The Squire's Tale

[Sandshark]

Lucas Alder

The Squire's Tale

Background:
Lucas Alder was born in 1794 in a small village somewhere to the south of Osrona. As a farming community, Magi there are treasured as the bringers of rain. Children who showed magical prowess are expected to become "Cloudsingers," a type of verbal magic-user whose ability to call upon Air Magic allowed them to guide rainclouds over the fields to ensure a good harvest. Indeed, that was the path that Lucas should have followed once he came of age. 

Though he is the youngest son of a Cloudsinger family he did not wish to pursue that path. When he was younger he heard stories of the glorious knights of the First Light and their Holy Magic, the blessings of the Stars and the Angels that allowed them to bring light and hope to the people. It filled him with wonder and made him consider a new path, one which could see him protect his village from hard times with his strength and faith rather than the Song of Wind. At 16, still refusing to take on the mantle of his family's traditional magic, he left the village and traveled to Osrona to find the Order of the Second Dawn. His path has taken him far from there, but time will tell what he becomes...


Timeline of Events:

1810 AC 
- On the eve of his 16th birthday, Lucas departs his home village to seek a new destiny.
1812 AC
- Marginalia: In the Light of Flowing Stone
1813 AC
- Act I Scene I - Upon the Heights...
- Act I Scene II - The Paths are Paved with Daggers
- Act I Scene III - For Signs and Seasons
- Intermission: Childhood's End
1814 AC
- Act II Scene I - First Light
- Intermission: The Scourging
- Act II Scene II - Clarity
1817 AC
- Act III Scene I - His Solemn Duty
- Intermission: The Torchbearer's Burden
1818 AC
- Act III Scene II - Parting the Waters
1819 AC
- Intermission: The Long Road
1820 AC
- The first semester of the Starfall Academy starts. Lucas teaches the inaugural class on Virtues and Ethics.
- Chaska Aevnass, Lucas's first graduating student, masters Holy Magic.
1821 AC
- Lucas is engaged to marry Moa-Moa-Moa of the Fireblooded, his beloved.
- A dance is held by the Irradiated Temple to celebrate the end of the school year, which Lucas and Moa attend as chaperones.
1822 AC
- Umbra Cysgol, Lucas's second graduating student, masters Holy Magic.
1825 AC
- Marginalia: Ástvinur

[Sandshark]

Marginalia: In the Light of Flowing Stone

A small scrap of paper left on a table in Garjling's Coat bears the following poem, among many scratched-out attempts.

In the light of flowing stone,
one sees the fire waver in the air.
Yet my eye is not drawn to that glow,
but to the dragon seated there.
Her shape a mortal woman made
not of marble but of ruddy clay,
and of that type one truly rare,
whose like men dream to see one day.
And yet I worry that the day will come
when for my sins I must atone;
that I put my faith behind my love
for the girl I met by flowing stone.

[Sandshark]

Act I Scene I - Upon the Heights...

It was said that on the heights, one could speak to the stars directly. The higher the tower, the greater the mountain, the closer one became to the stars in their lofty heavens. The higher up, the surer one's prayers were to be heard.

Following that tale, a Drakanite guide had led Lucas here, to the Thousand Footholds, the gateway to the uppermost peak of the Dragon's Teeth: that part of the Tarian Range that loomed over the Essharan nations. After last night's chastisement, he couldn't waste time waiting for Amo-Amo-Amo to lead him to her people's elemental groves or pools. His blood was hot with determination; a will to break free of fear and to wrest control over the magic that dwelled within him. And yet now, as he looked up at the path, he realized the task he'd set before himself.

The Thousand Footholds lived up to its name. Here at the base it began as a carved stone path, no more than a hand-span wide, etched into the steeply graded cliffside. It wound its way up the face, sometimes doubling back along itself to reach a better slope. He could see further up that the mountain eased back some. There the path was covered in snow and scree-gravel, as dangerous to the climber as shifting quicksand, and prone to avalanche. Somewhere up there, the guide assured him, was a simple spot for respite. A plateau where generations of Fireblooded adherents had camped on their way up to taste the storms. And from there... From there he had to climb.

For Magi it would be an easy feat, but he was no true Mage. Not yet. Even if he carried nothing it would have been a herculean task. With gear and supplies, he would be lucky to make it halfway.

Well, maybe this was what Symphonia had meant when she said that magic came to those in life-threatening situations.

