He frowned. Probably not.
I hear you, Terwain replied. Don’t worry, everything will work out just like I said it would and so much more. And it’s so easy. All you do is thrust all three Swords of Valor into the ground, in any order. Then, you and your wizards start channeling your magical energy into the swords. Then, most importantly, you chant the word ‘Fhyrrstorm’ as loudly as you can, just like you would any Tytin spell. Then all you have to do is sit back and watch the fireworks. Several bright pops of color formed in his mind’s eye.
Teryn scowled. What are fireworks?
Ugh. Never mind. Just make sure the ground beneath you is comfortable, because you’ll be sleeping on it a while. This spell will drain even your reserves down to nothing. But I promise you, you can do this.
His eyes darted toward the enemy forces, then back down at the ground. He could feel his breathing start to come in short bursts and his hands shake.
All I’m saying is this spell better work, because if it doesn’t, we’re all dead! Boom! Fry! Gone! We’re all frickin’ dead!
Teryn took a few deep breaths and tried to convince himself he could accomplish the task at hand. But he didn’t get long to think about it.
Right then, the head of the Xerczan Wizard’s Guild came forth from the throngs of wizards in front of them and approached him. The Guild Leader was wearing his signature crimson cloak that shrouded his face and most of his features from view. Even from a distance, it appeared ancient and tattered, which made no sense for someone of such great power and position. But it was sure scary.
As the Guild Leader approached, an ominous sense of foreboding came over Teryn’s group.
The Guild Leader stopped a few feet short of Teryn’s ‘army’ and raised his head, dark eyes staring out at them. Teryn looked up at the hooded figure in awe. The man was even taller and more imposing than he remembered.
Sitting there staring into his foe’s cold, dark eyes, he started to lose his confidence. In the corner of his mind, he could hear Terwain telling him not to lose faith and trying to reassure him, but it was no use. His legs shook on their own and he thought for a moment he might lose control of his bladder.
Tch. Some image that would create.
After a long pause, the Guild Leader spoke to them in a deep, demonic tone. “You will all make fine sacrifices for me.”
The man’s words gave Teryn’s band such a fright that all the wizards started to shake. A few fell to their knees and broke out into full-on sobs.
“Your high level of magical energy will help to serve for the rebirth of my master. Especially you, my dear Valeria. I shall relish draining your soul of power.”
With that, the Guild Leader threw back his hood, revealing a bare skull with deep, glowing eyes that seemed to pierce through anything. Lange Du Mort, demonic leader of the Xerczan Wizard’s Guild, let out a slow, maniacal laugh and pulled out a scythe-like weapon, ready to strike.
The creature lashed out at Valeria, striking faster than Teryn’s eyes could follow. He tried to throw himself into harm’s way, but was way too late.
Lange Du Mort’s weapon struck true, leaving a deep gash in Valeria’s chest.
Valeria screamed and crumbled to the ground, clutching at her wound. Teryn watched dumbfounded, suddenly unable to move.
Then the demon raised its scythe again, poised to strike Teryn down and end the conflict in one fell swoop. The young mage’s eyes went wide as he stared down certain death. He tried to raise an arm in defense and could not. He closed his eyes and waited.
The scythe came crashing down, but death never came. Teryn risked opening one eye. Above his head, he saw a blade of pure fire blocking the scythe. It belonged to Lyrad. The priest had defended him.
“You’ll go no further!” the priest said in a rage. Anger filled his eyes.
Lange Du Mort scowled and retracted its weapon. It swung it again, at the priest this time, but the lithe warrior was more than ready. He deflected the blow and assailed the demon with a few lashes of his own. The two started to fight in earnest, matching blow for blow.
Lyrad’s heroic actions brought Teryn out of his trance-like state. He found himself able to move again, and bounded into action.
First, he raced to Valeria’s side. He knelt down next to her and lifted her head. Gingerly, he placed one finger on her temple. She still had a pulse and was breathing, if shallowly.
He looked at the wound on her chest. It looked deep, and worse, infected by the foul magic of the demon’s weapon. It was unlikely he’d be able to heal it, even with Lyrad’s help. And Lyrad was a little occupied at the moment.
No, a wound this deep and evil would require the work of a dozen priests to reverse, or the Head Priest. Maybe even more than that.
Teryn gave Valeria’s prone form a gentle kiss on the forehead and laid her back down on the ground. He took one last look at her and threw a magical stasis bubble over her, a spell of his own invention. He hoped it would keep her alive long enough to get her help.
As he got back to his feet, he could feel an unrighteous anger fill him with a resolve unlike any he’d ever known. He stared at Lange Du Mort, no longer afraid of the demon, and scowled.
“You’ve hurt your last victim!” he shouted.
The sound was enough to distract the demon for a brief second and in that moment,
