Renault, The Measure of Magic
Secret Training
Renault stood poised in a guard stance in the dark, quiet woods. He was practicing sword swings with a rusty sword he had pilfered from the armory’s scrap heap. The dull, unadorned training sword was destined for the smelter. Renault assumed no one would miss it. He was in a small, wooded grove outside of Caelvireth, surrounded by large oak trees whose canopies hid the bright moonlight and stars. It was a crisp, cloudless night and he was thankful for the breeze keeping his body cool as he went through his sword training routine. It was the kind of evening that sent a shiver down your spine without truly chilling you.
After months of secret training, the sword – old as it was – felt comfortable in his grip. The old sword more than served its purpose for Renault. He had spent the last three months mimicking the routines he gleaned from watching the swordsmen from afar.
The young mage doubted he would ever get to put his secret training to use. Alone and self-taught, he doubted his form was correct. But that did not deter him from sneaking out most nights to practice. “Secretly” was the important word. Renault was a Fire Mage. Mages in Miradorn were not allowed to wield or practice with any weapon other than a dagger. The weight of any other weapon was seen as possible drain on the physical body. He cringed as he looked at his useless and small military-appointed weapon that lay against the tree. He always felt as if the small dagger was mocking him.
He was a mage for the country of Miradorn. Well, not quite a mage yet. He had just completed his first year of grueling and demanding military training, and next week, he would be assigned to his permanent battalion. Though he looked forward to joining a permanent unit—and the camaraderie of barracks life—he sighed, knowing his midnight sword lessons would soon end.
Casters were highly prized in battle in every country. The combined powers and coordination of mages dictated the flow of battle and could tip the scales with proper teamwork and synchronization. Yet, Renault believed Miradorn’s utilization of mages in battle was outdated and unimaginative. The only reason Miradorn continued to thrive as one of the three major countries in Serathorne was its location. The largest human nations: Indrestes and Velmara, were both located in the northern parts of the continent, along the Indrestes Strait. It was where the largest trade routes expanded and where most bandit and grakkari raiding parties were located. The human settlements to the south were no match for the power of Miradorn. For the last century, Miradorn’s conflicts had all been with unorganized grakkari who roamed the mountains to the east or smaller bandit camps whose raids interrupted the flow of commerce.
Miradorn, however, was the center of magic. The Spire of Virelune was considered by most to be the most beautiful edifice in all Serathorne. Mages came from every country to show themselves worthy to learn and train in its spires, but very few ever made it through the front gates.
Casters were uncommon in Serathorne. An awakening occurred one out of every fifty births, and most of those either hid their gift or did not have the strength to develop it in any meaningful way. Casting was woven into the power of the elements. Earth, Air, Fire, Water, and Spirit. With Runestones being the only physical objects that could be enchanted. Although there were a few with the ability to create illusions, they were not plentiful enough to be of use on a battlefield. Most illusionists had been relegated to performing at parties for nobles, working in groups of three to create illusions from historic battle scenes.
Renault considered himself blessed by the God of Magic, Recester. He had been awakened with the powerful, offensive, gift of fire. His disposition toward fire assured him of a place among elite offensive units on the battlefield early in his career. His training was grueling, but ever since his powers awakened at twelve, he had been preparing his body and mind for military use.
In the Miradorn army, companies of fifty soldiers were supported by six casters and twelve protectors. Protectors were outfitted with spears or hammers and each carried a pavise designed to create a shield wall to protect the casters from direct enemy attacks and archers. Every army devised ways to shield mages, knowing even small losses among casters could tip the balance of battle.
As a lone mage, Renault was strong enough to help a soldier for a few minutes. With well placed and timed attacks, Renault felt he had the strength to defeat two, maybe three soldiers at a time. But similar to an archer’s quiver, when his magic depleted, he was useless on the battlefield. However, as a group, six casters could rain down fire that could wipe out a squad of twenty soldiers at a time. The power of six casters was multiplied by much more than its number. A spell with six casters working together had more total power than twenty mages working independently. There was also a significant reduction in the amount of pull required from the weave, resulting in less strain on their bodies.
