The Onyx Throne - Book One

The first pack of wolves made their move that very evening. The three travelers had found a small cave to shelter in which, like that of the first night on the lower slopes, had been used as a camping place before. They were just getting settled when two of the animals charged the entrance. Mitchell was laying out his bedroll and looked up as Lethelin uttered a cry and saw her fall back, narrowly avoiding the wolf’s massive jaw as it snapped at her head. Immediately, everyone was in a panic. The yulops bolted for the back of the small cave, bleating like mad, and Mitchell had his sword out with his other hand summoning his barely learned fire bolt spell. Naturally, it failed as he tried to cast it before the rune was firm in his mind. He felt the unpleasant, almost electrical, shock of the spell losing cohesion and he forced himself to ignore it as he stepped in front of Lethelin who was crab walking back to get away from the mouth of the cave. The sounds of the wolves’ combined growls in the small space vibrated Mitchell’s insides.

To his left, he saw Allora hold up her hand to cast what was likely the fire bolt spell but nothing happened. He saw the flicker of her krisa as she channeled the mana but the spell did not form.

With the element of surprise gone, the two beasts crouched and stared at their potential meal warily. With fur a mottled mix of grays and browns that matched the stone around them almost perfectly the larger of the two was as tall as Mitchell’s chest and, as it growled, he saw its fangs were nearly four inches long.

“My magic is not working,” Allora said with a note of panic in her voice.

Before Mitchell could respond, the one in front of Allora lunged at her which caused her to dance back and swing her sword which earned the beast a cut along its shoulder. It yelped and bounded backwards but a third member of the pack was waiting to take its place. Mitchell could see at least one more pacing behind that but the opening was too narrow for them to all crowd in.

As the wolf surged forward, Mitchell brought his sword down in an arc but the animal was faster and dove to the side. He attempted the fire bolt again and once more that electrical shock ran down his spine as the spell lost cohesion.

“Fuck it,” he snarled, giving up on trying to cast the new spell. Instead, he switched to the arcane missiles and fired three quick bursts into the beast’s side. Despite thick fur, it had the desired effect. With the first shot searing a whole through its coarse hair while the second and third penetrated into its body. The wolf yowled and launched itself at Mitchell, bringing its paws down on his shoulders, the weight of the thing sending him staggering down to one knee as he dropped the sword and tried to keep the enraged animal from ripping his face off. Its fetid breath washed over him and the smell of rotting meat made him want to retch. Shoving back, he struggled to maintain his balance. He knew if he went down it was all over.

“Fuck, you stink!” Mitchell snarled back as he tried to twist the beast to the side and off of him.

Grabbing thick handfuls of fur he twisted at the waist and tried to yank the creature off of his shoulders. With a scream of rage, he pulled the dire wolf to the right and followed it down, landing crossways across its upper body. Before the beast could rise again, he pressed his hand into the side of its neck and fired three more arcane missiles into the hairy flesh. There was an explosion of blood as the magic blasted a whole as big as his palm into the wolf’s throat and he felt a searing pain in his hand. The savage beast kicked once, blood gushing out of its ruined neck, and then went still.

Mitchell reached out, grabbed his sword and stood up just in time to see a new wolf come bounding into the cave, teeth bared and eyes insane with bloodlust. Before he could bring up his sword to meet it, a dagger exploded from the creature’s right eye and it fell like its strings had been cut. He looked behind him and saw Lethelin there, arm still out and a look of intense concentration on her face.

“Nice shot,” he told her, still panting.

She gave him a no-big-deal shrug but couldn’t hide her grin of satisfaction, and they both turned in time to see Allora slide her long blade into the space between her attacker’s shoulder and neck, presumably piercing its heart. The wolf let out an almost pitiful cry of agony and dropped to the ground. Its legs kicked weakly a few times and then it ceased moving as weakness overcame the elf and she staggered to one knee.

Motion in the darkness outside the cave caught Mitchell’s eye and he saw the first wolf that Allora had wounded was crouched low about a meter from the entrance staring at them. Its eyes almost glowed in the fading light and Mitchell could see a small puddle of blood pooling around the leg that she had sliced open. The animal looked at its fallen packmates and, not liking its odds, slinked off into the night.

Mitchell went to Allora and with Lethelin under the other arm they helped her stand and walked to the back wall of the cave where the yulops were still skittering, their eyes wide and panicked.

“Watch her,” he said to Lethelin. “I’m going to get rid of the dead ones.”

