Sam Arnold

Archmage

Chapter 1

1
When my brother and I are allowed outside the village, I know to make
the most of it, no matter the task. My brother, Owen is 16 and nearing
manhood. He comes and goes from are home as he pleases, as long as he
supports our family with the fish he catches and does his chores. Our father
is no longer able to support us. Being only twelve, I am only allowed past the
market if Owen agrees to take me, which is rare. Even now as he takes me
fishing with him, I can tell he is only doing it to please me, for I am little help.
Fallon! He yells. Youve got one!
I pull in my fishing line excitedly too fast. The bait is gone, along
with whatever I was about to catch. I stare at the ground in disappointment.
I know my brother is weary of my poor fishing skills.
Really, youre no good at fishing whatsoever. Are we even related?
I come from a long lineage of fisherman, the Walters, yet Ive never
quite had a knack for it. Not so with Owen, fisherman supreme, pride of my
father. He had caught six large bass in the two hours wed been fishing,
while I had only managed to catch one.
No we probably arent, I reply, Youre definitely adopted. I smile. I
dont mind being a bad fisherman, its always fun for me to get out of my
home chores by the river.
Owen grunts, ignoring my jibe, and hoists the bucket of fish over his
shoulder.
Lets go, he says, Itll be dark soon, and Im hungry.
We trudge alone the riverbank in silence. I wonder, in spite of myself,
if I would ever have the chance to be something of importance, not just a
fisherman. Away from Timensville. If only I could be apprenticed to a
wealthy lord, or even a smith, I think. There are a few problems with this,
however. No one in the small village of mine gets an apprenticeship worth
much, its just not a wealthy place. And even if I did move to, say
Laurendale, the nearest port town, I wouldnt catch anyones eye or be
accepted for an apprenticeship without a lot of money, which my family has
little of. Im just not extraordinary, even untalented. Im skinny, and never
better than average at any skill I try my hand at. Of course Ive never
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learned to read or write. In fact, other youths of my age are as like as not to
leave me out of the game they play, not that I mind much.
We break off the river as we near Timensville. Its dusk, the half-moon
already high above us in the dimming sky. Winter is not far away, and I feel
a chill in the air. I shiver.
My family may not be rich, but we have one of the biggest homes in
the village, inherited from my fathers wealthier parents. Two brick chimneys
at either end of the five room log cabin. For the most part, the houses in
Timensville are wooden, for it was built with its back to a great forest.
Timenswood no longer exists due to generations of expansion and fuel
needs, turning it into a great plain.
As we approach our dimly lit cabin, all is dark and quiet, no one is out
on this chilly night nut us. I fling open the door for my fish laden brother, not
bothering to lock, as we never lock our doors. We are greeted with a grunt
from our bedbound father, who we presumably woke up coming in, sleeping
in our living area. Hes hardly left his bed for over a year now, thanks to a
foot injury that wont heal and a drinking problem our mother wont stop
feeding. She isnt home, unsurprisingly, as she spends most of her free time
at her friends houses.
Seven, dad, Owen calls out todays catch as he hoists the bucket onto
the table, hoping for a response. He doesnt get one, of course, unless you
count a grunt. Jerome Walter, my father turns over and begins to snore. I
can tell hes been drinking, not only from his behavior but also from the
empty bottles on the floor beside his bed next to his dusty crutches. Though
less than two years ago, I can hardly remember my father as a role model, or
at least it feels like a dream. My brother, slightly disappointed, stalks into
the kitchen, lighting lanterns and candles as he goes. He returns a moment
later with two loaves of bread, as well as a pair of knives, one of which he
tosses to me with little warning. I barely manage to catch it by the handle,
and Owen smiles. He sits at the table and passes a loaf of bread to my end.
Here, eat this quick, then well clean the fish.
I sit and eat quickly, enjoying every bite of the bread after a long day. I
finish around the same time as my brother, and we each draw a fish from the
bucket and began to clean it. Its boring work that allows my mind to
wander, and I am proficient enough at it. However, by the time I finish my
fish, Owen is done with his third. Now he puts down his knife and grabs his
coat.

Sam Arnold

Archmage

Chapter 1

Where are you going? I ask, indignantly grabbing another fish.

