A Beautiful Day For A Battle

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The elected day had arrived, but the bright, clear summer sky that came with it seemed at odds with the tension the rippled through the assembled crowds

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The elected day had arrived, but the bright, clear summer sky that came with it seemed at odds with the tension the rippled through the assembled crowds.

Ryke gazed across the field, his heart hammered and his palms felt sweaty as he stared at the stoic figure of Bram. As a flash of anger blossomed in his chest his long, gloved fingers tightened around the straps of his heavy leather backpack.

Beside him stood the Magi, Tuari, who had packed that very same bag that hung on Ryke's back. He had proved himself to be a font of knowledge  and while Ryke had tended to Takashi's wound long into the night, Tuari had been there with his books to school the young Shamen in the ways of magic.

At first Ryke insisted that he would not use active magic for fear of becoming corrupt the way his former master Menos had. But Tuari persisted, assuring the Shamen that Menos had chosen his path, it had not chosen him against his will.

By the time the sun had risen that very day, Ryke had long since succumbed to the prince's persuasions and had managed to memorise and perform a few very basic protection spells. The dense magical tome's that weighed him down were filled with an array of spells that Ryke was sure were well beyond his capabilities. Tuari had agreed, much to Ryke's relief, but went on to explain that he may need the Shamen's assistance regardless. 

The sun crept slowly into the sky but still there was no sign of Vada. Cas had begun to pace, biting down on his fist. It was clear to Ryke, and probably the whole tribe, that he was struggling. The Chief-in-waiting was breathing hard and loud and his eyes were wide as his feet burned up the ground in his wake, leaving charred footprints in the grass. 

Each time Cas would pivot, he'd throw a shaded glance across the field at Bram who, unperturbed, maintained his pose. Jutting his chiselled chin into the air, pushing out his chest and looking down his nose.

Neither the Junketta Chief, nor his eldest son seemed at all surprised or concerned by the capture of Rivik. The young prince, however, could not bring himself to lift his head, instead he knelt in the dewy grass, head hung in shame and bound by Tuari's magical chains. 

When Chief Tana'ka had first arrived with his entourage in tow, he had immediately caught sight of his once reclusive son standing among the Pyrite clansmen. Ryke observed the situation quietly, watching as the old chief frowned and the twins whispered with bemused expressions.  Uldrin made to march straight for them before Tana'ka caught his wrist and tugged him back in line.

Ryke's jaw clenched involuntarily at the sight of this gesture. He knew quiet well what such a statement meant for the Pyrite Clan. Chief Tana'ka would no longer take sides until he could be sure of the outcome of the battle. He didn't trust that Vada would win. Perhaps he doubted she would show at all.  

'You're sure she's coming?' Cas asked Aegar in a whispered huff. The dragon snorted out a cloud of hot, moist air but otherwise remained silent. He watched the enemy with great, golden eyes squeezed into slits. The only other movement he made was to repeatedly flex his claws, churning up the earth beneath his great taloned paws.

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