And what do they say to you? After they’ve stolen or subverted or destroyed your money, your energy, your livelihood, and violated your wife, your children, your family? That violence is not the path? That we must be merciful and benevolent and peaceful? These are the sentiments and manipulations of your enemy. That is when you know violence is the only path.

  The only resolution with an aggressor is superior force.

  My benevolence is reserved for my family. I will reduce my enemies to dust.

  -Harald Erling, as dictated to Leif Olander

  ***

  The inky sludge spasmed and jolted. It grew and wrapped itself around his wrist. It climbed his arm and hand and burned like fire. He was so weary. He jerked his hand erratically. He wanted to peel the darkness off with his other hand but didn’t want it to spread. He grunted in frustration.

  He was so tired. He’d abandoned the other raiders to their deaths. Whether it was real or not, Leif didn’t know, but it felt real. It had been real to him. He’d left them, and they would die. And now he’d die, eaten, infected by the inky sludge. Spiraling through the hideous void.

  Like a spark through his spine, like a plunge into icy water, the visage of Karalee appeared in his mind. She was smiling at him. They were dancing. Then he saw Vigo’s face, his eyebrows raised in disapproval. He thought of Magnus and Isabella. He had much yet to do in his world. Harald’s face flashed before him for a moment and somehow it made him cringe in fear and embarrassment all the more.

  Leif took a deep breath. Before he could let it out, he crashed through the doorway and back into the glen of the temple. He felt like his mind had arrived before his body and they’d been jolted back together. He vomited into the grass. A squirrel paused to watch him before scampering off.

  Leif pushed himself to his knees and looked at his arm. The inky black mud still clung, still grew. He had to stop it now or be lost to it forever.

  He gritted his teeth and summoned his magic through his weariness. He grasped at the parasite with his will, tried pulling it out of and off himself with his power. The sludge stretched and contorted against him but it gripped all the harder and its growth continued.

  He stopped pulling and frantically switched tactics. He sped up the tiny particles that made up the sludge. He heated them; forcing energy into them. They raced, vibrating and crashing and buzzing and shrieking like a thundering swarm. Like a herd of beasts. Like a storm over the ocean.

  Heat emanated from the vibrating sludge. He poured his magic into the deadly infection. It spasmed and arched itself into a silent violent scream. The intensity of it was jarring.

  The inky black sludge began to glow. Softly at first, then brighter. The light consumed it, followed it into his body where he could see the veins in his arms like streaks of lightning.

  The heat of it seared into him. The pain was unlike anything he’d ever dreamed of. It was like fire and ice ripping through his veins. He kept pushing. The edges of his vision began to darken from the pain and the exhaustion.

  The mass on his arm writhed and shrieked in a blaze of light, brighter than any fire. It was like the sun itself had lent him its light.

  Until finally the writhing stopped. The sludge dimmed, then slid off his arm and in a steaming pile onto the dirt next to him. Leif blinked away the encroaching darkness in his vision with no effect. He rolled himself forward and laid his head against the dirt before darkness and exhaustion took him.

  ***

  Leif didn’t know how long he’d been out. He’d woken up in the night to the sound of his own teeth chattering. A frost had covered the ground around him and he could see his breath before him. His eyes burned and he reached his cold hand up to feel heat emanating from his forehead. He pushed himself up and felt deep aching in his back and neck.

  He forced himself back to his small shelter where he wrapped himself in his cloak and bedroll. He pulled the wolf pelt over him and fell promptly back to sleep.

  When he awoke again he was still feverish. He tried channeling his magic - he felt it simmering but couldn’t produce so much as a spark. He was so weary. His eyelids were heavy. He dragged himself to the nearby pool and drank greedily. He knew he should boil the water first but he’d have to risk it this time.

  The next time he woke up his hunger was devouring his insides. His fever still burned, his teeth still chattered, but he had to eat. His overuse of magic had exhausted his body to the bone, it felt like his weariness stretched into the depths of his soul.

  Stringing up snares was out of the question in his state. He gathered some moss from beneath the trees. He boiled the moss in water over his small fire. He used flint to make the fire - the thought of using his magic made him nauseous.

  Leif felt a deep sadness about the loss of the companions he’d only known for a few hours. He’d failed them. Even if he’d made it to the bridge, passed the trial, and made it back, he’d abandoned his companions to die. The thoughts disturbed him deeply. His team had known him and he’d left them to their deaths.

  ***

  More than a few days later, Leif felt better. His fever had abated. The rabbits and squirrels he’d snared had helped him recover to his full strength.

