A/N: Sorry if this chapter isn't so great; I'm not that good at actual
battles. Anyone have any better ideas? I'll change it.
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As soon as they could distinguish the front rider from the rest, Medaio reached inside himself and strung out his magic, touching it to all of the men. One by one they fell back, doubled up in pain. Medaio worked efficiently, and it wasn't long until the mage was riding alone, still confident of his success. Medaio, holding on to make sure the pain stayed, was gray and sweating, and needed support.
Daine, meanwhile, was feverishly burning away controlling strings, doing them in groups (though it was less efficient) instead of individually, like the night before. She worked with a larger part of her anti-magic and was able to do more at once in the ordered lines of the attacking troops. As their 'leashes' were burnt away, the men looked around in confusion and then scattered, if they could with the pain. It didn't take long before the only men still in order were the ones that hadn't been controlled, those that had marched out of free will. Medaio released his hold on the scattering men and only held on to the others, and their screams of pain could sometimes be heard on the slight breeze.
Medaio, because of the release on his load, could stand now, though he sat to conserve the little energy he had left. Daine sat next to him, also worn out, and together they watched the mage, the one that had come to threaten their lives, as well as the country. He had gotten off his horse, a beautiful black stallion. Now he strode briskly up to them, past the various cottages of the hiding village without giving them a glance.
"He's put up a protective bubble," Damae whispered as he came closer. "I can't see anything. It's the same with Numair." Numair had withdrawn to a small distance away from them and was waiting, perfectly calm in appearance, for his opponent. In reality, he was taught, nervous, and worried.
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Numair watched his enemy come closer. 100 yards . . . 75 . . . 50 . . . 25! It was then, as the man stopped, that Numair recognized him.
"Vaelon," he said aloud, looking at the man with whom he had studied in contempt, and yet with respect, for Vaelon was almost as powerful as Numair himself was, and an excellent war mage.
"Arram . . . " he drawled, shaking his dark head with equal contempt and no respect at all. "What a pleasure to see you again."
"Can't say I return the favor," Numair replied, equally cool, and readied himself for the effect of his taunt.
"I'm offended," the other mage returned, and then shot out with a ball of translucent, pearly white magic. It bounced harmlessly off of Numair's shield. More volleys followed, and Numair waited patiently, his energy starting to fade, as he made sure his shield was good. Vaelon, in his rage, wouldn't be paying as much attention to his, Numair knew, and secretly got ready for a big bolt of his own. When the other man paused, chest heaving and sweat running down his forehead, Numair lashed out hugely, and then, right afterwards, lashed out again with fiery balls of his own black magic. The first blow cracked Vaelon's shield, and the second shattered it, leaving Numair suffering a brief spell of backlash, weak and vulnerable for a few fatal seconds. Vaelon knew it. He roared like an animal and, firing off several, small, rapid shots, got through Numair's weakened shield, physically and magically. He threw himself onto Numair, throwing the startled mage off his feet and knocking the breath out of him as he smacked against the ground.
Numair was just in time to block as Vaelon threw fire at him. A shove with a black hand of sparkling magic pushed the dark mage off of him, and Vaelon fell down next to Numair. Determined through his mounting exhaustion, Numair encased the other mage in a silverfish cocoon up to shoulders and knelt over him. The next moment, Vaelon was screaming in pain, a high, blood-curling scream, as Numair put his flame-hot hands around his neck, ruthlessly burning the skin. Face twisted in rage, Vaelon let off a bang that blew the cocoon to smithereens, and simultaneously punched Numair in the jaw with shear force. A thin stream of blood slowly started to trickle from the corners of Numair's mouth. He drew a noose of briars out of thin air and threw it about Vaelon's neck, trying to choke him. But it only served as a slight distraction as both men struggled to their feet, gasping and exhausted.
"You'll go down, Numair," Vaelon hissed through gritted teeth. "I swear to the Gods that I'll kill you!" Suddenly, small patches of air in front of Numair seemed to come together and harden, forming glinting sides and razor- sharp edges. They threw themselves at Numair, cutting him all over before he had gathered his wits enough to react, exploding them. But it drained more out of Numair than he had expected, and he stood, bleeding all over, wondering how he could have let this happen. And he knew he would lose, then. Vaelon had much more of his Gift left over (where had he gotten so much?). It was all over. The impossible had happened-Numair had come off worse. The men stood across from each other, panting, eyes locked, and both knew it.
