The Hero

An evening mist hung around the mountain range known to humans as the Barrier Mountains. Threading through these towering snow-capped peaks is a meandering path called Warriors Way. For centuries, it has been the causeway for invasions on both sides of the mountains. Midway through its length, a barricade has been hastily erected across the well-used trail. Armor clad soldiers and engineers like ants, scurried about the defenses, shoring up the fortifications. Occasionally some would raise their eyes and look to the east to see multi-hued streaks of light arcing through the dark and illuminate the sky. Rumbling was heard echoing through the hills, as if a distant thunderstorm was approaching. But all knew it was not a storm. They grimly returned to their work, and quickened their pace.

The numerous watchfires illuminated a unique group standing together. Each was garbed in their recently awarded robes of service. A bright mix of blues, black, white, and greens interspersed through the group, representing their calling and discipline within the world of magic. Under these robes, young faces peered out and strained to view east. "I wonder how we are faring?" questioned a young mage. "Look at those flashes!" Exclaimed a blue-robed human nervously pulling up his too long sleeves. "What spells cause that kind of light?"

"Can’t you sense the power of the magic being unleashed? It tingles the skin even from this distance," whispered another. The tall mage in a jet-black robe hissed a warning of silence as a large warrior approached. His sheathed sword with a worn hilt was heard clanking against his plate armor. Each mage bowed slightly to the minor lord, as they had learned from their master. Not to deep as this is not a fellow magi, but one befitting his rank as commander of the garrison. "Evening, Master-Sergeant.." The group recited with the measured response. "Look lively, young sorcerers," he responded. "While the main battle is in the plains, we may yet see action this night."

"Do you think so, Master Sergeant?", asked Lander anxiously, the youngest of the group. Tanin, the tall mage in the black-robes, elbowed Lander in the ribs, cutting off the next question. "We greatly anticipate a fight." Tanin, the self-proclaimed spokesman of the brood of sorcerers, boasted loudly puffing out his thin chest, "Do not worry, Master Sergeant, our magic can guard this pass. We do not fear the enemy." The seasoned warrior, hardened from years of service in the wars, cast a withering glance at the arrogant mage. "Good to hear, master mage, for your elders have not been so successful in the past. War wizards with centuries more experience than you have fallen with such boasts on their lips." He shifted his gaze to the rest of the group. "For if the enemy does come, I expect no less of you than my warriors in ensuring we hold this pass at all costs." His gaze softened at the young and wide-eyed faces peering back at him, many barely old enough to grow a beard. "Your master claims you are ready to face combat. Remember your training, and look to the older soldiers for direction and between sword and spell, we will hold the pass."

"We will not fail, Master Sergeant," Tanin proclaimed coldly, "See to it that your men do likewise." Lord Rick’s eyes flashed with anger, but swallowed the retort on this lips remembering the usefulness of a band of mages to the defense of the pass, no matter how young. "Good to hear, lad.", he muttered as he walked on.