——Sam——
Sam woke with a start. He shot up, the coarse blanket falling to his side. He looked around, blinking rapidly. 'Where...?' He thought, trying to shake away his drowsiness. 'Another world... Crap, how did I forget?!'
The light of dawn was streaming in through the opening in the tent. Sam rubbed his eyes as he hurriedly swung his legs off the side of the bed. Horns began to blare as he stood up. Covering his ears, he wobbled to the cushioned log and sat. Finally, the noise ceased, and he put his hands down. Outside, Sam could hear the marching of countless feet in sync. He listened intently as he straightened his clothing. He realized he'd slept in his boots and shook his head.
He got up once again, and clomped toward the entrance to the tent. It would take some time to get used to the heavy boots. Sam stole a peek out the slit. He saw rows upon rows of white canvas tents just like his. 'Jesus, how big is this camp?' He thought in amazement. He waited there, watching and listening for many minutes. Eventually, he decided to try to find that Grettia woman, figuring she was his best bet for some answers. As soon as he stepped out, he was halted by a voice to his left.
"Sir, you've got orders to report to the command hub as soon as possible." The youthful voice declared.
Sam turned to see a boy who looked barely 13, saluting him with a sharp movement. He was clothed in a green uniform, and carrying a leather satchel that appeared full. Sam was unsure of how to respond, instead he just stared at the boy with wide eyes.
"Uh, Sir?" The boy cocked an eyebrow.
"Oh, uh, sorry." Sam said. "Can you point me to where it's at?"
The boy's eyes narrowed for a moment, then he seemed to realize something.
"Right. It's that way, sir." He said pointing toward Sam's right. "It's a giant red tent, you can't miss it."
"Thanks, I'll go right away." Sam replied and turned to go.
Before he got more than a step away the boy spoke again.
"Sir, is it true? Is it true that the Captain perished last eve?" Sam turned back.
"What Captain?"
"Captain Samson Erke." The boy looked up at him, and Sam saw sadness.
"Yeah... I'm sorry." Sam replied quietly and hurried away, unable to look at the boy any longer.
Sam walked in the direction he was pointed for over half an hour before he finally saw the immense crimson tent. It's gilded trim gleamed softly in the warm light of the morning. He traced the outside of the circular structure until he found the entrance. To either side of the pulled fabric, two men dressed in iridescent red armor stood at guard.
Sam shuffled awkwardly in their direction, unsure of how to approach. As he came near, both men looked toward him, their armor clinking as they turned. They straightened their backs and held their lances upright. Sam continued forward and both men turned their heads forward again. He took that as a sign that he was allowed to pass, and stepped past and into the grand canopy.
Sam blinked rapidly, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dimness. He heard the hushed whispers of many voices as he walked hesitantly to the center of the tent. Finally, he could make out an extravagant looking table that spanned the entire room. On the opposite side from him sat seven people. As he began to make out their faces, he realized all were women, and they were looking at him. Appraising him. Sam was suddenly feeling timid.
"Hmm, he does bear a striking resemblance." The woman directly to the center said, the rest made sounds of disgruntled agreement.
Sam's eyes scanned the assembly quickly, trying to make out their expressions. Most seemed as though they were appalled by something, though perhaps he was just misinterpreting their countenance. He realized he recognized one of the women, the one on the far left. It was Grettia, the supposed healer. She looked at him with barely retained eagerness, Sam wasn't sure how to feel about that. Grettia stood and circled to the front of the table.
"Sisters, come, you must see what I've witnessed in this boy." She declared with a flourish, her elaborate violet robes flowing with her arms.
The rest of the group began to rise, muttering to each other as they did. They joined Sam and Grettia before the table, and leered at him haughtily. Grettia motioned at him excitedly and all six converged on him. Sam felt fear boil up, these women seemed dangerous to him somehow. He shied away, as they neared him. He stumbled back and fell on his rear, they reached spindly hands toward him from inside their lavish robes.
As they gripped him, Sam couldn't help but let out a gasp. Just as each of them touched, he could see something inside. In their bodies, he could feel power, not unlike the patterns he'd been visualizing constantly. They were all unique, some were rigid and cold, others were inviting and warm. Though, something about them felt off, but he couldn't quite pick it out.
Some of the women gasped as they touched him, other's eyes widened, but all displayed some form of shock. They all backed away in unison, a few had a fearful look in their eye, some amazed, one was angry even. Sam wondered if what they'd seen in him was anything like what he could see in them.
He scrambled back and pulled himself to his feet. Wary of the frightening gaggle of women. Sam straightened his pants and dusted off his behind, as the group started muttering to themselves, more furiously than before. Grettia looked on with what seemed to be
self-satisfaction. Sam was more bewildered than ever at what was taking place, three of the women kept glaring at him as they conferred.
Sam attempted to take a logical assessment of his situation, but it was too unclear. Grettia seemed delighted, while the others were combinations of fear, anger, and confusion. All he could tell was that his position was precarious. Sam was surprised to find he was relatively calm. Normally, this would've had him too afraid to form coherent thought, he was most definitely fearful, but it seemed it was a controlled fear.
Sam shuffled further away and straightened his back. As he moved, he noticed all the women glanced at him nervously. In the back of his mind he could still visualize the energy he'd seen flowing in each of them, and had a revelation. 'Grettia called these women 'sisters', so I think I can safely assume they have similar magical ability. So that energy I saw in them must be related to their magic... Then, the spirals I keep visualizing must be the power Grettia mentioned.'
Sam's eyes flicked from woman to woman as he frantically analyzed this discovery. They continued to bicker in hushed tones until Grettia finally interrupted.
"I propose we send him to Stralden." She said abruptly.
Her 'sisters' looked at her incredulously, obviously understanding something Sam didn't. He remembered Grettia mentioning that name to him the previous day, but he didn't remember the context.
One woman with blonde hair and an upturned nose spoke, nearly shouting. "Are you crazy?! We cannot send him there, he is not from here! It would be far too dangerous to the queen, what if he's an assassin?! What do..."
The woman seemed to realize Sam was still standing right there and her words faded. The six women formed a sort of half circle, opposing Grettia. They glanced to Sam in unison, wearing scowls, then back to Grettia. Their unified movements struck him as creepy somehow, he too glanced between them and Grettia, waiting for her response.
"You dunces. Do you not see it yet?" Grettia asked the group, while motioning at Sam.