The strain on the body was the reason most mages failed. Magic exacted a brutal toll. It rapidly drained the body of physical strength when a mage worked alone. So, in battle, Casters were only allowed to carry a small dagger. They wore no armor, and even the robes that adorned their body were made of the lightest fabric. In Miradorn, mage’s robes were woven with linen if you were a peasant. With silk if you were a noble. Renault had heard that the military casters of Maroshil and Qazirun had robes woven with bamboo or tencel.
The physical strain was much worse than Renault had expected. In his village of Firlin’s Hollow, he thought he had pushed his body to its limits during casting, but military training showed him he had not begun to test its limits. Mage training was unlike anything he had ever experienced. He had heard stories of how grueling and demanding the training was, and none of the stories did justice to what he had to endure to get through this last year. Of the one hundred mage trainees that started with him, only twenty remained. Of the casters remaining in his class, five specialized in water casting, four in earth casting, five in Spirit or healing casting, and four in wind. Fifteen had died from overtaxing their bodies (The Final Surge), and another ten were sent home as invalids. The remaining did not have the power to qualify as combat Casters but were given other duties within the military. Of the hundred that started, he and his classmate Xavian were the only two remaining fire casters.
Renault found it humorous that the least combat-effective soldiers on a battlefield were mages, but in every army, casters were the most physically fit. Renault looked at his body. Burns and scars were scattered across his body from training, but that scarred body was lean, taut, strong muscle that even the most hardened warrior did not possess. No combat mage survived battle unless his body was honed to its perfection. And Renault had worked harder than any other on his. Among Casters, the betrayal by the body was the most dangerous enemy, and Renault had resolved he would fall victim to his own gift.
He glanced up and saw the position of the moon and knew it was time for him to head back to the barracks. Even with only one week left in training, he knew he had to give his body sufficient rest. Tomorrow was an important day. The training squads would be giving demonstrations for the Officers and the Nobles at the academy. General Albios himself was said to be attending. General Albios was the Commanding General of the Miradorn army. His family tree was full of military heroes and officers, and other than King Recividus the 12th and Queen Amelda, his family was the most revered in Miradorn. General Albios was a man of immense magical talent and a brilliant leader and strategist.
Renault hid his sword in the brush and gathered his small dagger. He conjured a small flame to guide him and began his trek back to the barracks.
Trust and Trial
Renault stood in the large battle arena waiting for the demonstration to start. He and Xavian had rehearsed this battle scene dozens of times to ensure it went off without any issues in front of the nobles. Like most events with aristocracy, appearances were the most important factor. The officers and nobles in attendance wanted to see how well the squad worked together, but more than that, they wanted to see powerful magic. Failure by a peasant during the demonstration would severely tarnish the reputation of the Training Commander. Not one trainee wanted to experience the backlash from an embarrassed Commander who would be giving them their unit assignments.
Healing Casters were on hand in case they were needed, but they would not be participating in the events.
The battleground was arranged. The casters were split into four distinct squads with six fully armored Protectorates. Each Protectorate wore ceremonial armor and carried ceremonial lances and pavise. The Mages wore deep blue and yellow silk robes with Officer class daggers on the left hip. Each dagger hilt was carved from whale bone, and the holsters were hand-crafted leather with the insignia of the Sun etched into the hilt. This was the one and only time a peasant caster would ever wear the silk robe or wield the ceremonial dagger. Miradorn royalty considered it the highest honor they could bestow on a peasant. The only greater honor would be dying in combat defending the honor of Miradorn.
Across the arena were forty criminals outfitted as bandits. None of them were afforded the protection of armor. They were lined up in battle formation with old swords, short bows, and wooden spears at the ready. Renault laughed as he imagined a real battlefield where bandits would line up in a combat formation like there was really honor in war. Lost in his thoughts, Renault grunted as Xavian elbowed him in his ribs to bring him back to the moment.
“Remember, those men will probably all die thinking they are fighting for a chance at freedom. There is a very real chance of their death, as well as ours.” Xavian reminded him.
