The right of Brett Martin to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted.
All rights reserved. No part of these documents may be used, reproduced or transmitted in
any form or by any means electronic or mechanical including photocopying, scanning and
recording, for any purpose, without the express written consent of Brett Martin.
All characters in this short story are fictious and any resemblance to real persons, living
or dead, is purely coincidental.
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Amroff stood on the cold dust of the plain awaiting the beginning of the duel. His palms were sweating, heart thumping.
Next to him, stood his friend, the warrior Traskor.
The sky was a bleached, bland grey, above the plain of Guiverren which began its flat stretch twenty leagues distant from the bustling towers and pennants of Rillandon.
It wasn't the first time Amroff had been here, even though it was his first duel. He'd come out here often from Rillandon, mainly to see what a duelling plain looked like. Once he'd even witnessed a contest between two warlocks. Flashes of light and the rending tooth and claw of barking creatures. Still, it had amazed him how quickly the battle had been resolved.
Few of the townspeople in Rillandon saw such activities, of course. The Mage's Guild preferring such things to occur away from the general populace.
Amroff pulled his robe tighter around his neck. The wind was desperately cold. Rushing across the plain and over them with a frigid chill.
"Colder than a snow badger's backside," Traskor exclaimed, rubbing his hands together. "I'd thought ice ages were thing of Dominia's past. Obviously not."
"Where's Joseph?" Amroff asked. His mind far from idle chatter.
"Minding Klas. He couldn't bring himself to watch. Fancy that," Traskor laughed, then halted. "No offence intended, sire," he added quickly.
"None taken," Amroff replied dryly.
Joseph was his other close friend, along with Klas the grizzly bear, he supposed. The old man had been something of a father to him and was also the best leatherworker in Rillandon. To mark his first duel, Joseph had given him a pair of studded leather bracers.
For the favour of the luck goddess, Joseph had said, his voice tight with concern.
Amroff regarded one of the leather bracers circling his wrist and drew a deep breath. Soon he would be fighting. All those years of training coalescing into this moment.
He was vaguely aware of someone speaking and realised Traskor was giving some advice on combat.
Amroff held up a hand. "I'll be fine."
"Now don't go getting yourself killed," Traskor gruffed. Amroff was aware that his friend was doing his best to hide his concern. Sword fighting he excelled in, but sorcery was more devious.
"Be gone with you, Traskor," said Amroff. "I've a duel to wage, and there will be plenty of time for such talk at its conclusion."
"Right you are. I'll give you that," Traskor left him with one last piece of advice: "Strike hard, sire."
"I will, now leave before he thinks he's fighting two mages, not one."
Traskor nodded, clapped him once on the shoulder and left.
His friend gone, Amroff looked toward his opponent across the flat plain.
Now was the time, he thought. The next step in his quest.
He closed his eyes, calmed himself and began reciting the four rules of arcane lore.
It felt good to finally call that part of him to action. To make use of his training.
Within his mind he saw the vista before him, but this land was far from empty. For here spirits dwelled. A nether-dimension transposed on his own, where grey-robed wraiths twirled and cavorted. Where beauty wore a golden face beside strange creatures with three-heads and gurgling voices.
Amroff wasn't distracted, he had a task to perform. He only had to recall his parents to remember that.
Shield, he willed, picturing within his mind a barrier of phantom light knitting itself into reality. There was a brief moment of lightheadedness, which held an almost seductive quality. He knew though that it was dangerous to absorb too much of this world, and used its power little beyond shield creation. Certainly not to fight duels. Mages had mana for that.
The wall increased in strength, glowing with increased vitality, drawn to his mortal essence, and Amroff was certain he could hear the distant strains of the spirit world. Lyre and vocal harmonies of dead cultures.
He waited for the wall to finish before opening his eyes.
Energy leapt into being around him in a sparkling shroud. Amroff continued concentrating. This was one of the most difficult of the arcane arts to master. To craft a rapture to protect the mage within from physical and sorcerous harm. Duels could be won and lost on the ability to replenish a shield, and once it was vanquished, the sorceror's defeat or death was usually soon to follow.
Then there was the visual angle. Many novice magicians found this unnerving. A change in perspective that was both foreign and confining.
It took some getting used to. Viewing the world through a lightly undulating warp of light like transparent marble. Amroff did not share these concerns. He'd always been proud of his shield. Worked countless hours on smoothing its flaws, generating something closer to a work of art than a protective device.
He studied its surface, imagining he could see the fabric of power that could halt a hurled spear as easily as a stone wall. The realisation struck him that this would be the first time he had risked his life with his shield to protect him. Here indeed was a true test.