  He’d spent several of the days exploring the valley. He strung up his bow and experimented with using his magic to guide the arrows. The speed the arrows flew made it a challenge and in a way, mimicked the beam of light he’d lost control of against the wolf.

  He tried firing the arrow from the ground using his magic. It didn’t fly as fast as with his bow but with a little practice he thought he could get pretty close. It was easier to guide the arrow from a state of rest than catching it in the air.

  He’d also discovered his hand was marked and ashen. Gray streaks spread from his wrist down to his fingers and up his forearm. The streaks resembled dark lightning under his skin. Searing the black sludge from his veins had damaged him. He didn’t know if the marks were permanent. His hand was functional but stiff. It groaned against him when he twisted and tested the movements of his fingers.

  He was grateful to be alive.

  As he gave himself the time to recover, he tried whittling a piece of wood into the shape of a woman. Leif thought he might give it to Karalee when he returned. The carving became a horrible mess that looked like a hunched goblin. He cast it into his fire and tried for a flower. The flower just looked like a ball of angry spikes on a stick so he discarded it as well. He discovered he wasn’t much of a whittler.

  Finally, he returned to the glade of the three doors. Frost covered the ground. He could see his breath. He pulled his cloak around himself then whispered into the wind, “I’ll be home soon.” It surprised him that it was Danaria he’d meant.

  Leif reached up and checked his sword over his shoulder, then stepped through the third doorway.

  Mercifully, he wasn’t swept into darkness again. He stepped onto a simple but finely crafted stairway. The walls were smooth and lined with lit torches. The stairs were covered with a thick carpet of red and gold. He descended. His heart beat increased in anticipation and he squeezed the handle of the knife at his belt.

  The end of the stairway opened into a large circular hall. It was well-lit by torches and an expansive fireplace at the far side. Ringed around the outside edges were mountains of…he could only describe it as treasure. Piles of gold and jewels sparkled in the firelight. To the left of the fireplace was a tall pile of brilliant red rubies and Leif recalled the stone that Estrid wore around her neck.

  It was the sight on the other side of the burning fireplace that gave him pause. There was a finely appointed chaise, with luxurious cherry upholstery, a golden frame, and a cloak draped over one side. A book lay closed on the floor next to it.

  In the chair, lay a gruesome figure. It was little more than a human skeleton, with wisps of long silver hair and icy pale skin stretched over the bones. Its clothes clearly did not fit. Leif assumed it was dead.

  To Leif’s shock, as he cautiously approached, the figure moved. With aching slowness, the skeleton lifted its head and turned towards him. Once it saw him, its eyes went wide. It seemed to want to get up but struggled.

  With great effort it rolled off the chaise and collapsed onto the floor. Leif hadn’t noticed a large silver chain clasped around its ankle until the chain clanged onto the ground with the figure. The other end of the chain was latched into the wall by the fireplace.

  After a moment of rest on the floor, the sickly creature began dragging itself, with painful slowness, towards a chalice behind the chaise. The fine golden cup was set just below a spout which ran like a long slide along the wall. The slide ended in a bowl not far from where Leif stood.

  The skeleton looked at him from the floor. It pointed to the bowl, then slowly raised its flattened, bony right palm, and dragged the edge of it across its left forearm. Its mouth moved as if to speak but it only sputtered out breathy grunts.

  Jolts of alarm went off in Leif’s head. A trickle of fear crept up his spine. He took a deep breath, then stepped up to the bowl and sliced through the skin of his arm with his knife. His blood poured into the bowl. He watched every drop flow into the hole at the base and down the slide along the wall, until it reached the spout above the chalice.

  The skeleton drank. Greedily, it lapped up his blood. It was like an animal and Leif found himself disgusted. As it drank Leif noticed the silver hair changing. It went from thin silver wisps to a thick, rich dark brown. The skin retained the icy pale quality but it became fuller, more filled out, more human. It had the face of a man. He was lean and strong and youthful. He appeared to be only a few years older than Vigo.

  The man looked at him as he wiped the last of the blood from his lips and shoved it into his mouth with a finger. Then he leaned back and closed his eyes and let out a shiver that gripped his entire body. “Wizard’s blood,” he whispered.

  The man stood up and pulled on the coat that had been draped over the chaise. It looked to have been fine once, now it looked dusty, ragged, and ancient. Despite its appearance, the man managed to look noble. He looked down at it then over at Leif. “Is that for me?”

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  Leif looked down at his own coat and almost laughed to himself. He took off the coat, “Compliments of Vigo Salverson.” He tossed the coat across the room. The man snatched it from the air with a hearty laugh.

