The Duel Read online

The Duel

  By

  Shane Griffin

  Smash Words Edition Published by Poupichou Press

  Copyright Shane Griffin 1997

  #

  Farrel sat hidden at the edge of a corn field just beyond the city walls and waited patiently. He took one of his spell books from his leather carry sack and opened it carefully. By force of habit he pulled back the hood of his crimson robes.

  As he read the spell book he absentmindedly played with the triangular pendant that hung around his neck. It was made of ivory and covered with tiny silver runes, almost too small to read. Set into the centre of the pendant was a large gemstone that, upon close inspection, had the look of a frozen flame. It was his most prized possession, not only because it contained powerful magic, but because it was one of the few things that his grandfather had given him before he died.

  Farrel had been reading for some time when he heard the faint patter of wings beside him, followed by a light weight falling upon his shoulder. It was Poppin, she was a wood fairy. Poppin was a delicate little thing with a slender yet shapely body an exquisitely pretty face who fluttered about on two almost transparent wings. One of Poppin’s favourite places to perch was upon Farrel’s shoulder. He had become so used to it that he did not look up from his study as he spoke.

  “Hello Poppin. Did you find him?”

  “Followed him through the city I did, while all the time I hid. A crafty one is he, the one in the blue robes be,” she sang in her usual cheerful, melodious voice, a wood fairy trait. Wood fairies preferred to sing rather than speak and when they did speak, it was always poetically.

  “Did you find where he sleeps?” asked Farrel still reading.

  “Deep in the city he sleeps, an ancient book with him always he keeps,” she replied as she began preening her short dark brown hair as a bird might preen its feathers. Farrel almost dropped his spell book and looked up at Poppin.

  “What! He has the book with him?” he asked urgently.

  She nodded resolutely.

  “No, he couldn’t be,” said Farrel more to himself than to Poppin, who was more interested in picking things from her leaf green vest and britches. “Even Beskar would not attempt such a thing inside a city.”

  Farrel fingered the pendant around his neck nervously, the entire conclave of wizards had been pursuing Beskar Aarl for over a month now. Even since he had stolen the book of the Makers. With so much at stake he was left with no other choice. He would have to stop Beskar from casting the crown of dominion on his own.

  There was only one major flaw in his plan, there was no way he could hope to defeat a master wizard like Beskar in a duel, he was talented for his young age, but not that talented. With that in mind he decided to do the next best thing.

  “Poppin,” he said with a wry smile. “It is time that I acquired a new spell book and I think I know just the one I want.”

  #

  Farrel stood quietly in the shadowy street outside the inn with Poppin hovering quietly, but impatiently, by his side. Farrel waited until almost midnight before he entered the city. The inn stood eerily in front of them, dark and haunting. It looked so frightening that Farrel began to have second thoughts about what he was going to do.

  “Come friend Farrel let us take the robed one's book away, before the night surrenders to the day,” sang Poppin quietly, as she tugged on his robes in an attempt to pull him towards the inn. Farrel reluctantly gave in, his sense of duty finally outweighing his common sense.

  As they approached the doorway to the inn the hairs on Farrel’s arms stood on end and he felt an odd tingling throughout his body. It was a familiar feeling, it happened whenever he was in the presence of magic. It was a useful gift and had served him well several times before this. Poppin stopped abruptly not more than a second later.

  “Stop! The door, do not lay upon it your hand. A spell upon it I smell, you must away from it stand,” Poppin warned, now hovering inches from Farrel’s face.

  “I know, I can feel it too,” whispered Farrel creeping up to within a foot of the doorway. It was a magical trap. He had expected as much from Beskar.

  Farrel took up the pendant from around his neck and raised it to his right eye so that he was looking out of the crimson gemstone. There was indeed an enchantment upon the door. The aura around it was dull, indicating a weak enchantment, and white, indicating a wind spell. This puzzled Farrel somewhat as he did not understand why Beskar would lay such a weak spell upon the door, it could be easily removed by anyone who had the sense to check the doorway before entering.

  “I think I can remove the spell without it warning Beskar,” whispered Farrel as he took off his crimson carry sac and pulled out a small brown leather pouch covered in thin silver runes

  “Careful for me, please will you be,” sang Poppin.

  Farrel mentally rehearsed the appropriate spell for the task several times before he was ready, removing enchantments was always delicate. When he was sure he had the spell right he knelt down in front of the door and raised his hands high above his head, the small pouch held wide open between both hands. He stayed in that position for several moments then slowly began to lower his hands, the pouch still open between them, as he spoke the words of the spell.

