Chapter 10: The Shadow and The Memory
Chapter 10:
The world spun in a thousand colours. Nauseated, Jakob felt like he was going to throw up. Trapped in a spinning vortex, his sense of direction was completely over the place. Time came to a stop as the world went black. At first there was darkness, nothing to be seen. All around Jakob sounds of metal clashing against each other increased in volume, piercing the darkness. The thick, earthy scent of wet soil mixed with the metallic notes of blood-soaked earth assaulted his senses.
An explosion appeared out of nowhere, bringing into focus mud that was hurtling through the air towards Jakob. Reaching his arm up to shield his eyes, Jakob was surprised to see that he was wearing elaborate steel gauntlets.
"I am not me," he realized as he surveyed the chaotic scene. This was confirmed as he turned around and, with a deep booming voice, commanded a group of what looked like soldiers to move forward. The sounds of war intensified—the clash of swords, the screams of the wounded, and the distant roar of fire enveloped him.I'm in a memory, I realized Jakob. It was a weird experience.
Almost like he was a passenger in a cart, he was a passenger in this soldier's mind. The thundering sound of marching soldiers mingled into a cacophony of battle. Jakob felt the energy and urgency of the moment, the very essence of war penetrating his senses.
Figuratively he sat back and watched as this soldier led an army in the middle of a war. When Jakob relaxed, he could feel a kind of weird strength coming from the man. The strength seemed to resonate with Jakob, and he knew without a doubt he was seeing the memories of a powerful magician at his peak of power.
The magician, Jakob guessed by how he was dressed and including his ability to command his troops, was a noble or lord of some sort. The magician wore steel gauntlets and greaves trimmed in gold that were stained with speckles of mud. Upon the man's chest lay dark padded robes with the emblem of the Valkhu, three interlocking triangles with korovri, spirals in the shape of waves, in the centre of the chest.
Faster than even the magician could see, a dark red bolt of magic hissed out of the darkness ahead. The bolt spiralled through the air and struck the group of soldiers. Within mere moments they had collapsed, lifeless. With a howl of pain, the magician darted forwards. From one hand sprouted a brilliant bright blue flame and from the other, cold white tendrils of lightning curled from his fingertips. Moving with a skill unlike any Jakob had seen, the man dodged a metal spear that had hurtled unseen from the opposition. In the same motion as the dodge the magician threw his hands forward.
Releasing his magic, not a word spoken, lightning and fire curled from his fingertips cracking through the air towards where the spear had come from.
Wow, Jakob thought as the magician released his magic. This was a man who had immense power and control over his magic. Not to mention the ease in which he used it. Jakob was certain that whatever the magician was fighting had been turned into ashes in an instant. Nothing could survive this constant stream of power the magician gave off.
Ahead of the man Jakob watched with surprise as the stream of fire and lightning was parted by an unseen force. If Jakob had been there his jaw would have hit the ground. How? wondered Jakob.
In that second Jakob rethought all he knew of magic and came up with two possibilities. Either the magician was weak and not actually as strong as he seemed and thus deflecting his magic was easy. But no… that could not be right. The man who had killed Jakob's family had not felt this in control of his power. The other theory that Jakob had come up with was much more horrifying. The person who he was fighting was so powerful that it made the magician's power seem about as strong as a straw house in an avalanche.
Out of the smoke ahead a figure stepped into view. The figure was wearing a dark black cloak that had been pulled back revealing her face. Moving even faster than Jakob's host, the female mage waved her hands in a circle. Deep, unnatural, blood red circles formed out of the air as she cast a spell. Bodies that lay at her feet started to shake. With a thud that sounded eerily like a heartbeat, blood erupted from the dead and formed snake-like coils around the female magician's arms.
Smiling with the same expression as his family's killer, the female magician raised her arms and pointed them palm outwards at the male magician.
"I've always wanted to steal a King's soul," she said with as much emotion as a brick.
A King? Thought Jakob, I'm living a King's memories?
He was stunned, this man didn't seem like a king, sure he was noble and a leader, but a king? The only stories Jakob had heard of Kings was that they were lazy, controlling people who didn't care about the people they ruled over. This king was the exact opposite of that. He was on the front lines of the battlefield in the middle of a war. Kings weren't supposed to do that.
Jakob was brought back to reality as the female mage cast another spell. All she did, almost gracefully, was flick her wrists. Faster than anything Jakob had ever seen, the coils of blood shot through the air towards the King.
The King tried to dodge the blood spears. Like a deer he leapt to the side. A fraction of a second too slow as one of the spears had sliced the outside of his leg. The King stumbled, almost losing his balance, but surprisingly the female mage didn't take advantage of the opening.
With a flick of his wrist, bundles of flickering flame appeared on the king's arm. Pressing the burning hand to his leg. Jakob winced, as the flesh stank, flames sealing the wound. The King rose to his feet and clenched his fist.