  “Ah, Vigo. I’ll have high expectations for you, boy. High expectations indeed,” he said as he pulled the coat on. He clanged his metal chain over to a mirror that Leif hadn’t noticed and admired himself though Leif could not see his reflection. Next to the mirror were bookshelves with a thousand books and several large chests and armoires.

  “I must send him a letter. Your name?”

  “Leif, Olander. Your name?”

  “Have you not figured it out yet?”

  Leif hesitated a moment, “Godfrey.”

  Godfrey bowed slightly. “The gentleman of the temple, at your service. Tell me about yourself, Leif.” He picked up the old cloak he’d discarded on the floor and draped it across the burning logs in the fireplace. The brittle fabric burned quickly.

  “Vigo sent me here. I have been training to become a wizard in Danaria but I am originally from Maedelund.”

  Godfrey went to a chest and drew out a bottle of wine and two glasses. Leif watched him pour the wine then Godfrey strutted towards him. Leif ripped out his sword, channeled his magic and pointed his weapon at the strange man who’d just drank his blood.

  Godfrey walked right up to the point of his sword so it pressed into his chest. The heavy chain came with him. He raised a full goblet of deep red wine to Leif. “Come on, Leif, blood isn’t the only thing I am starved for.”

  Leif kept his sword up but he warily took the glass from Godfrey’s outstretched hand. “I thought your kind were extinct.”

  Godfrey took a sip then lounged himself back into the chaise. He closed his eyes and hummed deeply as he savored the wine.

  Leif cautiously sat himself into a small chair opposite Godfrey and took a sip himself.

  Vanilla, plum, blackberry, and black licorice. It was exquisite, bold and almost creamy. Leif had never tasted it before and he had no idea how it hadn’t spoiled.

  Godfrey opened his eyes and responded to Leif’s question, “Most thoroughly as far as I can tell. I am an anomaly; an outlier and a tool. I am dead and buried and I’m not coming back.”

  “What’s to stop you from turning me?”

  Godfrey held up one finger, “You cannot be turned, your magic protects you,” then a second finger, “The turning process isn’t as easy as everyone thinks,” and a third, “But if that were to happen, the Guild would inevitably eliminate me and my happy existence would end.”

  “What’s all this?” Leif asked, motioning towards the piles of treasure and avoiding any discussion of the Guild.

  “To my delight, they buried me with my horde. I quite literally, ‘took it with me.’”

  “I thought you only lived in castles.”

  Godfrey scoffed, “There are just as many poor stupid impulsive wretches among my kind as yours. Nature’s hierarchy applies to everything and everyone, Leif, including me.” He raised his left leg and wiggled the chain so it jingled against itself.

  “But enough about me, tell me about you. Tell me about your world.”

  So they sat for a time and Leif humored him. He told Godfrey about his family, his father’s captivity, Magnus and Isabella, his journey to Danaria, Vigo and Estrid, Danaria, Harald, and Karalee.

  Godfrey was intently focused, visibly captivated, chiming in frequently when he wanted more detail. The ancient creature refilled his glass several times throughout. He offered refills to Leif but not wanting to dull his senses, Leif declined.

  When Leif was finished, Godfrey made no comments. Instead, he stood up and stretched. “Well, let’s start with the rules shall we? You must score three kill strikes against me. Kill. Strikes. Don’t worry yourself about my safety, I’ll heal unless you’ve bottled sunlight or that sword you wear is made of wood. Or you remove my head. You can use whatever magical abilities at your disposal to subdue me but for the door to reopen, you’ll need three kill strikes. The purpose of this exercise is to reach a degree of mastery over yourself and your magic. It is within the rules of my captivity to kill you, Leif, but not you me. To be clear, I am a very good killer. I have killed many of your kind, and when we begin, I will be trying to kill you. Understand?”

  Leif nodded slowly as a chill climbed up his back.

  “Then let’s begin.”

  Godfrey went to a pile of gold coins with several swords sticking out. He tried different blades, swinging them around himself in a blur, testing their balance and weight.

  Leif walked to the center of the room. He channeled his magic. Power burned through him, like sunlight through his veins. He barely stopped a laugh from escaping. He was pure energy and the ancient demon before him stood little chance against the power he wielded.

  He drew the sword from his back just as he noticed a slight whooshing sound. He looked up to see Godfrey’s blade hurtling through the air towards him. So fast.

  Leif jolted himself out of the path of the spinning sword. He threw up a shield and tried to block with his own sword at the same time. He was too late. Godfrey’s sword crashed into him. It knocked his own sword to the floor and gashed his shoulder before clattering behind him. The few inches that Leif had been able to move had saved his head.

