Path of Glory

2

“Yes, Regent Mother.” The cavalryman bowed again, and, still in a half-crouched pose, backed away. Then, turning abruptly, he sped up in order to leave the hall as quickly as possible. As a man and a warrior who’d fought in many wars, he didn’t want to see her breastfeeding that three-year-old boy, a future warrior. Sekiya understood that, no matter how their war with Darnassus ended, Lascan had no future… Well, at least he got to fight for a once-great Empire.

 

In a shack that stank of old, wet wood, dog fur, and something musky, a boy lay curled up on a small sofa that served as his bed, covered only by a hole-riddled blanket made from an old sheepskin coat and some rags.

The boy was trembling, and he was muttering in his sleep and wincing. There was a deep furrow between his brows. It was obvious that the child was afraid. He was so scared that he wanted to wake up more than anything else, even though it was midnight outside, and the sky was full of heavy winter clouds. A blizzard had covered everything in a blanket of snow, and the cold was so strong that the shutters of the hut were frozen. But even so, the boy still wanted to wake up, to run out into the street and collapse in the snow, so that the frost and cold could confirm that everything he’d seen so far was nothing more than a nightmare. But he couldn’t. He shivered, whimpered, and remained stuck in a most terrifying vision.

“Let me help you, you brave little boy,” a soft voice said.

At the far end of the room, a splinter was burning. The light coming from the smoldering tip of that splinter suddenly spread out like a golden halo. It swirled like a blizzard, except it wasn’t made of ice and snow. The fire soon turned into a simple gray cloak with many colorful patches, a pair of light bast shoes, some canvas pants, and a linen shirt. Strong hands held a simple staff. At first, it might’ve looked like a young man was clutching it, but then wrinkles appeared on the man’s forehead.

The man’s face looked like he was about twenty-five, but, at the same time, it also bore all the signs of rapidly approaching old age. His ash-colored hair was already streaked with grey, and his multicolored eyes — one blue and the other brown — were blurry. He was a young man... a mature adult… and an old man, all at once. He tapped his staff lightly against the ground, and a chair sprouted from the floorboards.

The man, who was clearly a wizard, sat down next to the child. He ran his hands through the boy’s hair, then reached out and picked up the splinter, which was now barely dispelling the gloom around it. He squeezed the red dot between two fingers, in the way a candle was usually extinguished, which should’ve plunged the room into darkness, but it didn’t. Instead of putting out the light, the wizard plucked it from the splinter. The scarlet spark hovered at the man’s fingertips.

“Well, my friend, you’re a bit weaker now.” The strange visitor smiled.

As if hearing his words, the light blinked several times.

“Come on now,” he said, a little more sternly. “Do you see him?” He pointed at the boy. The light seemed to turn toward the child. “Shall we help him?”

The spark shone a little brighter.

“All right,” the wizard laughed. “I understand.”

He stood up and placed his staff beside him. It just stood there, upright and still, instead of falling.

“Let’s get to work, then.”

The wizard held out the spark and spoke a few words. The light burst into a bright flame. Lighting up the entire room, it rose toward the ceiling, but it didn’t burn the floorboards, the linen curtains, or the wizard’s hands.

He said a few more words. The flame began to spin, until it turned into a blue river. Like a dancing ribbon, it flew between the floor, the ceiling, and the trembling child.

The wizard dipped his hand into the river of blue flame. If this had actually been water, he would’ve immediately sunk into it. Even though his feet were on the floor, and the river no more than three fingers wide, he would’ve drowned in it. Such was the curse he bore. But the river, thinner than a razor’s blade and many feet deep at the same time, was thankfully just liquid blue flame.

The wizard took out a small patch of white light from within its depths. Placing the white light on his hand, he raised it to his lips and whispered a few more words. He cupped his hands together, closed his eyes, and a small figure appeared in front of him. It was an exact copy of the trembling child, only tiny.

“The flame will be your heart,” the wizard whispered. “Small and defenseless, but able to provide warmth and comfort, and, if necessary, burn everything it touches.”

He waved his hand, and the flame river shrunk to the size of a needle. A child’s giggle suddenly rang out inside of it, mixed with the murmur of a mother’s chuckle and the thunder of a father’s laughter.

“Who or what knows everything that goes on inside a house better than a candle? Your sword will be the joy of parents and a child’s peace.”

The blue needle landed in the little figure’s hands. Still holding the little man made of light in his palm, the wizard leaned over the boy. He ran his free hand over the old blanket.

“What good people,” he murmured.

The blanket ‘remembered’ the father’s hands mending it. The warmth of the mother carefully tucking it around her child. The wizard took the father’s firm touch and made armor from it for the little warrior. He turned the mother’s kindness into sunbeams that shone in the gathering darkness.

“Help him,” the wizard whispered, and lowered his hand.

The little man, with a salute, jumped down onto the trembling boy’s shoulder, and then plunged into it as if diving into water.

At first, nothing happened, but then the furrow between the child’s eyebrows disappeared, his lip stopped twitching, and he relaxed slightly, even turning to lay on his other side. The child’s breathing steadied, and he fell into a calm, restful sleep.

“Remember, brave little child,” the wizard whispered, stroking the boy’s hair, “Everything you need to overcome your fears is already inside of you.”

With that, he picked up his staff, carefully opened the door of the hut, and headed out. There, in the cold and darkness, the one who thrived in such an environment was already waiting for him.

 

They faced each other. A tall, broad-shouldered demon wearing a gray, predatory cloak, in the slits of which fangs and eyes could be seen.