Chapter 13: The Shadow of the Past

  The days that followed were wearying. No matter how long he endured the blistering heat of the Isudan waste, Aeron could never match the stoic resilience of Hagoth Duffin.

  Fortunately, the raiders did not mistreat them. With three steady meals a day—roasted goat and fresh camel milk—Aeron began to feel like a Butarg, the short-snouted, black-bristled hogs of northern Lorencine, penned and fattened before the slaughter. This luxury was thanks to Ifindo, the massive raider Aeron had defeated. The giant now trailed him like a devoted disciple of the Signer legends, never daring to release him but ensuring the "living myth" lacked for nothing.

  Zakira, the bandit leader, visited occasionally, but unlike Ifindo’s starry-eyed awe, Zakira’s gaze was that of a merchant assessing a prize stallion. Recognizing this, Aeron refused to utter a single word to him. Instead, he spent his hours talking with Hagoth about the merchant’s past.

  Hagoth no longer hid his history. Once a man of burning passion and ideals, he had aspired to be a knight of justice. Fate, however, had twisted him into a notorious merchant who valued gold above all. Yet, in Aeron, Hagoth saw a second chance—a natural leader for the revolution he had once dreamed of. He knew he couldn't force Aeron to take up the banner of freedom overnight, but he was confident that with enough time to forge the boy’s spirit, his prophecy would come true.

  Nearly a week later, the scorching heat began to yield to a cooler breeze. The desolate dunes transitioned into vast steppes, and clusters of trees appeared with increasing frequency. It was then that Ifindo approached Aeron, his face etched with hesitation.

  "We’ve covered half the distance to the Tar’Muffin border," the giant whispered. "Zakira is on his way to a secret meeting with a group of strangers. They... they are making an offer for you, Aeron Teh’Bvera."

  Hagoth Duffin leaned against the wooden bars, his eyes narrowing. "Zakira agreed to let me ransom him just days ago! Why negotiate with anyone else?"

  "Zakira wants to see whose gold shines brighter," Ifindo replied darkly. "I fear for you, Teh’Bvera. Among the strangers is a Mage."

  "A Mage?" Aeron’s heart sank. "Could it be Ivyl?"

  "The girl from before?" Hagoth asked. Aeron nodded, but then quickly shook his head. Ivyl was a young sorceress from a minor tribe; she lacked the vast wealth needed to outbid a man like Hagoth. Who, then?

  "Perhaps someone from the Council?" Hagoth mused. "No, the Council is too far away to have moved this quickly."

  "Pentrius..." Aeron muttered, his jaw tightening.

  "Who?"

  "It has to be him," Aeron said with certainty. "Pentrius Ragsain, the High Mage of Infregterin. I defeated him in the Vearo’tiz woods. He’s the only one nearby with the motive and the treasury of a kingdom behind him. Hope he didn't bring too much ready coin, Hagoth, or your fortune won't mean a thing."

  The late afternoon sun cast long, jagged shadows across a mountain slope. Nearby, a derelict shack overlooking a dry creek bed suddenly bristled with activity as robed figures moved within.

  Zakira Flem’Thor slammed his sword onto a rotted wooden table, his vulture-like eyes fixed on the scarred, hideous face of the Mage sitting opposite him.

  "We don't take notes or promises," Zakira growled. "If the gold isn't on this table by nightfall, the merchant gets the boy."

  "I don't think you understand the situation," Pentrius hissed. The Mage had spent the last weeks in hiding, nursing his wounds and his pride. "I cannot summon that much physical gold instantly. But the Kingdom of Infregterin has never defaulted on a debt. Deliver the Signer to me, and I guarantee you double what that merchant offers."

  Zakira threw his head back and laughed, a sound full of naked contempt. "A kingdom ruled by the 'Black Cavalry'? You’re nothing but lapdogs for the Empire. Your 'honor' is worth less than the dust on my boots."

  "What did you say?" Belloud Benjamin, Pentrius’s sycophant, lunged forward and grabbed Zakira’s collar. "Who are you calling lapdogs?"