Youre not leaving me with all this work!
Sorry Fallon, he replies, without a trace of apology. Youre going to
have to finish this by yourself. I promised Shaya Id meet her tonight.
Great, thanks. It hurt my pride that Owen would rather meet his girl
than help me finish the fish, but he had already shut the door. I return to the
task at hand and try to keep my mind blank. Jerome wakes up in a start,
yells something unintelligible to someone only he can see, and resumes his
snoring. Only, louder this time. Sighing, I work steadily through the next ten
minutes, though not with any real speed. I feel little motivation to finish
quickly and go to bed, however, my mind begins to wander, as always.
Im on my last fish when I hear it. A scream, a good distance away, but
definitely in the village. I stop my work and freeze, straining my ears for
more. A few seconds later, another scream follows. Soon after I hear doors
and windows being opened and shut, yells, and the sounds of people yellow
outside my house. I have no idea what could be causing the commotion as I
get up to peer through our covered windows. At the same time, my father
gets up for the first time in months, hoisting himself on his crunches. I fling
open the blinds and stare through the windows, trying to make out whats
going on outside. Its dark, and our windows are dirty, but I can see people
running about outside, opening doors, many of the houses illuminated by
lamplight. My father staggers towards the kitchen, presumably for more
mead. His gray hair a mess, he ignores me, as well as the commotion
outside. I hear two more screams in quick succession, and by now my mind
is made up. I need to get out there and find out whats going on. Are we
being attacked? I wish my brother was here.
I make hesitantly for the front door, pausing before it as I hear more
yells and screams. Is this a good idea? Veins bursting with exited adrenaline
I seize my fathers prized fishing spear from above the door. Its barbed tip is
made of tempered steel, and it is the most expensive thing my family owns.
I am not bad at throwing it, and it will make a good weapon in a pinch.
Bursting through the door and leaving it open behind me, I pause. For a few
seconds I stand still as my eyes adjust to the dimmer lighting and I take in
what Im seeing.
The half-moon is at its peak, illuminating the scene in the village below.
My village has a population of less than three hundred and fifty, and it seems
to me as if half of them are out on the streets, running between houses, and
sticking to the shadows. Panic seems to rule the scene. A father is guiding
his family to safety, lone villagers are running with their most valued
possessions this way and that. A few people are charging, or standing there
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ground, with an assortment of make-shift weapons. And the source of this:

clusters of dark, masculine figures, hard to make out in the dim light. Some
are fighting or chasing villagers, but the majority are just staying where they
are, though I cant quite make out what theyre doing. None of them are
near enough me to be an imminent danger, however. One of these figures is
in close combat with who I think is Thomas, the villages strongest man. He
wields a long hunting knife, but his opponent has what appears to be a
proper sword. I hear wheeze, followed by a grunt not far from me as a
villager, laden with a heavy looking bad, falls to the ground. I am close
enough to make out a bolt, barely protruding from his chest.
All this I take in a few quick seconds. For all the shock of the moment,
my mind was considerably clear. I am able to deduce that many of the dark
figures hold steam-crossbows, explaining the wheezing sound I heard.
Realizing the illumination in the doorway behind me makes me an easy
target, I allow myself to fall flat on my back atop the dry grass, keeping the
spear within close reach by my side. This was not a moment too soon, I
realize as I hear another wheeze and catch a glimpse of a bolt flying through
the air I occupied a mere second ago. It appears to be glowing as if alight. I
hear a thud of impact, presumably where it landed inside my house. I realize
my father is still in there, even as the house bursts into flames.
I crawl away from the flames, choking in shock, as I grip my fathers
spear close to me. No, my father is dead. The spear now is the inheritance
of Owen, but is he alive even now with Shaya? Perhaps he is coming to for
me right now, but who knows where he was with his girl? And my mother
Thomas, distracted by my flaming abode, is decapitated by his
antagonists sword. I am still in shock as I rise to my feet and begin to run,
tightly gripping the spear. I trust to luck to save me from bolts and the
attention of swordsmen. Fortunately, steam-crossbows are not quick to
reload. Dodging other villagers and ignoring their screams, I avoid the dark
executioners as I begin to form a plan. I have no time to search for my
brother, for every second within the Timensville is a risk of death. Nor do I
have time to search for my mother, and what help could I be to either of
them anyway? I make for the closest way out of the village. I dodge bodies,
some of which are lifeless. I avoid there lifeless stares for fear of recognizing
a friend.
My house is not the only one in flames. Many around me are alight,
and now all the remaining villagers are fleeing their homes including women
and children, for fear of being burned alive. They panic in the face of groups
of dozens of dark figures, who fire volleys every ten seconds, mowing down
rows of screaming civilians. Once, as I sprint through the shadows, I pause
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Archmage