The women stared at him, brows furrowed, then looked back to Grettia. Grettia just sighed and put her hand to her face.
"Sometimes I wonder how you fools ever made it past the vetting system..." Grettia muttered, just loud enough to hear.
The same woman who'd spoken before made a slur of sounds that was a combination of a scoff, a grunt, and a stutter of indignation.
"H-HOW DARE—" She began, but Grettia cut her off.
"He's an 'other'." She said.
Sam tried to figure out what she meant by that, but his limited knowledge of this world prevented it. Whatever it meant, it must have been something of some significance based on the reactions it got. All the women turned to Sam, their jaws hanging, and they seemed to realize the truth behind what Grettia said.
"H-He needs to be executed!" One said immediately.
Two others nodded at this immediately and Sam's 'controlled fear' unraveled. He instinctively raised his arms slightly at his sides, ready to defend himself. As he started to back toward the exit the woman with the blonde hair lunged at him with a shriek. Grettia shouted, and Sam heard the other women shout as well, but he was already turned and heading for the opening.
As he sprinted his boot caught on a rock jutting upward from the dirt, the exit mere feet away. He scrambled forward, trying to gain his footing again. Then, he felt a cold grip clamp down on his flailing right wrist. He felt the power of the one behind it, and panic crept through his limbs like poison. The energy was a rigid dark red, unlike the whimsical spirals of his own. Sam turned, and looked into the murderous eyes of the woman gripping him.
Paralyzing fear burst through him, keeping him frozen in place. The only thing he could do was tremble. 'No... Not, not again...'
She must have seen the terror in his eyes, as the thin-lipped grin of a predator consumed her face. Sam expected her other hand to enclose his neck and choke the life from him, but she just held his wrist, her arm consumed by tenebrous red structures. An awkward couple seconds passed as he froze in place, staring into her crazed, honey colored eyes. Then, just as suddenly as she lunged, she tore her hand from him. Her grin remained as she stepped back, watching his face, almost as if waiting for something.
Sam felt relief as the chilling power disconnected from him, but it was short lived. He noticed something out of the corner of his eye, that just about had him screaming. Where she'd grabbed him, his skin was flaking away. Sam gaped in horror as his wrist quickly disintegrated like burning paper, the bone inside appearing momentarily before seeming to burn away, and snap off.
He felt no pain as his unmoving hand flopped to the dirt. He peered hesitantly back to his arm and saw exactly what he hoped not to. The invisible flame continued up his arm, and with it, came an unrelenting fear that threatened to rend his mind in two. In a few seconds his arm was devoured up to the elbow, and his coat with it. Sam almost felt resigned to his fate, to follow the Samson who'd gone before him, and was relieved that no pain came. However, amidst his thoughts of death, a gleaming spark of hope smiled upon him.
He sought the endless patterns that had remained at the back of his mind ever since he'd opened that accursed book. As soon as he embraced them, his dread escaped him. Not in the 'controlled fear' way of before, but completely diminished. Sam felt himself smile as he gripped his decaying arm. He looked up and closed his eyes, and the scintillant whirls enveloped his body, forming a glorious web across his skin. Sam breathed deeply, calming his body, and he turned his gaze back to his arm.
He nearly laughed at the absurdity of what was occurring, of what he was doing. The flaky pieces of what was once his arm was rising back up, and returning to healthy flesh before his eyes. Crimson blood began to pour from the now opened wound but quickly streamed back into him as the particles took shape. In less than five seconds his arm was restored to the wrist, and his fallen hand levitated up as spirals of magic whirled around it. It floated slowly until about halfway up, then snapped to his wrist quickly, causing Sam's arm to move slightly from the impact.
He felt his fingers once again and wiggled them with glee. 'Oh what a wonderful gift this is,' Sam thought triumphantly. As he looked up to the band of sisters, he stifled a snicker at the looks of disbelief. Even Grettia, who was now standing directly behind his aggressor, wore a look of amazement. Finally, Sam pulled his mind from the power, and the web sank into his skin.
Grettia was the first to escape the stupor, and her plump face instantly turned to anger. She clamped her hand around the woman's throat like a vice, and it collapsed between deceptively strong fingers. The woman's face rapidly began turning purple as she scratched at the hand squeezing the life from her. Grettia jerked her hand to the left, and a loud crack rang in the tent. She released the woman, and her body flopped to the ground, her neck wobbling limply where it had snapped.
"A pity really, she had quite powerful magic. If only her mind were there to support it." Grettia said indifferently, despite her previous ferocity.
When she spoke, it seemed the rest of the women came from their dazes. None made a sound, only looked on in silent horror. Sam had to admit the sight was rather unsettling, but he was still bathed in euphoria from his miraculous survival, and wasn't too dismayed, considering the woman had tried to kill him.
"Jyanda! No..." A woman with black hair ran to the fallen sister. "G-Grettia how dare you! How could you kill one of your sisters?! And over a weak male no less!"
Grettia turned slowly, her brilliant violet robe flowing with her.
"If you still truly believe this young man is weak, after such a display, then you are more an imbecile than I thought." She spoke with utter disdain.
At that point, Sam's ecstasy had leveled out. With it, his normal emotions returned. An overwhelming sense of disgust rose in him, and the crippling fear rose unbidden again, looking at the crumpled body on the floor. It's neck hanging limply, bent unnaturally in the black haired woman's arms. Her mouth dribbled foamy, saliva mixed blood, and her eyes stared lifelessly at the canopy of the tent. Sam convulsed slightly at the sight.
"Our dearly departed Jyanda there, tried to kill the person who could be the most powerful mage in this room, he could be a vital accessory to victory in this war!" Grettia said. "Her death was justified regardless, such a senseless murderer has no place in this council."
Sam was astonished by her words, 'Me? More powerful than everyone here?!' He, despite what he'd just done, found it hard to believe. 'She just killed that woman without breaking a sweat! I can't do that!'
He stood there, unable to move due to the thoughts warring for attention in his head. He felt a cold sweat slowly coating him, his bare right arm chilling slightly in the cool morning. Grettia turned to him and began to speak.
"I'm going to schedule you some lessons, so you can learn the basics of your abilities today. For now, you should have breakfast." She smiled warmly at him.
