29 – Fate’s Chosen Hero

He never would have expected the chosen hero of the fates to be something of an idiot, but then the past few years had been a parade of unexpected turns. Cole Varang, Archwizard of Rhonde, adjusted himself on his seat of stone as the boy went through a series of practised, whirling swings.

The blade in his hands was a sliver of blazing silver starlight, each swing and cut leaving behind trails of blazing plasma in the air. Cole remained impressed by it, if not by the lad swinging it, for he could honestly say it was the only blade of celestial origin he had ever seen in his life. And the power behind it was nothing to sneeze at.

A chilly breeze blew across Fort Ostia, and thunder rumbled from the distant bank of grey clouds. Cole sighed, stroking lazily at the silver hairs of his beard. “Better not fuckin’ rain on us when we leave this place behind.” It felt as if bad weather had dogged them all the way across the Holy Kingdom and into the east, where just about every battle had been waged beneath a canopy of storm clouds. Being frank, Cole was beginning to forget what the sun looked like.

He focused back on the boy, magicka flowing into Cole’s body to sharpen his senses. The movements had grown so fast that a normal human would have struggled to follow them.

Erin Dasia, a farmboy from the Rhondian border, had been the one to grip and tame the power of the Celestial Blade, to the shock of just about everyone else in Rhonde. And after the destruction of his village, razed by the Bloody Wight and his horrid host, his rage and desire for justice made him an ideal warrior to fight for Rhonde.

And, certainly, he’d been a great spearhead for striking against the lines of Novos’ expansive army. Whenever the army, or Rhonde’s nobility, or Cole himself asked anything of the boy, he’d rush to do it with little in the way of questioning.

Well, in some respects, it was perhaps good that their hero was lacking in ambition and critical thinking.

The blond swept his blade upward with a yell, the arcing swing erupting into a beam of light that lanced skyward. It struck a cloud overhead and instantly blew a great circle in it, the eruption rapidly dispelling the cloud further and further.

“Ha!” He grinned brightly and glanced over at Cole, sweat slick on his toned arms. “You see that, old man?!”

“It would be hard not to,” said Cole, lifting a wooden cup of water to his lips. He sipped at it, a dispassionate look on his face. “Remember what we spoke of, Erin? The importance of good aim?”

He snorted, giving a small roll of his eyes. “I’m not going to blast our own people,” he said. He moved to sheath the blade, the bright silver glow of it fading from sight.

“Mm. You said as much before.” And they both knew how that had turned out.

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Erin smiled sheepishly. He was handsome, in a simple sort of way. And those basic good looks had helped the crown sell him as a hero people could put their faith into. And, Cole would admit that his heart was always in the right place… even if he could be so painfully naive at times.

The war effort wouldn’t get anywhere if he wasn’t around to keep Erin from trying to save every idiot on the battlefield.

The wizard rose to his feet, sipping at his water. “Practice is important, but it’s also important to know when to take a break. Come, lunch should be ready by now. And then we’ll start on toward the camp in the Leera Steppe.”

“That’s where the fighting is strongest?” His eyes lit up a bit, like a hound excited to be walked by his master. He never let the risks of battle weigh on his mind, another thing that made him a useful asset.