He laughed to himself, shaking his head. "Geez... If I think any more about it, I might not go." The young man turned his head upwards towards the peak, his eyes on the distant stone but his mind returning to the events of the past few weeks. If he quit now, Duniya would surely be smug about it. She would be proven right about him. The thought of having to admit defeat like that made him flush with anger. It was just like Moa-Moa-Moa had said. The Fireblooded leader knew the right things to say to make you so mad you did what you ought to do. That in itself was maddening. It felt like manipulation, but at the same time he doubted she even knew she'd helped him along. It was blunt honesty that angered him, and for good reason.

But he resented the push she'd given him much less than he resented her other words... Star-lover, she had called him... An insult to his faith in the Heavens. She said she would see Osrona burned to ashes... Challenged him to cast his lot with one side or the other, in a war whose origins he barely understood.

This was the long shadow cast by the man he could become. The web of duty and honor that motivated righteousness, yet seemed to weigh down the kind Knight Sasha, who had promised to guide his studies if he returned. From her words of warning he understood this much: responsibility rests heavily on those who choose to wield power. The only way he could defend those he cared about, and perhaps bring closure to the conflict that tore at his newfound friendships, was to accept that burden on his shoulders.

He gritted his teeth. The mountain beckoned.

[Sandshark]

Act I Scene II - The Paths are Paved with Daggers

One... Two... Three... PULL!

Lucas heaved, his muscles straining, as he lifted himself up from the gravel embankment and flung himself onto the plateau. For a long moment he just lay there, catching his breath. He was a third of the way up the mountain and already he was beginning to feel the strain. His lungs ached from breathing the thin, ice-cold mountain air. His hands were scratched and bleeding, cut in a hundred places by scree-gravel as he had desperately scrabbled for purchase on the mounds of fallen stone below. And yet... He was here.

As he stood and took stock of the area, he was surprised to find that the plateau was larger than he imagined it would be. What he thought had been only a ledge to camp on was in fact a higher pass through the mountain range. It curved through a tight glacial ravine before heading off northward, away from his destination. The plateau itself was big enough that it could probably camp a small party, and it certainly looked like it had. The remains of a bonfire lay in a pit dug near the center, and tattered canvas tents flapped from pegs where they had been left behind.

The footsteps in the snow looked fresh.

Despite his misgivings, the golden-haired boy began to set up camp. Whether he was alone here or not, he needed to rest and eat, and that couldn't wait.

It was an hour before he had the first sense that he wasn't alone. As he finished off the last of his freshly-warmed meal of salmon and rice, resting by the crackling embers of a rekindled bonfire, he heard a clatter from above. With a series of loud cracks that echoed across the mountainside, a stone rebounded and fell to earth from where it had been disturbed on the upper cliffside. As his eyes tracked the pebble's path, Lucas could see the last vestige of a shadow pass behind the lip of the precipice. 

Someone was watching him.

Slowly he stood, grasping the strap of his longsword's scabbard and lifting it up into his hands. The leather was warm from the fire, and as he cast his eyes anxiously into the darkness he could feel the rough rasp of the twine-bound hilt as it chafed against his aching palm. "Come, show yourself!" He cried into the night, but received no answer.

Until he heard the footsteps coming closer.

A figure stood at the edge of the flames, still shrouded in the night's shadow. Above its head towered a pair of horns, curled upwards like a demon. It growled. A male voice, cut with sardonic mirth, ushered forth from that dark body. "Essharan..." The sibilant sound of the s rolled from a forked tongue, and a scale-gloved hand reached into the firelight holding the tip of a spear. "Yer coin's gonna buy me pleasures in this new place."

Lucas stepped back. The fear that shot through his mind brought a surge of adrenaline to the boy. He should run. He should head down the mountain as fast as he could, and never look back. Cold fingers gripped his heart, and he could feel the pounding of blood in his ears as he stood, frozen still.

Do not walk with fear, boy.

Duniya's voice echoed in his mind.

It will eat you.

The Drakanite shot forward, dancing over the flames with great agility. He wasn't a Mage, but he moved like a warrior. He thrust with the spear so quickly that it was all Lucas could to do ward it off. Wielding the blade in his hands he parried once, the blow from the spear catching the scabbard and wrenching it free. It would have pulled him off-balance if the catch hadn't snapped from the force, freeing the blade and sending both men stumbling back.

