Flight Mage Seraph

Prisoner

Seraph had considered flying over Skeleton Forest again, since this was the fastest route to Angalas, but he knew better than to tempt fate again. If he died, who would ever find his body and how long would his family languish in jail, worrying over their fate? The westward route seemed more promising because it led to the only enchanted road that snaked through the woods. It also allowed him to take a minor detour into Sukonig, the capital of Sudenland.

He considered flying through the night. By the time he reached Sukonig though, he had abandoned that idea. A whole day of rain had soaked through his clothes and he was weary from carrying all that extra water. What he needed was an inn.

Seraph landed right in front of the first hotel he found and wished he hadn't when he felt the eyes of every person in the street upon him. Even those within nearby buildings leant outside the windows to stare at him.

"Ahem."

Maybe he should have walked into Sukonig instead. Seraph slowly turned to see a small group of soldiers. The four younger ones could not seem to decide whether pointing their weapons at a mage was wise or suicidal. Their leader, a richly-decorated officer, attempted to hide his nervousness beneath a grave expression. "Mage Seraph, I presume?"

"Yes, sir," he answered and hastily added, "I mean no harm. I'm just seeking shelter for the night. Tomorrow, I will leave Sudenland for good."

The officer seemed relieved at that. "Then if you don't mind, Mage, could you come with us?"

"Sorry, sir, but I really need to get out of this wind." Indeed, he was shivering from head to toe. He stamped his feet, trying to bring some warmth back into his body.

The officer turned to one of the soldiers and said, "Find a blanket for him." He then spoke to Seraph again. "I understand; however, King Wilfred would like to offer you his hospitality. He will be happy to provide a hot bath, dry clothes and a good meal."

"That's very kind of him,” Seraph said carefully. He somehow doubted that the Sudeni king would be willing to entertain a fugitive mage. “Are you sure I wouldn't be too much trouble for him?"

"I am very sure. Please come with us, Mage. We insist."

"Well, since he is so eager to have me, I can hardly refuse." At least for the moment, it seemed better to accept the ‘invitation’ than start a fight with the king’s soldiers.

---

By the end of a refreshing bath, Seraph was beginning to think that his initial impression was wrong. King Wilfred seemed to have gone to some trouble to accommodate the mage. The clothes lent to him were a little too fancy for his taste, but they were clean, dry and comfortable. As for his bedroom, it was much more spacious than any he had ever slept in. He looked forward to meeting his host.

A knock on his door alerted him and he stood as a nervous-looking servant entered. "Please follow me, Mage Seraph," the man said with a deep bow.

The servant led him through a long, winding corridor and Seraph again tried not to gawk at the many fine artworks and ornate furnitures around him. He'd been under the impression that Sudenland was a somewhat backward and impoverished relative to Sentralia, but the castle seemed more opulent than even the Great Mage's palace. Come to think of it, Sukonig, while being more crowded, looked at least as prosperous and organised as Angalas. Perhaps, Seraph thought uneasily, Sentralia was not the centre of civilization its people thought it was.

They reached a pair of massive doors and two more servants opened them to reveal a huge room, where the king, his family and another man sat around a mahogany table.

Seraph stared at the strange man, who appeared to be another guest. He seemed barely older than the Sentralian and he was slender, but he overshadowed those around him. His almond-shaped, dark eyes bore into Seraph and his face was set in a grim, but otherwise unreadable, expression. His glossy, black hair was tied back severely to form a short ponytail that hung over the crisp, bright-red clothes he wore like a uniform, and though he sat very still, he seemed ready to explode upon the smallest provocation. No wonder the prince and princess were casting nervous glances in his direction!

Remembering his manners, Seraph snapped his eyes back to King Wilfred. "Your Majesty," he said, bowing, "I wish to thank you for your hospitality and I apologize for any trouble I’ve caused your kingdom."

The king smiled graciously, if a little nervously. "No harm done, Mage Seraph. Please take a seat."

Seraph sat upon the only chair available to him, which, unfortunately, placed him right in front of the other young man. It was then that he noticed the armband around the stranger's arm. The yellow flame depicted on it indicated that the man was a fire mage. Seraph stiffened.

