Night had already passed before they reached the outskirts of the village, and the smoke-filled air bore witness to the previous night’s destruction. Darius lowered himself off of Prydon’s back and helped the girl down.
She began to cry. “So much destruction. Why does he keep dragging this out? Why doesn’t he just finish us off and be done with it?”
Darius walked to her side and put his arm around her shoulder. “I’m sorry, um…What is your name?”
“Alara.” The name was whispered through a choppy voice.
“I’m sorry, Alara. Don’t give up. I’ll do what I can.” Darius glanced over at Prydon. “We’ll do what we can.”
“I have to get to my family. I have to make sure they are safe.” Alara’s eye swelled with tears.
“Go,” said Prydon. “Tell them of our presence, and when the attack comes once more, we will be ready. Until then, we will remain here, hidden from your attacker’s view.”
Alara simply nodded and then ran toward her village. Darius watched until she was no longer in sight. Sitting on a log, he stared down into a pile of dirt he’d been pushing around with his foot.
“Why does this sorcerer keep coming back? I mean, with my father’s village—with my village—Klavon destroyed them in one huge battle. Why this?” Darius gestured at the tortured town.
“It is odd,” said Prydon. “Perhaps this is a young sorcerer, one who has not yet achieved full command of his abilities. Or perhaps he simply wants to break the village, break their will to exist and not destroy it. With no wizard present, they are vulnerable to sorcerers who would wish to force them into subjugation.”
“That doesn’t seem right,” said Darius. “I mean, why wouldn’t a wizard make sure that his village is taken care of before he…you know, dies or something.”
“I agree. Wizards always have a plan. It could be the protection of a neighboring wizard, an agreement with a wizard who has yet to take a village of his own, or even a son to take his pl—”
“A son!” exclaimed Darius, jumping up from the log. “Prydon, could this be Norinar’s village…Loklan’s village?”
Prydon hesitated and then said, “Alara would have known my name, and it was clear she did not.”
“Maybe…but Barsovy said Loklan’s father had died unexpectedly, and Alara said the same about her wizard.”
Prydon nodded. “True, but most likely this is an odd coincidence.”
“Why?” asked Darius.
“Because when a wizard trains, as is Loklan, the village for whom he trains is under Barsovy’s protection.”
Darius said, “I know Barsovy is, well, everywhere at the training field, but he couldn’t possibly—”
“Barsovy acts with powers beyond those of normal wizards. His power comes from the valley and the wizards of old. With their strength, he places a spell to shelter a village whose wizard is in training,” said Prydon. “Basically, they become invisible to any sorcerer wishing to take over a village already granted a wizard’s care.”
“So this couldn’t possibly be Loklan’s village,” said Darius
“Unless…” Prydon’s head swayed as if in deep contemplation.
“Unless what?” asked Darius.
“Unless the sorcerer attacking this village has no desire to conquer it. Unless his motive is only to attract the attention of someone else,” said Prydon. “In that case, Barsovy’s spell would have no effect. And even though a sorcerer’s objective, by his very nature, is to conquer and rule, there is one.”
Darius had never seen Prydon look so worried. “You think it’s Klavon…and he’s trying to get to me.”
“Let us hope not,” said Prydon, closing his eyes and shaking his head.
With a rustle of leaves, Alara appeared on a path from the village. She was carrying a basket of food. “My family is safe for now. I thought—”
“Was Norinar your wizard?” Prydon asked, his eyes now open.
Alara’s eyes became wide and then her brow wrinkled with confusion. “What? Well, yes, but—”
Darius started to speak, but Prydon cut in, a brief glance telling Darius to stay quiet.
“We met Loklan at the training fields. It was mentioned his father was killed in an accident.”
“Yes, he’s my cousin,” said Alara. “I only came to this village a few months ago, when my mother passed. Shortly after was when the accident occurred. I only saw Locklan for a short time, at the burial. Is he doing well?”
“Yes,” answered Prydon. “He is doing very well. Is that food?”
Alara smiled and glanced at her basket. “I wanted to do something. It’s not much, but…”
“Thank you,” said Darius, taking the basket.
“I need to get back now,” she said. She headed toward town but stopped and turned around. “Thank you. Thank you both.”
Darius smiled, and Prydon nodded.
“Why didn’t you tell her about Klavon?” asked Darius when she was adequately gone.
“There is no need. If it is Klavon, then telling her might cause this village to lay blame on you—lose faith in you. That is something we can not chance. They are counting on you…and it is, after all, only a suspicion.”
“A huge, logical suspicion,” said Darius. He sat back down on the log, the basket of food set beside him, and remained frozen. His breathing quickened as he thought about what Prydon said. “I’m scared, Prydon.”
Prydon rubbed his chin with his clawed hand and said, “Barsovy would not have given you that sword and staff unless he believed that you were ready.”
“But the Valley of Wizards?” Darius asked, looking up at his friend.
Prydon nodded. “The valley is indeed a final step in your training, but it teaches you nothing more than the strength of your character. Your skills in battle have already been taught, and that is what you will need here.”