  “Enchanted wind come forth,

  Do not be held in only one place,

  Roam the fields free again,

  Come away towards me now,

  Wait upon the storm before you howl.

  Enchanted wind blow upon my face,

  Come and rest in my embrace!”

  As Farrel spoke the words of the spell the air began to move around him. It was lighter than the handshake of a butterfly at first, but soon began to gust around him and Poppin soon found herself swirling about violently in vicious eddies that formed. Just as Farrel finished the last word of the spell he brought the bag to bear directly in front of his face and the air around the door began to stir also. With a great deal of reluctance the air around the door was sucked towards and inside the open pouch. Once the pouch was filled with air Farrel pulled it closed and breathed a sigh of relief. Had he not captured the magical wind it would have caused a howl loud enough to warn not only Beskar, but probably wake half of the inhabitants of the city.

  Farrel carefully tied the pouch to his waist and took a few moments to catch his breath, being relatively inexperienced it still took a lot out of him to cast even simple spells. Meanwhile Poppin flew dizzily around him, crashing into him several times before she regained her balance.

  “A powerful spell that must be, to make the world move all around me!” sang Poppin shakily slumping down on Farrel’s shoulder.

  Farrel gently pushed the door open just enough so he could see inside. The front door led directly into the common room, but it was as black as pitch inside.

  “Can you lead the way in the dark, Poppin?” asked Farrel barely audible.

  “Yes it's very easy, but the smell of the robed one makes me queasy,” replied Poppin.

  “Good, then take me to where the robed one is sleeping.”

  Poppin flew into the inn and Farrel followed, slowly and quietly shutting the door behind them. Poppin hovered slowly across the common room quietly pointing out to Farrel where and what to avoid along the way. After several tense minutes they arrived at a staircase that led to the patrons rooms above.

  “Up there the robed one lays his head, to sleep upon his bed,” whispered Poppin.

  Farrel nodded and carefully climbed the stairs, step by creaking step. When they reached the top Poppin landed on Farrel's shoulder and tugged upon his ear.

  “The robed one, his own company he keeps, in the large room yonder he sleeps.”

  “Come, let's have this business over and done with then,” whispered Farrel
.

  Poppin led Farrel to the door of Beskar's room, which he checked for enchantments with his pendant, even though he could not sense any magic. He tried the door gently, but it was locked.

  “Damn!” cursed Farrel quietly, annoyed that he had been so caught up in his magic that he had not thought of this problem before. “Poppin is there any other way into that room?”

  “Friend Farrel there is no need, I can open the door, yes indeed!” chirped Poppin quietly.

  “But…” Before Farrel could stop her Poppin leapt off his shoulder and hovered in front of the lock whereupon she stuck a tiny arm inside the keyhole. After a small amount of jiggling about there was a click and Poppin returned to Farrel’s shoulder.

  “You humans I will never understand, always placing things in the way, shutting yourselves behind things and hiding all day.”

  “Sometimes Poppin you are both insightful and brilliant,” whispered Farrel as he inched the door open with painstaking care. “Now, you know what you have to do.”

  Farrel continued to inch the door open until it was far enough ajar to allow Poppin to squeeze through. Once she was inside Farrel peered into the room, it was so dark that he could barely make out the form laying on the bed. He had no trouble seeing Poppin though, with her glowing wings. With the silence of a mouse Poppin fluttered over to the bed and waved her hands over the sleeping form of Beskar Aarl as she quietly sang the words of a sleep spell. When she had finished she zipped back over to the door and beckoned Farrel to enter.

  “Sleep well he will tonight, in fact all tomorrow as well he might.”

  Farrel pushed the door wide open and crept into the room. Fear and adrenalin pumped through his body as he moved carefully around looking for the book of the Makers. Beskar remained comatose, even when he bumped into a chair, knocking it over.

  Even in the minimal light provided by Poppin's wings it did not take Farrel long to locate the book. It sat upon a gold stand against the wall furthest from the door. Poppin hovered above it, her glowering wings shedding just enough light for Farrel to read the words upon the page. When he did he could not hold back a gasp. The spell book was opened to the incantation for the crown of dominion.

  Farrel’s first instinct was to grab the book and run. To run until he reached the conclave. This was a regrettable mistake, for as he reached up to snatch the book the hairs upon his arms began to rise and there was a tingling throughout his body. It was too late, by the time he realised that Beskar had set a trap around the book, his finger tips were already upon the pages.

  In the very next instant the spell book erupted into a huge ball of flames that blew Farrel off his feet and sent Poppin skittling across the room. Farrel lay in a heap, still in shock as he clutched his burnt hand, gritting his teeth against the pain. He sat up and waited for the red flash to subside from his eyes then looked frantically around the room for Poppin, but could not see her.