Lucas circled the flames, trying to catch a glimpse of the Drakanite as he danced in and out of the firelight, testing the boy's defenses. Shhhring! The harsh cry of metal-on-metal rang out as he parried another blow only barely. The spear jumped and sliced across his trailing arm, causing blood to ooze through the tear in his coat. It felt thin, but the shock of the wound hurt more than the ache of the day's climb. He could die here. This bandit would kill him, and he would never see the stars. He would never see pride on the face of that girl whose eyes gleamed in the firelight.

As the man skirted the glow of the embers, vanishing back into the dark of the night, the jaws closed in. He was in the dragon's mouth, its teeth fast upon his heart. But then he heard another voice. That girl's voice. Proud and glowing with courage for her own achievements. I don't regret doing it. She said, and he saw in his mind's eye her smiling face, and those serpentine eyes peering into his. I just did not want to let my fear control me.

It will eat you.

The Drakanite charged, and Lucas stepped forward.

A gout of blood splattered against the fresh snow. The wide end of the spearhead glinted in the firelight, and then its shine dulled as a thin stream of blood pooled and dripped, beating a slow rhythm against the dry, frozen earth.

The Drakanite looked at the boy with wide eyes, his mouth slack from shock. "You... Didn't..." His spear had nearly driven through the young man, gashing open his side as it passed between his belly and his arm. And now it was caught there, the wooden haft trapped tightly in the crook of his arm while the boy's blade was thrust forward as far as he could reach. By taking the blow he had stepped into the Drakanite's guard, trading a harsh wound for the chance to strike. Now the tip of his longsword pushed out grotesquely from the bandit's back, rammed through the Drakanite's body like a tent-stake driven into soft earth.

From below him the boy grinned, a his eyes alight with a pride that burned hotter than the bonfire's embers. "If you're not willing to commit to something greater to achieve what you desire..." He said, his breath frosting the cold mountain air. "Then you are already lost." Those words that Duniya had spoken to him rang with meaning now. He let go of his blade, and the longspear clattered down as the Drakanite bandit fell dead on the ground. Standing over the corpse of the man, Lucas felt stronger than he ever had before. His blood was hot, and even the frigid night left no chill in his bones.

Tearing strips from the dead man's clothes, he wrapped a bandage for his side and arms, binding the wounds tightly so they wouldn't split open again. He took more to bind wraps for each hand, and rubbed them in warm ashes to heat his hands and rough the cloth for grip.

There was no time to waste.

Tonight, he would reach the pinnacle.

[Sandshark]

Act I Scene III - For Signs and Seasons

At the peak of the world a young man clung to the icy stones, his hands and feet gripping their holds with all his might. The wind howled, threatening to throw him from his perch and send him tumbling to his death. The chill of the night threatened to freeze his blood, to stop his heart in his chest and curse him to oblivion.

He pressed on.

And God said "Let there be lights in the firmament of the heavens to separate the day from the night;"

At first he had counted his steps. Now, his only thought was on making another. Handhold. Foothold. Handhold. Handhold. Switch. Foothold. Handhold. He could no longer see the peak above him. The clouds hung low around this place, their humid embrace eating at his strength. Water like this was precious to his people. It nourished the villages. They sang to clouds like these, tugging them down from mountaintops to release their life-giving water on the land. Now it was his enemy.

"And let them be lights in the firmament of the heavens to give light upon the earth."

Thunder crashed from somewhere distant, and a tempest swelled, pushing a hail of icy darts towards the mountainside. They cut through his thick woolen coat as surely as any knife, scratching him across his back, and over his arms. But he would not yield. The only thing in his sight was the pinnacle. He would not rest until he reached it. The stars called to him.

And it was so. And God made the two great lights, the greater light to rule the day, and the lesser light to rule the night; he made the stars also.

The clouds grew thin, and the skies opened up, and beyond the vault of the heavens lay the stars. Up and up and up, as far and as wide as he could see. In all directions, from Achyon to Garjling's Coat, from Osrona to the Eastern Sea. Far north to Theria, and all across the world. Stars. And he climbed. Hand over hand. Foot by foot. Grasping for each inch of height until he could feel the wedge of a small platform cut out above him. He heaved himself up into the hollow of the rock, where the ancient peak had split in two. One side falling, the other standing, leaving a cleft that made for a simple shelter from the wind.

And God set them in the firmament of the heavens to give light upon the earth, to rule over the day and over the night, and to separate the light from the darkness.