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Damae grabbed Daine, shaking her out of her worried trance. "Daine!" she whispered urgently, "I just got a good look; Vaelon's got no life force! Destroy his Gift and he's done for!" Daine didn't take the time to fully digest this information, just acted on it. Numair was about to die; she had to do it now. Looking with her magic, she saw that Damae was right. She drew out her anti-magic and touched as much of it as she could to Vaelon's core, battling her overwhelming fatigue. The Gift drained out of Vaelon and out of Daine, and she became more and more exhausted.
Sensing it, Vaelon turned on her with a roar of rage, running at her instead of using his Gift, which was failing him rapidly. Daine was to woozy to react as she concentrated on holding on to his core, and she blinked as she suddenly saw Damae come out of nowhere and jump Vaelon, pummeling him with her fists as hard as she could to distract him. Unfortunately for her, he was still much stronger, and he flung her off easily and then turned his rage on her, using his scanty Gift to make the same air-knives that he'd used before. But before they could get to Damae, Medaio flung himself onto the ground in front of her. The knives cut him deeply, leaving his chest in ribbons. The pain and blood loss, coupled with the pain of the remaining army, were too much for him. He was unconscious before the barrage ended. When it did, it was because Vaelon didn't have enough energy left to keep it going. It was Numair who used the last of his Gift to hold back Vaelon's remaining troops.
"How did you do it?" he asked, in a hoarse, tired voice. "I thought you died during the attack on the palace 2 years ago."
The other mage spat on the ground insolently. His dark hair was hanging filthily around his face, his clothes were ripped and dirty, and his hands and face were grimy. "I might as well tell you, scum, it won't make a difference now anyway," Vaelon answered raggedly. "I made a simulacrum in secret and fed magic into it at intervals, which is something not even you, Numair, with all you book learning and show, could do. And then I made sure that my spirit and Gift would go into it when I died. It was a foolproof plan. And I marched to destroy that brat Kaddar and take the throne myself. And I would have, except for you." He spat again, voice knife-edged but fading.
"Give it up," Daine fell in, from where she stood, weaving on her feet, her voice distant. "You're finished now."
But Vaelon gave a last desperate, dying shriek of pure hatred, screaming "Then I'm taking you with me!" There was a burst of flames-Daine screamed- and Vaelon crumpled to the ground, his last bit of life force spent.
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A/N: Sorry it took a while-I've been very busy, but I promise I will do at least a chapter a day now, and there's only a few left. I hope you guys thought this chapter was ok.how was the fight?
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As soon as they could distinguish the front rider from the rest, Medaio reached inside himself and strung out his magic, touching it to all of the men. One by one they fell back, doubled up in pain. Medaio worked efficiently, and it wasn't long until the mage was riding alone, still confident of his success. Medaio, holding on to make sure the pain stayed, was gray and sweating, and needed support.
Daine, meanwhile, was feverishly burning away controlling strings, doing them in groups (though it was less efficient) instead of individually, like the night before. She worked with a larger part of her anti-magic and was able to do more at once in the ordered lines of the attacking troops. As their 'leashes' were burnt away, the men looked around in confusion and then scattered, if they could with the pain. It didn't take long before the only men still in order were the ones that hadn't been controlled, those that had marched out of free will. Medaio released his hold on the scattering men and only held on to the others, and their screams of pain could sometimes be heard on the slight breeze.
Medaio, because of the release on his load, could stand now, though he sat to conserve the little energy he had left. Daine sat next to him, also worn out, and together they watched the mage, the one that had come to threaten their lives, as well as the country. He had gotten off his horse, a beautiful black stallion. Now he strode briskly up to them, past the various cottages of the hiding village without giving them a glance.
"He's put up a protective bubble," Damae whispered as he came closer. "I can't see anything. It's the same with Numair." Numair had withdrawn to a small distance away from them and was waiting, perfectly calm in appearance, for his opponent. In reality, he was taught, nervous, and worried.
^^^^^^^^^^^^
Numair watched his enemy come closer. 100 yards . . . 75 . . . 50 . . . 25! It was then, as the man stopped, that Numair recognized him.
"Vaelon," he said aloud, looking at the man with whom he had studied in contempt, and yet with respect, for Vaelon was almost as powerful as Numair himself was, and an excellent war mage.
"Arram . . . " he drawled, shaking his dark head with equal contempt and no respect at all. "What a pleasure to see you again."
"Can't say I return the favor," Numair replied, equally cool, and readied himself for the effect of his taunt.