He stood within the crackling aura, glanced at the official who stood upon a ridge with Traskor, then returned his gaze to his opponent.
When the bell tolled, the duel would begin.
Earlier that morning they'd met face-to-face in a shadow-laden room at the Mage's Guild.
It was common practice for the duellists to sign contracts and hear the rules of the local sorcerors. The presiding official was a man of middle years with a florid face and sweeping grey hair.
"Gentlemen," he began, and as he intoned the rules of combat, light from the firebrands glittered off the gold neck chain he wore. He spoke in a deep voice, hypnotic and theatrical almost, as though he were delivering prose to an audience. Yet the only other occupants in the chamber were a scribe and an axe-wielding Kjeldoran guard.
He'd had taken the chance to study his opponent. The sorceror's eyes had been red and hostile. Some sort of weird lightning tattoo decorating his neck.
Amroff knew the kind. His own eyes once held the same hot-fired ambition and anger. Now though he hoped he'd moved beyond that. To a more expressionless appearance.
He shrugged aside the memories. Outwardly he was calm. Inside though, his stomach felt like a nest of writhing snakes. Yet if this was to be his destiny he'd better adapt to it quickly or it would eat him alive.
Without warning, the bell sounded.
Amroff didn't hesitate. Delving into his mind he sought connection with the land of Dominia. With the damp, peat-laden soil of the woods.
The spirit music swelled and receded. He was an eagle rushing through the clouds of the sky.
He saw a glimpse of verdant green, of dust-filled beams of sunlight piercing a forest canopy. He mentally grabbed at it, felt the connection and quickly checked the real world.
A green jewel hovered in the wall before him. It spun lazily on its axis, resplendent with magic. Amroff knew what it signified: mana.
Nothing came from his opponent.
Amroff plunged again into the nether realms. Fog, mist, forest. He was hoping for a sight of a wall of wood, but instead it was mana again. The forest in his mind came into clearer focus and now two gleaming green jewels rotated in his shield beneath his gaze.
For a moment the duel continued that way. Amroff strengthening his aura with mana. The blue mage constrained by his inability to do so. Then the balance altered.
No sooner had a fresh gleam of azure light shone in the blue mage's shield, than he summoned a creature into existence. Relatively small, it blinked into existence in the sky.
Amroff recognised it immediately: a storm crow. Fell birds that appeared above Rillandon, frolicking in wind as lightning flashed driving superstitious people indoors.
Amroff had observed these birds from the Keep's west tower as rain slashed down and the wind howled. He'd often wondered how they would attack, a creature so at home in such chaotic elements.
Now he would find out, as a defenceless target.
The blue mage didn't waste the opportunity. He turned towards his crow, some silent communication passing between them.
In response, it swooped down with a steady flap of its wings, black eyes shining.
Amroff's gaze darted around. There was no way he could avoid it.
The crow hit with a solid thump, screeching in frustration before taking once more to the air.
Amroff lurched backwards, more from shock than anything else. Where it had struck a small piece of his shield grew dark. A chink in the armour, nothing more but many more such hits could be dangerous.
He redoubled his efforts, concentrating fiercely. He needed a creature, or at least something other than land or the gift of the woods spells he currently recalled.
Another emerald light glowed in the undulating wall before him, joining the chain.
Mana again. His mana pool was stronger now, just enough for what he needed.
Amroff took strength from that, and in his mind were images of the great forests of Dominia: of old ley druids in white robes, giant dragonflies flitting through the undergrowth, carnivorous plants festooned with teeth and craw wurms cruising through the jade twilight with a predator's self-assurance.
It was this last creature Amroff sought. He spotted one, larger than the rest and probably the pack leader. Wasting no time, he latched onto it with a mage's greed, compelling it to his service.
The craw wurm released an indignant roar yet it was trapped nonetheless. For a moment it fought him with a primal strength that mule-kicked his senses, then he was in command.
To me, he willed, opening his eyes to its destination.
Almost instantly it began to appear as a twisting writhing column of darkness. It was easily as high as a castle tower, powerful beyond many mortal imaginings.
Amroff watched in awe - and from his opponent came the sound of a flat clap. He heard it, registered the blue mage drawing upon his mana.
Then there was a resounding crash and the half-formed wurm exploded in a shower of light.
Oh dear lord, Amroff thought, stunned. Then the shockwave of dust and light hit him and he staggered. Now the warnings from the sages made sense. Have to summon something, he thought, near to panic.
In the distance, he heard the blue mage utter a terrible laugh.
He was taking a risk, he knew. If his opponent had some way to enhance the beast's power on its next strike he would be in dire jeopardy.
The crow began its dive cawing loudly with a sound like triumph.
Eyes wide, Amroff braced himself for the impact.