The Great War: Chapter 30 (pt.2)
A brief reunion
“YOU!” Mathew shouts at the group of wizards. A ripple of shock and surprise spreads through those that stand huddled together by the small dock, all turning to stare at the sudden visitor. Upon seeing Mathew standing mere feet away from them with his sword drawn, fear lights in their eyes as some of the women and remaining children shuffle behind some of the older men. Fire and lightning crackle audibly in warning. But Mathew doesn’t care about those wizards.
He raises his sword to point at the one he wishes to duel. “By the stars and Spirits above, I challenge you to a duel!”
The wizard in the regal purple tilts his head as he stares back at him quietly. Murmurs of worry arise from the crowd as they look to the boy. His firm gaze sends a soft chill down Mathew’s back as he seems to consider the surprise challenge.
“My prince, you shouldn’t-” one of the older adults says, only to be interrupted by the boy holding up a hand to silence them.
“The kingdom of Korodon doesn’t formally recognize any of the Guardian’s challenges to battle,” he says to Mathew, stepping forward. “But I’ll humor you. Just this once.” He spreads his fingers by his sides, and Mathew can just barely see small arcs of lightning jump between them in quick flashes. He turns briefly back to the crowd behind him and instructs, “Keep offloading the ships and evacuating.”
He receives a couple of nods back, but that’s about it.
Mathew levels his sword at the wizard prince. It didn’t occur to him that this boy could have been royalty, but who his opponent is shouldn’t matter. Royalty or not, a wizard is a wizard.
The two stand face to face now, with a small crowd of onlookers staring on with bated breath. The wizard is unarmed, but he still has his magic. If Mathew manages to get in close, he’ll have a good shot at winning.
He makes the first move, sharp and sudden, rushing at the prince with all the speed he can muster, his sharp blade flashing in the light of the cycle. The prince’s eyebrows arch high, but Mathew doesn’t care to try and interoperate what it might mean.
But then he raises a hand, and it causes Mathew to flinch ever so slightly. Long bolts of hot lightning shoot from his fingers, white ropes that intend to strike him. Mathew does his best to weave around them, but with their wild spread across the ground it’s hard for him to predict where they might land next.
One of the bolts manages to strike his sword, bouncing off of the blade. A sharp shock shoots through his body and his sword is pushed backwards, forcing his arm to swing out with it in order to keep his hold on his only weapon. With Mathew slowed significantly, the prince rushes forward, becoming a streak of purple and lightning as he quickly closes the gap between them. Before he knows it, the wind is knocked out of Mathew as a heavy fist rams into his gut, the buzz of electricity bleeding through his shirt and onto his skin, and he’s sent flying a short ways backwards and landing on his back on the dirt road.
Mathew has to lay there for a short moment in an effort to recollect himself. What speed! What strength! And all without a weapon, too.
Slowly, he staggers back to his feet. The prince hasn’t made an effort to approach, it appears, nor does it seem like he intends to pursue him. With his sword clutched in his vice-like grip, his lifeline, Mathew readies himself for another advance.
The prince, however, takes his eyes off of Mathew for the moment and turns to stare off in the distance as the smell of smoke thickens around them. He seems rather removed from the threat before him, disinterested in the battle altogether.
“Isn’t this a waste of your energy?” the prince asks.
“I don’t see it that way,” Mathew replies under his breath.
He starts forward again, hoping to take advantage of the wizard’s distraction and the closer gap between the two. Surely this time he’ll be able to land at least one hit on the wizard!
With a yell, Mathew swings with all his might the moment he’s within arms length of the wizard. The prince’s attention snaps back to Mathew in this instance and leans backwards, just narrowly missing the edge of the blade as its its passes just a hairs length away from his chest. Hot anger raging inside of him, Mathew tries his hardest to strike the wizard but to no avail as he simply ducks and weaves out of the way of his every attempt.
How can I not strike him? Mathew can’t help but wonder as he continues to press the attack. This is a wizard he’s fighting! They’re not supposed to do well in close quarters combat! And yet, he hates to admit, this wizard is practically reading him like a book. Could it be that this wizard received special combat training just because he’s a royal? Or maybe his magic is enhancing his reflexes?
As he continues to swing at the wizard, Mathew can start to feel his own magic begin to stir inside his body, a bitter cold wind joining the hot storm of rage and frustration. The energy jerks around his chest in a large mass, shifting from left to right with every movement his makes. This building discomfort is the last thing he needs right now. If he winds up using his magic here, he might as well be signing away his dreams of sailing.