For some reason, that smile unnerved Sam, but he was relieved to be able to get out of there. Grettia strode past the dazed group of women and grabbed a small piece of parchment from the other side of the long desk. She pulled over a quill and an ink bottle, quickly beginning to scribble. As he waited, Sam glanced back to the woman holding Jyanda, and he noticed a striking resemblance despite their hair. Wet streaks lined her pale face, and she hugged the body tightly.
He considered trying to apologize for what had occurred, but quickly abandoned the thought as Grettia came back toward him. She ushered him toward the exit and pulled it open. Sam squinted and shielded his eyes with his hand. The sun blinded him for a few seconds, and he walked forward tentatively, hoping not to trip.
"Be a dear and escort Samson here to the eatery, and deliver these instructions to Delinna," Grettia said to one of the red guards.
"Yes, Ma'am." Spoke a deep reverberating voice.
Sam's eyes adjusted in time to see the guards salute Grettia as she reentered the tent.
"Now, let us discuss our options..." Grettia said to the remaining sisters as Sam turned to the guard who was already walking away, his armor clinking softly.
Sam jogged to catch up with the towering red knight and fell into stride next to him.
"Er, I'm not supposed to ask, but... what in god's name happened in there?!" The man asked, breaking the silence after a few minutes of walking.
Sam considered how to respond, whether he should tell this man what occurred. Eventually, he decided to tell him but leave out the parts that seemed unwise to tell.
"Well, one of the women attacked me randomly. She grabbed my wrist, and it started burning with something like invisible fire." He said, showing his bare arm. "Then, I sorta healed myself."
Sam paused, unsure of how to say the next part.
"And Grettia just came up behind the woman and killed her, snapped her neck with one hand!"
As he spoke, the man stopped abruptly. Sam turned to him, his eyebrow raised. He couldn't tell what the man was thinking inside his helm, and assumed he was as shocked by the killing as he'd been.
"Y-You healed yourself...? After an attack from one of them...?" The man asked, the utter astonishment evident in his voice.
Sam cocked his head to the side and rubbed the back of it.
"Uh, yeah I guess I did..." Sam said, taken aback at the man's response. "Supposedly, my power is pretty strong..."
"Pretty strong?! You gotta be class A at least!" Sam found himself comforted somehow by the man's informality.
"A class? What's that mean?" Sam asked.
The man didn't move, just looked at Sam.
"Who are you, exactly?" He questioned.
Sam tried to come up with a response that skirted the truth, but couldn't do it. He figured since magic was real, and well known in this world, that his story wouldn't be too far fetched. He chose to confide in this man, whether it was foolish or not, he would soon find out.
"I'm... I'm not from this world." He uttered so that no prying ears would hear. "I don't really know how, but a book transported me here, and I don't know what to do!"
The scarlet-clad knight continued his unmoving stare for a few moments, then hurriedly grabbed Sam's arm. Sam felt panic rise in his gut, but as the man spoke again, it was assuaged.
"Y-You should keep that to yourself from now on." He whispered, close to Sam. "Unfortunately, the coven of old wenches back there probably already knows, but..."
Sam could see the gleaming of eyes behind the helm, they were narrowed.
"...Well let's just say, it's best if most don't know your secret." He finished.
Sam gulped and nodded quickly, as the man turned to start walking again.
"What is your name? Forgive me for not asking before." The man said, his head turning to Sam as he paced.
"Oh, I'm Samson, but I usually go by Sam." He said with a slight smile.
The man turned his head away for a moment. "I was afraid of that." He muttered sadly.
"What do you mean?" Sam asked, frowning.
"Samson was a friend of mine... and many others for that matter." He looked down as he spoke. "Normally, the only way to transport between worlds is when both persons look at a powerful mage's inscription, called the Portal Page, at the same time."
Sam looked at the melancholic man, astounded at the warrior's knowledge, and his ability to infer so much from so little.
"There's a rumored second method, but none have dared test it due to the fact that death is involved." He continued, "Apparently it's true. Unless Samson stumbled upon a page in the middle of a battlefield."
Sam sensed a much greater sadness from the man than he was outwardly expressing, and began feeling mournful as well. They walked without speaking for the rest of the course. Sam wanted to ask how the man knew so much and what else he knew about it, but deemed it inappropriate.
As they came closer to their destination Sam saw a few people scrambling about, carrying pails of water, soiled cloth, food trays, and some running empty handed. A man in brown slave's garb nearly bumped straight into Sam as they rounded a corner. The foamy water in his wooden bucket spilling over the top as he stopped abruptly. Sam was about to apologize, but the man quickly bowed and hurried past before had the chance. The guard continued on, unfazed by the disruption, toward a clearing ahead.
Right as they entered the open space, Sam's escort stopped. In the area, wooden tables were strewn about in unorganized groups, and a few people eating together. Most of those who were sitting there were injured, the servants being the only ones not so. Across the clearing was an open tent, where servants were preparing food in massive pots and handing trays of it to any who came. The guard finally broke the silence, and Sam looked to him.
"I'm sure you can figure it out from here," He said, a more unfamiliar tone returning. "When you've finished, go to the training area. They'll be expecting you."
As he finished, he turned and started walking back. Sam was preparing to say something when the man looked back to him.
"I'd like to talk with you more, but I must return to my post. I will find you later." And with that, he was gone.
Sam stood there, staring after the man for a few moments, insecure now that he didn't have someone to show him about. Finally, he spun and walked to the cook's tent, his mind filling with thoughts of delicious food. When he approached one of the cooks saw him and held out a tray of food. He nodded to the man as he took it, and thanked him. He found a seat on a bench away from the majority of the small clusters of people and sat down.
'I must look pretty out of place with my right sleeve missing,' he thought, looking at his arm with amusement. He quickly removed his jacket and set it aside, not wishing to attract attention. Inspecting his tray of food, he realized he didn't immediately recognize anything there. Thin slices of green fruit with red flesh, similar in shape to an apple, were spread atop of a cream coated piece of meat. On the side was a cup of water, and a small bowl of steaming green roots.
Sam grabbed the piece of meat with the tips of his fingers and hesitantly brought it to his mouth. A medley of bizarre flavors stimulated his taste buds. The meat itself was tough and bland, but the cream and fruit were quite pungent. The sourness of the fruit left him puckering his lips, though the cream's sweetness balanced it out fairly. He decided he was rather indifferent to the foreign taste.
He hastily finished the meat and relatively tasteless roots and downed the cup of water, eager to leave. As he brought over his tray he asked the cook where he could find the training grounds, realizing the guard hadn't told him. The man frowned at him oddly and pointed him in the right direction. With that, he set off carrying his sundered coat over his arm.