  "See?" Zakira sneered. "This is how Infregterin mages act when they’re pricked by the truth. Let me teach you a lesson in manners."

  Snap! Belloud screamed as Zakira shattered his wrist in a single motion. Crash! The table splintered as Zakira slammed the Mage’s head into the wood.

  "Never look down on a man who holds your life in his hands," Zakira spat, sheathing his sword and turning to leave.

  Pentrius remained silent as his subordinate groaned on the floor. But as the bandit reached the door, the Mage let out a low, chilling chuckle. "Wait. I have another proposal for you."

  Zakira paused, his curiosity piqued. "I’m listening."

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  At dawn the next day, a long line of packhorses laden with sacks of gold and jewels emerged from the forest, escorted by the Isudan raiders. Zakira appeared immensely satisfied. He personally oversaw the removal of Aeron and Hagoth’s shackles, helping them down onto the lush grass of the forest floor.

  For Aeron, the sensation of soil beneath his boots after two weeks in a cage was intoxicating.

  "The trade is complete. You are free to go," Zakira smirked. He winked at Hagoth. "But if I were you, my wealthy friend... I’d head back to the desert. The heat makes people... unpredictable."

  With a mocking laugh, Zakira led his men away. Gold from one hand, information to the other—the bandit had already secured his second profit, leaving Aeron and Hagoth alone by the forest edge.

  "What did he mean by that?" Aeron asked, watching the dust settle.

  "Who knows?" Hagoth shrugged, checking his belongings. "Isudan sun rots the brain. Let's move."

  Aeron checked the sword the raiders had returned to him and shouldered the bag of rations Ifindo had secretly left behind. Together, they stepped into the border woods. The oppressive sun was replaced by the cool, dappled light of ancient trees. Aeron felt the forest trying to soothe him, and even Hagoth seemed revitalized, whistling a tune as he navigated the terrain.

  "Any plans for the future?" Hagoth asked after Aeron helped him over a mossy ridge.

  Aeron looked toward the east. "Tar’Muffin. But I fear a month in the desert has allowed the Princess’s caravan to reach the border."

  "You mean the Lorencine bridal procession?" Hagoth asked. "You realize that marriage is the seal on an alliance? If you 'rescue' her, you might spark a war between Lorencine and Mantorias."

  Aeron stopped and sighed. "Tell me truly, Hagoth. What would happen if that war broke out?"

  Hagoth smiled sadly. "I am a merchant; my view is colored by coin. But as a friend? Lorencine wouldn't last two years. If the Black Cavalry from Infregterin is mobilized... eight months. That is the longest our walls would stand before they were reduced to ash. Unless..."

  "Unless Lorencine isn't alone," Hagoth said. "If the other vassal states unite, it becomes a holy war against a tyrant. Then, no one can say who will win." He glanced at Aeron. "And you, my boy, are the only one who can unite them."

  Aeron laughed. "You’re trying to make me a rebel again. If Mantorias attacks, I will fight as a Royal Knight to protect the people. But I won't be the one to plunge this continent into a bloodbath."

  "Trust me, Aeron," Hagoth jumped over a small stream. "One day, you will take that seat."

  "If fate demands it," Aeron replied. "But let fate decide."

  “And what if fate decrees you die this very day? Hahaha!” A cold, hollow voice echoed from the rocks and trees, carried by a sudden, unnatural wind.

  "Who’s there?" Aeron drew his sword, standing back-to-back with Hagoth.

  The sky darkened instantly. The air turned frigid. Crouched on a massive oak branch was a figure in tattered black robes, his face a ruin of scarred flesh.

  "Pentrius!" Aeron roared.

  The Mage dissolved into a cloud of black smoke, reforming instantly in front of them. A red light flared in his blackened hand. Aeron barely raised his sword before a blast of magic sent both him and Hagoth tumbling into the dry creek bed.