This was indeed true. Each prisoner was being given a chance to live. Any man whose weapon wounded or killed a protectorate, or a caster would have their sentences commuted and be free men. Although it was called a demonstration, Renault knew it was a fight to the death against men who had no hope of pardon. For a country that was second only to Cindralen in its quest for knowledge, Renault found the tradition barbaric and savage.
Each group of mages had six combat soldiers wielding spears and pavise as their guards. This was a graduation exercise for the protectorate as well. The space between the soldiers and the criminals was flat and open. There were no breastworks. No trenches. The criminals had a clear path directly to the military units. The only impediment on the arena grounds was the earthen walls that ran parallel to each other across the ground to narrow the scope of the battlefield, giving the advantage to the trainees.
When everyone was in place, Renault felt the tension in the air increase. Even from across the arena, he could feel the wave of determination, will and fear. For the first time, he felt nervousness creeping into his veins. He could feel the sweat running down his brow and the center of his back as he stood in the heat of the sun.
He glanced around the large arena. This was a battle arena built to seat 12,000 citizens during events and gladiator contests. But there were only a few hundred nobles, and forty commanders seated in the stands. They were all sitting front and center to see the new group of casters and the protectorate wield their powers for the glory of Miradorn.
General Albios stood. In a loud baritone voice, he gave the rules of battle. There were none. It was a battle to the death. An opportunity for a criminal to clear his slate and for the trainees to prove to the Officers and Nobles they would be worthy soldiers of Miradorn.
With a loud blast of a horn, the battle commenced. In unison, twenty of the bandits let fly with their bows to force the casters behind the shields of the protectorate. Ashworth, one of the protectorates for Renault, immediately yelled out.
“They are out of range! Cast!”
The earth casters immediately stepped forward as a unit and started to manipulate the earth. In mere seconds, they had crafted a large trench and breastworks across the battlefield to force the bandits into a maze that ended in a funnel that pinched the bandits close together as they made their advance with no cover.
Realizing they were out of range, the bandit archers moved closer and let another barrage fly. The air casters stepped forward and stopped the momentum of the arrows, redirecting the trajectory with air enhanced spells.
The water casters stepped forward and pulled moisture from the air. The ground beneath the feet of the bandits became like mud, slowing their steps. Renault glared at the mages in disappointment as the bandits’ advance continued. The water casters were supposed to create pits to trap many of the bandits so the air and earth casters could trap them in the ground, taking many of the bandits temporarily out of the battle. Renault knew the other casters were much weaker than he and Xavian, but he did not expect the level of incompetence he had just witnessed.
It was Xavian, beside him, who stated what Renault had not yet realized.
“Something is off. We ran through these spells over a dozen times, and the ground was always muddy enough to stop an advance.”
As the bandits slowed, the casters enacted the next combat phase. The earth casters formed sharp rocks from the loose ground. As each was created, the air casters raised them off the ground and fired them at the bandits as they moved from breastwork to breastwork. Renault watched as the stones hurtled toward the bandits. This strategy was supposed to eliminate the entire front line of the incoming bandits. The squads cheered as they watched the frontline get taken down by the stones.
Slight panic started to set in as all but four of the bandits stood up and continued the assault, again moving from breastwork to breastwork. Using the maze to their advantage. Even without armor, the assault did minimal damage to the bandits.
Meanwhile, the archers in the rear had moved close enough to change the trajectory of the arrows. No longer were arrows arching high in the sky and being blown away by the air casters. Now they were whizzing and zipping past, barely moved off their marks by the panicked air casters.
It was Ashworth again who took charge.
“Shield wall!” he yelled. Immediately the protectorate brought the large shields to bear, blocking the assault of the arrows. Renault heard the thud of arrows as they impacted the shields. He looked in amazement as the arrows embedded deep into the shields, half of the shaft coming through.
They could hear the footsteps and yelling of the first group of bandits as they took the opportunity to cross the divide.
“Spears!” Ashworth commanded.
The Protectorate in unison thrust their spears through the gaps in the shields. The sound of spears driving through flesh and the screams of men filled the battlefield. Targa, one of the air casters, fell to the side, as one of the Protectorate left too large a gap and an arrow entered his right eye and exited the back of his skull.