With waning strength he pulled himself up into a sitting position. He folded his stiff legs beneath him and knelt on the cool stone. Straightening his back, he looked up into the night sky and raised his hands to the heavens. The young man closed his eyes. This is what he prayed:

"Stars above who guide us... Angels who watch over us... I have given everything I have to come here. All I ask is that you awaken the strength I know I have. Show me what I must do to protect the ones I love. That is my greatest wish."

And then he waited for an answer.

---

He couldn't say how long it had been. Hours, maybe. Minutes. Seconds.

He could see the stars, and the shimmer of light on the horizon.

His body ached, but even now the pain ebbed into numbness.

He was alive, and he should not be.

Only Magi could withstand this strain for long.

Only Magi...

As he turned his face down away from the heavens he saw the aura, a faint gossamer of blue and white, emanating from his body. Mana. He thought to himself. It was the first time he had ever truly felt it. How long had it been with him? Perhaps it had come before he ever reached the peak. Perhaps it had emerged as he felt the starlight on his outstretched palms. He had no idea when it happened, but now... He finally had it. After all this time.

He stood, steadying himself against the wind on the rocks that sheltered him. Looking down at his wounds he could see a mist of blue-white that shimmered and wafted into the sky, flowing like blood from small veins of power cut just as surely as his flesh. It would drain from him if he did not go soon. Even if he was stronger now than he'd been without it, he was untrained. This gift had limits, and they were fast approaching.

If he lingered here, waiting to receive some destiny from on high, he would squander what he had just been given. This faint shimmer was the only sign he needed. Proof enough that he could choose his own path, and one good chance to take it.

If he hurried, he could reach Garjling's Coat before he succumbed to exhaustion. The young man smiled. For now, there was no more room for fear. All he could see was the path ahead. The sun was rising in the East, and a new day was dawning.

It was time to go home.

[Sandshark]

Intermission: Childhood's End

In the early morning hours the wind howled down from the mountains, washing over the lone figure who stood vigil there.

Lucas had been prepared to sacrifice anything to achieve his goal. He had never thought to ask whether he was ready to kill for it.

In the ancient tales, knights often fought and slew their enemies. Generals, monsters, followers of evil gods... They were brought to ruin in battles for the ages. Their ends were poetic. They spoke wisdom with their final breaths, or confessed their sins and were redeemed.

He had only been confused.

The man had been a predator. A bandit. He wanted to kill a boy for his food, or coin, or maybe just for sport.

But he still breathed and bled.

It lingered with him. It would continue to linger. The pride he'd felt in the moment, as he felt the adrenaline rush of victory, brought with it the burden of knowing that his hand had dealt the telling blow.

It was his life or yours.

If only he could believe that. Perhaps, had he been stronger, he could have made the man submit. Defeated him and brought him to the Fireblooded for punishment for his crimes. Redeemed him, maybe. He was forced to do what he did only by his weakness.

As the young man looked back at the camp he spotted something he'd missed, glinting in the snow.

The spear!

The thought made him wonder. He rushed towards it, scooping away slushy snow and ice until he finally uncovered the weapon. It was intact, somehow. In the sunlight he could see that its make was peculiar, certainly not any old weapon. It was not strongly enchanted, but he was certain an artificer had made this. That it fell into the hands of the bandit might have been chance, or theft. For non-Magi such a weapon had little benefit. Yet there it was.

He lifted it up. Its weight felt good in his hands.

The balance of a spear reminded him of the shepherd's crooks and shillelaghs of his village. He'd trained some with a quarterstaff before. But this was just different enough that he knew he'd need help learning, if he took it with him.

He looked back at the cairn.

It was his by right. He'd won it in the battle. But it had more meaning than that. This weapon had torn at his own flesh. The scar wrought across his side would always remain. In its lifetime this weapon had surely been used for evil. Now, perhaps, it could be used for good. To protect innocents instead of hounding them.

And to help him remember...

That in the end, every choice has a consequence.

[Sandshark]

Act II Scene I - First Light

Hopeful blue eyes looked out upon the grey horizon. In the evening's final twilight the stars could still be seen above the mountain glade, while out past the lip of the plateau the sun would soon rise to greet the new day.

For a whole year he had come to this place to gather his thoughts. After training in the evenings, after cutting wood or watching livestock, after speaking with a certain person... It was a place of peace for a mind embroiled in the tumultuous years of young-adulthood. It was his refuge among the foothills, far enough into the trackless wilderness that no sounds of civilization could reach.

