Chapter 23

“With her divine magic, she grew. Her roots digging deep, her branches reaching high, and her green leaves soaking up the warm sunlight.”

Origins by Grand Arboler Parley, year 1989

Elm

Oliver followed Silas out of the camp and toward the surrounding woods. Ilan and Ashley rushed to catch up, carrying an armful of staves and wands. “Here should do,” Silas said, stopping. It was a small clearing in the woods with considerable level ground. Only a few trees blocked their line of view with the camp. “Just out of earshot.”

“Thanks for jumping in and saving my skin back there,” Oliver said. “You two were quite convincing.”

Silas looked him straight in the eyes. “I meant what I said.”

Oliver rocked his head backward. “Really? I thought you’d be angry.”

“I am angry,” he looked at the camp and back, “at myself.” The general rested his hands on his hips. “I’ve been doubting the Justices and the Grand Arboler for too long. I must trust their judgement. As ludicrous as it sounds, Oliver… I believe you really are the Guardian of Magic.”

Oliver cringed, his stomach twisting in knots.

“Me too,” Ashley said with a frown.

Oliver looked between them both, seeing the sincerity in their eyes. Ilan nodded his head in agreement, grinning brightly. Oliver contorted his face.

“Look…” he said. “I’ve realized something too.” He paused. “I’m not the Guardian—no matter how many of you believe I am, I’m just not. But, perhaps I am a guardian.” Silas, Ashley, and Ilan exchanged considerate glances.

Oliver continued, “If playing the role as the Guardian of Magic can help Salveria win this war… then that’s what I’ll do. I’ll stop trying to run. After seeing those refugees and the awful state they’re in… I’ve decided I want to help them. Not just for my sake so I can go home, but for their sake too. I want to give them hope.”

The general sighed. “That’s great, but I’m certain they’re going to need something more… majestic.”

“He’s right, Oliver,” Ashley said. “Many of them were skeptical. If Silas and I hadn’t stepped in, they might have hanged you on the spot for posing as a false guardian.”

Oliver rubbed his neck, sensing the gravity of her words.

“It’s time to make you more convincing,” Silas said. “You need to learn how to duel.”

Oliver gulped. “With magic?”

“With magic. You’ve barely learned the basics, so this will be incredibly difficult. We will have to train you during our week-long march to Cambium. We’ll train during the first half of the day, and then catch up to the army by horseback on the second half of the day. The people need to see you fight at Cambium or they won’t believe.”

“Fight other mages?”

“Yes.”

Oliver reflected back to the battle with the Barklian mages. He’d barely survived a skirmish with a single solider—not a mage—wielding a sword, while the mages had casted bolts of lightning and torrents of fire at each other. He shivered at the thought.

“Is there any way I can go without fighting? I’d prefer to be an inspiring figure from the back.”

“Frankly, Oliver, there is no such thing.”

“And like we said at the school,” Ashley said, “You’re never safe in a battle. And if you do confront a mage in battle and you run away….”

“Right, I know, they’ll hang me, and we’ll lose. I get it.” Oliver heaved a sigh. “Oh… what have I gotten myself into?”

“You can do this,” Ilan said. “Life will help you.”

“She’s never helped me before.”

“Sure, She has. And She will again. Trust in Her.”

Before Oliver could argue, Silas interrupted. “Ashley, give Oliver a combat staff and wand. The staff is half ash, half willow. The wand is completely elm. That is the combative standards for mages. The staff will cast wind and fire; the wand, a shield. Do you remember the Carvings?”

Oliver held the two weapons in front of him. “I think so.”

“Show me.”

Oliver put the wand in his pocket and started spinning the staff, but Silas stopped him. “Don’t put the wand away. In a duel, you won’t have time for that. Keep the wand in your left hand and perform the staff’s Carving with your right hand alone.”

Oliver nodded, focusing. He tried to recall all his training over the last week as he spun the staff. He had to twirl it slowly, but he managed to perform the ash Carving correctly the first try. A small flame appeared at the tip of the staff. Next, he needed to Cast willow. He twirled the staff in a series of spins, but no wind came out of the staff. The magical flame at the tip never extinguished, even as he twirled the staff around. He attempted the routine two more times until he got it right.

He aimed the staff upward as a jet of wind blew out of the staff, causing the flames to billow into the air. Oliver maintained a firm grip on the staff as it threatened to blow out of his fingers. He had performed this routine before, but this was his first time doing it with one hand.

“Good,” Silas said over the roaring fire. “Now Cast elm with your left hand.”

Oliver gritted his teeth. Silas could have asked him to peel potatoes with his bare fingernails and he would have gladly accepted. But Casting elm? This was the Carving Ilan had him practice the most at the School of magery, day and night, over and over. It was his bane! Not because the Carving was difficult, but because he had to do it with his left hand. He held his staff in his right hand.

He twirled the wand slowly around his fingers, determined to keep it from slipping this time. One vertical spin toward him, five clockwise spins in front of him like a fan, and three vertical spins away from him. When he finished the Carving, nothing happened. No magical shield. Oliver tried three more times with the same result.

“Again,” Ilan ordered. “Don’t use your thumb. Keep your fingers loose as I taught you.”

Oliver began to sweat. Due partially from the heat shooting out from his staff, but mostly from the aggravation. He tried again and failed. Again. Failed. He stopped keeping track. The flames shooting out of his staff slowly extinguished. That meant its five minutes of ash was spent. Now only a jet of air blew out of its tip.

“Keep going,” Silas said as he paced around Oliver.

Oliver huffed, twirling the wand again and again. His fingers started to cramp.

“You won’t survive a duel unless you can Cast a shield,” Ashley said.

After a few more failed attempts, the willow’s magic extinguished. The magical wind sputtered to a stop. Oliver tossed the staff to the ground and growled in frustration as the wand slipped from his left hand. “I can’t do this!” he yelled, dropping to his knees. “I’m going to die!”

Ashley and Ilan shared silent, somber glances at each other. Silas knelt to Oliver’s level and looked him square in the eyes. He picked up the wand and offered it back to Oliver and said very slowly and firmly, “No. You cannot die. You are the Guardian now. You are going to cast elm and live.”

Oliver could see a conviction in his mentor’s eyes that he hadn’t seen before. It calmed him more than he expected, even though he didn’t agree with him. He sighed, taking the wand, standing back up. Without a word, he began twirling it around his fingers again. With a whoosh, a magical, red shield emerged from the tip of his wand.

Oliver widened his eyes. “I did it! Oh mages, I did it!”

Ilan gave an applause.

“Well done, Shorty,” Ashley said.

“Good,” Silas said. “Now, do it again.”