze fall from the righteous tower of fire scorching the heavens above him. He turned and looked around the clearing – and saw the princess desperately struggling. He saw the mage looking around, unable to find an exit. For a moment, he smiled in satisfaction, smiled that these two would be the first to burn in the fires of the scorched world.

The sight of the princess broke through his fire tinged world. If his fire consumed the world, it would consume her as well. It could consume Gillen. It would consume Tergin. It would consume Bremer. It could consume Issa and Elva. It would consume Bena; his betrothed, Bena.

A part of him screamed at the impotence – but it was enough. The thought of Bena was enough. A coolness poured over the embers of his rage. He felt the fire above him slowly falling, becoming smaller, flames licking out only to fade into non-existence.

He felt himself cool, the rage becoming manageable once again. Pain filled him, despair at the loss of his father and sister; the human agony of losing a lover. He lamented the loss of his original parents, their image still burning brightly within him. Tears came to his eyes at the memory of his sister Iranwyn. He had lost so much in life.

He looked around at the blaze of the forest. A few trees on every side of the clearing were burning, others were scorched and black, smoldering. He coughed as he breathed in a lungful of the harsh smoke. It seemed like it had been so long since he’d taken a simple breath.

His eyes turned from the princess and happened upon the mage. The Red Guard’s words came back to him. She’d killed knights. Burned them as he had been going to burn everything. He had been wrong – and she was wrong. She needed to be dealt with.

He pushed himself up, ‘Hatred’ and ‘Rage’ coming to the ready. He took a deep breath, his face set.

“No!” Qualan screamed. She had almost made it to the treeline, almost made it to safety. She could have lost the blue demon in the trees, she was sure of it. Now, though – now she couldn’t run fast enough. “I almost made it, chaos take you!”

She looked around for something, anything she could use – but there was nothing. Her magic had not fazed the knight, what good would wood or grass be? Her eyes fell on the princess, wriggling in the grass and a desperate plan formed.

“You can get me,” she said, pulling the fire from the earth under her. “Or save her. Choose!”

She sent the fire at the princess, but she had to be careful. If the fire ball hit the princess, she’d be dead and it would free the demon to come after her. No, she needed the ball to strike near the princess, to put the stupid bitch in danger so the demon would be busy saving her.

Yren didn’t know the fire ball wasn’t intended for the princess. He saw it coming, saw it flying. He did the only thing he could think of to save the young woman. With speed he hadn’t really known he possessed, he launched himself, landing sprawling right in front of the princess.

It worked. The fire ball intended for Princess Ataya hit him instead. His armor wasn’t burning. He didn’t know to pull at the power bubbling within him. It wasn’t the blue knight getting struck with a fire ball ... it was just ... Yren.

It didn’t matter. The ball struck on the back of his armor and burst, fading away.

“You’re still alive!?!” Ataya gasped.

Yren’s eyes grew wide. He felt no pain, no heat. He took a second to survey himself.

“Yeah,” he said simply. “I guess I am.”

Qualan’s teeth gnashed. The demon took the fire ball and it didn’t even faze him. His attention, though, was on the princess. Her ruse had worked. She turned, getting ready to duck between two trees.

Ataya saw the woman in the corner of her eyes. She turned, realizing the mage was going to make her escape. “She’s getting away.”

“We can get her later,” Yren said, using ‘Rage’ to cut away the rope binding her legs.

“No,” Ataya replied fiercely. “No. She killed ... she killed the third platoon. She can’t get away.”

She turned to Yren and words tumbled out of her mouth before she could even think of them. Strange words, words she would never have thought to use. It was as if something inside of her was providing the words to her. Words she should use. The only words she could use. “Will you be my champion? Will you bring my justice to the world?”

“Princess?” Yren asked, unsure.

“Be my champion!” Ataya demanded, her eyes glancing from Yren to the mage who was pushing her way through the brush. The intent was foreign but the words were her own. She said them, culled them from the phrases given to her. “Please, Yren. Be my champion! Deliver my justice.”

Yren could see the pain in the young woman’s eyes. He suddenly realized how important this was to her, though he didn’t understand why. He nodded. “Okay.”

He was startled for a moment as something inside of him shifted. It was as if with that one word, he’d changed though he couldn’t fathom how.

“Then get her, my champion,” Ataya demanded, tears suddenly streaming down her face. “Get her and show her the meaning of my justice.”

Qualan was pushing through the bush when she made the incalculable mistake of looking behind her. She was smiling in victory, her plans working better than she could have hoped. She wasn’t out of danger, but she was free and that was something.

Then, she looked back and saw the knight running towards her.

Fire had not worked. She wouldn’t try using fire again. There were other spells in her arsenal; spells more deadly than fire. She’d use them all, turn them all into one great miasma of death.

Carefully, yet quickly, she crafted her spells, crafting them and keeping them in abeyance. She charged her spell with mystic acid and bathed the acid in the poisonous waters of Ober, the goddess of death. Then she froze the water into shards of ice and when she was done, she raised her hands and brought the icicles of death down upon the running knight.

There was a moment she thought it had worked. A moment when she was sure she’d succeeded, when the icicles were plummeting from the sky, preparing to strike and kill whatever the monster was. There was a moment when she felt the victory in her heart...