Chapter 17

“Live not your days in laziness but be productive and industrious. I foresee many grand cities and many powerful nations in your future.”

The Guardian’s Instructions, penned by Rigel Knotsworth, year 1002

Barkley

"Don’t worry, Shorty,” Ashley said. “If there is a fight, you won’t be a part of it. Just keep your distance and we’ll take care of them.”

Oliver still felt nervous but followed them around the palace courtyard. He’d never been near a real battle. He was far from ready; only five days of training. “How many of them are there?”

“About two dozen soldiers and three mages, I believe,” Silas said.

“And… there’s only four of us—er, three, since I won’t be fighting—so, how do you expect to win?”

“We have General Silas Jarrah with us,” Ashley said confidently as if that was answer enough.

“My hope is that a fight won’t be necessary,” Silas said.

“Well, we just passed several of our soldiers at the gate,” Oliver said. “Why don’t we bring them along? The more we have with us, the less likely they will want to fight us.”

Silas nodded. “Yes, but they will also be less likely to tell us the truth. We need to make them believe they have the advantage.”

“They do have the advantage!”

Ashley and Ilan chuckled softly but offered no explanation why. Oliver felt certain these people were insane. Does logic work in this time period? he wondered.

Silas looked ahead with a serious expression. “There they are,” he said.

The Barklian soldiers were positioned across the entire southern wall that separated the palace from the city. They wore chainmail, metal helmets, sheathed swords, and blue uniforms. Some wielded bows and others, spears. Two mages stood guard at the southern gate, staves in hand, their robes blue. One mage—probably the captain, judging by his stylish robes, belt, and tall staff—stood next to the palace, watching the entire wall his soldiers guarded.

“Captain Knots,” Silas said, his voice thick with authority.

“Sir?” The captain saluted the general.

“Gather your men. You will receive new orders.”

Captain Knots raised a hairy eyebrow, but obeyed, calling his men to gather near him.

“Quick question,” Oliver whispered to Silas. “Why did you bring me along?”

Silas leaned back to whisper, “I need your witness against them. And…” He paused. “Well, if there is a fight, then this will be a perfect time for you to prove yourself, eh, oh great and powerful Guardian of Magic.”

Oliver rolled his eyes. “In other words, this is an early opportunity to get rid of me, isn’t it?”

Silas smirked, but didn’t answer.

The Barklian soldiers stood in perfect formation behind their captain and the two other mages. “What are bein’ your orders, General Jarrah?” Captain Knots asked, his voice accented with a thick drawl Oliver’d never heard before.

Silas took a deep breath. “Drop your weapons. And march to Magen City Prison. There we will hold you in custody until further notice.”

Captain Knots gaped, sharing looks of shock and confusion with his fellow men. “General Jarrah,” he said with confusion in his tone. “All due respect, sir, but I must be knowin’ why you would be issuin’ such an order.”

“We have received information,” Silas said, “that the country of Barkley is not our ally, but instead has allied itself with our own enemy, Forid. While we research further to confirm this new development, we must take precautions and remove your troop from the palace guard.”

The Barklians looked at each other again, baffled.

Oliver held his breath, squeezing tightly to his staff. He wanted to back away from the icy confrontation but was too frozen by fear to move anywhere. He was confident the Barklians were traitors but didn’t know if this troop would comply with Silas’ orders or not. His history books never said anything about a Barklian troop in the palace guard. At least he didn’t think they did. Now he really wished he’d paid more attention in history class as a teenager instead of playing with his drone and flirting with girls.

“I repeat,” Silas said with more sternness. “Drop your weapons and march to—”

“What false information have you been receivin,’ General?” Captain Knots interrupted, looking agitated. “I must know before you be lockin’ us up for something that ain’t true.”

Silas glanced at Oliver and then back at the Barklian mage. “It’s a prophecy from the Guardian of Magic himself,” Silas said. “We cannot risk the threat of your troop being stationed here any longer.”