He spent nearly an hour wandering among the labyrinth of identical white tents before finally stopping a servant and asking where to go from there. She gave him the same confused look the cook had and pointed straight ahead of him. He turned and thanked her as he jogged onward.
Sam flitted his eyes left and right between the tents as he ran, finding a clearing not dissimilar in size to the eating area, but its equipment was far different. He scanned the area, seeing a dozen straw dummies in varying states of decline, and several barrels filled with wooden swords next to them. His eyes were drawn to the center of the clearing, where a woman sat, stropping a large knife.
Shuffling forward hesitantly, he tried to think of what to say. He opened his mouth to speak but stopped as her head snapped in his direction. She glowered at him. He quickly lost whatever he'd meant to say, and took a step back warily.
"You are the greenie..." She said, sounding disappointed. "When the message said you had potential I was expecting a bit more than a scrawny youth."
Sam looked at the ground and rubbed the back of his head with his free hand. As soon as he'd done so, he felt a searing pain tear into his left arm. His eyes centered on a handle protruding from his forearm, the tip of the blade piercing through to the opposite side. The pain sent intense shocks to his brain and he felt tears beginning to blur his vision.
His jacket fell from his quaking right arm as he reached for the handle. His hand hovered above it, reluctant to touch it for fear of aggravating the pain. Sam's eyes flicked to the woman still sitting in the center of the clearing, her expression blank, arms crossed as she watched him. Realization befell him as he saw that she no longer held a knife.
His gaze returned to the source of his pain, irresolute. He gripped the handle tightly. 'Shit! I can't...' He stood there, holding the handle in his trembling hand. "FUUCKK!" He tore the blade from his flesh. Blood and gore were ripped free as the hooked back edge of the knife dug into the muscle in his arm. He lost control of his left hand as his tendons were snapped by the barbs. As his mind fogged over, he heard his own screaming, but it sounded distant. Tears poured incessantly from his clenched eyes.
Sam fell to his knees and dropped the knife. It clattered softly against the packed dirt as he grabbed his bleeding arm. Due to his muddled mind, his power did not come to him immediately. The pain brought him to the edge of consciousness before he remembered, and he cursed himself for forgetting so soon.
His mind desperately sought out the coruscating spirals of his magic. As soon as he found them, he grasped them frantically, urgent to be relieved of the pain, of the crippling fear. Instantly, his mind and body were enveloped in the power, the pain remained, but his mind was cleared. His eyes opened tentatively to see his arm, the same that had happened barely two hours earlier was occurring again.
Every bare inch of skin was whirling with iridescent tattoos of power. He felt control return to his hand as the tendons mended, and watched as the small chunks of flesh flew up from the knife into his still bleeding wound. Finally, the pouring blood was staunched, and the spilled blood was flowing back into the already sealing veins. The pain gradually slowed to a stinging, finally ceasing as his skin clasped together like a closing zipper.
Like the previous time, he felt great joy as he embraced his magic, though unlike the last, he laughed aloud. Tears continued to streak down his face as he laughed toward the heavens. 'What the hell is wrong with me...?' He thought as his body thrummed with the writhing patterns of power. His laughter ended as he lowered his gaze, returning to the woman in the clearing.
In his mind Sam still felt jubilation, but a desire to kill wormed its way into his heart. 'I... I'll be even happier if I kill her...' he realized. He smiled wildly as he stared into the woman's judging eyes. He took a step forward, wringing his hands, imagining her neck between them. 'I-I can do it, I should just kill her, it would feel so good...' he chuckled with delight at the images running through his head.
He took another slow step forward, preparing to dash toward the defenseless woman. 'Perhaps I could break her arms and legs first, then slowly choke her...' His smile grew wider as each new idea crossed his mind. 'Oh, how wonderful the pain would be!' He shut his eyes to revel in the beauty of the image and felt a shiver run down his spine.
As he opened his eyes he stared at the woman, into her dark eyes. In that moment, Sam felt almost as though he could see into her soul and his thoughts froze. 'A test... A test...' His smile faded. He stood there, paralyzed by something... The woman's fierce gaze seemed to be judging him. 'Stop... Stop...' the thought seemed distant, like someone yelling from afar. 'Let go... Let go...? Of what?'
His head leaned to the side, like a confused puppy. 'Let go... Let go of...' Sam tried to brush away the voice in his head, but it was persistent, not letting him forget. He felt as though he was trying to bring up a picture in his memory, like trying to remember something on the tip of his tongue. 'Let go of the...'
Finally, the image was brought to the forefront of his thoughts. It was an opalescent pattern. His magic. Sam looked down at the whirls of power moving on his bare arms. 'Let go of... the power. Let go of the power.' As soon as the thought completed in his head he felt his mind retreat from the magical, infinity of swirls and he fell to his knees. The magic faded back into his skin, and horror struck him.
"I-I-I... I was gonna kill her..." Sam muttered.
Tears reformed in his eyes, wetting his still damp face. He brought his head to his hands and started to weep.
"I-I wanted... to mu-murder her..." he said, disgusted at the thoughts he'd held moments before. "I... w-would've enjoyed it too..."
He sniffled and sobbed softly. Sam lifted his head as he felt a hand touch his shoulder gently. The woman who'd thrown the knife was now kneeling next to him, her face showing compassion and warmth, rather than the fiery judgment of before. He jumped back, another spike of fear tearing into him.
"I see... this is what she meant." She said softly. "I apologize for my previous harshness, I needed to test you."
Sam looked into her eyes and saw sincerity, but he was unswayed. 'Your apology is worthless.' He tried to speak, but a lump blocked his throat. Salty tears touched his tongue as he opened his mouth.
"Do not blame yourself, son. It was not your own thoughts that plagued you, but those of the magic." She said assuredly. "I honestly thought I was going to have to incapacitate you, the fact that you managed to control yourself on the first try is a testament to your good nature."
Sam took this in and felt his resentment recede, though not entirely. He again attempted to speak, but his mouth moved wordlessly. 'I-I don't want to have this magic... This is no blessing...' The woman seemed to understand what he'd meant to say and responded sternly.
"It will not help you to wish away your ability, you need simply learn to control it, and yourself."
