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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The bear materialised almost instantly. Its shadow took substance and solidified like a hulking silhouette filled with a glowing array of fireflies. Then it blinked into existence, crouched on its huge paws and panting, obviously groggy.
Seated in a chair, Amroff watched intently. The summoning sickness, he knew, would pass soon.
A young man of twenty summers, the room's firebrand cast his pale features in a kind warmth. He was a handsome man, tall, slim and dressed in an expensive russet robe, a gold circlet upon his head. His eyes were the colour of deep brown river stones and they held a directness that had made many a stern swordsman look away.
He glanced at the scroll that lay unfurled on the desk next to him.
It was a challenge from a novice rival, a self-stated master of illusion to a contest of the arts, the loser banished as in many mage duels. Amroff had received it by official messenger as was usual in the Kjeldoran city of Rillandon, delivered by a underling of the Mage's Guild to his quarters here in the Baron De Villiun's Keep. At first he'd ignored it, leaving it a full day with a mixture of excitement and reluctance. Today he had read it, knowing he would accept the duel. Amroff admired the man's commitment to only one realm of magic. It was hard for him to imagine why anyone would so obviously state which path they favoured. Blue magic in this case. Air and water. Artifice crafted from natural elements.
That was new. He'd never fought such a wizard before, but they were renowned for their countering power. A sage at the Guild had spoken of their spoiling, reactive tactics and of fearsome air creatures.
Amroff was also prepared in a sole realm, but not blue. At present he favoured green magic, drawing inspiration from its powerful creatures. He also remembered as a child after his parent's murder, finding peace in the cool twilight of the Balduvian meadows. It seemed wise to study magic which he had an affinity with. He'd read of its weaknesses, of course. That flying creatures and fire were particular banes to purveyors of the green arts but he wasn't discouraged.
For him, only black magic held no appeal. Black magic.
That was best not even considered, buried instead in some dense crevice in his mind beyond the light of contemplation. Yet he could not always escape the dark thoughts that lay there. In his dreams he saw the shadowy grinning face of Lim-Dûl, lord of the dark. Amroff supposed that the necromancer was safely esconsced in the basalt towers of Tresserhorn. Luring unwary victims within, converting the faithless. But there would come a day when he would stare that mage in the eye before blasting him asunder.
With an effort, he pulled his thoughts back to the present.
The bear seemed to have recovered. It swung its head around and shuffled towards him, heavy muscle rolling beneath thick fur, breathing with a deep rumble.
The young wizard wasn't concerned. He could see it was not aggressive as it sat before him with a solemn gaze. Besides, he liked bears. Though they lacked any special abilities they could be sent quickly into battle against . . well, against a blue wizard for instance.
"Welcome, my friend," Amroff patted its thick mane, noticing for the first time the scar that ran across its snout.
"Looks like an ol' war horse," a deep voice intoned.
Amroff turned with a smile. Entering the room was Traskor, a dark bearded man who could only have been called a warrior. Tough and lean as a war axe, he had been one of Varchild's crusaders. That was before life in the Keep away from the frontiers. Before he'd been accused of waywardness with a Kjeldoran noble's daughter. Leaving the Order, Amroff had taken him on as a retainer, and since then they'd become friends. He was still deadly quick with the sword, and on his arms were enough tattoos to scare the horns off a minotaur. He was looking at Amroff with an expression of mild amusement.
"Bears, is it?" Traskor inquired. He found a chair and sat in it with a creak of leather armour, fresh from sword training no doubt.
Amroff nodded. "They fight well and are handsome beasts in the bargain."
"I agree. Stout of heart and fearless. Would that I commanded a troop such as these."
The bear blew air out its nostrils as though it had never heard anything so preposterous.
Traskor laughed heartily. "Well said, Sir Bear! Care not for what humans say. A true credit to your kind. And your day, sire. It has gone well?"
"It has. I have here something you might wish to read," Amroff handed him the challenge. Sat back, waited.
Traskos' green eyes widened as he read the missive. "And this is part of your mad plan?"
Amroff stroked the bear's broad head, saying nothing.
"I don't like it, sire," Traskos shook his head. "There is little good that can come from this. Let it go. Do not think you are the only wizard in this land. Many mages roam Dominia. The tales I hear in the taverns would be enough to scare the Pit worshippers themselves."
"You forget that I too have trained in the arcane arts, Traskor. I am ready, even if you think I am not," Amroff told him.
Traskor was still grimacing. "I never said that. But your training was against non-existent foes. Not those of the flesh-and-blood variety. Take it from a soldier who's seen more wars than most. In real life there is less time to think and any mistakes you make usually have lethal consequences. Especially if you're opponent is experienced." Traskor was still amazed at Amroff's audacity.
He was well aware what lay behind this challenge. The quest for Lim-Dûl, Amroff's personal mission of revenge. To him, Amroff stalking Lim-Dûl was like a bird pecking the nose of a sleeping dragon. Only when the beast had awakened would Amroff see the full measure of his folly. Still the soldier in him yearned for battle if only as a witness from the sidelines and Amroff had proven a good friend, befitting his loyalty. If there was to be a foolhardy quest, so be it. Yet he couldn't let it go without one more warning.
"Even if do win what then? Another duel? There is litt-"
"I've accepted the challenge." Amroff had no time for this. He heard Traskos grunt with dismay but wasn't surprised.
There was a moment's silence between the two and Traskor left the room without saying more.
Amroff's gaze turned inward. He would make it up to his friend later. Tonight the challenge was the most important thing. He needed experience at duelling and this ambitious lout was as good a place to start as any.
Once his own skill had increased, then he'd consider how best to tackle Lim-Dûl. Experience and the constant refinement of one's art, that was the key, he decided.
Moving slowly, he took from his desk drawer a package which unfolded into a square of red velvet.
Inside lay a steel gauntlet. The kind used by noble horsemen, often seen clenched around a broadsword. This one though had runes engraved born of a snarling tongue.
Amroff's eyes narrowed. It had been taken from the battlefield where his parents had been slain. Thrown there by a black knight after the life had been drained from his father's body. Why the glove had been thrown onto his chest, had always remained a mystery to him.
A symbol of domination, perhaps. Of contempt.
Whatever its purpose, he'd held onto this morbid reminder for years as he'd completed his arcane studies. If ever Amroff's motivation had dwindled, he always returned to the gauntlet.
His desire for vengeance was no less now. In his mind, he saw visions of bog imps crushed by praying mantises, zombies cut down by elvish archers, of Tressherhorn in flames. It was a dream he intended to make reality. He turned the gauntlet over in his hands.
One step at a time, he thought. One step at a time.