Captain Knots turned his attention to Oliver and scowled. Oliver gulped. “That is bein’ a load of rotten ash,” Knots said. “We ain’t been doin’ nothin’ wrong and we ain’t going nowhere until I’ve been hearin’ a better reason for leavin’.”

“If you won’t obey my orders, then you will be forced to the prison.”

The two mages beside Captain Knots raised their staves. The soldiers behind them began to draw their swords and arm their bows with arrows. Ilan and Ashley braced themselves, ready for anything. Oliver, out of trembling reflex, raised his staff too but knew if any violence broke out, he would turn and run. What have I gotten myself into? he thought.

Knots laughed. “Now there’s a reason, ‘cept I only count four of you, and twenty-five of us. And I ain’t afraid of this pretender.” He pointed his staff at Oliver. “He is lookin’ like he’s about to be ashin’ his britches! All you Salverians are havin’ your heads in the clouds! You’re supposin’ Barkley is at war with you? Well… if you attack us, then there won’t be any more supposin’.”

Oliver didn’t remember exactly why Barkley had entered the Lennoxian War. Was it because a Salverian general attacked one of their neutral troops in Magen City? Maybe Barkley hadn’t joined the war yet. Maybe they were about to because of what Silas was about to do. Was this all my fault? Oliver wondered. If I hadn’t told Ilan and Silas about the future, then maybe Barkley would’ve remained neutral. Am I the cause of their allegiance to Forid?

Silas glared at Knots, standing his staff in front of him in a bold, non-defensive stance. “You’re wrong,” Silas said. “I don’t suppose. I know Barkley is no longer with or neutral toward Salveria. If you were, you would’ve respected the Guardian’s prophecies, and you would’ve already obeyed my orders—the orders of the Head General. Or have you forgotten who you’re dealing with?”

“No, I haven’t been forgettin’,” Knots said, shaking his head, turning his back to Silas, and giving his men a knowing look. “That’s why… NOW!”

In a blur of motion, the Barklians charged. The soldiers raised their swords as they approached, a few archers shot arrows, and the mages spun their staves, Casting a deadly torrent of fire at the small group.

Flinching, Oliver staggered backward, certain he was dead or about to die. But no arrows hit him. No fire touched him. The flames formed a harmless dome over Oliver and the others as if some sort of force field deflected them.

Silas wasn’t using his staff. It stood still in his right hand. In his left, he pointed a red wand directly at the flames. The tip emitted a red light, Casting a magical shield that extended about six feet from its tip.

Elm.

He noticed Ashley also pointed an elm wand with its magical shield at the flames but at a higher angle, just above Silas’ shield. Ilan twirled his staff in both hands, unfazed by the fire that roared around the shields.

“I’ll take the mages!” Silas shouted over the roar of the flames. “Ashley and Ilan, take the guards! And Oliver…” He looked back while holding his wand at the billowing fire. “Run. Or save us. It’s up to you.”

Oliver stood still, frozen, unsure of what to do. He’d never been in a battle before. He’d never been in a situation where someone actually wanted to kill him before. Or, even crazier, in a situation where he was expected to save someone from being killed? It was too much to take in at once.

“Break on the count of three!” Silas yelled as he began to twirl his staff in his other hand. “One, two, three!”

Silas shoved his wand at the wall of flames, pushing it upwards, and then swung his staff below it. His staff Cast another red shield, this one was twice the size and extended twice as far as the shield Cast from his wand. The magical shield connected with one of mages’ feet, sending him sprawling to the ground, his head making a dull thud as it hit the cobblestone.

He didn’t get up.

As Silas pushed the two standing mages to the left, Ashley broke to the right, using her wand’s magical shield to push out of the flames. She blocked arrows flying toward her from above and charged toward the two dozen soldiers, Ilan beside her. He twirled his staff and Cast a similar magical shield. He spun his staff in a figure eight, the red shield fanning around him at a terrible speed, and then knocked two approaching soldiers off their feet before they could get even close to a spear’s distance.

