The Phoenix Ring(60)

“You’re overestimating your importance to the master,” Timothy heard the amogh growl as he edged closer to his staff.

“I don’t fear you, amogh. A goblin sorcerer is worth three of your kind. After we take the isle, goblins will rule this land, while your kind is ground to dust.”

Timothy heard the amogh roar, and a squeal from Grogg. He rolled as quickly as he could towards his staff, reaching it just in time to hear the goblin begin to shout something in a language unknown to the mage. Timothy turned his head to see the amogh, bearing a sword, forcing the goblin against a tree.

“You want payment? Here is all that you deserve.”

Timothy closed his eyes as he heard the goblin squeal one more time, and then the sound of a blade hitting wood. He had no love for the goblin, but the creature’s murder had been brutal, and Timothy was too kind to wish it on any living thing.

“Now it’s your turn, sorcerer,” the amogh said, turning towards Timothy.

The young mage frantically began to whisper every word he could think of that would release him from his bonds.

“Vahailen. Eslang. Kopismilia!” The rope immediately fell apart, as if it had been cut with a sharp blade. Timothy rolled to the side just as the assassin’s sword slammed into the ground, missing the mage by inches.

He desperately swung his staff into the air, and felt a satisfying crunch as it slammed into his opponent’s nose. He half crawled, half ran into the forest and ducked behind a tree. It was a poor hiding place, but it would function for the time being.

“Oh, you’re a fighter. I like a challenge,” he heard the amogh call.

Timothy prepared to run, but suddenly realized where he was standing.

To his back was the large field that he had just come from. If he ran that way, it would only be seconds until he was caught or shot by his enemy. To his front was a swamp, full of wet, sticky mud. If he were to venture into it, he would most likely be swallowed alive by the ground itself. He stood a better chance against the amogh than running through the desolate muck with no supplies.

He frantically began to look around him for something, anything, that was capable of killing a trained assassin impervious to magic.

Then he found it. On the ground, only a few feet from him was a huge, deep mud puddle. How he had avoided stepping into it, Timothy would never know.

Mustering all his magic, the young mage whispered one word. “Akae.” Water.

The moisture was sucked out of the puddle and into a dense ball about five feet under the ground. Then, in his mind, he began to work the magic so that when the spell broke, the water would return to its original position.

The strain of the spell was incredible, so much so that Timothy began to doubt that he would be able to hold it for as long as he needed. He purposefully stepped on a twig as sweat began to break out on his brow.

It took only a few seconds for the assassin to charge into the woods, though it felt like an eternity to the young sorcerer. The man had dropped his crossbow and was wielding two swords, with blood streaming down his face.

“Are you ready to die?” he asked.

Timothy nodded, though he was unable to speak due to the pressure of the magic.

The amogh took a step onto the ground directly above the spell. As soon as he did, Timothy’s last bit of strength gave out. With a scream, the young mage released his power, and the dirt and water instantly returned to its state of sticky, strong mud.

The heavy amogh immediately sunk to his thighs in the wettest part of the muck, dropping both of his swords in a desperate attempt to lunge for the nearest tree branch.

Timothy stumbled behind the nearest tree and fell to his knees, unable to move an inch.

He covered his ears until the screams of his enemy were drowned in the earth.





“Aaliyah!” Aidan yelled, running to the middle of their campsite. He heard a moan from somewhere in the trees and ran to it.

One of the amoghs was propped up against a tree, an arrow sprouted from his blood soaked torso. He had pushed his hood back to reveal a face that couldn’t be more than twenty years old.

After fearing this man for so long, it was strange for Aidan to see him so helpless and defeated, his lifeblood dripping onto the grass.

The mage knelt down on one knee in front of him, though he kept a tight hand on his staff. There was still a chance that this was only a trap.

“What do you want, mage?” he said through ragged gasps.

“You know what I want,” Aidan said, his heartbeat strangely calm. “Where is Aaliyah?”

“Boss took her. He wants you to follow him, so she’s still alive. They went that way.” The amogh raised a shaky hand in an attempt to point further into the forest, but was unable to straighten his finger.