He heard glass shatter behind him, and then a hole appeared in the building.
Something was in his hands. He looked down out of desperation to see what it was.
It was Marcus Thunderheart's Soulrock.
It was the Phoenix Ring.
Without thinking, Aidan slipped it on.
` The world disappeared just as the mouth of the beast was about to close.
7
Aidan waited for his life to end, he knew it wouldn't be painful. The dragon's mouth would simply close, and then it would be over.
Nothing happened.
Finally, Aidan opened his eyes. He was in the village center.
Not the center of Fort Phoenix, the center of a village so small it didn't have a name, just a few miles from the great city of Allenna.
Aidan slowly turned, his mind spinning, and stared at each building in turn. The first thing he saw was the blacksmith's, the hole in the roof had been repaired, there was a new anvil that cost more than the rest of the village outside, and smoke was coming out the chimney.
The next building was a farm, Aidan recognized as a place that had been condemned for the roof falling in, killing the residents. It was in perfect repair, with a whimsical little barn on the side.
It was home, but it wasn't. And it was completely empty of anything living.
Where am I? Is this paradise?
Aidan turned suddenly, and began to run up the path that led to the most familiar place in the world.
He stopped before crossing over the hill that was hiding the orphanage. His orphanage.
What if it isn't the same? What if no one is there? Said a small but infuriatingly persistent part of his mind.
Not knowing what else to do, he closed his eyes and walked forward, up the hill.
As soon as he was at the top, he opened his eyes.
There was a lone figure about ten feet away from him, in a perfect sky blue dress that hung down to her ankles.
"Mom?"
Rose smiled and lifted a hand out, beckoning.
In that moment, Aidan forgot his fear, he forgot his friends and the Fort, and he even forgot his anger. He had almost died, and now he was safe. Despite all that his mother had done to him, he could not help but need her now.
He ran towards his mother, ignoring the fact that he was sixteen.
And then, when he was a few feet away, something made him stop.
Her eyes. Her face was smiling, her cheeks the rosy red they had always been. But her eyes were empty. They didn't look like those of a stupid person, or even dazed. They looked utterly and completely empty.
It was the same look that many of the boys coming to the orphanage would have after their parents had passed on.
"Mom, are you alright?" Aidan asked cautiously.
"I'm fine," she said though Aidan thought her voice sounded forced. "Why don't you come give your mother a hug?"
Aidan's forehead creased. His mother would never have asked for a hug, he knew from experience that he got one whether he wanted it or not.
"Where is everyone, Mom?"
"Oh, we, I mean, I made them move out. You look tired, why don't you come to me and we'll get you something to eat?"
Aidan saw another red flag. His mom always asked how his day had been, first thing. She liked to get the talking done before the eating.
"Mom, where are my friends, the other mages?"
"Oh, they brought you back here after the battle. They decided you couldn't be a sorcerer anymore, but they gave us lots of coins, I already got rid of the orphanage. We can live out here alone now, or with someone else if you'd like."
That was the final straw. Aidan's mother might have changed, but she would never, in her life, despite all the lies she had told, use her money for her benefit and other's harm.
"You aren't my mother."
"Of course I am!" said the woman, her smile faltering. Her eyes remained stone cold, though.
"Look, just touch me and you'll see! I'm your own flesh and blood!"
Aidan wanted it to be true so bad, to come home and never have to worry about life, to know that he had taken care of the one person that mattered most to him. But he knew it wasn't true. And the anger inside reminded him so.
"I don't know what sick kind of spell this is, but you are not my mother, and I am not going to touch you. Now get out of my head!"
The words had barely left his mouth when the scenery around him began to melt away, almost as paint is washed away by water.
The woman, too, began to change. She became taller, her arms more defined, her hips and chest less so.
Aidan blinked in surprise, and when his eyes opened everything had changed.
He was in a little, perfectly circular room, with a perfectly circular carpet covering the center of the floor.
Where the woman had once stood was a tall boy, maybe twenty years old, with brown hair and green eyes. He wore a torn warlock's robe, and a glowing phoenix was etched in his forehead.
"Who are you?" Aidan asked, ready to dive out of the way if he was attacked.
"My name," the stranger said, "Is Marcus Thunderheart."
Edwin hated dragons. And griffins, and horses, and his own two chubby legs. He preferred a cushioned cart, pulled by donkeys. One day he would have servants carry him around, but first he had to survive the trip.
He was on the back of a dragon, in a leather saddle, cold wind blowing in his face. In front of him was a young, well muscled man. He was the dragon's rider, and the sorcerer that had somehow deactivated the safety sphere.
Edwin had been instructed to hold on to the man, but it was getting really hard to reach around his own stomach.
My arms must be getting shorter.
"Where are we going?" he yelled to the rider.
"You are going back to the headquarters. I am leading an army to attack your pathetic continent."
"But I thought that I was supposed to do that!" Edwin yelled, a little angry.
"If you wanna argue it with the master, go ahead. But I have my orders. If it's any consolation, he's planning something big back there, and I think he needs you to be a part of it!"
Edwin grumpily sat back in the saddle and waited.
His time would come. And Sortiledge would be his.
Aidan immediately knew that this was just another test.
"No you aren't. Marcus Thunderheart is way taller, and stronger, and maybe had white eyes."
The stranger laughed.
"Is that what they're saying about me now? I'll admit that my eyes turn white when I cast a spell, but a lot of wizards do that. As far as being stronger, I really never felt like my biceps needed any work."
Aidan tried to think of something about Thunderheart that only the real hero would know, but unfortunately all of Aidan's knowledge was general.
"I can't prove to you that I am Marcus. But I would like to know what has been happening in the past sixty years, so if you could fill in some blanks that would be great."
Aidan just stared suspiciously at the stranger.
Finally the cheery smile faded.
"Look kid, I'm real, all right?" he said cuffing Aidan on the side of the head.
Aidan stumbled backwards, shocked.
"But if you're real … then where am I?"
Marcus smiled again.
"Finally we're getting somewhere. Take a seat. You are currently inside my ring. You just completed your Soulrock test, so I guess it's kind of yours now. Sorry about that, the test had to be tough in order to make sure not just anyone with a lot of power could use this ring. Anyways, there is a very complex spell that a wizard can use to push his Arror, or life magic, into a Soulrock. I used that sixty years ago, when my phoenix made some sort of magic to attack Malcommer's army, because the other option would have been incineration. The spell had never been used before, so most people probably assumed me dead. Am I going too fast for you?"
Aidan's jaw had dropped.
"You're Marcus Thunderheart?"
Marcus opened his mouth and closed it again.
"This might be harder than I thought."
Bartemus saw the mages running towards the battlefield, screaming, "Slay the riders," a second before the dragon surrounded the three children. It was at that moment that he gave up on saving them. He knew that they would foolishly attack it, instead of trying to stall for time.
This was in the background for the warlock, who was in a fight with a fierce red creature that actually carried two riders. Well, it had carried two, until a well-timed lightning incinerated the first one.
The second was still alive, though part of his tunic was on fire. And he was mad with rage.
Bartemus had seen creatures go berserk before, and he knew what the magic felt like.
A berserk warrior that could not feel pain was an inconvenience to a warlock, but a dragon rider in sync with his steed, wielding the power of magic and the dark force of revenge was a dangerous opponent indeed.
The old man ducked out of the way of a swiping claw and sent a cobble from the ground into the creatures throat, quenching the fire that was about to erupt.