"I-I don't wanna use it anymore. I-I don't wanna hurt somebody..." Sam muttered. 'Damn you, lady. This is your fault.' He thought
At that moment her brows narrowed and she pulled her arm back. Stars flashed in Sam's vision as he reeled back from the strong slap. He looked at her with frantic fear clearly shown in his expression. He looked into her angered gaze frightfully as she stood up. Long suppressed memories threatened his sanity.
'No no no no no!' He clasped his head in his hands, shaking frantically. 'STOP!'
"If you wish not to hurt anyone, then you need to become stronger. Trying to avoid your power will only make it worse when you're forced to use it. If that were to happen, you would be certain to hurt someone. Learn to control it, and you will not need to worry about such a thing." She said, apparently oblivious to his internal battle.
"For someone with as much ability as you appear to have, it was already amazing for you to break from your power. If you do not want to feel what you just felt again, then you must master it."
Sam sat there trembling, trying to hold back his panicking mind. He could barely pay attention.
"I can easily see that you know very little of your own ability, I will give you a rudimentary explanation of magic. So hold your tongue for the moment, most of your questions may be answered by the end of it." She said, her voice lowering.
"Okay..." He replied submissively.
"First of all, we should introduce ourselves." She said as she walked back toward the center of the clearing.
"I am known by the name Delinna Hannt. I am the head instructor in this war camp." Delinna's auburn hair flopped in its tight ponytail, as she turned sharply. "I have strong grasps on both magical and physical combat, as well as magical and physical healing." As she finished, she knelt on her knees with her back straight.
Sam sat there in silent fear and frustration for a few moments before wiping his remaining tears away hurriedly and standing up. He shuffled over until he was a few yards away, then spoke.
"...I'm Sam. Sam Wallace." He said, not meeting her eyes. "Well, my full name is Samson, but most call me Sam."
As he sat down, he was unnerved to find Delinna was studying his face intensely, with her arms crossed under her breasts. He crossed his legs and looked away from her fierce inspection, rubbing the back of his head anxiously.
"It appears you have difficulty with confidence, Samson." She said matter-of-factly. "But that is irrelevant at the moment. I will begin by teaching you the two basic types of magic that humans can control."
Delinna closed her eyes and breathed deeply, preparing to start.
"First, is bind magic, which you and I have. Bind magic is most often used for healing, but has a wide variety of uses. However, everything it is capable of is somehow related to connection, thus named as such. Healing is used most often due to the relatively easy, and useful nature, and because it uses a moderately low amount of power. Though normally, healing would take considerably longer than what you have demonstrated.
"Other common uses include shackling slaves or prisoners, connecting armor, and the repair of broken items." She said, then paused.
Delinna's hands shone with a dull yellow light as she brought forth her power. Thin lines created patterns along her skin. Sam noticed that they weren't nearly as intricate or bright as his own. She touched her each of her hands to the opposite wrist, one over the other, and closed her eyes. The patterns writhed and shimmered for a moment, then sank back into her skin. As she pulled her hands apart a band of magic connected to each wrist, and held taught about half a foot apart. It pulsed with energy as she yanked her arms outward, demonstrating the strength.
Sam stared in amazement at the up close look at the magic. The day before, when he'd met the slave, he'd seen the same magic, but from further away. Now, he could make out each and every swirling string of magic as they writhed about between Delinna's wrists. As the lines met each wrist, they split and frayed out, appearing to go straight into the skin. Sam's jaw dropped as he leaned forward.
"This is a basic point to point bind, used for shackles mostly. I am sure you have seen slaves with these on their ankles since you have been here. They are designed to allow slaves to walk normally but prevent anything beyond that. These types of binds are useful for tying down animals temporarily as well." She put her hands back together as she finished.
As Delinna pulled her hands back apart, the bind was gone.
"Binds can only be removed by the original binder, or by those who use the second magic type, sever magic. As the name implies, most everything sever magic is capable of is related to splitting things. Sever magic is much more difficult to describe without someone to demonstrate it, unfortunately. Usually I teach in groups and have an assistant. Due to the impromptu nature of this lesson, and the need for most mages in the war, I was not able to find an available sever mage."
'So, that sister lady who attacked me earlier must've been one of these sever mages...' Sam thought. As Delinna paused to take a breath, he spoke softly. "So sever magic is like destruction, and bind magic is like creation or something, right?"
"No, that is a common misconception. Sever magic does not destroy, it breaks, cuts, the matter is still there, and is not irreparable. Bind magic does not create either, it connects already existing things. Even when healing, it does not create new skin or muscle, it just puts it back together. Do you understand?"
"Yes, I think so, for the most part," Sam said weakly. "But earlier today, one of those council ladies attacked me, and her magic, like, burned my arm. Wouldn't that count as destroying it?"
Delinna's eyes widened for a moment, then she sighed and ran her hand back through her hair.
"No, that is an advanced form of Sever magic, this is what I meant by 'Sever magic is more difficult to describe without someone to demonstrate'." She said, dropping her hand, limply, to her lap. "That is... A variation of sorts, it is designed to appear like it is burning, but it really is not. You did not feel any pain during it, right?"
Sam shook his head.
"That is because it was only falling apart, not being burnt. It is very difficult to do, supposedly, and takes much more power than a straightforward severing. Due to its complexity, it is harder to heal. The main reason someone would waste that much magic though, would be to try to strike fear into a stronger foe, a necessary move on her part. Does that make sense?"
"Sorta... So it was like an illusion?" He replied.
"Yes, in a way, a trick to make it look worse than it really was," Delinna said. "I assume she was immediately killed afterward... Which one was it?"
Sam sat silently for a few moments, looking down at a dried plant between his legs, picking off the dead leaves.
"I don't remember what her name was, I think it sounded like Hiyanna or something. She had an upturned nose and blonde hair." Sam said, still fiddling with the dead plant.
"Jyanda." Delinna said, sounding unsurprised. "She was always a bold woman. Though, perhaps it would be more appropriate to call it rash."
Delinna looked upward pensively. Sam looked up from the plant and watched her expression for a moment until she looked back down, and he turned away.
"Did you know her well...?" He asked hesitantly.
"No, not on a personal level. I taught her for a few years when she was still in her Basics, much before she had become one of the Sisters."
"You taught her? But she looked older than you do?" Sam said, glancing upward once again.