  Godfrey walked towards him with a chuckle, holding a new sword, “Eyes on the enemy, Leif.”

  “That wasn’t very gentlemanly of you,” Leif said angrily. He’d dropped to his knees as he felt his blood dripping from his shoulder.

  “Fighting fair is overrated, even for a gentleman.”

  Godfrey dashed forward. Leif used his magic to yank his sword back to his hand. He blocked Godfrey’s strike at the last moment, then kicked out at Godfrey’s feet.

  Godfrey, almost lazily, lifted his right leg and Leif’s foot swept harmlessly by. Godfrey tsked, “too slow, Leif.” Leif rolled away. As he did, Godfrey planted a foot on his back and pushed, “far too slow.”

  Leif fought to get to his feet but Godfrey’s kick had him stumbling. Vigo would have shaken his head in disgust if he’d seen any of Leif’s performance so far.

  Leif crashed into a pile of gold coins. Anger shot through him. Behind him he could hear the chain jingle, Godfrey’s movement, dashing towards him again. Leif scooped a fistfull of coins and hurled them backwards as he spun. With his magic, he grasped the coins in the air and forced them towards the descending Godfrey with all the force he could muster.

  The coins flew like darts, like golden arrows towards him. Godfrey was forced to react. He shielded his face and in that split second Leif had an opening. He parried Godfrey’s sword away then stabbed his knife deep into Godfrey’s gut.

  Godfrey crashed into him then clattered onto a pile of coins. His body contorted around his stomach. He wrenched the knife from his gut with a grunt and tossed it aside. Blood poured out onto his shirt and the floor and the pile of gold. With a deep breath he pushed himself up. “Ow.”

  He limped back over his chaise holding his stomach, “Gentleman indeed.”

  Leif stood with his sword still pointed at him as Godfrey helped himself to another glass of wine. Godfrey wordlessely raised his eyebrows toward Leif and held up the bottle.

  Leif was startled by the whole series of events. He shook his head but he once again took the chair opposite Godfrey. This time he kept his bared sword in his hand.

  “So tell me about this girl again.” Godfrey cringed and grasped at his stomach again as he spoke.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Quite, I just need a moment. That was your one pass on using the coins like that. Do something different next time.”

  As Godfrey sipped from his glass, Leif saw the wound in his gut slowly stitching itself back together.

  “Magnus wants her. I want her. She wants Magnus.”

  “Have you considered killing Magnus?”

  “Did he come here?”

  “No…hasn’t he left Danaria? What does her father want? What does her mother want? What do her siblings want?”

  “What does that matter?”

  “You’re not very bright. Lucky you were able to beat me with a trick. Next time won’t be so easy.” He paused for a moment, enjoying his wine. “You must kill him. If you don’t die here.”

  Leif shook his head. “Not to win Karalee I don’t. I must get my father released and keep my family safe. But Magnus is all but banished from Danaria by Harald. He’ll find it difficult to court her from abroad.”

  “You disgust me. Is that really how you wish to win her? Because your nemesis was removed from the game by her father? No, you must kill him.”

  Leif remained silent.

  Godfrey’s body finished healing as he downed the last few drops from his glass. He jumped up from his chair, motioning Leif to rejoin him in the center of the room.

  “Begin.” Godfrey was a flash. He fought the way Vigo fought; with impossible speed and power. Leif was on his heels. He was barely able to parry the onslaught of Godfrey’s attacks, much less attack himself.

  He realized how much Vigo had been holding back in their training together. If Vigo had truly bested Godfrey with his sword…

  ”Faster Leif.”

  Leif kept up his dance of dodges and parries. His magic surged through him. Godfrey cut in. Leif blocked his blade but Godfrey reached out and pulled the knife from its sheath at Leif’s belt. He dragged it across Leif’s torso before hurling it behind him. Leif forced his magic outwards, launching Godfrey back and creating space between them.

  Leif gripped the flesh over his abdomen. The wound wasn’t deep but his hand came away bloodied. He felt the sting of it intertwine with the pain in his bloodied shoulder.

  Like a cat, Godfrey managed to land on his feet then sprang back towards him. Leif stepped forward and their blades clanged together. “I’m going to kill you, Leif, you’re going to die. Too bad for you. Too bad for Karalee.”

  In the thralls of his magic the words weren’t as impactful as Godfrey probably intended. Losing, dying wasn’t possible for him. Leif didn’t feel fear, he viewed the situation as a problem to be solved in real time.

  Godfrey shoved him back. Leif landed on the ground but rolled to his feet. “It’s not about your ability with a sword, Leif, it’s about your magic, your will.” With the last Godfrey attacked again. He sprang towards Leif and jabbed the point of his sword into Leif’s side.