“But what if I fail? What if I become angry and Klavon defeats me?”
Prydon smiled. “What if you succeed? What if you temper your anger and defeat Klavon? Then your task is completed, here, this very evening.”
Darius sat quietly and stared out over distant hills.
Prydon continued, “A certain amount of fear in battle is healthy. It heightens your senses and allows you to embrace caution, a lesson I believe you recently learned. Besides, we don’t even know for sure it is Klavon.”
Darius bolted. “Prydon—Fraenir! He might be here as well!”
“I am prepared,” replied Prydon. “I have my own debt to settle.”
Few words were spoken the remainder of the day, and when evening came, he and Prydon walked to the edge of the village and waited in a veil of darkness behind the closest building. The villagers who passed by returning to their homes did not notice them, but anxiety hung thick and venomous in the air, connecting the villagers in a web of shared apprehension. And they were all depending on him and Prydon for protection.
As Alara predicted, minions began to appear.
“Remember our plan,” said Prydon. “You will do well, Darius, and I will see you soon.”
Without hesitation, Prydon flew to the other end of town to work from there, and Darius stepped into the street, wielding his staff and sword. They would do what they could to sandwich the enemy and devour them up.
Focusing his concentration, Darius breathed deeply and began extinguishing fires that were already ablaze. Alara was correct. They were now attacking houses, and Darius spent most of his energy defending those first. The minions were fast, very fast, and Darius began to wonder if he’d spend his entire night cleaning behind their path instead of confronting them directly.
As if on cue, the small demons split, and several headed directly for Darius. His attention now alternated between the fires and the groups of minions. A few avoided his attack and crept in close, growling with sharp teeth. Darius sliced with his sword as they lunged for him, and their tiny bodies fell to the ground. It was brutal, and no sooner would he disperse one group than another
would appear.
As Darius held a spell to extinguish a large fire, minions enclosed upon him. He held his sword to keep them at bay, focusing his staff on the fire, while some of the villagers appeared nearby and formed a water brigade. The minions changed their target. They squealed and ran for the villagers, attempting to prevent them from dousing the flames. For a moment, Darius would be forced to decide between saving a second barn or destroying those minions. To his surprise, however, Alara appeared and took it upon herself to protect them. With a large club, she booted them away, sending them flying in a broken heap. One managed to weasel its way exceptionally close to Alara, and she punched it soundly in the face.
Darius laughed, thinking briefly of the first time he had met her, but this diversion was quickly interrupted as the roof of a nearby house began to cave in. Villagers appeared inside the door, a woman with several small children, and Darius waved his staff. The roof remained steady, and as if in response, Alara ran to their aid.
Darius strained, and it took all his concentration as Alara aided the woman and children from the burning home. From behind, however, a small band of minions clambered atop his body, and Darius could hold it no longer; the roof collapsed. Flames, sparks, and shattered timbers came crashing down, and Darius screamed as he lost sight of Alara and the villagers. He whirled about and with one strike, sent the minions to oblivion. Frantically, he sent a spell to douse the flames, and he ran toward the house.
Alara, the woman, and the children emerged from the smoke, coughing but otherwise reasonably in good health.
Alara stared at Darius. “Go!”
Darius hesitated. Alara’s arm trickled with blood from a large cut, and her face was scratched. Anger began to swell within him. The stone in his staff began to pulse, and a flicker of red sparked deep within its cloudy surface. He blinked hard, remembering the words Prydon had spoken to him.
Alara shoved him soundly in the chest. “Go, I said! We’ll be fine!”
Blood pounded through his heart, but he nodded. Leaving Alara behind, he focused his attention on one task; reaching the center of the town where he and Prydon had agreed to meet.
As he headed down the cluttered street, Darius was faced with a mob of demons. With a wave of his staff, the line of minions was sent flying, their high-pitched screams melting in the wind. He had no time to discern if Prydon had made any headway as a group of three attacked. One jumped on his back, while two others clawed at his waist and legs. A snap of his staff on the ground sent a shock wave several yards out, and all three were thrown against nearby walls of buildings. In a daze they lay there, and Darius’s jaw tensed. He snarled, and with another flash, they were gone, pulverized into dust.
Darius continued to work his way toward the center of town as lines of evil creatures sent bolts of fire in every direction. The villagers were trying to douse the flames, but their progress was slow and they were losing ground. Darius did what he could between assaults to help them, but his main focus now was against the minions themselves.
No sooner would Darius send a line of the vile creatures to their graves than another wave would come. Several managed to break ranks, pouncing on him with the same results as before, but one managed to take a sizable bite out of his shoulder. Darius screamed in pain. He grabbed the minion around the neck and threw it to the ground in front of him. The minion laughed, Darius’s blood dripping from its mouth, but in an instant it was no more, annihilated by Darius’s spell.
Darius winced from the pain, but he pushed on. He wasn’t far from the center of town where they had agreed to meet, and as he reached their rendezvous, Prydon was already in the midst of battling hordes of minions.