"Ha, I'm flattered, but no, I am older. I forget that you know next to nothing about magic. I suppose that is a good thing to start on next." She said, taking another deep breath. "All magic users age far slower than an ungifted person, and their amount of power determines how much longer. The aging process is normal until a person reaches their prime, around 18 to 25 for women, and 23 to 29 for men, then it can stop for any number of years depending on their class. The average mage lives around twice as long, provided they die a natural death."
As Delinna paused again to gather her thoughts, Sam found himself confused about something.
"So, wait. How does a person's amount of power determine that? Wouldn't everyone just live forever or something?"
Delinna looked at him blankly for a moment, as if completely befuddled by his question. Then, her eyes widened.
"Oh! No no, but I get why you might think that." She said, chuckling softly. "Magic is not infinite, though it may seem so at first. In your mind, you can see the lines right? The patterns?"
"Yeah, yeah I can," Sam replied, his mind unconsciously seeking the patterns.
"As you are young, there seems to be an endless number of those patterns, but over time you will achieve a greater sense for your magic. Over the course of your life, your body will use the power to keep itself in peak condition. That, along with regular magic use drains your pool, so to speak." She said.
She stopped, letting him take in the information. Sam's brow furrowed as he thought about it. 'I'm gonna live at least another hundred years...' He started to get lost in the prospects of that, but Delinna interrupted his grim thoughts.
"Next I should teach you the basic ways to control your magic." She said. "The first thing you should know, is that when you are in the act of using magic, when you are focusing it, it will not muddle your mind. The easiest way to keep it from affecting your mind like earlier, is to cut the connection as soon as you have finished the task. However, that loses effectiveness the longer the task takes.
"So, as long as you are doing simple things, it should not bother you, but obviously that is not always possible. Unfortunately, the only way to reduce the side effects, is simply training your mind against it. The reason this poses a problem is because it takes a very long time before becoming immune." She sighed and rubbed her temples, as if remembering painful memories. "In most cases this takes years of practice."
"How do—" Sam started but was cut off by a cacophony of blaring horns.
Sam's head swiveled in confusion. The extended trumpeting cut off sharply, and was followed by a series of stunted notes. He looked back to Delinna for some sort of response, but the one he got was not what he expected. Her eyes were wide and staring, her head pointed to the left. Her mouth was moving, as if muttering to herself. Inside, Sam was starting to panic. Suddenly, Delinna's gaze turned back to Sam.
"Get up, in that tent over there is a sword, take it and run to the council tent." She said stolidly.
Sam sat frozen for a moment. He gulped as he watched Delinna sprint off toward where she'd been looking seconds before.
"What the—?! Wait, what's going on?!" He yelled to her, but no response came. "Goddammit! Don't just leave me here clueless!"
Sam jumped to his feet, panic creeping into him once again. He ran to the tent she'd pointed out. He fumbled with the opening, the canvas slipping from his shaking grasp. The tent was furnished with racks of weapons. Axes, swords, and bows lined the edges. 'Which sword?!' Sam thought exasperatedly.
His question was quickly answered. He saw the sheathed sword lying flat on a low, stone table in the center of the tent. Grabbing the sword, he ran back out the entrance, nearly tripping over his own feet. Once back in the clearing, his panic increased as he realized he had no idea where the council tent was from there. He hesitated. Then, cursing under his breath, he made a hasty decision.
Sam ran across the clearing, heading in the direction opposite of Delinna. He saw his jacket still lying where he'd dropped it, and next to it was the knife he'd torn from his arm. He decided to grab both of them, not knowing what kind of situation he was in.
"Into the maze, I guess..." Sam muttered, holding the sword in one hand, and the knife and jacket in the other.
Sam sprinted straight through the tents, unfortunately not finding anyone. His stamina depleted quickly, and he slowed to a jog. Everywhere were white tents, no distinguishing landmarks to indicate his location at all. 'What a stupid design! How can anyone find anything in this damned place?!'
After running what seemed to be miles, he finally found the edge of the encampment. He scanned the open landscape, and saw nothing but flat land. Dead plants specked the plains in small patches, and Sam decided then, that running out there thoughtlessly would leave him as dead as the grass. His mind slowly clearing of its earlier panic, he thought of his options.
He flopped down onto the ground, wiping the sweat from his forehead. 'What should I do? Delinna seemed worried about something, something I'd be willing to bet is dangerous. Probably that other army.' He rubbed the back of his head as he pondered. 'But, no one seemed worried earlier... What could have changed?' His thoughts were interrupted by a distant voice. Sam perked up, and twisted his head, searching for the source.
About a quarter mile to his right, Sam saw a man in gleaming red armor waving his hands above his head frantically.
"Samson! Samson, this way!" He called.
Sam stood abruptly and started jogging in that direction. As he approached, the man took off his helm. Underneath was a head of wavy red-blonde hair, and a handsome face coated with stubble. The eyes were the same intense green ones he'd glimpsed earlier that day. His expression was grim as he walked toward Sam. He stuck his helm in the crook of his right arm, and opened his mouth to speak, but Sam cut him off quickly.
"What's going on? Is it the other army? Where's everyone else?" Sam rattled off.
"Hold on Samson, give me a second." The man said with a sigh. "We need to make haste, the council has already taken off with the last of the carriages and the winnem."
"Wait, what's a winnem?" Sam interrupted again.
"Huh? Oh, they're the big animals that people ride." He answered. "Anyways, yes, the enemy has overcome our forces. Supposedly they had around 10,000 new soldiers, and they circled around us. We don't really know the specifics at the moment, but we need to retreat to warn the capital."
"O-Okay. Uh, what do we do?" Sam asked, his fear returning with a vengeance.
"Well, we will have to travel on foot for now. The town of Eltinn is about a week's time in that direction." The man said, pointing straight into the distance. "If we run, we should catch up to the convoy sometime tonight, dawn at the latest."
Sam ran a hand back through his hair and groaned inwardly.
"Can you run very long in that armor?"
"Not likely, thank you for reminding me." He said and started removing the heavy plate. "We'll have plenty of time for more questions on the way, we shouldn't waste it here."
Underneath the armor was a maroon shirt in the same style as that which Sam wore, and the same pants and boots. 'I think I kinda like the uniformity of the clothes, at least...' Sam thought amused. As the man picked up his lance, Sam realized he hadn't gotten the man's name earlier.
"Hey, uh, I never got your name earlier." He said, adjusting the items in his arms.
"Oh, my apologies, I'm Theodore Granic." He replied, grinning and extending a hand toward Sam. He shook it firmly.