Chapter 1

to stare at a group of twenty or more men from my village who have taken a
stand against a cluster of perhaps a dozen opponents. Though they have the
advantage of numbers, their adversaries were clearly more skilled and
carried superior weaponry. Though a few of their number lay dead, they
would slay two men for their every one lost.
The moonlight is steadily replaced by firelight as I near the outskirts of
Timensville. I am challenged by any black figures, but I am not in the clear
yet. I have seen no sign of my mother nor of Owen, though I have not had
the strength to look upon many of the still faces I have past, which I almost
regret. Not knowing if they are alive or not is almost worse.
As I reach the last row of houses, I nearly turn back to look for the rest
of my family. I only stay for fear for myself, and the knowledge that I could
be of no help to them. I must run and make for the river, where I might be
able to survive on my own. Many of the houses here are silent or ash, and
the bodies are thick. Everyone living here has apparently been slaughtered,
and their slaughterers moved on. There is no living soul in the immediate
vicinity, save a few wounded, who themselves are coughing blood, as good
as dead. I reach the last house.
I am about to sprint from the cover of the village to the plains beyond,
trusting to luck, when I hear someone nearby. I peer around the corner of a
house, in time to see a figure thrust to the ground within two yards of me by
a dark figure. As she cries out in pain, I duck back before I am observed in
shock. It is Chari, my mother. My brain is instantly decisive. I know what to
do. As the figure steps towards my mother, I burst from my cover. I cast my
late fathers prized fishing spear, aiming for the figures heart.
I nearly hit it, too. The spear cast, fueled by my adrenaline rage,
struck on square blow on his left shoulder. He cries out and topples over,
barely keeping a grip on his double-edged sword. My mother looks back at
me and begins to cry.
F-Fallon? she sobs.
Dont worry, mom. Im here, Somehow Im able to act stolid and
tough, even as my enemy yanks the spear from his shoulder with another
moan of pain. He rises to his feet.
My father is dead. My brother is as well, most likely. But not my
mother. I will do what I can to protect her now, whatever the cost. I move
forward, raising my shaking arms into the best defensive position I can think
of.

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Archmage

Chapter 1

I am now between my mother and the man, for I am now close enough
to see his unveiled human face. It is remarkably emotionless given his
wound as he approaches me, but somehow I can sense the rage in his dark
eyes. He raises his sword, but I grit my teeth and hold my ground.
Something of a plan is already forming in my mind, so a stand firmly, yet
ready to dodge. He swings his sword towards me and I do dodge, but too
late. His blade is too swift, cutting a deep gash in my forearm, covering my
pale skin in dark blood. My dodge becomes more of fall as I scream in pain
and my mother yells.
Run! I scream towards her, hoping to give her enough time by my
death to get away, but my enemy ignores me and advances towards her. My
mother does not run. She has a leg wound that I did not notice before. All
the same, she attempts to crawl back from her foe, who has almost closed
the distance between them with his nonchalant walk. In desperation, I crawl
away from them, trying to reach my spear. It is too far. I watch with helpless
horror as the man reaches my mother and swings his blade- once, twice.
She makes no sound. As he backs away from her body, I realize that her
head is no longer attached to it. I have failed her. Grief covers my already
pained body, and I lay on my back and cry, abandoning my attempts to
reach the spear. The man turns his gaze towards my shaking form and
makes straight for me, but I barely care.
The bliss of indifference doesnt last very long, though. By the time he
is a stride away from me I desperately want to, need to, live. However, its
too late. I can hardly move, and he is raising his sword to finish me off.
His blade is inches away from beheading me when it happens. Energythat is the only way I can describe the throbbing, intensely strong yet
intangible substance I experienced-is released from with me, from my chest,
leaves my body. The man flies back from me a yard and lands coughing
blood. His own sword protrudes from his stomach.
Instead of feeling pained, exhaust, and full of grief, my mind is calm,
my body painless. For a few seconds I just lay there, listening curiously to
the slaughter still taking place further within the village.
Then the house next me burst into flames. Dragging the spear, my
spear, I back away for the heat. The fire spreads quickly through the dry
grass, enveloping my moth, as well as her murderer, but it doesnt reach me.
I take a moment of still silence at my mothers passing, but instead of feeling
full of grief, I feel curious. Curiosity about the flames. How does a house
flare up with such speed? I wonder. Backing away from the village slowly, I
get my answer.

Sam Arnold

Archmage

Chapter 1

The bell-tower is the highest part of Timensville, and though near its
center, I can make it out with full clarity. I make out a figure through the
smoke. Remarkably, I can see him quite clearly even at this distance. It is
not but a white-bearded, wizened old man, with one arm raised above him,
robed in brown. His eyes follow something below him, which he points at. I
hear the sound and see the added glow of another house in flames.
A wizard, who from his vantage point is augmenting the speed of the
flames on the fire-bolts by magic. Magic like I just used.
I know that man is mainly responsible for the deaths of nearly
everyone in the village, but I cant help smiling. My smile turns to a grimace
as my clear vision fades, leaving me feeling blind. My pain and grief also
return, and I stay upright only by the support of my spear. I know I have to
leave here. Maybe I should make for the River.
As I wander away from the village into the night, I know one thing is
certain. I will survive. I will kill this wizard that has murdered my family.
And I will not die.