“Do not go far,” Allora said from her spot on the floor. “There may be more nearby.”

“I saw a small drop-off down into a ravine a little ways behind us. I’ll dump them there.”

Allora nodded but said no more.

Over the next twenty minutes, Mitchell dragged each corpse back down the narrow path and dropped them into the chasm. He worried about the blood trail drawing more creatures but there wasn’t much they could do about that. Meanwhile, Allora’s condition continued to worry him. Why hadn’t her magic worked? He knew so little about it that he couldn’t even begin to guess at a reason.

On each trip back, he gathered up as much wood as he could find. They weren’t trees so much as bushes with delusions of grandeur but rain was sparse enough on this side of the mountains that they were mostly dry and should burn without much issue. His sword wasn’t ideal for chopping wood but the bushes were thin enough that it doesn’t cause too much of an issue. Since he hadn’t mastered the fire spell yet, he wanted to have an actual fire going in case they did come back. Plus, the nights were getting colder as they went higher and the warmth would be welcome.

As Mitchell returned with his final load of wood, he saw Allora was moving around, setting out provisions for their evening meal. Lethelin was tending to Tammi and Marvin who were calmer although, whenever a stiff breeze blew the scent of wolves and fresh blood into the cavern, their nostrils flared and they bleated plaintively.

“How are you feeling?” he asked her as he crouched down into the firepit and began to stack the wood.

Allora didn’t answer for a long moment as she pulled provisions out of the magical bag they’d picked up.

“I could not channel my mana,” she said quietly and wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I reached for it but I couldn’t find it. It is like it is not there.”

He saw her hands were shaking as she set down a small brown bag that had some dried meat. She noticed it too and clutched them together.

“Mitchell, I have never not been able to summon my magic. I do not know what is wrong.”

She looked at him then and he could see cold terror in her eyes.

“So this isn’t a thing that happens when a magic user gets sick?”

“No. Our magic is a part of us as much as our blood and bones. Even if I never cast a spell again, it would remain with me!”

One of the stones in her krisa blinked and then went dark almost immediately.

“Do you see?” She asked him, panic making her voice tight. “I cannot channel!”

She was trembling all over now and sweat was beginning to bead on her forehead. She began to run her hands up and down her arms as if she couldn’t get warm.

“I cannot channel, Mitchell! I cannot!”

Her krisa began blinking again, different stones lightly up in rapid succession. She stood up and began throwing her arms out in random directions.

“No fire bolt!” she nearly screamed. Her left arm shot out towards the entrance, there was a weak flicker of another stone in her krisa but no spell. “No pressure wave!”

She turned to Mitchell and cast her right arm at him this time. Just like all the others, the spell didn’t form.

“No comprehend languages!”

She ripped the krisa off her head and was preparing to throw it but Mitchell jumped up and intercepted her arm. The effort to catch her almost knocked him back a step but he pulled her to him and held her close as she began to weep.

“My magic is gone!” she cried into his chest, her voice muffled. “How can I protect you without my magic? How can I help you save Awen if I can’t use my magic? What do I do?”

She beat at his chest but there was no strength in the blows. He held Allora as she began to sag in exhaustion and he noticed the heat coming off her. She was burning up. He tried to let her go but her legs buckled and Mitchell had to rush to catch her.

“Lethelin, bring water!” he called as he lowered her gently to the ground. When there was no sound, he looked towards the back of the cave where the thief stared dumbfounded at the display. Her mouth was hanging open and she looked genuinely frightened.

“Lethelin!” he barked at her, perhaps more sharply than he should have, but it snapped her out of her daze. “Water, please.”

“Yes!” she exclaimed and shook herself. “Okay!”

She nearly jumped over to the pack that held extra water skins and brought it to him. Mitchell uncorked it and placed it to Allora’s lips. Her eyes were half closed and she was mumbling something indecipherable under her breath.

“She’s burning up,” he said as his hand held her head steady.

“Look at her skin,” Lethelin said quietly, a note of fear in her voice.

Mitchell did. Allora’s skin had become so pale that it started to look translucent. He could see the veins in her cheeks and her lips had faded from a deep, healthy pink to a sickly pallid pastel.

Mitchell formed the light spell in his mind and cast it at the wall above them. The small globe about the size of an orange formed in his palm, glided a few feet above and sat against the stone giving a bright silvery glow. He knew from long practice that it should hold there for about ten minutes or so before winking out. Now that he could see better, he examined her more closely. He pulled open one of her eyelids and Lethelin gasped beside him. They were still purple but had washed out to a muted lavender.

