“I have no idea,” Sage Gallian lied. The Sage Mind had actually told him about this possibility mere moments prior, but had asked him not to reveal that fact and he obeyed.
“Then the side effects of the Tytin magic must be at work within you, Wise One.” The Great Dragon nodded his head. “Please be safe, lest you go mad!”
“I shall be careful,” the young Sage replied with a slight bow. “Well, I must be on my way.”
With that, Sage Gallian uttered the words of the Tytin teleportation magic once more and was gone in a flash of bright light.
* * * * * * * * * *
Much like before, tendrils of bright light seeped out of the pages of the book, knocking Teryn back into his own head.
This time, Teryn was prepared for the shock and he clung to consciousness, but not by much. The book closed itself this time. He uttered the spell on the back a few times but to no avail. Try though he might, Teryn could not get the tome to reopen. The tale was finished, and there was no going back to it. Not now, at least.
Teryn sat back and wept. He had been so certain this book would hold the answers he sought and yet, he still had no idea where his beloved Valeria was held captive, nor did he have any idea of where to find her.
As he sat there and wept, a crazy thought came to him.
I may not know where to go next, but I now know someone who might!
Chapter EightThe Arena
“Things are not always how they seem at first.
A closer look is often needed to find the truth.”
Book of Gallian, 4:45.
Year 4996 (Three years ago)
“Ow!” Lyrad screamed as he fell to the ground. His opponent’s blow had nearly knocked him senseless.
He blinked his eyes a few times, finding it hard to see through the tears of pain that were forming. Instinctively, he rubbed the point of impact with his hand to ease the pain a little. Lyrad was slightly confused that his opponent was giving him this chance to regain his composure, but also grateful. When the tears had gone away and he was able to see again, he glanced up at the man.
His opponent was dressed in all black. He seemed to be wearing a single piece of fabric that somehow covered nearly every inch of his form, leaving only a small slit for his eyes. The uniform looked rather familiar, though Lyrad couldn’t tell why. It was like the memory was there at the corner of his mind, but not quite clear enough to make out. Frustrated, he promptly dropped the matter.
“That wasn’t a very nice thing to do,” Lyrad told the man in black, who was now hovering over him, likely trying to decide what to do next. “Now I’m gonna have to heal this injury so I don’t get a bad bruise.”
Several boos and hisses emerged from the surrounding crowds as Lyrad said those words. Apparently, they’d heard his comment and were not pleased with it.
He felt like cursing at them for it, but he didn’t have the strength. Right now, it was all he could do just to stand up, and even that wasn’t going too well. After a few moments, the priest trainee gave up and stayed on the ground, nursing his head injury. The crowds evidently didn’t like this sign of weakness either, for the catcalls were getting steadily louder.
Not that Lyrad cared anymore.
Man, do I have a headache. Stars swam in his vision. How am I gonna get out of here? I mean, there’s no way I can take this guy on with just my priest training. I doubt I could even take on a ten-year-old right now. Maybe I should try talking to him, seeing as he looks so familiar. He might be responsive to that.
“Um, excuse me, sir,” Lyrad started to say while trying his best to look up at the menacing man hovering over him. “I can’t help but think I know you from somewhere. Might I have the pleasure of your name?”
The man in black nodded briefly, not to him but rather to the crowd, then he turned back to face him and kicked Lyrad in the side, sending him reeling with pain. This act made the crowd go wild for the man in black, and they cheered louder now than they had previously.
The man in black raised one hand in the air and walked around haughtily while Lyrad continued to lie and moan on the ground. By this point, Lyrad was starting to understand how things worked in the arena – hit a man and you get cheers from the crowd. Cower and get booed.
It was a brutishly simple and straightforward code. Lyrad liked the idea of being cheered more, so he cast a few quick healing spells and stood up to face the man in black, taking on a vague fighting stance with fists raised. It all felt wildly familiar and yet foreign at the same time, like he was living someone else’s life.
A few of the people in the crowd cheered Lyrad on for showing courage, which gave him strength enough to run at the man in black and even take a swing at him. Unfortunately for the priest trainee, his opponent saw this move coming from a mile away and blocked his punch with the ease and grace of a true master.
Then he returned the favor, punching Lyrad in the stomach and sending him flying through the air a couple of feet back onto the ground near where he had started his advance.
Lyrad clutched at his stomach with both hands, the throbbing pain more intense than the previous head pain had been.
He strained to hear the crowds, who had replaced all the cheers for him with a lively chorus of