Breathe in.

Mana flowed about him, an aura of blue-white intensity hovering mere inches above his skin. Within the wash of power his hair stood on end, swaying gently even though there was no breeze.

Breathe out.

He was troubled by his feelings, as was often true these days. Young love played havoc with his heart, pulling him towards that strange girl whose serpentine aspect chilled and warmed him in equal measure, yet who gave him little thought. Her eyes were not for him. She gazed upon a far-distant pinnacle, a spire of ambition stretching up into the heavens. At its top, he hoped, was something that would bring her peace.

Breathe in.

Borna had offered him advice on his pursuit, sparse as her words could be. If he was strong enough to climb the peaks of power beside that girl, he could be her strength. What happened after that was out of his hands. It felt like a noble goal. But as Sasha always told him, actions spoke louder than words.

Breathe out.

He had been training with her, and the months of practice had given him more than just scrapes and bruises. He had seen the full force of Holy Power; its radiance was indelibly etched into his mind and body. The golden rays had driven him back during spars, pounded him into the dirt, and yet again and again he rose to face them. That gleam filled him with pride. One day, he would wield such magic. He would become a man who could stand tall, an icon of strength for the ones he loved. He would be like her. A Knight.

Breathe in.

The feeling of the light lingered. Sometimes when he was alone and at peace, or when he was pushed to the brink in the midst of a training spar, he could reach out and touch it. That glow filled him and ran through his aura like shooting stars. He reached out for it now.

Breathe out.

Blue-white streaked through with calm white. Arcs of gold lancing across gaps and running in rivulets to trace the path of circuitry inches below. He was so close, but the truth of it eluded him. Golden light danced over his fingertips. This was as close as he'd ever been to facing his feelings. The night's events had given him the strength to push forward into uncharted waters.

Stand, and gird yourself in courage.

Lucas rose, holding his hands out, palms up, as he reached inwards for the well of strength that Sasha had showed him. He drew it from his heart; from the will to protect the one he loved.

I will be at her side as she makes her climb.

He brought his hands together, as golden motes danced like fairy-lights between his tingling palms. The scars of his climb showed in stark relief on his hands as he glowed with inner strength. They flickered, one by one, as they swirled around a center-point, gathering slowly as he took deep breaths, one after another.

And when we have reached the peaks of power, I will be a torch to mark the path for others.

The motes coalesced into a single sphere, glowing with a golden hue. A calming warmth radiated from it, filling him with wonder. This power was from him. It was his own faith that had made what he held before him. The work of years of preparation, and a year training under Sasha. Finally. This was the first time he had ever brought forth this spell. The first thing Sasha had asked of him, and a lesson he had not mastered despite months of work.

Now he held it.

Even if he couldn't yet wield it to fight, he had proven he could conjure that faith in his own hands. It was the first step on a long road.

He opened his arms wide and let it fly out towards the horizon, dissipating in the dawning light of New Year's Day. Then he turned back, picking up his spear and heading out on the path down to Garjling's Coat.

The year was beginning, and by its end he knew he would grow stronger still.

[Sandshark]

Intermission: The Scourging

Before him, beneath the steps of the Fireblooded Temple, Lucas's beloved knelt in obeisance to the dragon Dyn. She trembled with anticipation, firelight dancing in the reflection of her scales. Duniya gave her signal, and the dragon opened its mouth. Black-flecked Occult flames washed out over the congregation, bathing them in hellish fire. Some screamed, others wept. The dark-skinned girl laughed.

And when the flames washed away, all that was left of her was ash.

"NO!"

Their faces turned towards him, scornful glares and grimaces of disgust tracking the young man as he ran forwards, desperately racing for the spot where she fell as if this mere act of protest might undo what had already been done. Duniya laughed. A rictus grin crossed over her face, showing a mouth full of dragon's teeth.

"You are weak, boy. Too weak to protect her."

She stomped her foot and the ground cracked, a chasm yawning wide before him.

He fell into oblivion.

With a muffled smack Lucas's head hit the stone, jarring him awake. His eyes flew open, glancing about hastily. He was indoors? Wasn't he just...?

He took the moment to untangle himself, pushing aside the blanket that had wrapped around him and standing up. This was Moa's house. He had been asleep on the bench in her kitchen wrapped in one of her spare blankets. Right... After the ritual...