"Ah, this is Combustion," King Wilfred said as the two mages stared at each other. "He is one of the mages sent by Great Mage Daylight II to bring you back to Angalas."

Seraph could not believe his ears or his eyes. "A Furan? I thought that mages from Furao, Sudenland or Aidi never involve themselves in Sentralian affairs."

"We never fight for one side or another," Combustion corrected in a low voice, "however, a few of us have taken supporting roles at various times during the Mage War. You will be returning with me tomorrow and I would appreciate no trouble from you."

He should have known; King Wilfred intended to pass Seraph into the Furan’s custody! "I'm afraid you misunderstand," Seraph answered Combustion coldly. "I intend to travel to Sentralia by myself."

The fire mage frowned. "I am not offering you a choice and I will not allow you to fly to goodness knows where else. We will use a wagon instead."

"A wagon? You can return by this means if you wish, but I won't leave my family lingering in a prison!" With that, Seraph pushed his chair backwards and strode towards the door.

A roiling wall of flame erupted in front of him, blocking his exit. Even as he shielded his face from the heat, he heard the princess scream. Beyond her, servants panicked and dropped dishes onto the floor.

Combustion had gone too far. Seraph turned to the fire mage, who calmly watched him from where he sat, and said, "Turn it off. You're frightening the children."

Outrage flashed across Combustion's face, but the flames disappeared. Seraph looked back at the royal family. Both children were crying and the young prince had clambered onto his father's lap. The queen trembled as she clung onto her husband's arm, while the king sat rigidly, his eyes wide and his face pale. Behind them, the floor was strewn with soup, bread and broken crockery and the servants were nowhere to be found.

"I apologise, Your Majesty," Combustion said. "I did not mean to cause your family anxiety. Easterners, I assure you, treat children far worse than I ever would. Now, sit down, Seraph."

The flight mage sat rather clumsily, despite his attempt at nonchalance. Combustion's display had not been entirely unexpected, but his ability to create a large and controlled fire with so little effort unsettled Seraph far more than his insult. Those flames had caused no more damage than a singed curtain!

Combustion tapped a knife against his glass. "Since you have proven uncooperative," he said when he'd gained Seraph's attention, "you will wear this." He threw a bronze object across the table.

It was obvious to Seraph that this was a charm, not a mere armband. He looked at Combustion and when the fire mage scowled, he reluctantly put it on. The band immediately tightened, moulding itself to fit his lower arm and, before he could react, it pulled downwards, slamming his left arm onto the table.

"W-What's this?" he cried with alarm.

"This is a charm that becomes very heavy for anyone who wears it, which makes it useful for controlling prisoners, in particular flight mages like you. Initially, it will seem to weigh as much as a man, but you will be relieved to know that it gradually becomes lighter as its power fades."

"And will it remain permanently attached?" Seraph grated.

Combustion shrugged. "I suppose I might remove it when we reach Angalas—if the Great Mage and I agree to do it."

Quivering servants soon returned to set more food on the table. With the princess' help, Seraph was able to place some of it onto his plate, but he could barely lift his knife. He abandoned it in disgust and resigned himself to using his fork only.

---

Rain pattered on the wagon and road. Combustion was quite dry under his cloak and hood, but he was already sick of the journey. Enchanted road or not, it was muddy and slippery after three days of showers. He had to keep to a slow pace, lest one of the two horses fall off the narrow path and down half of Mount Treachery. The mage doubted that he would reach the next inn before nightfall.

As if these were not bad enough, he had to deal with the dual monotonies of unceasing rain and the squishing of hooves in mud. He would have preferred a conversation with the flight mage or even listening to Seraph’s whiny instrument. Ordering the prisoner to stop playing the recorder was a big mistake. On reflection, so was chaining Seraph’s leg to the wagon, which probably was humiliating for the prisoner as well as unnecessary, at least while they were within Skeleton Forest. No wonder the Sentralian had barely spoken in the two days since they left Sukonig.