The determination was palpable, Jakob had felt the same sense of determination in the middle of a hunt.
Spark hissed into existence, cracking the very air itself. Orange shards of lightning coiled around the King's legs as he flicked his wrist. Threads of orange danced around his form, and in an instant, Jakobs view almost became a blur as the King sped towards the female mage with a swiftness that seemed to defy the laws of nature.
Yet, speed.
Speed was not the king's main weapon.
His skill, and use of magic was.
Jakob found himself captivated as the King leapt into the air, his steps leaving behind a trail of charged air.
"Hríð" The king cried out, words electrifying the air. Jakob could feel the pull of energy and the strength the King willed into his magic.
Arms out reached, the air ripped apart.
Bolts of brilliant orange shot from the sky, redirected to the female mage.
The battlefield became a canvas of light and shadows, the King's movements mimicking the rapid flashes of a thunderstorm. In this electrifying display, Jakob witnessed the combination of magic and martial skill, leaving a mark on his understanding of the potential locked within a mage's command of the elements.
Like a mosquito picking a fight with an elephant, the strength might as well have been useless. Unfazed by the King's display, the female mage stood her ground. Her face, devoid of any visible emotion, betrayed a subtle disdain for the King's attempts to subdue her. With an indifferent wave of her hand, she conjured blood spears that sailed through the air like lethargic serpents. The King, now moving with the speed of lightning itself yet only barely managed to dodge the crimson projectiles with a hair's breadth.
The female mage's eyes, cold and calculating, followed the King's every motion as if anticipating the trajectory of his evasive dance. In the face of his relentless assault, she remained anchored in an unyielding calmness, as though the chaotic dance of magic and combat held no threat to her serene composure.
As his feet thudded into the grass, the king kept moving, awing Jakob with a resolve that refused to break. The King began his next attack by throwing small fist sized balls of fire.
What are you doing? Thought Jakob as he saw the King had missed the female mage but instead made contact with the ground near her feet. Jakob was confused, as the skill that he had seen the King display earlier, what he knew of the king, a mistake like this was not something that he would have made.
Burning with a thick black smoke, unlike any material Jakob had seen, the balls of fire stuck to whatever surface they touched causing the female mage to be obstructed by smoke. Moving as fluid as a flame, as soon as the mage's view was obstructed the King moved to his left in a wide circle, one with the female mage at the centre. The King's plan was revealed to Jakob. With a wonder and sense of awe at the knowledge and skill of magic the King had displayed, Jakob watched as the King moved.
The King had managed to use the smoke to manoeuvre behind the mage, hopefully catching her by surprise. With a single word, red runes the colour of a raging bonfire appeared around his wrists. Like throwing oil on a fire, the King's arms were coated in a fire as blue as the lips of death. The air shimmered around the King's arms, and even though Jakob was just watching a memory he knew that the fire was hotter than anything he had ever seen. Pointing his palms at the female mage the King released his control on the magic.
In that moment, if he wasn't certain this was a memory, Jakob would have thought the world had ended. With an explosion, an avalanche of fire, bright flames ripped through the air. An explosive eruption engulfed the battlefield. The air crackled with the searing heat, and the acrid scent of burning mingled with the aroma of scorched earth. Bright hues of orange and blue painted the canvas of destruction, casting long, grotesque shadows that seemed to writhe in agony.
The very earth trembled and groaned as it was blown apart, destruction drowning out all other sounds.
Everything was on fire.
The very air itself, burning.
Nothing could have survived the King's assault of pure power.
Then, as abruptly as the chaos had erupted, a profound quiet settled over the battlefield. The flames, once raging and defiant, now whispered their demise in fading embers. The air, which had crackled with unrestrained energy, now hung heavy with the weight of silence.
In the stillness that followed, Jakob felt a calmness wash over him. The world seemed frozen in time, suspended in a breathless moment of aftermath. The once-vibrant battlefield lay transformed into a desolate landscape, the remnants of the magical eruption etched into the scorched ground.
Out of nowhere a small breeze twisted around the battlefield pushing away clouds of ash. As the sky cleared the King inhaled a breath, standing before him, frozen in ash, was the female mage.
"The Soul mage is dead" The King said.
Collapsing to one knee exhausted from the fight he shouted across the Battlefield. "The Soul mage is dead." As the king's calls rang across the battlefield, a soldier approached the ash corpse. With a spell, balls of rock formed around his wrists. He must be an earth mage, thought Jakob. The Earth mage raised his hands and swung at the statue of ash fully intending to destroy it.
As significant as a grain of sand on a beach, a wrist of the statue turned until the palm was facing towards the rock gauntlets heading towards it.
The statue of the soul mage moved.