This was far from the battle plan they had drilled over the last two weeks. It was supposed to be calculated and structured. The air casters would redirect the arrows. The earth casters would create trenches and breastworks to funnel the bandits where they wanted them. Then the water casters would create mud pits to keep them in place as they got closer. It all went according to plan during battle preparations.
Now, under the heat of battle, the water casters couldn’t make more than a mud puddle and the earth casters built sloppy and incomplete breastworks, and the stones they created were being thrown by the air casters with just enough power to make a small child cry. Renault exchanged a glance with Xavian – who, to his surprise, was smiling.
“These Protectorate guys are pretty good, huh?” he said as he continued to smile. “If not for them we would all be dead.”
Renault laughed as he realized the truth. He knelt behind the shields of his protectorate. The arrows had stopped, but he could hear the thuds of swords against the shields and the scraping of sword and spear as they were thrust between any gap that could be found in the shield wall.
“We need to fire off the rocks!” Alphons yelled. “Give us an opening and we can cast enough to give us breathing room!”
Ashworth was yelling no! But could not be heard over the yelling of the other protectorate and the sounds of battle. They prepared to open the shield wall. With a powerful push, the Protectorate shoved the bandits back, creating a space for the casters. Quickly the casters rose up.
As soon as the wall opened, the front-line bandits dropped to the ground and the archers in the rear let fly a barrage of arrows directly into the gap. Six protectorates, three earth casters, and two air casters dropped to the ground screaming with arrows in their chests and abdomens.
General Albios watched the scene unfold with seething anger flowing through his entire being. Never had he witnessed such a spectacle. Never had he seen such complete and utter failure in his life. Someone would hang from the gallows for this level of incompetence. The prepared battlefield was running red with the blood of the Miradorn soldiers. Twelve soldiers dead or dying. That was eleven more than had died in the last ten years of this staged battle.
The Cost of Flame
Zander, Exeter, and Laurec had deserted from the Fraventh army five years ago. To get away from the beheading should they get caught, they traveled southwest to Urzakar. They met up with a small bandit gang after they crossed the Frostmarch Peaks and had been traveling with them for the last five years.
They were captured during a raid on a caravan six months ago and were sentenced to life in prison with hard labor. One of the soldiers protecting the caravan never recovered and recently died from his wounds. Upon his death, charges were upgraded, and they were each sentenced to death. This was their only route to possibly living past the next few weeks, so they accepted the invitation to participate in the battle, knowing the chances of victory or surviving were slim.
What no one else in the arena knew was that Exeter and Laurec were both protectorate in Fraventh, and Zander was an air caster. As the battle progressed, Exeter and Laurec purposely shielded Zander from sight as he cast counter spells against the trainees. When the mud pits were being formed, Zander used air spells to keep the ground from becoming a full mud pit. When the earth casters fired the rocks at the bandits, Zander cast a counter spell to slow the speed of the stones. At every turn, he was subtly weakening the offensive spells without them noticing. He would not truly reveal himself until the precise moment he knew would come.
The Miradorn battle strategy had always been predictable. Zander knew when they got close enough, the air and earth casters would take advantage of this and propel stones from close range. This would be followed by a barrage of fireballs and fire cones that would decimate the battlefield. Anyone who was lucky enough to get through the burning battlefield would smash themselves upon the shields and spears of the protectorate.
As predicted, the wall opened. The Air and Earth casters were visible. Zander had the archers ready. With deadly accuracy, they let loose a barrage of arrows, each one viciously propelled by the force of air from his casting.
Zander was the unseen advantage in this battle, but Laurec was the commander. The battle plan was his. Fraventh was a festering dung-hole of a country for peasants, but soldiers were taught to think for themselves. Nobles in Fraventh did not enter the battlefield. Peasants fought in the name of the noble officer they served. They were his representative on the battlefield. Laurec had been through many battles during their time together and was a brilliant strategist. But Zander knew the greatest strategy they employed was never revealing those strengths while serving their sentences. Zander knew that if the nobles were aware of their past, the three of them would still be rotting in cells awaiting the executioner.