"I'm offended," the other mage returned, and then shot out with a ball of translucent, pearly white magic. It bounced harmlessly off of Numair's shield. More volleys followed, and Numair waited patiently, his energy starting to fade, as he made sure his shield was good. Vaelon, in his rage, wouldn't be paying as much attention to his, Numair knew, and secretly got ready for a big bolt of his own. When the other man paused, chest heaving and sweat running down his forehead, Numair lashed out hugely, and then, right afterwards, lashed out again with fiery balls of his own black magic. The first blow cracked Vaelon's shield, and the second shattered it, leaving Numair suffering a brief spell of backlash, weak and vulnerable for a few fatal seconds. Vaelon knew it. He roared like an animal and, firing off several, small, rapid shots, got through Numair's weakened shield, physically and magically. He threw himself onto Numair, throwing the startled mage off his feet and knocking the breath out of him as he smacked against the ground.
Numair was just in time to block as Vaelon threw fire at him. A shove with a black hand of sparkling magic pushed the dark mage off of him, and Vaelon fell down next to Numair. Determined through his mounting exhaustion, Numair encased the other mage in a silverfish cocoon up to shoulders and knelt over him. The next moment, Vaelon was screaming in pain, a high, blood-curling scream, as Numair put his flame-hot hands around his neck, ruthlessly burning the skin. Face twisted in rage, Vaelon let off a bang that blew the cocoon to smithereens, and simultaneously punched Numair in the jaw with shear force. A thin stream of blood slowly started to trickle from the corners of Numair's mouth. He drew a noose of briars out of thin air and threw it about Vaelon's neck, trying to choke him. But it only served as a slight distraction as both men struggled to their feet, gasping and exhausted.
"You'll go down, Numair," Vaelon hissed through gritted teeth. "I swear to the Gods that I'll kill you!" Suddenly, small patches of air in front of Numair seemed to come together and harden, forming glinting sides and razor- sharp edges. They threw themselves at Numair, cutting him all over before he had gathered his wits enough to react, exploding them. But it drained more out of Numair than he had expected, and he stood, bleeding all over, wondering how he could have let this happen. And he knew he would lose, then. Vaelon had much more of his Gift left over (where had he gotten so much?). It was all over. The impossible had happened-Numair had come off worse. The men stood across from each other, panting, eyes locked, and both knew it.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Damae grabbed Daine, shaking her out of her worried trance. "Daine!" she whispered urgently, "I just got a good look; Vaelon's got no life force! Destroy his Gift and he's done for!" Daine didn't take the time to fully digest this information, just acted on it. Numair was about to die; she had to do it now. Looking with her magic, she saw that Damae was right. She drew out her anti-magic and touched as much of it as she could to Vaelon's core, battling her overwhelming fatigue. The Gift drained out of Vaelon and out of Daine, and she became more and more exhausted.
Sensing it, Vaelon turned on her with a roar of rage, running at her instead of using his Gift, which was failing him rapidly. Daine was to woozy to react as she concentrated on holding on to his core, and she blinked as she suddenly saw Damae come out of nowhere and jump Vaelon, pummeling him with her fists as hard as she could to distract him. Unfortunately for her, he was still much stronger, and he flung her off easily and then turned his rage on her, using his scanty Gift to make the same air-knives that he'd used before. But before they could get to Damae, Medaio flung himself onto the ground in front of her. The knives cut him deeply, leaving his chest in ribbons. The pain and blood loss, coupled with the pain of the remaining army, were too much for him. He was unconscious before the barrage ended. When it did, it was because Vaelon didn't have enough energy left to keep it going. It was Numair who used the last of his Gift to hold back Vaelon's remaining troops.
"How did you do it?" he asked, in a hoarse, tired voice. "I thought you died during the attack on the palace 2 years ago."
The other mage spat on the ground insolently. His dark hair was hanging filthily around his face, his clothes were ripped and dirty, and his hands and face were grimy. "I might as well tell you, scum, it won't make a difference now anyway," Vaelon answered raggedly. "I made a simulacrum in secret and fed magic into it at intervals, which is something not even you, Numair, with all you book learning and show, could do. And then I made sure that my spirit and Gift would go into it when I died. It was a foolproof plan. And I marched to destroy that brat Kaddar and take the throne myself. And I would have, except for you." He spat again, voice knife-edged but fading.
"Give it up," Daine fell in, from where she stood, weaving on her feet, her voice distant. "You're finished now."
But Vaelon gave a last desperate, dying shriek of pure hatred, screaming "Then I'm taking you with me!" There was a burst of flames-Daine screamed- and Vaelon crumpled to the ground, his last bit of life force spent.
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A/N: Sorry it took a while-I've been very busy, but I promise I will do at least a chapter a day now, and there's only a few left. I hope you guys thought this chapter was ok.how was the fight?