“Up there!” Prydon yelled as he slashed with his tail at a minion quartet attempting to climb his spine.
Darius looked where Prydon motioned. Atop a barn in the middle of the village stood a sorcerer. He was older than Darius, but still quite young, much too young to be Klavon, but Darius had no time to ponder it. The sorcerer’s laughter echoed above the flames that shot about him as he stood, his image hazed by the heat of the fire.
Prydon roared, and Darius’s gaze shot back to his friend. Several groups of minions attempted to engulf him only to become ash in his path, but many broke through. Prydon spun, and several others were skewered and slung by his massive tail.
“Prydon!” yelled Darius.
“No! I can handle this! You take care of him!”
Darius turned back to the sorcerer, who now appeared in front of the building facing Darius.
“So you think you can take me, do you?” Flames continued to surround the sorcerer as he slowly headed toward Darius. “No, I don’t think so. Everyone will know of the power I have demonstrated here. Everyone will fear me!”
A dull punch in his stomach, and Darius was thrown backwards into a pile of firewood. His staff and sword were thrown from his grip and lay a few yards away. Darius hissed and scrambled toward his weapons, ignoring the stab of pain in his side, and bounced to his feet. He attempted to clear his mind and focus.
With his own staff, he attacked, but the sorcerer countered it, dispersing its effects into a cloud of dust. Returning Darius’s attack, Darius was pleased to find his reaction instinctive, and he too dispensed of the sorcerer’s blow. Barsovy’s shadow would have been proud.
The sorcerer laughed. “Very good. You have some talent.”
Darius would not take the bait. He had experience with this back in Brandor. Many times, some of the other youth would try to provoke him into a fight, to which end he was always laid complete blame. Punishment came swiftly from the villagers, and to keep the peace, his mother would promise likewise at home. Once home, however, she would sit him down and talk about how others who were cruel would intentionally use such tactics and that he must not allow it. It didn’t take long for him to learn to turn away, which is one reason he grew up alone.
This sorcerer reminded him of the bullies back in Brandor, praying on those weaker than he and provoking those less able. But Darius was not less able, and he would not turn away—not this time.
With a confident smile, Darius said in a calm, cool, even tone, “Talent and brains, and a dragon.”
The sorcerer scowled and brought more minions, but with Prydon’s help, Darius concentrated ferocious attacks on the sorcerer, only occasionally striking a stray minion with his sword. The sorcerer, forced to focus on Darius, began to lose his hold, and it wasn’t long before the sorcerer’s army began to diminish. All that was left was the final confrontation between Darius and the sorcerer.
Attack after attack, neither Darius nor the sorcerer gained any ground as one would quickly dissipate the other’s spells. Some villagers huddled in the distance, too afraid to come any closer, and the volley between Darius and sorcerer continued.
After some time, Darius screamed, “Enough of this!” With sword in hand, he charged, and hand-to-hand combat ensued.
Darius’s arms were sore, his shoulder bleeding from the earlier bite, and his ribs screamed for relief, but he did not stop. He dodged blows, made strikes of his own, and after what seemed an eternity, the sorcerer laughed and took a step backwards.
“You win,” he said calmly and vanished.
Darius spun in circles this way and that like a top bouncing off bumpers. “Where it he?”
“He’s gone,” said Prydon.
Alara came running up and lunged at Darius with an enormous hug. “You did it!”
“Ow,” Darius squeaked.
“Oh, sorry. Are you all right?” she asked.
“I will be. Prydon, is he really gone?” asked Darius.
Prydon scoured the village end to end with his piercing eyes. “It would seem so, but that was too easily accomplished.”
“Easy?” Alara snapped. “That was the worse yet. It was a vicious battle.”
Prydon frowned. “No, it was not.”
“Is that why you left him to fight that evil thing alone?” Alara scowled. “Onc
e the minions were gone? You just sat by—”
“Darius needed that battle,” Prydon responded. “And I would have come to his aid had he truly needed me. In fact, I was expecting to, but as I said, this victory was too easily accomplished.”
Darius nodded. Prydon had allowed Darius the opportunity to face anger and prevail, which was worth the wounds, but why did Prydon think it was easy? Pain shot through Darius’s side, and he gasped for air.
“Darius?” asked Prydon, supporting him with his clawed hand.
Alara called for help, and Prydon carried Darius to a small house. A doctor appeared at the door and ushered Darius inside and onto a bed.
“You’ve broken a rib and bruised several others.” The doctor said a while later, pouring a small amount of greenish fluid into a glass. “Here. Take this.”
“What is it?” asked Darius, holding the pungent mixture up to his nose.
“Something to make you sleep. You need rest. Undisturbed rest.”
“Is that really necessary?” Darius tried to hand the glass back to the doctor, to which he received a stern glare.
Alara smiled. “Prydon will wait outside and keep watch. Don’t worry. We’ll be fine.”
Reluctantly, Darius took the drink. With one gulp, his eyes glazed over, and he floated into an abyss.
Chapter Twenty-four
The Diversion