In Miradorn, the opposite was true. A squad or company without a noble turned into individuals on a battlefield. They were bereft of leadership. This battle was supposed to be over in less than five minutes with the last bandits struck down by firebolts as they escaped the maze and were funneled to the center of the battlefield. The protectorate were never supposed to have an opportunity to wet their spears with blood. But thanks to Zander, they were well off the rehearsed battle plan, the remaining bandits were coming through the maze with more than half their number intact and the trainees were panicking and becoming disorganized.
Renault did not know how many of them had fallen, but two of the protectorates assigned to him and Xavian were lying on the ground with blood pouring from gaping wounds. Xavian was panicking, and Renault was fighting to maintain his own composure. The screams of the injured and dying, the pounding of spears and swords on the shields, to Renault the sounds were deafening. He wanted to turn and run but knew in his heart he had nowhere to go. All the work and effort he had put into this moment, just to die on the battlefield at what was supposed to be a training exercise.
He was pulled back into reality by the hard elbow of Ashworth jabbing directly into his chest.
“I don’t know what you two are capable of, but if you don’t do something, we will all die here in this arena. You are the fire casters! Cast dammit!” Ashworth yelled without even turning around. “We cannot hold them back much longer. They will flank us soon, and then we are done!”
Jarred back into the reality of the moment, Renault had an idea.
“I know what to do, but I need your strength, Ashworth! Xavian, drag the shields on the ground to the back!” Renault yelled.
Ashworth looked back at Renault with a dumbfounded look in his eyes as Xavian followed instructions. But to his surprise, Renault was clear-eyed and calm.
“Fill the gap!” Ashworth yelled as he pulled back from the shield wall.
Xavian had been able to drag four shields to the back of the formation. Renault quickly outlined his plan. Xavian and Ashworth both nodded agreements, and they flew into motion. Xavian went back up to the shield wall and quickly updated the remaining soldiers. As he did, Renault started to cast on the shields, creating enough heat for the shields to start smoldering. Thick black smoke started to pour from each one.
“This is going to severely burn your hands,” Renault solemnly said to Ashworth.
Ashworth didn’t respond. Once all four shields were smoldering, he lifted each one and threw them over the shield wall behind the front line of combatants. Now that Renault was thinking clearly, he knew there must be an air caster on the other side. It was the only way to quantify the utter failings in this battle. He also knew it was why they had to act quickly.
With the smoke blocking the view of the archers, the protectorate became more aggressive offensively and were able to eliminate half of the bandits pushing against the wall. Zander could hear the screaming and knew he needed to clear the smoke to provide targets for the archers. He knew an attack was coming from the fire casters.
A few tense moments went by. Through the smoke, Zander could barely make out the shifting of shields on the right side of the formation. Laurec gave the ready order, Zander started to cast an air spell to assist the archers. As soon as the wall opened, Laurec directed the archers to fire.
Arrows screamed past the shields. But the Protectorate were still safely behind shields and the remaining casters had moved to the other side of the formation. The air enhanced arrows zipped by without impacting any targets. Watching carefully from behind the wall, Ashworth found his target.
“Now!” Ashworth yelled. And the shield wall opened just enough for him to hurl a fire-coated spear across the battlefield and directly into Zander’s chest. Ashworth gritted from the pain coursing through his burned hands but was determined to be the one to launch the spear. Laurec and Exeter watched Zander fall to the ground. The two men looked back to the battlefield just in time to feel the blazing heat of a fireball impacting their bodies.
Renault and Xavian continued to engulf the archers and back line with fire as the Protectorate aggressively cleaned up the remaining bandits, attacking the wall.
When the battle was done, all but two of the criminals lay dead. Fifteen of the Miradorn trainees were killed and another five were wounded.
As the healers and officers were rushing onto the arena battlefield, Renault and Ashworth sat on the ground, back-to-back.
As a healer laid the healing runestones on his palms Ashworth looked at his palms and in a confused voice asked Renault,
“Why did we need to set the spear on fire?”
Renault stood up and started walking away. Trying to put some distance between himself and the large man before he answered.
Looking back with a mischievous grin he responded, “I thought it would look badass – turns out I was right”.