Hunted by Warlocks

When Cirus roused him, the sun was just breaching the horizon, painting the sky in delicate hues of lavender and pink. Wells yawned and opened his eyes, only to find a pair of brilliant yellow orbs filling his vision.

"Ah!" he yelped, scrambling backward. "Don't do that!"

Aria's apology was lost in a burst of laughter. "I had to have my revenge after listening to you snore all night."

"I don't snore," Wells said defensively. He pushed himself to his feet with a wince and stretched. A dull ache ran the length of his body, a stiff protest against a night spent on the hard ground. "I'll never get used to sleeping like this," he complained. "If only I could have brought a proper bed to Remira."

Cirus and Aria exchanged a blank look. "An inflatable bed," Wells explained briefly.

"Ah," Cirus murmured, clearly none the wiser. "Well, in any case, we have a full day ahead of us."

"What is our agenda?" Aria asked, having settled onto Wells's shoulder.

"Today, we ride for the village of Pelara," Cirus announced. He was stooping to clear the last remnants of their fire, carefully dousing a charred branch with a spray of water from his ring before tossing it into the woods. He straightened to face them. "I was raised in Pelara. It is also where I intend to hire guards for our journey to the Burning Plains."

"Can we afford such a thing?" Wells inquired. "I imagine that would be quite costly."

With a theatrical grin, Cirus produced a heavy leather pouch that clanked and jingled with promise. "Open that, and you'll have an answer to our financial state," he said, handing it to Wells.

Wells sat on the ground and loosened the bag's drawstring, tipping its contents onto the earth. A cascade of currency tumbled out—hundreds of coins of every shape and size. A metallic chorus of silver, bronze, and gold spilled onto the dusty ground. Some were round, others square, and a few were oval. The oddest of them were circular, with clean holes punched through their centers.

"I suppose we're quite secure, then," Wells remarked with admiration.

"The oval coins are Neronite godsends," Cirus explained, squatting to Wells's level. "The square ones, Auran rodals. The round are Anolinian larks, and those with holes are Coralan alaracs. The centaurs and fairies have their own notions of currency."

"Unusual," Wells said, scooping the coins back into the bag. "No paper money?"

"Paper?" Cirus asked, surprised. "Why would we carry something so fragile? Metal, at least, endures." He took the pouch from Wells with a "Thank you," and tucked it away. "Now, let us be on our way. A certain urgency must guide us."

He led Wells from the clearing back into the forest. After pushing through the dense brush, they emerged once more into the open, where Situs and Solea waited, tethered to a tree.

"You will have to fly above us for now, Aria," Cirus instructed. "The ride will be too jarring for you to remain on Wells's shoulder."

With a curt nod, she replied, "Yes, Lord Cirus." She launched from Wells's shoulder and, after they had mounted their horses, shot into the sky. She circled high above, a dark shape twisting and soaring against the dawn. A grin touched Wells's lips before he turned his attention back to Cirus.

"Cirus!" he yelled over the wind whipping past their faces. "What's the rush?"

"Warlocks," Cirus said grimly. "I encountered some last night while you were in the forest. They've heard about your display at the council, and that you are Jonas's nephew. They would consider it a great prize to take you for their own. No apprentice since Jonas himself has shown the potential you possess."

Wells was stunned. "People want to kidnap me?"

"To train you, yes," Cirus replied. "But do not dwell on it. For now, let us focus on making you a wizard, not a warlock."

As they rode, Cirus began to lecture on the history of Remira. Wells, who had never cared for history, found his mind drifting. The names and dates of battles, rulers, and social upheavals blurred into a meaningless drone.

"—and so the War of Secession began when Governor Heron of Anolin refused to recognize the usurper, Empress Elfora, which combined with pre-existing tensions between the Auran Empire and the province of—Wells, are you paying attention?" Cirus snapped, interrupting his own sermon.

"Huh? Oh, yes. War of Secession," Wells replied, jolted from his reverie. "Empress Elfora and Governor Heron. He didn't like her." His mind had been miles away, imagining the mindless glow of a television and the hiss of a hot shower washing away the trail's grime. This world was a difficult one to adjust to.

Cirus groaned in frustration. "Wells, you are not even trying."

"I'm sorry," he said, watching as Aria glided down to perform a playful circle in front of them before landing gracefully on his shoulder. "I just find history… boring. Are you alright?" he asked her.

"Yes," she replied. "My wings were merely growing tired."

"Can we learn some actual magic, Cirus?" Wells pleaded, a hint of youthful impatience in his voice. "I'm being trained as a wizard, not a historian."

Cirus clicked his tongue. "You realize this means slowing our pace considerably," he warned, "doubling the chance of being overtaken."

"But if you teach me some spells, I'll be better able to defend myself," Wells argued hopefully.

Cirus let out another long, resigned sigh. "Very well. I suppose there is no use delaying the inevitable." He slowed Situs to a gentle trot, and Wells did the same with Solea. "As I told you before, there are seven types of myran."

"Water, earth, fire, air, light, personal, and pure," Wells recited. "I think."

"Correct," Cirus said. "We will begin with water. Many discount it as the simplest of the myran, and in doing so, they underestimate its nuances and power. I assure you, an enemy who has just blasted you with concentrated light will be quite stunned when you reply with a tidal wave. I will teach you a basic spell: the creation of a concentrated ball of water."

A thrill of excitement shot through Wells. He was finally going to wield magic on purpose. He hoped he would be a natural, to finally live up to the magical potential everyone kept mentioning.

"Now, you must do this with your eyes open," Cirus began, his expression serious. "First, I want you to feel the myran in the air around you. Can you do that?"

Wells hesitated, reaching out with his senses for the familiar tingle. "Yes," he confirmed.

"Good. Now, reach for it with your mind. Do not command it. Simply… follow it. Follow a single thread of it into the Greatwood. As you begin, you will understand. Allow the raw myran to fill you. When it does, focus your thoughts on a ball of water. The myran required for that specific task will be all that emerges. You will feel a change when the flow ceases. At that moment, concentrate on expelling the energy."

"I'm not sure I follow," Wells admitted, a flush of embarrassment creeping up his neck. This was going to be harder than he thought.

Cirus patiently repeated the instructions. Wells nodded. "Alright, I think I've got it. I'll try."

He focused on the tingling sensation around him, and strangely, he thought he could almost see it—a faint, shimmering golden force in the air. He located a single luminous thread and focused his will on it, following its path. Suddenly, the thread seemed to expand, and he felt as if he were drowning in the raw power. A water ball, he thought frantically, pulling at the energy. A water ball...

Abruptly, the familiar, pleasant coldness returned, starting in his gut and radiating outward. He felt the power, not as intensely as when he’d repaired the crest or opened the portal, but it was there. He tried to focus the energy, guiding the cool sensation down his arm, into his hand, and terminating at the ring on his finger. A water ball, he thought over and over. All I want is a water ball.

Then, the cold sensation vanished. A single droplet of water fell onto his knee. He opened his eyes and looked down. His ring appeared to be leaking, a dark, damp patch spreading across the fabric of his trousers.

"How do I stop it?" Wells asked, his voice edged with panic.

"Just wipe the ring," Cirus said, a hint of amusement in his tone. "The water simply collected inside it. Do not be concerned. I didn't expect you to succeed on your first attempt."