Two Parts Blood, One Part Fire

From the doorstep of their house in the foothills, Raza and his son Raith watched the two armies face one another across the expanse of the Bloody Plains. The siege engines and armored forces of Abergast aligned themselves on the eastern side of the ancestral battleground, while a smaller faction of robed Priests of Zava faced them across the famed red grass. Upon first glance, one might think this were a horribly mismatched contest; several hundred unarmed clergymen and women against several thousand soldiers and their war machines. The thing was, though, Zavans weren't actually unarmed, and they technically weren't even priests. The residents of Zava were, in fact, each and every one of them casters, and the city had sent several hundred of its most powerful to take on their rival to the east.

"Father?" Raith asked. "Why do they fight?"

"Because the Baron of Abergast's favorite niece was believed to have been kidnapped and killed by a Zavan caster ... and shortly afterward, a Zavan high priest and his entire family were murdered, presumably by one of Abergast's lethal assassins."

"So they just keep escalating their attacks until it becomes a full-fledged battle?"

"Such is the way of men," Raza said, looking out over the Bloody Plains. "This place certainly didn't get its name because it has a butcher shop nearby!"

The Bloody Plains were named for the fact that it was the ancestral battleground for all the peoples of the continent. Long ago, a pact was made that any all-out, full-on battles would be waged here, on neutral ground where both sides could engage in combat without worrying for the casualties of civilians and structures. The pact had continued for generations and, as a result, this small patch of land had been stained with more blood than any other across the whole of the world. So much so that it seeped into the very soil, turning the grass and other foliage a rust-colored red and leaving a lingered metallic tinge to the air. It's said by some that the Plains can cause a man to go crazy with bloodlust if he spends too much time in its red grass.

A trumpeting from the east encouraged Abergast's forces into motion. They slowly began advancing on their western opponents, siege engines roaring to life.

The first of the catapults loosed its fiery payload, and a cauldron of flaming oil arced toward the robed figures opposite them. The ground in front of the Zavans started to rumble and shake as a tower of earth rose up to meet the incoming projectile. The cauldron hit the tower, but some of the hot oil still sloshed out and rained down on the nearby Priests of Zava, causing them to shriek in pain as it scalded their skin



And then all hell broke loose.



More cauldrons of oil sailed west, accompanied by archers' arrows and slingers' stones. In retaliation, the Zavans charged forward, hurling cannonball-sized globes of fire and javelin-like lighting bolts conjured out of thin air. Siege engines toppled as the ground opened up beneath them, and robed priests cried out as cavalry charged and struck them down with swords and pikes. Screams of pain mingled with screams of triumph, and cries of victory became indistinguishable from cries of agony. The smell of burnt wood, burnt flesh, and blood filled the air, and the Bloody Plains welcomed these warriors home.

"Father?" Raith asked again, watching the carnage unfold before him. "Which side are we rooting for?"

"Neither, son."

"Why not?"

Raza gave his son a pained look and then sighed.

"Perhaps it's time I tell you about our family history."

Raith looked at his father in surprise. He had been asking his father about their family for what seemed like an eternity, and the only answer he ever got was, "I'll tell you when you're older."

Raza turned to face his son, motioning for the two of them to sit. The sounds of ringing metal, splintering wood, and human suffering carried on the air as Raza cleared his throat.

"The truth is that you were not an only child, Raith. You had an older sister, Raia, who was just reaching adolescence when your mother and I were blessed with you. Raia was our angel, beautiful and smart and possessed of an adventurous spirit. When she found out she was going to have a younger brother, she could barely contain her joy! She was so happy and focused on thoughts of you, that she didn't notice the Zavan priests until they had already sprung their trap, capturing her and taking her back to Zava where they've subjected her to the most horrendous tortures imaginable."

Raza was finding it hard to speak, and he stopped to regain his composure.

"But ... why? Why would they do a thing like that?"

"Zavans are scientists at heart, Raith. They discover their secrets through experimentation and they have a dark history of kidnapping orphans and using them for experimental research."

"Then why are we not out there, helping Abergast destroy them?"

