An Elemental Duel

Teague stumbled, one knee landing with a disconcerting crunch against the tiled floor of the royal audience chamber. Lingering smoke rose from the scorch marks on his chest, the once impressive blue robes ruined with soot and sulphur. He spit the taste of metal from his mouth. Pinkish droplets of blood clashed against the gold-veined white marble beneath him. This is not the way to impress a lady, he thought to himself grimly.

The lady in question wasn’t faring much better. Raddix moved swiftly after his last attack, placing himself between the young mage and woman he’d come to rescue. Behind them, the ancient throne loomed from its raised dais, braziers of smoldering coal at each of its four corners. It was a massive work of craftsmanship, hewn from the same marble that made up the floors and pillars of the imposing hall. The burgundy velvet cushion sat empty while matching pennants hung limp from tall iron spikes that jutted from the floor like vicious stalagmites. Even the furniture seemed to be biding its time, waiting for King Leonin to return within the hour. Teague didn’t have much time.

A blush of purple was already blooming on Sylvia’s cheekbone from where the guardsman had struck her with his gauntlet, and her dark hair framed her face in wild ringlets. The gossamer dress they’d forced her into left little to the imagination as she strained against the large brute holding her in place. Raddix dismissed her venomous glare with an uninterested glance. Beautiful or not, Teague noted to never let himself fall on that side of her rage.

“You will stay down, acolyte, if you know what’s good for you.” Raddix glowered at Teague, his eyes burning embers.

The young mage was injured, but not defeated. He pushed himself to his feet, biting back a groan of pain. His muscles throbbed from the force of Raddix’s spell slamming into his chest, and he suspected at least one rib was broken. “I think you’ll find I rarely know that bit of useful information.” He tried to smile at his witty retort, but found himself wincing instead.

Raddix’s expression darkened, and he planted his feet. The ease of his battle stance came with the practice of several lifetimes’ worth of training. “Very well. I see it is too late to teach you further.” The air around the ageless pyromancer shimmered with heat as he prepared another volley of spells. His fingers plucked bits of arcane power from the air like a bard strumming an instrument, causing small sparks of flashing light to dance along his arms.

Teague knew he couldn’t take another fireball to the chest if he wanted to get Sylvia out alive. Ignoring the pain and the wave of dizziness that threatened to overwhelm him, he forced himself to take a deep steadying breath. Somewhere deep within him was the frozen well of elemental magic he’d inherited from his mother. He reached for it, and a comforting chill swelled deep within him, just out of reach. Across the room but still too close for comfort, a bright flame came to life in the hands of his enemy. Teague’s focus wavered; his power stagnant. In any other situation, he would have appreciated the irony of his ice powers being frozen in place.

Come on, come on, come on! Teague mentally begged the set of attuned channeling stones that hung from his wrist. Now or never!

A loud crack filled the cavernous room. It was too late. In a last-ditch effort to avoid the arcane assault, he raised his arms to deflect the attack. Immediately, ice crystals coalesced along his forearms to form a shield, barely deflecting the molten blast to the side. The force knocked Teague in the opposite direction, but he managed to roll with the momentum and onto his feet. To his disbelief, his arms glowed with a blue aura of glacial magic, and the place he’d just been was nothing but a sizzling crater.

Sylvia wasn’t one to pass up a good distraction. As the guard stood transfixed by the magical display, she slammed the sharp heel of her impractical sandals against the inside of his ankle, scraping against bone. He cried out in pain and she spun, snatching the dagger that hung from his belt and kicking him hard in the stomach in one swift motion. He crashed backwards against the marble steps of the dais, the base of his skull cracking against the edge. One threat handled, Sylvia lunged at Raddix, the blade expertly aimed at the tender flesh above his kidney.

The pyromancer was ready for her attack. Before she could sink the dagger into the thick brocade of his ceremonial robes, he moved with unnatural speed, catching Sylvia by the throat as he knocked the blade from her hand.

“That will cost you, wench,” the pyromancer snarled as he lifted her from the ground with one impossibly strong hand. Her feet dangled helplessly as she clawed at his fingers and struggled to breathe. “His Highness just said to leave you alive. He didn’t say unharmed.” His free hand started to glow with orange flame as smoke swirled around his feet.

“They prefer the term barmaid!” Teague shouted from across the room, punctuating his words with the clash of his icy fist into the tiles at his feet. Frozen crystals exploded from the point of impact as a wave of power barreled towards Raddix, leaving a blast of cold in its wake. The pyromancer attempted to redirect the spell he’d been preparing, firing a burst of flame at the oncoming wave, but it wasn’t enough. He threw Sylvia aside in an effort to dodge, but his feet were frozen solid. Within seconds, his entire body was engulfed in an icy tomb. The glow in his eyes faded and then went dark, his life extinguished by the raw elemental magic that solidified around him.

Seeing Sylvia fall, Teague leapt onto the sheet of ice his spell left behind, allowing it to carry him across the distance like the practiced skater he was. He slid to a stop and dropped down next to her. The delicate dress was in tatters and she’d have more than a few bruises by morning. Her eyes fluttered open as he placed a hand on her shoulder.

“You remembered,” she said weakly, her voice hoarse as she rubbed her injured throat.

The corner of his mouth lifted into a lopsided grin. He remembered not too long ago, when she’d slapped him for calling her the same thing. “I do my best not to make the same mistake twice. Now come on, let’s get out of here before the whole army shows up.”

Teague helped Sylvia to her feet, and the two ran from the King’s grand hall. There would be time to celebrate later, if they made it past the front gate.