"Alright, let's go then..."
—
The two ran for an hour straight with little communication due to Sam needing to focus all his energy on running to keep up with Theodore. Finally, he was forced to take a break to catch his breath. He stumbled and fell flat on his stomach, dropping everything he was holding in the process. Groaning, Sam rolled over onto his back and laid there wheezing for several minutes, unable to speak. Theodore remained standing, show very little fatigue.
As Sam felt some energy return, he sat up and stretched out, not wanting his muscles to tighten. 'It looks like it's about three.' He estimated, looking at the position of the sun. 'That is, if time is the same here...' Sam looked to Theodore, expecting some sort of mocking from the man, but none came.
"I'm a bit surprised you kept my pace for that long, we might end up catching them right around sundown," Theodore said.
"Yeah, why aren't you at least breathing heavily right now?!" Sam said, laughing awkwardly.
"Hah, I used to be able to run from dawn till dusk, but I've lost quite a bit of my previous conditioning." He replied with a big smile.
Sam just shook his head. Theodore offered him a hand. He was pulled to his feet, and he quickly started brushing the dirt from his clothing. He grabbed his belongings from the ground and situated himself once again. He decided to wrap the knife in his jacket for now, since he had no sheath. Sam examined the sword, looking for a strap somewhere.
"Hey, uh... is there a strap or something on this thing?" Sam asked, frowning.
"Well you can just use a bind, you don't really need straps," Theodore said.
"Oh, right. I'm not really sure I can do that yet." He said, still perturbed by his reaction to magic earlier.
He almost resigned to just carrying it when he remembered what Delinna had said. 'I can't just stay afraid of it. Besides, it's a small thing, I can cut off the magic quickly.' Despite his thoughts, he was still shaken up.
"Uh, where's the best place to put it do you think?" Sam asked, looking to Theodore.
"Hmm. Probably on your back, like this." He said, drawing a line across Sam's back with his finger. "At least while we're running."
"Alright, I'll try it. If I, er... lose control, don't be afraid to hurt me, I can heal well enough." Sam replied, looking into Theodore's eyes with a bit more confidence.
'I really have no idea where to start with this, I haven't practiced at all yet.' He thought as he brought the sword to his back. 'Guess I'll just try to imagine the magic there or something.' Sam breathed deeply and exhaled slowly, steeling his nerves. He reached for his power and immediately saw the pulsating lines. As he did, he felt a push against his mind, like a forgotten memory. It was as though he already knew what to do.
'Just feel the sheath, focus on it, and direct the power there.' Sam immediately felt it connect, like holding two magnets near, it snapped to his back. He quickly pulled his mind out from his magic, and sighed with relief as he felt normal once again. Letting go of the sword, he felt exhilaration run through him as it remained on his back.
"YES! It worked! It worked!" He yelled, jumping with joy. "WOOHOO!"
He stopped suddenly, seeing the amused grin on Theodore's face. Instant embarrassment flooded Sam. 'That was an odd outburst, I'm not normally one to do that...' He felt his cheeks burning as he rubbed the back of his head. Theodore walked over to him and whacked him on the shoulder.
"That was a sight to behold." He said with a chuckle. "I don't think I've ever seen someone with such bright forms before."
"Forms? What do you mean by that?" Sam asked in return, raising an eyebrow.
"That's what we call it when the light show up on your skin. You know, when you use your magic." Theodore answered.
Sam nodded and turned his attention to his sword. He jumped to test the sheath's stability on his back and found it did not shake at all, and still allowed him to move his shoulders without encumbrance.
"So, would this, like, drain my energy over time or anything?" Sam said.
"Delinna did not have much time with you did she." He replied, somewhat solemnly. "Once a bind is placed, it will remain for a long time. It depends on how much power is used, but even the weakest will stay for decades. So, unless someone severs it, or the binder deactivates it, it will stay intact."
"I see," Sam said softly. "Hey, if you don't mind me asking, how do you know so much? Are you a, uh... mage as well?"
Theodore laughed and shook his head.
"No no, I am but a normal man. My family owns a library in Dentlin. Growing up I read just about every book in there, and a few more than once." He answered. "That is where the majority of my knowledge comes from."
"Oh, I work in a library back home! I always read during my breaks, anything that seems interesting." Sam said, elated at finding something in common.
"What a funny coincidence. Is that where you found the portal page?" Theodore inquired.
"Yeah, it is actually. It was in a dusty old storage room, in some strange book."
Theodore rubbed his stubble thoughtfully and Sam waited for some sort of response, but none came. Suddenly, he turned to Sam.
"Do you know how to use that thing?" He asked.
"The sword? No, not really. Only what I've read about, and I don't remember much."
Sam pulled out the sword slowly with his right hand, relishing the sound of it. 'I have never felt cooler.' He thought. His first glimpse of the sword mesmerized him. Its weight was well balanced in his hands and felt easy to handle. The blade was of a dark metal, a matte gray, with intricate black patterns lining the flat center. Immediately, he thought it strange. It was long, but far thinner and narrower than any longsword he'd seen. He whacked the flat of it against his hand, testing the sturdiness.
His confusion increased as it remained rigid. Sam felt the soft black leather hand and a half grip under his fingers, and brushed his thumb across the thin cross guard. He turned back to Theodore.
"How is this sword even functional? This thing should be really brittle, but it doesn't seem to be?"
"Ah, that is made of velta. It's the about strongest metal in the realm, for how light it is." Theodore answered. "The swords made from it are generally on the smaller side, due to the cost. Honestly, I am a bit surprised the council gave one to you. No offense, but it would be more useful in a trained soldier's hand."
"Maybe you should take it then, you're definitely better than I am." Sam said, holding the sword out to the man.
"No no, I can't fight with a sword for shite. Besides, you will learn to use it soon enough, I'm sure."
At that, Sam put the sword gently back into the sheath, careful not to miss the mouth.
"We should, uh, probably get moving again." Sam said sheepishly. "Though, maybe we could start a little slower."
Theodore chuckled, "Alright, the sooner we catch up, the sooner we can eat and drink."
"So, how did the group get so far ahead of us? I ran straight this direction as soon as the horn blew." Sam asked, after a half hour of jogging in silence.