Combustion stole a glance at Seraph. The flight mage, half hidden behind several boxes, was gazing sullenly at the sky. Again, Combustion was struck by how ordinary he seemed. The Furan had had little idea of Seraph’s appearance when he had left Sentralia—the available intelligence had been patchy, to say the least—but he had expected a tall, muscled man with either ferociously-black or heavenly-golden hair. This mage had none of these qualities. He was of average height, had brown hair that ended just above his shoulders, wore simple clothing over a rather thin figure and still had a boyish face. Daylight II was rarely wrong though. Somewhere within that prisoner was the most formidable obstacle to the Great Mage’s rule. Combustion resolved to learn more about him and that meant encouraging him to talk.

"Seraph," he called softly, "there is a rocky overhang ahead of us. It should be a good place to stretch our legs and have morning tea."

"We should not stop," Seraph replied. He didn't even look at the fire mage.

Combustion stifled his urge to throttle his prisoner. "And why not?"

"Whether I return in chains or not, I want to free my family as soon as possible. This journey is far too slow already."

That's right. Seraph had objected to the wagon for much the same reason. "I can't pretend that your family is in a happy situation," Combustion said carefully, "but they are being treated quite well. They're being kept in the west wing of the Great Mage's palace, not prison cells, so they have some freedom of movement, plenty of light and a clean environment."

"But they are being harassed or intimidated."

"No," he replied. "Their guards were told to be respectful and attend to their every need."

Seraph was silent for a long time and Combustion began to worry. Did the flight mage consider his information too good to be true?

"I don't know," Seraph said. "They are being treated much better than I would expect, but they should be at home. The sooner I return the better."

Combustion ignored the implied insult to the Western side's honour. "But your return doesn't seem so urgent now, does it? Would a tea break make that much difference?"

"No," Seraph said and Combustion could almost feel his smile. "I guess I’ve been underestimating you too. You are kinder than I thought."

The Furan was momentarily lost for words. He had not anticipated the compliment.

"I suppose you worry about your family too?" the flight mage asked.

"What? No. My family is wealthy, respected and has never been in conflict with the emperor. I have no need to worry over them."

Clearly, this was not the answer Seraph had expected. "But don't you miss them?"

"I used to," Combustion said with a shrug, "however, after ten years away from Furao, I hardly know them. I have become quite content to be alone."

"You haven't visited them in ten years? Not even during the holidays?"

"My powers are too dangerous," he replied shortly, hoping that the prisoner would drop the subject.

Seraph, unfortunately, did not. "You already have good control over your magic," he insisted, "and I'm sure your relatives would love to see how talented you have become; every family is like that."

Combustion snorted. His parents and siblings probably have little in common with Seraph's. Maybe he should have kept silent.

"Well? Will you return, Combustion?"

He opened his mouth to retort, but a deep rumble interrupted him. Combustion looked up and gaped. It seemed that a large portion of the mountain—mud, trees and rocks—was cascading down towards them. The horses reared, squealing, and he felt like cursing. Even if he could control the beasts, he would not reach the relative safety of the overhang in time.

"What’s happening?" Seraph shouted from inside. "Is it lightning?"

Trust a flight mage to worry over that. "It's much more serious than that," Combustion said as he clambered back. "We must fly."

"I've been saying that all along!"

Combustion bit back his reply. The roar outside was becoming louder and louder and their only chance of survival lay with the flight mage. The horses surged forwards, throwing him onto Seraph's legs. He pulled himself up and dug into his pockets. His fingers only found coins and pieces of paper.

He was beginning to panic when a hard object hit his knee. The key! He snatched it and reached for Seraph's manacle. Fortunately, the prisoner had not moved at all. In fact, he seemed frozen in terror. That wasn't promising.

"Seraph," he said as calmly as he could, "when you're free, fly out without delay. Don't worry about me; I will hold onto you." With that, he grabbed Seraph's ankle and jabbed the key downward.

Click.

Now for the charm. Combustion reached for it, but at that moment, debris overtook the wagon. He was flung to one wall and knew nothing else.