The Clan of Outcasts [Season 3]

Part 35: "Stone Angels"

The White Castle (North), Two Years Previously....

The flashes of blue energy arced among the rafters, pushing against the stones and swirling down around the two combatants.
The Master, Mage Korsan, tugged at the air with his fingers, and the energy responded, as a cat when it desires to be caressed. Curling and swerving, the beam of energy traced intriguing patterns in the shadows before coalescing into something hard and unstoppable.

The youth standing across from Korsan twirled his staff, unleashing a torrent of purple Darklight, which spread across the air in front of him like a shield, or a very thin veil. Fingers of blue reached through that veil, and the youth called up more energy, guiding it toward the blue protrusions with a steely glint in his violet eyes. In his periphery, a series of blue bolts hissed through the air, and he left off his concentration in putting up the wall just in time to raise his hand and block the bolts. 

At a gesture from his staff, the purple veil of energy shrank and collected into fingers of its own, which bent and twisted around Korsan's beams, sliding back toward the Mage with even more vigor than the old sorcerer could muster. Korsan raised his hand to banish the seeping purple energy, giving his protege the opening he needed to cast a spell at the Master's feet, encasing him in a glowing purple dome of energy, impenetrable by his own magic.

Surprise registered on Korsan's face, and then the old Mage laughed. "I concede! Well done, Risyn!"

The youth grinned and waved his hand, drawing all the Darklight energy back into himself, while Korsan did the same with the blue Brightness.

"All the same," Risyn responded, running his hands over the knots and burls of his staff, "I cannot attribute this victory to my own cleverness, as you've only been challenging me with attacks constructed to match the techniques you teach me."

Korsan raised his wispy silver eyebrows. "And who is to say those are not the same sort you will meet in your service as the King's Mage? The techniques and spells I teach to you are all the ones that I know. I have not met another Gifted Mage who knows anything different--just new combinations of the same basic components. Once you master those components, you will be able to defend and attack against anything." He stroked his thinning beard and sighed. "And master them, you have." He laid a hand on Risyn's shoulder. "You have come a long ways since you first arrived at this castle, desperate to learn how to control and use the magic that manifested as your Gift. Soon, you will take my place beside King Jaran's throne, as the King's Mage--the last line of defense in the whole kingdom."
Risyn's thin lips tightened, and his dark eyebrows gathered closer as he shook his head. "I don't want to take your place, Master Korsan," he said. "As I told you before, when we practiced mind-shielding, if you have nothing more to teach me, then I would rather go out and find my own place, in some other kingdom..."

Korsan watched the young man tracing sigils in the air with his dark hands, and erasing them before they were finished. "Hmm, yes," he acknowledged, taking his seat a bit slower than usual. "You did claim something like that, when we encountered that deep and painful memory that you successfully hid from all of my probes. But the fact is, young Risyn: I am not leaving because I am weak or weary. I am leaving because I must."

Risyn scoffed. "Why won't you tell me what it is that compels you to leave, then? Surely it's not going to be for very long--you will attend to whatever it is, and you will return soon enough. You can't leave a new novice like me in charge, just like that!" He turned his hopeful gaze to his master. "I am only fit for temporary work, an interim position, just until you return."

Korsan shook his head slowly. "I cannot return--not unless I wish to be the cause of death among these former Outcasts that have become my friends."

Risyn blinked, his own frustration forgotten in the face of this new revelation. "What? Whose death?"

Korsan shrugged his bony shoulders. "It is a glimpse of the future I've been having for a few days now. The portents make it clear: there is a threat coming that, once I get involved, will cause the death of one or more person. I have heard their screams, I have seen their blood--but I do not know who it is. You might not know King Jaran's circle of family and friends very well yet, but if I know anything about it, it is that a threat such as the one that is coming will no doubt compel them to get involved, and the only way I can ensure that no part of this vision will pertain to them is if I separate myself from The Realm."

Risyn sighed, his hands gripping the gnarled staff until his knuckles paled. "For how long?" he asked.

"Indefinitely," Korsan reminded him. "It is how it must be; I can see no other recourse for me. But if this prediction should find its way to you, I want you to be aware of something, so that you will know that what I am saying is true."

Risyn forced himself to meet his master's gaze. Korsan stood before him, so Risyn stood as well. "What is it?"

Korsan stroked his beard again. "The death will happen at the hands of an Angel made of stone. I know of no such sculpture in all of The Realm--but then again, the portents have also never been wrong, just unclear until the moment they are fulfilled." He fixed his gaze on his young protege. "Be wary if any such thing should appear. And if it does, then you will promise me to do everything in your power to defend the King and anyone with him."

Risyn took a deep breath. So many promises--how could he keep them all? "I will shield them with every ounce of my strength," he declared, letting a slip of Darklight magic seep out of his hand and wind around his staff, binding his will to his Gift.