Burning Tongue

I had defeated Sir Oliver against all odds. His flames had died out with him. I stood before his bloodied corpse amid relative silence and darkness.

But I paid a heavy price, which was in my opinion worth it all. The flames burnt most of my garment, and only my lower body was covered. My face, my abdomen, and my arms were all scorched, and I was bloody all over. The healing fog circled me, but I doubt if it could save my life.

Minutes later, I could hear the distant noise of hounds and soldiers. Such a bright and loud display would be impossible to notice. I would have already left if not for my injuries.

After one last look at the delightful sight of the dead Sir Oliver, I turned away. There was barely any strength left in my body, and every step I took made my body shudder.

My eyes could no longer provide clear sight, my ears clear hearing, and I did not know where I was going. All I knew was that I had to escape.

The rhythmic beating of my heart, the sound of boots against stone, and a messy canvas of grey and black were everything my senses could pick up.

After a certain amount of time, I was not conscious enough to measure, my mindless course was halted when my head banged against something wooden. The collision almost sent me to the ground.

Roused from my blank thoughts, I reached out my hand to appraise the obstacle. I detected a metal piece I recognized as the handle, which belonged to a door.

Having no capacity to deliberate, I pulled the handle and the door creaked open. Upon entering, the strong scent of hay informed me, that I must have ended up in a stable, or a storehouse.

Despite my dire physical state, I remembered to shut the door behind me. Desperate for rest, I took a few steps forward and then dropped to the floor. My body was too numb to feel the pain inflicted by the impact, and I was soon unconscious.

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I would wake up with a severe headache. My eyes opened only to see blurry and shaky pictures. Lying face down on the floor, I slowly tried to stand up. My hands and legs had enough strength to prop me up, but vertigo send me back down.

I instinctively reached for my temples in an attempt to ease the pain. But it was not a problem of the sinuses, it was something deeper. And so I sat there for a while helpless against what seemed like a terrible hungover.

It took time to subside, but it eventually did. Free from the pain, I began to process my memories and related them to what I was seeing.

My tattered garments reminded me of the near-death encounter I had with Sir Oliver. But aside from bloodstains, there was no other evidence of what had happened. My burns and wounds were completely healed, and aside from the terrible migraine, I was feeling great.

I looked around the room I have found shelter in. Though the floor was paved with cobblestone, the rest of the structure was made of wooden planks. The presence of cobwebs, and the rot in wood, implied that it was an abandoned building. That must be why I was not caught in my sleep.

Through the holes and gaps, the moonlight seeped through. And for a while I was uncertain if I had woken up the same night, I had killed Sir Roland.

The second time I tried to stand up was successful though I was still wobbly. I approached the slightly open door. I poked my head out and the darkness of the night greeted me. Only a few flickering torches illuminated that part of the citadel and not a single soul was in sight.

The door creaked when I opened it fully and alarmed I stopped. It was not a loud sound, but I feared it would be noticed in the absence of any noise. Confirming no one was around to hear it, I proceeded to exit the structure, tiptoeing my way out.

Up ahead I recognized the smithy, which sat in the middle of a fork. Left to it, was where I fought Sir Oliver. Confirming if his remains were still there, would require me to go nearer. It was a risky move when I could spend the time finding a way out. But my curiosity needed sufficing.

And so I went towards the smithy, observing every alley I passed through for any ambusher. I reached the curb peacefully and found Sir Oliver's corpse gone from the path. I took a closer and approached where I left him. The cobblestone was wet, and most of the bloodstains were erased. But the aftermath of the fiery spells remained, as black spots were still all over the place.

My curiosity appeased me, the next thing to do was escape from the citadel. With my improved physical abilities, I should be able to climb the wall and silently deal with a guard or two if there were any.

And so I walked back to the abandoned stable. From there I could see the wall's battlements. But I would have to approach closer to see as the building block the sight. And so I did.

Past the stable, were more wooden buildings that looked like storehouses. The absence of patrolling guards suggested there was nothing valuable on the part of the citadel.

Having navigated closer, past most of the buildings, I could see the wall much more clearly. The guards were loosely apart from each other. I could only see two guards from where I stood. One was standing leaning on the wall, and another was sitting down. A single torch warmed their station.

Based on what I was seeing, getting over the wall might be easier than I had anticipated. I noticed a broken cart that was by the wall that I could use in the climb. I would have to get over something fifteen feet high, but I feel I could do it.

I then made my way towards the cart, all the while glancing at the guards. A noise halted me in my tracks. I swiftly pivoted my head towards the source of the sound. There were no mages or soldiers, just a sack of wheat infested with mice.

I sighed in relief and continued. Reaching the cart, I sized up the wall in front of me. Before I wouldn't even dare dream, but that night the wall looked climbable.

I took a few steps back to build momentum. Wasting no time, I bolted towards the cart. My foot thumped against the wooden platform and I successfully covered a few meters with a single leap. The problem was that I never tried it before. And my hands and feet did not know what to do.

My left hand got a hold of a brick slightly jutting out, my right hand probed for something to cling to but failed. And unable to maintain my awkward grip on the single brick, I tumbled down.

My body hit and broke the cart on my way down, and it produced quite a disturbance. And expectedly, the guards noticed.

"Hey! Who's there?" one of them shouted. Laying below, I could see the two approaching nearer to where I was.

I quickly prop myself up and unwilling to abandon the attempt, I tried again.

Took a few steps back, used the cart to leap onto a wall, and maybe out of confidence, I got a firmer grip. Driven by a strong sense of urgency, I climbed upward. Oddly, the task became easy.

And soon, I was on top of the wall. Having ascertained that I was the one causing the disturbance, the guards hastened their pace and unsheathed their swords. Their confidence stemmed from their obliviousness to who I was. If they only knew I was the one who killed Sir Oliver, they would have run at the first sight of me.

Though I still revel in my accomplishment the past night, I did not want another brawl. I wanted to finish things swiftly. And that means I have to use something long-distance, for instance, a spell.

I was a mage, a former mage. And I thought then, that if I have become strong, then I must have also become more capable in spellcasting.

Excitedly, I browsed my mind for a spell to use. The one that came to mind, was the one that Sir Oliver used against me. A spell that summoned a hundred orbs, and I knew the chant for it was one of those I had fantasized about casting before.

"Lord of the fla-- aaaah!" searing pain in my tongue interrupted my chanting.

When I stuck it out, I discovered it was on fire. I used my hands in an attempt to extinguish it and it was not easily quenched.

The guards despite the puzzlement did not stop walking toward me. Out of desperation and inability to think because of the pain, I jumped over the wall.