Just the mere thought of being kicked off of the Guardian’s ship makes him press on even harder. If this doesn’t end soon, then stars only know what will happen when his magic grows to become too much for him to contain.
The two continue their strange dance in the middle of the dirt road as smoke and fire rise into the sky around them. Is Mathew seeing things, or has the group of other wizards by the water shrunk significantly by now?
It doesn’t even seem like the wizard is trying to attack him anymore, but instead taunt him by staying just out of his reach. He stares at Mathew not with disinterest as he first thought, but rather with mild amazement. It’s almost like he’s gauging Mathew’s combat skills, treating this as if it were a test rather than a proper battle. And that only makes Mathew even more frustrated. Why won’t he just fight back?
Mathew swings his sword downward, which the wizard once again smoothly steps away from, but with a little too much force this time. The blade strikes the dirt below Mathew, embedding itself into the ground. There’s a slight tremor as a powerful gust of cold air sweeps over the street, making Mathew’s skin prickle.
“Ah-!” the wizard suddenly exclaims, followed quickly by a loud, sharp ‘snap!’
The sound makes Mathew looks up in an instant, a pit of horror dropping in his gut. Before him is a large ice drift covered in pointed spikes, glittering in the light of the cycle in all its glory. Looking back down at his sword again, he finds that there is a small patch of ice surrounding the blade where it touches the ground, fusing it to the magical creation. His magical creation.
He didn’t feel his magic leave him unlike every other time he’s used it. But that ball of energy is certainly gone now, no longer flailing about inside his chest as a condensed mass of cold power.
Off to the side, the prince is also staring at the ice with his mouth agape. His gaze flickers between the large spikes and Mathew, his eyes alight with a multitude of questions.
Did the others see it? Mathew thinks, looking over his shoulder. The street is still empty. Whenever Lorn comes back he’ll surly know who this ice belongs to. Maybe he was even watching from within a nearby house, but from where Mathew stands he doesn’t see his crew mate anywhere.
“Mathew?”
His name cuts through the air, echoing across the island. Mathew turns his attention back to the shoreline, most of his view now blocked by his own magic. His eyes widen as a figure in blue stares back at him from a distance. Is that…?
Anya rushes forward, her face sharpening as she approaches. She’s still in her favorite dress, not looking a cycle older than from when he last saw her.
The prince steps forward with an arm out in a poor attempt to stop her. “Anya-!”
She pushes past him and entraps Mathew in a tight hug. Her breathing is heavy and irregular, as if she’s trying to hold back tears. But with her chin on his shoulder, he can’t see her face.
“Anya?” Mathew can’t help but breathe aloud. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, thank the stars you’re okay…” she only mutters back, her voice choked.
Awkwardly, Mathew raises one of his hands to pat her back lightly, trying to lean away from her all the same. He doesn’t want to be seen with her here, and yet he still wants to embrace his clearly troubled sister.
Anya straightens as best she can, continuing to hold her younger brother’s shoulders with a vice-like grip. Tears stream from her watery eyes as she stares at him long and hard, unwilling to release him.
“Mathew…” she attempts to speak, her voice so choked now that just saying his name is enough to send another flurry of tears down her cheeks.
“Why are you here?” Mathew can’t help but repeat himself. “Shouldn’t you be with-”
“Mother… Ingum…” Anya tries, only for her voice to lock up after each word. “The Guardians…” She shakes her head, trying hopelessly to collect herself again.
Mathew opens his mouth to speak, to ask her what she means, only to be cut off before he can even begin by a loud, ethereal bell chime. He can only swallow instead. Swallow with dread.
Already? But I’m not done-
“Mathew!” he hears Lorn call from behind him. There’s a brief pause as he seemingly takes notice of the large collection of ice spikes before he continues with, “We’ve got to go! Now!”
With gritted teeth, Mathew twists out of Anya’s grasp and begins to run after his crew mate back to the little landing boat, Lorn hurrying along a few feet ahead of him.
“Mathew!” Anya calls behind him. “You can’t stay with them!”
Mathew takes a quick glance behind him. The prince is holding Anya back from trying to run after him as she watches him leave from the foot of his icy creation. His sword is still in the ground, too. As much as he wants to turn around and retrieve it, he knows he doesn’t have the time. And if he turned around now, Anya would certainly make sure he didn’t run away for a second time.
It pains him to see her so upset, but he just can’t comfort her. He can only hope that she can get off of this island before the cannons fire.