  "You humiliated me in Vearo’tiz," Pentrius wheezed through sharpened teeth. "You left me broken and... tattered." He flickered across the space, appearing beside the groaning Aeron. "I still wear the rags of that battle. They remind me of my shame."

  Pentrius stepped heavily on Aeron’s chest. "Belloud told me to hunt the Princess. But I refused. I needed your blood to reclaim my honor. I won't lie—the power you showed last time was terrifying. But I am no fool. My spies told me about the Holy Sword, Tonga. It comforted me to know I wasn't beaten by a boy, but by a... legendary relic."

  He ground his heel into Aeron’s stomach. "Now, there is no Holy Sword. How will you survive this time?"

  He hoisted Aeron up by the throat with one hand. Aeron clawed at the cold, iron-like fingers. Pentrius began chanting, his hand glowing a sickly green. A toxic mist rose, withering the grass nearby as he prepared the killing blow.

  "Ready to die, Sir Aeron Teh’Bvera?"

  Thwack! A heavy wooden branch slammed into Pentrius’s back. The Mage snarled and dropped Aeron. Hagoth Duffin had risked his life to intervene. The price was immediate; Pentrius flicked a hand, and a wave of black smoke sent the merchant flying. Bones snapped as Hagoth hit a tree, falling paralyzed to the ground.

  Pentrius pulled a dark, polished staff from the air. "Blastiga!"

  A burst of white light and freezing wind lunged forward. Blood sprayed—but it wasn't Aeron’s. Ifindo had leaped into the path of the spell, his massive body acting as a shield.

  "Ifindo?" Aeron gasped.

  The giant leaned on his greataxe, wiping blood from his mouth with a grin. "I am here, Signer."

  "Why?"

  "Zakira boasted about a 'second profit' after he released you," Ifindo spat. "I knew he’d made a separate deal with the Infregterin dogs."

  Pentrius sneered. "How else would I know exactly where you'd be dropped off? I don't have that merchant's gold, but I know how to buy information once a contract ends. Now, die! Blastiga!"

  This time, Ifindo was ready. He braced his axe, and the freezing wind shattered against the blue steel of his blade. With a roar, the giant lunged. Pentrius vanished into smoke, reappearing behind Aeron, but instead of attacking the boy, he fired a bolt at Ifindo’s leg.

  "Gah!" The giant collapsed, his knee swelling instantly as he tumbled down the embankment.

  Pentrius spun his staff. "Enough games. Th’derun!"

  Bolts of blue lightning erupted from the staff, screaming through the air toward Aeron. Crack! Snap! Aeron braced his Tuckerham blade, the steel groaning under the electric onslaught. Pentrius poured more energy into the spell, the smell of ozone and burning air filling the woods. Aeron’s hands went slick with sweat; his blade began to vibrate, threatening to shatter.

  In that moment of pure terror, a warm, golden light flooded Aeron’s senses. He looked at his arm, but was startled to find that the mark was not glowing at all.

  "Focus, Aeron!"

  Ivyl Wall’s voice rang in his ear. He looked back to see the Lion Tribe sorceress standing behind him, her staff planted firmly in the earth as she funneled her own mana into his body.

  "Use the Signer power, Aeron!" she screamed.

  "I don't know how!"

  C-crack... A hairline fracture appeared on the Tuckerham blade. Aeron felt the shadow of death loom over him. Hagoth watched in agony, unable to move.

  Snap! Another fissure appeared, and the blade turned a dull, charcoal black.

  "Run, Ivyl!" Aeron yelled. "I can't hold it!"

  "I won't leave you again!" Ivyl shouted back, her face set in grim determination. "If we die, we die together!"

  She threw the last of her energy into him. Pentrius roared, unleashing a final, devastating surge of lightning. At the same instant, the wounded Ifindo threw his massive greataxe with the last of his strength.

  A blinding light erupted with an explosion that echoed for miles. The great oak burst into flames, and a shockwave leveled the surrounding trees in a heap of splintered wood...

  ***