Ashley kept her wand aimed at an angle, deflecting oncoming arrows. With her other hand, she finished twirling her staff in a complicated routine and stood it upright. Electric sparks danced around the staff’s tip.

Mahogany, Oliver thought. One of the rare woods!

She carefully held her staff vertical until she found her target, an archer about forty feet away who was notching another arrow, and then whipped her staff at him. With a shockwave that caused Oliver to flinch, a brilliant flash of lightning appeared from her staff’s tip and struck the archer in the chest, knocking him several feet backward and onto the ground in a smoking heap, either dead or unconscious. Ashley spotted another archer and shot him down with another bolt of lightning, a roar of thunder echoing off the palace walls.

Oliver stood there gawking. He knew he should probably run, but the sight before him forced him to marvel. The magic displayed in battle was frighteningly more powerful than he’d expected. He was amazed by the skill Silas, Ashley, and Ilan demonstrated as they performed each Carving with grace and ease. The fight between Silas and the two remaining mages left him breathless.

Captain Knots and his fellow mage had also Cast magical shields, extended six feet from red wands in their left hands, and used them to block and trade blows with Silas. With their staves, the Barklian mages continued to Cast fire at Silas. They maneuvered around him, trying to get their flames around his shields, but Silas thwarted the fire by twirling two magical shields, a six-foot-one from his wand and a twelve-foot one from his staff, around himself in a skillful routine.

The mages twirled their staves around themselves as well, shooting fire in every direction. It was like watching someone twirl a flamethrower. As impressive as it was to twirl fire-Casting staves without burning themselves, the mages could not even singe Silas. He batted the flames left and right, the red hue from his shields looking like spinning wheels with strobe lights on them as he twirled his staff and wand around himself.

One deflected fireball flew right by Oliver’s head, bringing him to his senses. That’s right, he thought. I’m supposed to be running. He spun on his heels to turn and run, but faced, instead, a Barklian soldier with a spear aimed at his chest. Out of pure shock and reflex, Oliver raised his staff just in time to knock the solder’s spear to the side, barely missing his ribs.

The soldier lost his footing and Oliver back peddled, trying to get away from him. The soldier pursued him, catching up. Oliver’s heart thumped so hard his whole body shook. He didn’t have the time to realize how crazy it was that he was about to be killed. He didn’t have the time to think. The primitive part of Oliver took over. Realizing he couldn’t outrun the soldier, he turned to face him, gripping his staff with two hands, both still blistered from hours of training.

The soldier lunged, trying to stab Oliver in the gut. Screaming in fright, Oliver knocked his spear to the left and sidestepped its deadly tip. The soldier stabbed again, but somehow Oliver managed to block or dodge each attack by the skin of his teeth.

The soldier feigned a lunge, stepping toward Oliver, who lost his balance, and the soldier kicked him in the chest, knocking him on his back onto the cobblestone. The soldier stood over Oliver, glaring at him from under his helmet, and raised his spear for a final stab. Oliver looked up at him, unable to breathe, his eyes wide in horror. Just before the soldier brought his spear down, Oliver, out of desperation, thrust his staff at him, jabbing him in the belly, just below his armor.

The soldier yelped in pain and fell to the ground.

Surprised he was still alive, Oliver jumped to his feet, gripping his staff, and stood over the soldier. The man clutched his abdomen in pain, where Oliver had hit him, blood marking the cobblestones. Confused, Oliver inspected his staff. Sure enough, the tip had a small, bladed edge. The same blade Oliver saw at the tip of Ashley’s staff several days ago.

Still shaking, he looked at the injured soldier at his feet, and then back to the battle.

Ilan spun his staff at half a dozen soldiers that surrounded him. Each soldier stood about ten feet away from the young mage, trying to find an opening in his defenses. They held up metal shields to block Ilan’s attacks as they came. A metallic clanging sound rang out each time their shields connected with Ilan’s red, magical one.