“What is happening to her?” Mitchell said.

“I…” Lethelin began but lost her words. “I have no idea. I have never heard of something like this before. As far as I know, she’s right. A magic user doesn’t lose their magic any more than you could lose your head. If you could remove someone’s magic then we wouldn’t need mage catchers.”

Mitchell propped Allora’s head up and poured a little water into her mouth. She had enough awareness to swallow without prompting but she didn’t acknowledge him. She kept mumbling something but Mitchell didn’t understand it.

“What is she saying?”

“It sounds like Elvish,” she said. “Sorry, but I only know a few words. Most people use Common but many of the races retain knowledge of the languages of their original homelands. We were all brought here from other places by the dragon lords, remember?”

They were quiet for a time as they watched Allora stare at nothing and mumble in Elvish. Her voice got quieter and, finally, she drifted into an uneasy sleep.

Mitchell felt Lethelin’s hand grab onto his. He looked down to see her intertwine their fingers and she gripped him tightly. It was the first time she had touched him since that day in the garden. He looked at her face then and saw the uncertainty. Seeing Allora like this shook her. He remembered the way Lethelin had talked about the Onyx Knights when they were walking through Besari. She spoke of them almost like they were mythical figures. And as much as the two women clashed, Mitchell couldn’t help but notice a fair amount of hero worship. Outlaw or no, the knights were as much a symbol of the strength of Awenor to the thief as they were to any other citizen.

“Mitchell…,” Lethelin said, her voice hesitant. “What do we do?”

He thought for a few moments.

“We stick to the plan,” he told her. “We’ll have some food, get what rest we can, and set off in the morning. Hopefully, Allora will be feeling better then.”

It wasn’t much but it seemed to calm Lethelin down a bit. She nodded and volunteered to finish getting their dinner ready. Mitchell dug out a cloth from one of their bags and wet it and wiped the sweat from Allora’s face. She didn’t stir.

Without the wolves about to rip his throat out, he was able to focus on the fire bolt spell and actually get it to work, though it took several tries and the feedback from the spell losing cohesion was starting to give him a headache.

Eventually, he got a few of the drier branches to stay lit and got a fire going. Mitchell sat next to Lethelin and they ate their dried meat and some cheese with flatbread as the flames crackled and the light danced on the cave walls. Behind them Marvin and Tammi had drifted off to sleep and were snoring lightly.

“What song are you always singing?” Lethelin asked him suddenly.

“When?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But you are always singing songs when we travel. Were you a bard or some kind of musician back on your world?”

“Oh, no,” he said with a smile. “No, but I grew up around music. My parents are big music lovers. When I was young there was always something playing on the radio or in the car. I learned to love it, too. Except for pop country. Fuck pop country.”

Mitchell saw her look of confusion and realized that he had become so comfortable with Common that he was mixing English words into his sentences and he’d lost her. He took a moment to give her a rough explanation of what a radio was and a car, but didn’t try with pop country. He wasn’t sure if she got it totally, but she seemed satisfied.

“When I got here,” he continued. “Singing the songs helped me stay sane, I think. The music was like a link to my home and I didn’t feel so alone. We were in the cages for weeks and I couldn't talk to anyone so I sang to myself. I think Allora and Revos thought I had gone crazy.”

Mitchell smiled at the memory of the strange looks they always gave him when he’d break into a random song. The ‘figoro magnifico’ solo from Bohemian Rhapsody had been especially fun. He’d even done a head bang ala that old Wayne’s World movie until Dumb Fuck Two had smacked him on the back of the skull and said something threatening which Mitchell had assumed was ‘shut the fuck up’. He realized then that he hadn’t really thought about his abductors in days and was surprised at that. At the time, it had been the most terrifying ordeal of his life.

“Will you sing me a song?” she asked, snapping Mitchell out of the memory.

“Umm… I don’t think I could sing one in Common,” he told her.

“That’s okay. I think I’d like to hear it in your language.”

“Okay,” he agreed and thought for a moment. Outside it was fully dark and the blackness beyond the cave mouth was almost complete. Beside him, Allora whimpered in her sleep. He felt the warmth of Lethelin’s body against his. He put his arm around her, pulled her close, and she pressed herself tight into the embrace. Mitchell knew then what he would sing.

“This song is called Stand By Me by a man named Ben E. King.”

With the fire hissing and popping in front of him, terrors unknown in the darkness outside, and the two women he had come to love on either side of him, he began to sing.