Theodore sighed solemnly, "We got the warning nearly an hour before the alert, just after I got back to the council, one of mages managed to get out of the enemy trap and made it back. The council decided that in order to protect the 'important persons', that they would leave behind most of the wounded and serving folk as a distraction. Coincidentally, they fall under the 'important persons' list." He said it with clear cynicism, and looked down mournfully.
Sam felt a sudden disdain for them at that and clenched his fists angrily.
Theodore continued, "I was assigned to alert a few others then retrieve you and Delinna and bring you as well, but neither of you were at the training facility by the time I managed to get there. I figured she would have taken you to the council, then when you weren't there I ran to the outskirts and came across you fairly quickly after. I assume she went to fight."
"Yeah, I didn't know where the council tent was, so I just ran straight in the opposite direction from her." Sam replied.
"I wouldn't worry too much about her Samson, she's more resilient than most." Theodore said and patted his shoulder.
Sam nodded, deciding not to say that he didn't particularly care for her fate. He increased his pace, not feeling much for talking anymore.
—
A few hours later, just before the sun set, the terrain began to change beneath their feet. The dry plants became greener, the dirt softer, and in the distance, he could see a few small trees. They stopped to rest in a patch of tall grass.
"What... What happens if we don't catch them... or we pass by without realizing it?" Sam asked, breathing raggedly.
"Well, there is forested land near here, I can hunt if it comes to that. Ideally we will not have to worry about it though."
"I hope we just find them soon, I'm really fuckin' thirsty." Sam said with an enervated smile.
The night was among the darkest Sam had ever experienced. The small shaving of moon provided little light, and he could barely see a foot in front of him. He'd already tripped and fallen four times, unable to see the small rocks and well ingrained plants. On top of that, he was on the verge of passing out from exhaustion. Ready to accept his fate, he dropped his jacket, and the knife with it.
He fell to his knees and Theodore stopped immediately. He caught Sam by the chest as he went face first toward the ground.
"Hang in there Sam, just a little longer. I can see light in the distance, it's probably their fires." He said, hefting Sam to his feet.
"I... I... Can't..." Sam mumbled between wheezes, wobbling precariously.
With that, his head went limp in Theodore's arms, and he lost consciousness.
—
"... Drink... Drink..." A distant voice said.
Suddenly, a harsh stinging spread across his cheek as Sam's senses returned. He groaned and tried to move, but found his muscles too stiff. Something wet pressed against his lips, and a hand pulled his mouth open. Cool water poured down his dry throat and he felt instant relief. Sam's eyes fluttered as he opened them to see a stern looking Frenna holding a leather canteen to his lips. He blinked, trying to remember what had happened. Frenna's cheeks flushed and she averted her gaze.
"I-I am sorry for slapping you, but you were having difficulty waking." She said softly.
Sam would have responded, had he not been guzzling down water like it was the last he'd ever drink. Instead, he just nodded to her.
"Once you have finished you can sleep again, we just had to get some fluids in you."
Sam's eyelids were already drooping tiredly. He tried to nod his affirmation again, but he fell asleep before he could.
—
'Wake up!'
Sam's eyelids flicked open and he looked around, his head swiveling frantically. He sat up quickly and checked his surroundings. It was early morning. He was lying on grass, next to an elaborately gilded carriage. Draped over his chest, was his one armed jacket. 'What happened? I passed out before we made it to the convoy... I'm certain of that.'
'Who was it that woke me up? I don't see anyone...' His questions were forgotten as he heard the clanging of metal and bellowing men. Sam jumped to his feet and was surprised to find his body lacking soreness. He scoured the ground around him for his new sword, and realized it was still bound to his back. Next to him, the carriage shot off. He was startled by the sudden movement and any remaining weariness was chased out of him.
As it pulled away, it's wooden wheels rumbling, a battle was revealed. Sam was frozen in his place, watching with horror as men in dark green armor swept the area atop their mounts. Unarmed servants were beheaded, and there were few trying to stop them. Seven of the red guards stood in opposition of the attackers, all in scattered pieces of armor, as if they'd been forced to abandon the rest.
Sam watched as all the remaining carriages pulled away from the camp, and fled. Sam was forced to take action as one of the riders set their sight on him. He tried to pull his sword from its sheath, but he yanked too quickly and it got caught. 'Crap crap crap!'
He forced himself to draw it carefully, and held it out in front with shaking hands. 'Cut the legs.' Sam barely had time to move before the rider was upon him, sweeping a longsword at his neck. Instinctively, he ducked the sword and felt his arms move, his blade biting deep into the winnem's left foreleg. It squawked as it crashed into the ground behind him.
"Arghh..." The rider was thrown from his saddle roughly and he rolled, his armor clattering.
Sam ran at him, his sword held in his right hand. As he swung to cleave through the man, his attack was deflected, and his balance lost. The man was already on his feet and swinging toward Sam by the time he'd regained his footing. Sam dodged as the sword came down, whistling past his left ear. The man's blade lodged itself into the dirt with the heavy swing, and Sam took advantage. He stabbed straight forward with both hands, intending to pierce the man's heart, but the man moved.
He bellowed as Sam's sword cut into his left side, breaking through one of his ribs. The man pulled away and Sam moved in to stab again, but his strike never landed. Half of his forearms fell to the ground, and his sword fell with them. He cried out in pain as the blood began spraying from him. He tried to reach his magic, but the screaming pain was distracting. 'Please connect! Please, PLEASE!' Sam yelled into his mind.
Finally, he could see the beautiful spirals, and his pain became distant. His mind calmed, and seemed to slow as he realized his healing would be too late. The enemy's sword was coming down at his head too quickly. He watched his blood pouring back inside, and his arms snap up from the ground, but it wasn't fast enough. The sound of metal cracking through skull sounded out. He was stunned as the death blow never landed. A spear sent chunks of bone and gore flying as it pierced Sam's would be killer.
The man's body was flung back as the heavy spear tore through his head, his sword clattering to the ground atop Sam's own. His arms finished sealing and he released his power as he turned to the direction the spear flew from. A blood flecked Theodore nodded to him from 20 yards away, then quickly turned to a new target, holding his lance under his left armpit.
"H-Holy shit..." Sam muttered as he reclaimed his sword.
He turned and scanned the area. Four of the red guards remained, including Theodore, and about 10 of the attackers, most unmounted. He didn't see any servants left standing. Sam closed his eyes slowly, and hardened his resolve. 'Just help whoever needs it most...' He thought, feeling more determined. His eyes snapped open once again.
—————