Sorcerer's Shadow

Chapter 24: Golden Chain

Every person should, at least once in their life, experience a duel between two magicians. I would've appreciated observing this one from a safer distance, however. The space between them seemed to shimmer, causing my vision to blur. Anatole wielded a staff in his right hand, held out in front. The tip radiated a golden glow, making objects behind it appear hazy and distorted. His other hand kept tracing patterns in the air, causing my ears to pop occasionally for reasons I couldn't fathom.

I noticed Drevolan struggling. He had lost whatever upper hand he had, and was now braced against a wall. A dark mist surrounded him, pushing against an unseen force trying to penetrate his defenses. Even from thirty feet away, I could see the sweat beading on his forehead.

Anatole advanced a step. Drevolan raised his hands and the dark mist intensified. I remembered an old saying: Never engage a Wizard in his fortress. The dark mist faded away, and Drevolan seemed to wilt against the wall. Anatole moved forward again and raised his hands. An old adage about wizards and knives came to mind. Anatole had his back towards me now.

My knife hit him high on his back, just next to his spine, missing his shoulder blade slightly. He faltered. Drevolan straightened up and stepped forward, turning to face Anatole. Anatole vanished in a blink, one of the quickest teleports I've ever witnessed. As he disappeared, Drevolan made a gesture and a flash of bright light followed, though it seemed to have little effect. I stepped into the room, approaching Drevolan.

He turned towards me. "Thank you, Lord Dravos."

I shrugged. "I can't figure out how to free the staff from its confinement."

"Alright. Let's"

Clang. The door flung open and a swarm of Imperions flooded in. An uncountable horde, more or less. Most of them bore the distinctive sharp chins and high foreheads of the House of the Dragon, though a couple of Pardus were scattered amongst them. All were donned in the red and white of the Lurivox. I took note of their broadswords and longswords as I unsheathed my modest little rapier. I sighed.

"No, Viktor," Drevolan interrupted. "Retrieve the staff. I'll hold them off."

"But"

Drevolan drew his sword, an action that immediately assaulted my senses. The room seemed to darken. I'd recognized it as Norsanti the first time I saw it, but he hadn't unsheathed it in front of me before. Now...

Now, I recognized it as a Great Weapon, one of the Seventeen. A blade capable of shattering kingdoms. Its steel was as dark as its handle, and its core was grey. It was small for a longsword, and seemed to swallow the room's light. Phantoms of a thousand years perched on my shoulder, whispering, "Flee, if you cherish your soul."

Our eyes met briefly. "I'll hold them," he reiterated.

I stood frozen, awestruck, for a split second, before regaining my senses. "I can't extract it from"

"Correct," he said, glancing around the room. In case you're curious, the guards had been frozen in the doorway during our entire conversation, staring at Drevolan's sword and presumably mustering the courage to advance. Drevolan's gaze fell on the pedestal where one end of the golden chain lay, its other end coiling in mid-air.

"Try that," Drevolan suggested.

Great. Just the type of object I was eager to tamper with.

I dashed towards it and, making a concerted effort not to overthink, seized the end of the chain near its contact point with the pedestal. It was loose, easily coming off in my hand while the other end continued to coil mid-air like a poised serpent. I moved towards the door leading to the cell, pausing just long enough to survey the frozen tableau of guards and Drevolan. Every pair of eyes was locked onto that blade.

Maybe they would have lost their nerve and chosen not to attack; I can't say. However, while they were deliberating, Drevolan sprung into action. A single sweep of his blade felled one, his body nearly split in two from right shoulder to left hip. Drevolan thrust forward, piercing the next guard through the heart who shrieked. A jet of what I can only describe as dark flame issued from Drevolan's left hand, prompting additional cries.

I looked away, certain that he could keep them at bay - as long as Anatole didn't reappear.

I hastened towards the glowing cube.

The chain appeared to be made of gold links, each half an inch long. However, in my grasp, it felt sturdier than gold. I wished I'd had the opportunity to examine it more closely. I ran my left hand over it, as if petting it. It wasn't rigidly suspended in the air, so I pushed it down. It met some resistance before it hung loosely, behaving as a chain should. This improved my spirits considerably. I took a moment to ponder and prepared myself for any life-flashing-before-my-eyes scenario (it didn't materialize), and then, at a loss for other options, I struck the chain against the orange glow, ready for any backlash it might cause. A faint tingling sensation traveled up my arm. The glow intensified momentarily and then vanished.

A white staff with a rusty star at the end lay on the floor. I swallowed hard and picked it up. It felt slightly cold, and perhaps heavier than it should have been, but touching it didn't affect me. Holding my newfound spoils, I turned towards the cacophony of chaos.

As I re-entered the room, a brilliant flash of light nearly blinded me. I managed to squint and lower my head to shield my eyes, so I could see when I looked up again: around two dozen bodies lay scattered on the floor. Drevolan stood, legs spread apart, using his sword as a barrier against a barrage of white light emanating from

Anatole!

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