Ch. 34: Wildfire

There was no use hiding now. Fire, dressed in white and blue robes, glowing rune armor barely visible underneath, had been trudging along in the darkness, trying to hide the glowing runes on his armor within the folds of his thick robes. Then, five minutes ago, Fire heard an explosion echo through the night, partially muffled by the swamp water around him. A tongue of flame spurted into the air on his left side, then died down, spreading across the flammable peat of the bog only a few miles away. Fire sped up, hoping to avoid the uncontrolled flames before they reached him.



Wild, wheezing laughter. Fire turned his head from side to side, electric eyes glinting from beneath his hood. The swamp water rippled slightly, just off to his right. A hooded head emerged, followed by a long, white robe, jagged patterns weaving themselves across and around. Two short, stubby arms, their hands covered by sleeves. Legs hidden. It flapped out of the bog and onto the road, shaking off the dirty wetness of the marsh. Fire paused, reached behind his back, unsheathing a long, silver claymore studded with sapphires. Held it uplifted in a special style he developed himself, using the weight of the blade to enhance its speed. The wheezing figure across the road cocked its head to one side, apparently unbothered by the gleaming weapon, hood pulled low to hide its expression.



“I do not want to fight you unless it is absolutely necessary. Please step aside. If you hinder me, I will have to disable you.” The hooded figure burst out into uncontrollable laughter, nearly falling over with hilarity.



“Disable me? I’d like to see you try with that pointy thing!” It spoke with a sneering, nasal voice. Fire, enraged, pulled off his hood and revealed his rune armor. Blue eyes burned, partially hidden by a red mess of hair. On his chestplate was a great blue eye carved into the armor, dabbed with woad, glowing in the dim firelight given off by the distant marsh flames.



“I am Fire, soldier of Requiem, former leader of the clan of the Order, founder of the Council of Grasp, member of…”



“Grasp? As in, the now-defunct council that my client used to be part of? What trash. If that’s all you can claim, Fire, then your reputation is far greater than what it should be.”



“And who might you be? Just a mercenary, nothing more.”



“I wouldn’t say ‘just’ a mercenary. I am Cyberos, the seventh greatest mercenary in the world of Lore. I’m not that well known among humans, but,” long, white fingers stretched out from beneath the folds of his stubby sleeves, pulling back his hood and revealing a rounded, flat face with protruding lips, “I am well known among my own kind.” Fire squinted, trying to get a better look, then backed up, shocked by what he saw. His opponent had a duck head.



A wide, orange beak clacked with each word Cyberos uttered. Twin beady eyes peered out from beneath a mess of white feathers on its head, suggesting a bad hair day or, in this case, a bad feather day. White fingers and stubby arms were actually feathers and wings. The flapping sound from walking came from webbed feet and a distinct waddle. Fire was bewildered, didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He almost didn’t react as a geyser of water erupted underneath his feet, exploding the dirt path around him in a shower of boiling mud.



Fire was moving in a flash, dodging swiftly to one side. He drew a shape in the air with his fingers, gestured upwards, then finished the runic sentence with a final flourish. Fireballs erupted from his hand, speeding towards Cyberos. A simple quack, and a waterfall poured from a hole in the air, dousing the fireballs. None of them ever touched the tip of his beak. Fire glared, drew a circle with his sword, letting the sapphires on the blade glow with magic. A tidal wave of muddy water came roaring up on his right side, forcing him to abandon the magic mid-gesture. He dashed forward, blade glinting, trying to avoid being splashed and get to Cyberos at the same time. No luck. For a wild moment, he thought he was going to drown. Mouth filled up with dissolved dirt, felt something wriggle under his tongue, could be a worm. Wanted to scream, clean his mouth and nostrils and eyes from the filth. Then was above the surface, gasping for breath, red hair hanging down in long hunks, water receding back into the swamp. Cyberos stared at him curiously, wings folded, one foot flapping against the wet ground.