One soldier behind Ilan charged, sword raised. Without turning, Ilan twirled his magically extended staff behind himself, hitting the man in the head three times before he collapsed. A few more soldiers charged, but stopped, having to raise their shields to block Ilan’s barrage of attacks.

Oliver noticed an archer aiming an arrow at Ilan. Suddenly, another flash of lightning blinded Oliver, his ears ringing. The archer was on the ground, smoke rising from his body. Ashley flipped her staff upright, looking for another target, but then stopped, realizing sparks no longer danced around the tip of her staff.

The magical shield from Ilan’s staff also disappeared. He quickly twirled his staff into a routine that Oliver slightly recognized. Seconds later, a billowing fire shot out of Ilan’s staff, just like the Barklian mages had done. All the soldiers surrounding Ilan who were looking for an opening in his defenses suddenly regretted their strategy and their proximity. Flames rained down on them, sending several of them running and rolling on the ground to stop their flesh from burning.

Ashley now twirled around one of her own twelve-foot magical shields from her staff. She used it to knock soldiers off their feet as they tried to escape her reach. The only soldiers who remained on their feet were the ones who kept their shields up, but Oliver could tell by their metal shields’ drooping angle that their shoulder arms couldn’t take many more of Ashley’s magical attacks.

The battle between Silas and the two mages had flipped. Captain Knots and the other mage now Cast red, magical shields to defend themselves from Silas’ magic. Instead of shooting fire at them, he shot bolts of lightning. Their shields blocked the lightning completely, but only if they pointed their shields directly at it. All three of them had already tossed their wands onto the ground, their magic spent. Now they were relying on the last fumes of magic left within their staves.

Oliver finally understood what Silas had taught him about magical combat just the day before. “You need to focus on how much magic you use compared to your opponent,” Silas had said. “Whoever runs out of magic first loses.”

Silas held his staff upright, looking for the right opening to shoot a lightning bolt. Both mages held their shields up. He snapped his staff down like a whip, shooting a violent lightning bolt at Captain Knots who braced himself behind his shield as it blocked every bit of the electricity. Silas cursed, looking at his staff. The sparks were beginning to weaken.

Knots laughed. “Looks like you are nearly bein’ out of mahogany! Might as well be surrenderin’, General!”

Silas responded by unleashing another lightning bolt, but it was blocked as well, the electricity deflected to the ground. The tip of Silas’ staff no longer sparked; it looked dead, all its magic burnt out.

“Well,” Knots said. “We were hopin’ to kill at least half of your Justices, but now we are getting’ to add the Head General to our list. Ain’t it our lucky day...”

The two mages converged on Silas, swinging their magically extended staves at him. Amazingly, Silas was able to block their blows with his staff. A sound of wood on wood rung out. Oliver recalled that even though the magical extensions looked so long and too difficult to handle, they were the same mass as the staff Casting it.

The General was a sight to see, even with a dead staff. Both mages stood about ten feet away from Silas and jabbed, stabbed, and swung their elongated staves at him from every direction, but he deflected every blow with amazing precision. He inched closer to the mages as he defended himself, looking for a chance to take the offensive, but they backpedaled away from him.

Just as Oliver thought Silas would eventually wear out and lose, the mages’ red shields disappeared, their magic spent.

Captain Knots cursed.

Silas charged in. Wood met wood. Silas took the offensive, pushing each mage on their heels with a fury of jabs. He got close enough to slam his staff’s butt into Knots’ stomach, causing him to double over. Silas swung low, sweeping Knots’ feet out from underneath him. The captain groaned as his back hit the cobblestone.

Silas raised his bladed staff over Knots’ heart, but the other mage attacked Silas, forcing him to defend himself.