  The tip came away bloody. Leif didn’t look down. He struck Godfrey’s sword away from him and they continued.

  Vigo had told him he was ready after watching him duel Magnus. He was ready. He could survive this but if he didn’t change something he was going to die. Godfrey was too fast for him. His mind could only react so quickly to each of Godfrey’s attacks.

  His magic didn’t have such limits.

  He forced his magic to respond faster, almost on its own. Power flowed through him like a storm. Leif controlled it, and demanded that it act instead of react. He felt the energy wrap itself around his mind.

  Instinct took over. His body moved without thought. Leif held the reins but the charging energy in his grip had a mind of its own. Its reactions bordered on predictive.

  Godfrey’s attacks were still furious, still fast. But it didn’t matter. Leif’s magic guided him; guided his body. There was no delay in his movements. There was only the correct response. He flowed with the resonance. He matched Godfrey’s speed. His skill with the sword was only a supplement to the speed he could wield.

  He danced around Godfrey’s blade. Leif saw surprise and annoyance on his face as Godfrey’s blade passed him by. At the opening, Leif stepped forward and shoved his sword through Godfrey’s chest. He tugged on his magic to whisk his knife back to his bloody hand and slammed it alongside his sword.

  Godfrey coughed and looked up at Leif darkly, “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

  ***

  “You’re too passive.”

  Godfrey came at him in a fury for their third bout. Leif danced around his thrusts and parried others. Godfrey had been holding back. It occurred to him that Vigo had been holding back enormously. Leif began throwing up small shields together with his parries. Despite the throbbing and bloody wounds on his body, he was enjoying his newfound ability; his newfound speed. When he focused in earnest, Godfrey could scarcely touch him.

  “You can smile and defend all you want but eventually I’ll wear you down. This is a battle to the death. Destroy me. Do it now!”

  Leif attacked and Godfrey mocked him.

  “Find your aggression, you soft spoiled child! Your compassion for your enemy is weakness. Stamp it out or lose. Your concern and sympathy mean nothing if your enemy cuts your head off. Harden your heart and end the fight.”

  Leif unleashed on him. He flowed around Godfrey’s defense and pressed into him. With every lunge and slash, Leif drew blood.

  Godfrey was a bloody mess but continued mercilessly. The wounds didn’t phase him or slow him. It took every ounce of Leif’s focus to keep out of range of his blade.

  Lief cut in again and stabbed into Godfrey’s chest. He pressed it through to the hilt.

  “Destroy me or I will end your bloodline and any hope you have for a future.” Blood spurted from Godfrey’s lips.

  Leif left his sword in Godfrey then ripped Godfrey’s weapon from him. He grasped Godfrey’s shirt and swept his legs from under him, slamming him to the ground. The sword protruding from Godfrey’s body arced and twisted against the floor. He coughed and spasmed in pain.

  Leif jammed Godfrey’s own sword through him, pinning him to the floor.

  ***

  They sat on their chairs following the final duel. This time Leif had accepted the wine. He bled from a dozen wounds of his own but Leif had won.

  “Was that the point of it all? To become a really good fighter?”

  “Vigo is a really good fighter. You’re a decent fighter. You need to incorporate a broader range of your abilities. To answer your question, remember when this was built Leif, mages and vampires were at war. Vampires are purely predators, there needed to be wizards who could subdue them, to be predators themselves. The need for those ended when the war ended which is probably why you’re the first wizard I’ve seen in years.

  Perhaps you’re here because the world needs them again. In any case, I think you’ll find you’ve become far more than just a decent fighter.”

  Leif had released his magic and the weight and exhaustion of what he’d just done bore down on him. He felt his body slouch and his eyelids droop. His words became slower and he fought to stay upright.

  “Are you not resentful?”

  Godfrey let out a small laugh, “I am conscious of reality, and I am grateful to be alive.”

  “What is that wine? I would like to find it when I return.”

  He smirked, “a gift from the giants.”

  When his own wounds had healed, Godfrey pulled on a fresh shirt and his new coat and drew a sealed bottle from his trunk. He then selected a large ruby from the pile by the fireplace. He handed the ruby and the bottle to Leif. “Proof that you’ve completed the temple.” He shook Leif’s hand. “Well fought, my friend. Perhaps some day we shall meet again. No matter your path nor my own wretched hell, I’ve enjoyed your company and I wish you well.”

  Leif scoffed, “Did you write that?”

  “No. Okay yes, it’s a work in progress. I felt I should offer a formal send-off. Good luck, Leif, and send me more wizards to prey upon.”