“Rune magic, huh? Powerful stuff, but hard to control. You use gestures with your hand or a magical tool to draw the symbols in the air, then use those symbols to conjure an attack of whatever element you select. It allows for a great variety of spells to be used, but isn’t specific as to the exact spell being used. That first spell you used was of the Fire type, in concurrence with your name. I could barely make out the beginnings of an Ice spell in your second attack. I’m guessing your third and final element is lightning?” Fire didn’t reply. With ruffled hair feathers, his opponent looked like a duck version of Einstein. With his nasal voice and long-winded explanations, he sounded like one too. “You’re probably wondering why I’m so powerful with water magic? After all, most mages use water for healing and other nonsense like that. The truth is, water is possibly one of the most powerful forms of magic, because you can do anything with it, absolutely anything. For example…” Cyberos flapped a wing. A second wave of mud formed, grew, and took on the shape of an alligator. It turned, paddling into the distance. Fire heard loud splashes, saw the light from the distant flames die off as the alligator swallowed them up. Then, returning at a blinding speed, it grinned at Fire, revealing watery teeth, a glow in its mouth, then opened wide, releasing a torrent of flaming peat.



Fire had been preparing an ice spell with his fingers behind his back; now he cast it. A great wall of ice went up, spikes of frozen water flaring in all directions, the spell solidifying and chilling the very air around it. Flaming chunks of peat bounced off, making the ice glow like molten glass. But none made it through. Cyberos quacked in mild surprise. Fire saw him open his mouth to speak, decided not to let him have the chance. He drew a quick spell with his sword, then unleashed a flurry of…snowflakes.



“See? I told you, rune magic isn’t very specific. If you don’t take the time to define the parameters of your spell with extra constraints and definitions, it will do absolutely anything it wants. In this case, your spell decided to turn into a cheap party decoration. No good for fighting an experienced mercenary like me. Now, with verbal magic, like the kind I use, you’re restrained to only one element, but what you do with that element can be truly amazing.” A single quack. The swamp rose up on both sides of Fire, forming two walls of cloudy water, cutting out all light. Fire glanced at Cyberos, saw him form what must have been a grin with his beak. Then The water buried them both.



This time, Fire was sure he was drowning. He couldn’t see anything, could barely feel his mouth go numb from the freezing temperature of the swamp water, felt his sword threaten to tug itself free of his grasp. He held on tight with both hands, drawing a jagged rune in the water, struggling to complete a long and complex spell while fighting against the violent flow of the water he was slowly sinking into. He felt his rune armor weighing him down, felt the water in his nostrils threatening to follow the winding way up through his sinuses to his brain….



A magical period, the end of the sentence. A brilliant, jagged bolt of lightning boiled the surrounding swamp water in a flash, leaving Fire steaming, white cloak brown and muddy, mouth gaping for air, but alive. He stood on the road for a few seconds, trying to blink the lightning out of his eyes. He had taken a huge chunk of magic out of his system; now he was drained, his sword losing its gleam, armor no longer glowing. But he had done it. A cough. Fire turned to glare at a small, fluffy duck in charred robes. Head twitching with paralysis, tongue lolling out.



“You’re right that rune magic isn’t very specific. In fact, if you want to do anything with it, it usually takes a while. But the great thing about it is that you don’t need to say a single word. Now, with your kind of magic, once you lose your voice,” another cough, a half-quack, weak and nasal, “once you’ve lost the ability to say anything, you’re finished.” Fire raised his sword above his head, brought it down remorselessly. He panted for a few moments, tired with the effort of trying to stay alive, exhausted with just lifting his sword. He wiped it clean against the white robes of his enemy, then sheathed it. Gathered up the tatters of the now-muddy cloak about him, pulled up his hood over dirty red hair. Kept moving. As an afterthought, he carved a symbol in the air, trying to make a light for himself. A fireball glowed briefly in his hand, then went out, sending the thick smell of smoke up his nostrils. Fire glared in the darkness. After years of training, he still hadn’t mastered rune magic.