"Because the soldiers of Abergast were the ones responsible for the death of your mother."

Raith felt lightheaded; it felt like his world was spinning off its axis.

"When we found out what had happened, your mother and I tried to rescue Raia from the city of Zava. But they were too powerful, with too much sorcery and defenses for us to stand a chance of rescuing our daughter alone. So your mother went to Abergast to plead for assistance in securing the return of our daughter. Instead, once inside the gates of their fortress, they locked her inside and murdered her.

Raith stood slack-jawed. "But ... but ... why?"

"Your mother was an impressive woman, Raith; renowned, really, for her talents as both a fighter and sorceress. I assume the people of Abergast just decided to use the opportunity to make sure she never posed a threat to them again."

"What did you do then?"

"It would have been foolish to take on the military might of Abergast by myself, son." Raza said.

"I hate them both," Raith muttered. "I wish you would have killed them all."

"Without your mother or your sister, someone needed to remain here, raise you, and protect you long enough to tell you this story in preparation for what's next."

Raith looked at his father, confused.

"Father? What is next?"

The edges of Raza's mouth curved upward in the faintest hint of a smile.

"The Baron's niece wasn't kidnapped by a Priest of Zava, Raith. And the high priest's family wasn't murdered by an assassin from Abergast."

"You?" Raith gasped.

"Me. Throughout all the years I've spent raising you, I've been planning this moment, carefully orchestrating events so that they would lead us to now."

"And what now?"

"Look at the Bloody Plains before you, boy. Nearly the entire fighting forces of both Abergast and Zava are laid out before us, fighting and killing each other while we stand by and watch. Do you see, even now, how they kill each other and save us the effort? How distracted they are by their own perceived rivalry?"

Raith nodded, finally understanding.

"And we're going to swoop in there afterward and finish the job."

"Quite right," Raza said, pleased that his son had put the pieces together. "It's why I've been so tough on you all these years, pushing you to learn how to fight ... how to use your considerable gifts to your advantage in combat."

"Let's go now," Raith said, standing up in preparation to go.

"Not just yet," Raza told him, putting a reassuring hand on his son's shoulder. "Let them weaken one another just a bit more."



And the battle did indeed weaken both sides. After hours of battle, the two forces seemed almost at a stalemate, equal proportions of each side were either dead or nearly dead in the rusted grass of the Bloody Plains. There was no clear winner, and it seemed increasingly likely that when there was, it would be a hollow celebration among the broken bodies of too many friends and loved ones to count.



"Now, father?"

"Yes, son. Now."

Raza and Raith both unfurled their wings and pushed off the ground, soaring into the skies above the foothills. Below them, they heard panicked cries from both sides of the confrontation.

"Dragon!"

"Watch out!"

"Gods help us!"

Watching the remaining scattered forces trying to assemble some kind of paltry defense made Raza break out into a wide grin.

"Remember your training, son. Use every weapon at your disposal and don't forget to—"

"I've got it, Dad."

Raza nodded, satisfied. "Just one more thing."

Raith looked at him, eager to join the fray.

"Don't wear yourself out on these pathetic few forces. Save some of that anger for when we pay our respects to the cities of Abergast and Zava."

The hatred in Raith's eyes slowly became cold, ruthless satisfaction.

"Do you think we'll find Raia?"

"I don't know, Raith. But the one thing I do know is that we won't stop until both of these cities and their every single inhabitant are little more than smoldering piles of ash."

Raza took a deep breath, feeling the air churn the billowing flames deep in his lungs. Raith followed suit and they exhaled a few experimental flames.

"You ready, my son?" Raza asked, feeling that familiar sensation of heat tickling the back of his long throat.

Raith nodded and turned his attention to the terrified, disorganized battlefield below them.

"Burn them, Raith. Burn them all."



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(1,601 words)

Entry for "Invalid Item"  (May 2014). Prompt: Write a story based on one or more of the following three prompts: 1. Write a story about a battle. It can be any kind of battle, as long as it is fantasy themed(Hero vs. Dragon for example) 2. Write a story from the perspective of a fantasy creature. 3. Write a story about a person who discovers a magic item or relic.