The young man rushed to the open inner door, and let out a long sigh of relief at what he saw there. Moa rested there peacefully, tucked into the sheets where he'd left her. He could see the slow rise and fall of her chest. It was just a dream.

Just a dream...

His mother often said that dreams have a way of telling you what's in your heart. Unfortunately he knew his heart a little too well to mistake this for an accident. He worried about Moa. About who she might become. It was a strange fear for a man who said he wanted to walk with her to success, but at the same time he had his doubts about the Fireblooded and what success might mean. He saw the combat and rivalries at the Ascension. He saw the killing intent in the eyes of the loser of the duel for Warlord.

He'd heard Moa say she wanted to lead.

If the scourging dragonfire had truly washed away her fear, she would have no trouble rising in the ranks. But then those hungry eyes would be on her. He could not intercede on her behalf. She would need to face those challenges alone.

It bothered him that he could not protect her.

But does she even need protection?

Perhaps he was looking at it the wrong way. Though they had fought their own battles to reach the places they were, each of them had still aided the other. She carried him to her home and put salve on his wounds when he came down from the mountain, and he had returned the gesture, helping her home and standing watch as she recovered from her burns. There was a potential in that gesture that he now understood.

Fighting her battles for her was not protection. It was not a role she would allow him to fill. The Fireblooded did not tolerate weakness or cowardice in their leaders. But if he remained by her side, gained strength, and held steadfast to his faith, he could help her grow into the woman she wanted to become. And perhaps with time he, too, could one day reach the goal he desired.

That brought a smile to his face.

[Sandshark]

Act II Scene II - Clarity

The will to protect.

That is what she wanted him to show her.

The first time it came to him, it was Moa who drove him to reach out. His deepest wish was to protect her.

Now he had another goal.

Lucas stood at the edge of the clearing, his eyes fixed down at the distant lights of Osrona. The Shining City. The City of Stars. It had taken Sasha from him. His mentor. A woman he looked up to like an aunt. He took a deep breath and let it out. His blue eyes glowed with mana. Where his still-wet tears lingered at the corners the mana streamed up, wafting like pipe-smoke up and into the air.

He could have lost control.

He could have given in to his rage. It felt right to want revenge.

But she wouldn't have wanted that.

She had all those years to take revenge on the city that abandoned her; the Stellus and Archmage who put her and her young daughter out into the cold because she refused to kill for them. He had heard how she died. Why she died. Because she refused once again to step aside when her friends were threatened.

That was heroism, not treachery.

Perhaps it was naive to think he knew what she truly was, but the woman she had been for him was heroic all the same. She had believed in a world where the gifts of Kraus could be given to all. Where Human, Drakanite, and Beastkin could learn the blessings of faith and be strong enough to push back the darkness of fear. Where they were all free to defend what they loved.

He clasped his hands together in front of his chest. He closed his eyes. From within his heart he drew that spirit. Calling on his vision he cast his mind's eye into a future he yearned to see. His eyes opened. Mana flared. His hands moved through the air, trailing golden motes as he filled himself with faith. His eyes gleamed bright, like two stars in the night sky, trailing mana that flared gold as it burned in the casting.

All around him was a golden glow, a shining radiance that reached out from his bare skin and swirled about him like a will-o-wisp.

He grabbed his spear and began to move through the motions of his fighting stance, setting the clearing alight with the fire in his heart. Between those trees, beneath the starry sky, the clearing glowed as bright as the noonday sun.

He tested his aching muscles until they were raw, wielding that blessed power to strengthen his body and spirit. And when he was done, he laid down on the grass and dreamed...

He stood alone at the foot of the mountains, his spear held at the ready, facing a squad of Osronan magi. Each one he knew by name. Men and women he had met as a boy. They advanced towards him.

But he did not strike. He reached out a hand.

And they reached out for him.

One by one they greeted each other as friends, shaking hands and patting backs, like old friends meeting after a long time apart. When they were done, he turned and raised his spear towards the mountains above. A sign to the others.

From above, a score of faces rose and peered down at the strangers below. Theirs he knew, too. From the wizened visage of Duniya Vartuul, the oldest of the Fireblooded, to the bright, serpentine eyes of the little girl who rushed down to greet him, shouting a cheer for her papa.

From that day forward the two could mingle together, like he had. And perhaps they would find the joy and love that he now possessed.

At long last...

