Page 48 of The Truth

A shiver ran up Fane’s spine before the words sounded at the door behind them. “They were a disappointment, really.”

Fane leapt to his feet, sliding his sword from its scabbard as he moved to stand at Castor’s side. A man stood in the doorway, a long, hooded cloak draped over his shoulders and casting shadows on his face.

“Battlemages of the Order.” The man’s tone reeked of dismissal. “You used to be better.”

“Who are you?” At any other point, Fane would have sheared the man’s legs from his body and extracted any answers he needed. Eliminate the threat first – that was often the best course of action. This man, however, had slaughtered nine Battlemages who had not even been able to draw their swords before being killed. And from what Fane could see, the stranger hadn’t sustained a single injury himself.

“Oh, I go by many names.” The man pulled back his hood to reveal a head of brown hair, a face that had seen no more than thirty summers, and blue-grey eyes that seemed to shimmer in the dark. “You know of them, don’t you? With your books. It’s an interesting path you’ve chosen. Not what I’d predicted, but then again, that is why I like you.”

Castor glanced sideways at Fane. “Have you sold us out?”

“What?”

“You know this⁠—”

“Oh, be quiet.”

A ripple moved up Fane’s spine, and he lashed out with a thread of Air, knocking a small throwing knife from the air before it bedded into his Castor’s throat. The knife clinked off the wall and dropped to the ground while Fane turned his attention to the strange man and whipped threads of Fire, Spirit, and Air around himself and Castor.

“Hmmmm… so that is the path we are walking. Not ideal, but I can make it work.” The man stepped further into the room and turned sideways to admire one of the murals, seemingly unconcerned by Fane or Castor. “Beautiful work, isn’t it? Just a shame nobody ever sees it. Do me a favour,” he went on, still gazing at the mural, “that lightning you’re planning on throwing in my direction. Don’t. It doesn’t end well for anyone. Particularly not your friend.”

Fane threw himself forwards, drawing in threads of Fire, Air and Spirit. He erected a Sparkward, while at the same time unleashing a torrent of chain lightning at the strange man. There would not be a more open and obvious opportunity.

Castor followed with him, lashing out with whips of air strong enough to break bones.

Threads of all five elements erupted outwards from the man in a display of power Fane had only thought possible within a select group. Threads of Spirit and Fire sliced through Fane’s lightning, while Castor’s whips of Air were sheared in half, and he was sent careening backwards into the wall.

Fane kept moving, swinging his blade with his right hand while launching a pillar of fire with his left. The fire crashed against a Sparkward as the man caught the edge of Fane’s blade in his bare hand, threads of Air whirling in his palm.

“Come, Arcarian. Let us see what is required to write your name in the book of Arcaria now.” The man’s fingernails burst forward and broadened, his skin tearing, blood trickling. They thickened and grew dark, extending into claws. He swiped, and Fane only just managed to turn the strike away with his blade.

“A druid?” Fane narrowed his eyes as they danced steel and claw

The man just smiled and redoubled his assault, carving through Fane’s guard, then past his robes and into his flesh. Those claws cut through him as though he were made of paper, slicing into his chest.

He stumbled backwards, and by the time he’d regained his footing, Castor was on his feet, sword in hand, threads of Fire and Spirit whirling about him. At the slightest nod from Fane, they both charged.

Fane knew the powers that walked Epheria, and there were few opponents who could stand against both himself and Castor—and this stranger, this druid, was not on that list. But this man moved like water and wind, turning away strikes that he had no right in even knowing were coming before striking back with a swipe across the chest or up the arm or along the thigh. Every movement was flawless, every drop of energy spent like it had been pre-determined.

Whips of Fire and Air stormed about the chamber; claws clashed with steel. While unleashing a torrent of Fire over the man’s Sparkward, Fane pushed threads of Earth, Fire, and Spirit into the stone beneath his feet and above his head. Fane lunged, stabbing at the man’s chest while Castor arced a blade at his neck.

When the man turned away Castor’s swipe and twisted to avoid Fane’s, he smiled. That smile sent shivers down Fane’s spine, but still Fane drove his threads into the stone. In his mind he both pushed and pulled. The stone on the floor and ceiling turned to liquid, one climbing the other falling.

And at that precise moment, the man leapt backwards and lashed threads of Air around Castor, dragging him into the rush of stone. Fane immediately froze the stone in place, watching as it hardened around Castor’s boots and fell just short of his head, hanging like a stalactite.

The strange man frowned, pausing for a moment to allow Castor to yank his feet free of the boots. “Hmmm…” He looked over Castor, then the stone, then Fane. “You hesitate. That will not do.”

“I agree.” Fane drew a short breath, then opened himself to the Spark, drawing from the elemental strands with a hunger that shook his bones. The threads of Fire burned through his veins, Water shivering over his skin, Earth dragging through his mind. The threads of Air pricked at the hairs on his skin, and Spirit filled his soul with the purest of sensations. Still Fane drew deeper, the strands pulsating in his mind and whirling around him. And there, in that moment, he pushed the threads into the stranger’s body.

The man’s eyes gaped wide, and he gasped, but a moment later he pushed back, and the power that seared into Fane’s blood was akin to nothing he had ever felt. Not even amongst the Arcarians was there one capable of garnering such strength.

Except for one.

Fane drew deeper, drinking as though from Heraya’s Well itself, and at last he saw fear in the man’s eyes for the first time. Fane stepped closer, the Spark burning in his veins. “Is this the path you were looking for… Amatkai? Forger of Destiny.”

The man laughed, his face twisting into a grimace as Fane pushed the threads harder again, drawing even deeper. “Apparently so,” he said, choking out another laugh. “Still a few steps left to determine.”

“You are not what I thought you would be.”