  “Poppin,” he half whispered half groaned with the pain, he was not maimed, but his hand was badly burnt. The voice that answered him sent a chill down his spine, for it was not Poppin’s.

  “Your little fairy friend cannot help you now young Farrel,” said Beskar Aarl. Beskar materialised from the darkness as he lit a lantern on the far side of the room next to the bed. He held up a small steel cage in which Poppin’s unconscious form lay, to emphasis the point.

  Farrel edged back away from Beskar until his back pressed against the wall. The lantern light gave Beskar’s normally pale skin an devilish red glow. It was a stark contrast to his closely shaved ghost white hair and midnight blue robes.

  “Farrel, Farrel, Farrel. I had expected so much more from you, sending in a fairy to do all of your work for you. The naive little thing thought that I never saw her following me,” laughed Beskar. A mocking smile broke out from behind his short white goatee. The smile disappeared as he placed Poppin’s cage upon the floor.

  “The book of the Makers, why did you destroy it?” asked Farrel, desperately trying remember the words of a spell, any spell, that might save his life. Beskar’s only reply for some moments was to laugh again. When he did finally speak his voice was ice cold and deadly.

  “The book is safe and I will cast the crown of dominion, you can rest assured. Not you or anyone else from the concl..."

  Beskar stopped short when he heard the first words of Farrel’s spell. Instantaneously he spoke the words of a counter spell. Farrel completed his spell first and that made all of the difference.

  From Farrel’s burnt outstretched hand surged forth a wind burst that hit Beskar squarely in the chest knocking him backwards and almost off balance just as he completed his counter spell. A thin wall of water momentarily appeared in front of him, surging from a small open water skin he had tied to his waist, but it quickly splashed to the floor as he was pushed backwards.

  Farrel felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him after he had cast the spell and quickly edged behind a small set of draws on the far side of the bed and readied himself for another. It was Beskar who recovered first.

  Beskar cast his own wind burst intentionally at the wooden drawers. The great ball of wind that he thrust from his hand looked almost solid as it roared through the air and turned the drawers into splinters when it struck. Small slithers of wood pierced Farrel's upraised arms.

  Farrel knew he had not the strength for many more spells, he had to escape. He stood slowly, feigning defeat, in an attempt to put Beskar at ease. It didn’t work, for by the time he had cast his next spell Beskar was prepared with a counter spell.

  This time from Farrel’s tumbling hands spun forth a small whirlwind that raced at Beskar wreaking havoc with the furniture in the room as it went. This time Beskar’s wall of water surged from the floor to meet the whirlwind. There was a sound like a thunder clap when the whirlwind struck the water wall. The wall of water shattered like glass from the collision, spraying everywhere, but the whirlwind was no more.

  Farrel did not even wait for the spells to clash, he already had his head down and was stumbling towards the door as fast as he could. However immediately after the spells collided Beskar had reformed part of the shattered wall of water into a brilliant silver orb and flung it at Farrel as he ran. As the orb hit Farrel the water splashed over him as though it were thrown from a glass, but the force behind it knocked him flat on his face forcing the wind from his lungs in the process. Farrel tried to stand again and flee, but Beskar’s boot pushed him back to the floor.

  “I was not going to hurt you when I first lured you here Farrel, but now I understand you are more trouble than you are worth!” said Beskar as he backed toward the door and locked it. Now confident that Farrel was unable to flee Beskar crossed the room nonchalantly and stood in front of a large wash basin filled with water. He paused for one moment and then began to laugh quietly. “They say drowning is quite pleasant when you stop struggling.”

  Beskar casually swirled his index finger around in the water as he spoke the first words of another spell. This was Farrel’s cue and he took it, leaping to his feet and scrambling again for the door. As he grabbed the doorknob, the water in the basin streamed toward him like a silver snake.

  Farrel was still violently shaking the doorknob in a vain effort to force the door open when the water hit him. It splashed over him when it struck, but this time there was no force behind it. Instead the water clung to his robes and quickly started seeping towards his face. At first Farrel thought he was imagining things and continued to pull on the door, ignoring the strange sensation.

  By the time the door gave in his mouth and nose were covered in a thin film of water. He tried to breath, but only succeeded in gulping the water into his lungs. Soon his entire vision was blurred by a layer of water several inches thick. Frantically he grasped at the mask of water trying to pull it away, but every time his fingers touched it, it ran through them. He tried to scream for help, but could only gag. Very soon he fell to the floor unable to breathe as Beskar watched on with g
rim fascination.