When he woke, the rays of the morning sun streamed down onto his body. In that subtle dawning light he felt he could see the path towards his destination. This power he was granted could fulfill his dream and Sasha's. It would not be easy to reconcile mountain and city. It might not even be possible in his lifetime, not completely, but he knew it could be done. One day. And until that day he would teach whomever he could. He would spread the power of faith to all who wished to find it, just as she had.

All he needed to bring about his dream was to kindle hope in the hearts of others. To give them a reason to stand side by side. He could do that by walking her path. It sounded silly now, but he had faith that there were those who wanted to end the cycle of bitter wars. Those who were tired of lives being claimed to gain mere parcels of empty ground. He had faith in the goodness in their hearts.

That faith would give him strength.

[Sandshark]

Act III Scene I - His Solemn Duty

In one year's time I've every intent to return to the village - with, or without my sisters.
I do not doubt they will support the idea of going, to uncovering the truth. But. . .
I need to prepare everyone as best I can.
Moa . . . . Moa . . . . you saw how she fought. Or rather, didn't.
I need combat capable individuals. I would not deny my sister's place there, but . .
But the last thing I want to do is endanger her.
I will propose to my sisters each to name a companion they wish to travel with, a champion.
I can only assume Mao would turn to Borna. . .and in turn, that Moa would to you.
In that event, Lucas, would you be willing to travel with us? To face foe?

Without question.

It was a promise he'd made without thinking. A pledge he'd made without counting the price. Now he had to be sure it was one he could pay.

He had become close enough to the sisters to know that what Amo was asking of him wasn't just one journey. His duty didn't end when they returned to their village, enemies or no. Seeing Moa's weakness, Amo surely expected him to defend her as long as she lived. Whatever happened there was the beginning of his solemn duty. And if he wished to be her husband, he must be able to fulfill it.

So he had come to that lonesome glade in the mountains; the same place where he had unlocked his potential so long ago. The trees had grown since then. The bark had scarred to cover the marks of his spear-thrusts and the barrage of his holy orbs. The Springtime thaw had brought soft grass to the well-trod clearing where he once practiced his footwork so tirelessly. It had been too long since he was here.

Lucas took a deep breath. One in, once out. He drew that halo of golden light out from himself, holding it close around his body until it suffused his whole being with faith. This would not be easy. It would hurt. But he would take the pain a hundred times today if it prevented even one injury to his beloved.

His boot slammed down, sending a blast of mana into the earth below. Clods of dirt and loose stones shot into the air, propelled by gouts of golden light that burst forth from the cracked ground. They sailed up, vanishing into the glare of the midday sun.

Soon they would be upon him.

One breath in, one breath out. Extend your aura. Form your will into a shield.

He reached up, and the aura rushed out into his hands, wavering above him like smoke as gold-flecked mana whorled into the heavens.

Shield. Shield.

WHACK!

A stone no bigger than a walnut struck his head, sending a searing pain through him. He felt blood well up from the cut it left behind, matting his messy golden hair. He buckled, covering himself with his arms as he hunched over against the hail of missiles.

Thump-thump... Thump-thump...

The stones rained down. Some struck him, many fell around him.

He stood up, wiped the blood from his brow, and send the stones up again.

Again, and again, and again. Every time the number of stones that landed nearby shrank. One more chance was all he needed. He could do this.

Again he sent the stones high into the air.

Again he drew out his will.

In his mind's eye he placed Moa down beside him. He could almost feel her arms around him, and, far above, the slings and arrows of the enemy.

CRACK!

A stone struck the golden glow that surrounded him and clattered off onto the ground beside.

CRACK-CRACK!

Another, and another. He breathed in and out slowly, filled with the resolute calm of faith. The will to protect. His barrier was no bigger than two people, perhaps three if they squeezed close. Barely a foot and a half away from him on all sides. And as the stones rained down upon him they sent ripples out through the golden shield that surrounded him.

Thump-thump... Thump-thump...

When the hail ended he stood within that guardian globe, peering up at the work that he had wrought. A spiderweb of tiny cracks gleamed in the sunlight; weaknesses in his shield of faith. And yet it had held. This first step was enough to give him strength. Bruised, bloodied, but proud. His skills were growing. Slowly, but they were growing.

All he had to do now was hone this strength, and test it against another Mage. This shield of faith could become the lynchpin of his fighting style if he perfected it. A way to fulfill his ambitions: to keep Moa safe, to provide a haven for those who had lost loved-ones to the war, to stand in defense of his ideals.