Silas quickly found his footing and pushed closer to the Barklian mage. Their staves connected in a flurry of blows, faster than Oliver could process, and faster than the mage could withstand. Silas knocked his opponent’s staff wide and then pushed him off balance. With a graceful spin, Silas whacked the mage’s staff out of his hands and stabbed him in the chest with the bladed tip of his staff. Without any armor to protect his flesh from the blade, the mage dropped to his knees, blood drenching his robes, and eventually collapsed.

Mages didn’t wear armor because it decreased the mobility required to cast magic, it was difficult to remove if you were on fire, and tradition. Mages wore robes and always had.

Oliver understood now why Ashley felt confident with General Silas Jarrah around. Oliver had witnessed Silas’ skill dozens of times while training, but he’d never seen what he could do in a real battle. It was… unreal. With or without magic, Silas seemed undefeatable. More like a force of nature than a man.

Oliver jumped as a troop of Salverian soldiers quickly rounded the corner of the courtyard behind him, armed with swords and shields. They stopped right next to him, observing the skirmish before them… or the lack of one.

Ilan and Ashley stood in the middle of a large group of injured or dead soldiers lying on the ground, no one left to fight. They saw the soldiers approaching, nodded to them, and turned to watch Silas’s fight with the Barklian Captain. The soldiers did the same. No one jumped in to help. They just watched, confident in their general.

With a worried grimace, Knots blocked half a dozen of Silas’ attacks, trying to keep his distance from the general’s deadly staff. Silas pushed in hard, attacking from every direction, keeping Knots on his heels. Knots had obvious skill with the staff, but Silas consistently moved half a second faster.

Knots knew his death approached.

In a blur, Silas broke through Knots’ defenses and landed a hard kick to the Captain’s chest, knocking him to the ground. Silas quickly kicked his staff away and pointed the bladed tip of his staff at Knots’ face. Knots raised trembling hands and squinted away from the blade, whimpering unintelligible, begging words up at Silas.

The general held his position, glaring down at Knots. Oliver held his breath, wondering if Silas would do it. Ilan and Ashley rushed to Silas’ side, aiming their stave tips down at the Barklian Captain. “Do you yield?” Silas said.

“Yes,” Knots squeaked, his hands still quivering.

“Good.” Silas spun his hands and hit Knots across the face with the butt of his staff, not hard enough to knock him unconscious, but just enough to leave a stinging black eye.

Silas looked up, noticing the soldiers that had arrived, and said, “Take the injured to the prison and have them treated. Bury the dead outside the city.”

“Yes sir,” a soldier said. “We came as soon as we heard the commotion, General.”

“Well done, Soldier.” Silas nodded toward Ilan and Ashley, and then looked at Oliver. “Are you alright?”

Oliver flinched instead of answering, still shaking. Silas walked up to him, looking at the injured soldier at Oliver’s feet, and then back up at him. “Good work, Oliver,” he said quietly, so the soldiers wouldn’t hear. “I’m impressed.”

“What?” Oliver mouthed, his voice not working right. “Good work? I just stabbed a man? I might have killed him?”

“He would have killed you.”

“Yeah, I know but…” He lowered his eyes to the soldier lying heaped on the cobblestone. He was still breathing. Probably unconscious from the loss of blood. He might still die.

“You’ve never killed a man before,” Silas asked. His tone was far different from the times he’d asked if Oliver had seen magic or seen a tree fall before. Those times, Silas had sincere wonder about Oliver’s ignorance. This time, however, Silas’ tone was more of a statement than question. He’d had a glimpse of Oliver’s world.

Oliver shook his head.

Silas placed a hand on Oliver’s shoulder. “These were evil men. Assassins. We live in troubling times, Oliver.”

“Your time.” Oliver’s shaking began to subside as he took deep breaths. “Not my time.”

Oliver could see sympathy in Silas’ eyes. “I’m truly sorry about bringing you here to suffer the troubles of my world. I would take you back if the Justices would let me. However, I am grateful you told us about the Barklians. You were right. They were traitors to Salveria.”

Oliver nodded without saying anything, and moved away from Silas, or more… away from the soldier he had stabbed.