Fire of Magic (Soul of Magic Book 4)

FOUR

Morgan adjusted the hood of his cloak as the harsh frosty wind assaulted his ears, making sure to keep it stationed very well on his head so as not to give away his position behind the big rock which he hid.

To the pale blonde-haired boy, he was the true definition of what a Barren lander should be: witty, strong, and able to adapt to any situation; not that everybody agreed with that assessment of himself though. And notable among those people was his sister Freya. Morgan looked over at her small but well-built figure where she crouched some rocks away from him, her bow and quiver of arrows at her side, and remembered what she used to say. "You're a strong and smart boy, Morgan," she would say, "but I just can't see you and the Barren lands being the two sides of the same coin."

The Barren lands, where they had lived all of their lives, was a land of obscure origin; even to those who claimed to be its longest residents. Some people believed that long ago, it was actually a very vast and mighty kingdom which was ruled by a powerful but rude king who had no respect for anyone, least of all a witch who happened to live in the area. And so, as punishment for his insolent behavior towards her, the witch cursed his kingdom, saying that it would forever be a desolate ground; a barren land.

But while everyone seemed contented with the tale of the mighty kingdom fallen with magic that was the Barren lands, Morgan thought a little differently.

For starters, he didn’t see the land as all that desolate; regardless of the primary word in its name. The Barren lands really just happened to be a very cold desert with exceedingly harsh weather patterns; proof of which was the heavy and almost blinding snow that had begun to fall. It was a land created for only the most of resilient creatures, for toughest of people; at least it was to Morgan. And it didn’t take a seer to see that he believed himself a qualified member of that category.

"Talking to yourself again, eh Morgan?" Freya suddenly cut into his thoughts from his side; a question which signified that he must have lost control of his passionate thoughts again and spoken aloud. "Just keep it in mind that you’re here as a lookout and not a narrator," she said to him, her next look telling him to be focused.

"Believe me, Freya, if you understood even a fraction of what I know, you'd be talking to yourself too," he replied her, but she only mocked him with a scoff in return.

To an outsider, it would look like Freya was the elder of the two; but if the twin birth order was really to be followed, Morgan was actually the older one of the fraternal twins.

Since they could remember, it had always taken a while to convince anyone of their twin nature, some even going on to get really angry whenever they tried; and the outstanding reason for it was that all they shared in common was their pale blonde hairs and hazel eyes, which wasn't much logically speaking.

Now, it had never really been clear to Morgan why his sister had always looked the elder of the both of them, or even why he even let her dominate him for that matter. But if anything was to be cause, Morgan presumed that it would be their childhood.

In actuality, the twins had lost both their parents at a very young age; they were eight years old then to be precise. Their father was killed in the woods by a group of bandits who came on him when he was returning home at night, the group thinking that he had more than the empty satchel he was carrying with him when they attacked. And their mother died not so long after of a flu that almost wiped out the entirety of their settlement.

Since that unfortunate incident, the twins had been on their own. Being the first to recover herself, Freya began to fend for them and Morgan let her do it. She took a job first as waitress at a tavern and then as an apprentice archer in a hunting party, she put a roof over their heads, and she even protected Morgan until he began protecting himself. And by so doing, the younger twin went on to become the elder sister.

Eight years later, and although Morgan had now grown up to become a much better, stronger and more resourceful version of himself, he still couldn’t get Freya to give up her eldership over him; and he was starting to realise that he might never be able to.

"So, what is it that has gotten you all cranky, sister?" Morgan asked Freya after a while, looking at how her face kept trying to put on the calm expression he knew her for and failing.

"I'm worried, that's all," she replied, making it sound as casual as she could; but Morgan could still feel the tension within her.

"Worried?" he returned, a little surprised. "But everything’s going according to plan. The soldiers’ll be showing up anytime soon just like we predicted they would."

"I never had any doubts about them showing up, Morgan," she returned at him. "It's him I can’t say the same for."

The him that Freya was referring to was the Knight, a swordsman whom no one knew his true identity as he was always dressed in a full armour; wearing a helmet with the visor always put down to cover his face. But although the Knight's origin was a mystery, his mission wasn't. Since he had shown up some months earlier, all he had done was defend all those who couldn't defend themselves, just as a real knight would.

The Knight had come to Morgan and Freya’s settlement as a result of their issue with a warlord, Landon by name. The warlord was the one in the charge of the territory in which the settlement was established, collect taxes from them in exchange for their stay on the land. But although they tried as best as they could never to default in their payments, Landon just wouldn’t stop terrorising them; outrightly stealing their produce, confiscating their possessions on a whim, and even going on to conscript their able-bodied men into his seemly ever-growing army. And unfortunately, in the Barren lands, only the man with the greatest might- or in this case, soldiers- had a say; and so, no one around could challenge the warlord.

The people of the settlement were starting to contemplate that perhaps it was time to move on to a new location where the warlord would be unable to reach them when the Knight arrived, bringing with him the hope of recovering all that they had lost. With his guidance, they had gone on some skirmishes against the warlord, using that to take back what had been taken from them.

But no skirmish or battle could trump the importance of the ambush they had set that day.

As it turned out, seeing that the settlement was starting a rebellion against him, Landon had commanded his soldiers to withdraw back to his fortress so that he could launch a full-scale attack against the offenders; which meant that unless the ambush was successful, the people were never going to recover what remained of their precious belongings still in his possession.

Now, the Knight had told them exactly what to expect and do, what the warlord would make his men do and how they should react; which was the reason why Freya and Morgan were out as lookouts for the soldiers and the other men of the settlement were hidden in various parts of the bushes. But some people in the group, just like Freya, still doubted the Knight and his true intentions.

Morgan, however, was no doubter. "The Knight will show up," he told his sister, and meant every word of it too, "and he will lead us to victory."

Just then, the soldiers, a number of them too in fact, came riding through the path, pulling a cart which contained all that belonged to the people of the settlement behind them.

"It's time," Freya announced as soon as she spotted them, nocking her arrow in preparation of giving the signal that had been agreed upon. Counting down the seconds with the soft in and out of her breath like the seasoned archer she was, Freya let her arrow fly, the weapon going to hit the wheel of the cart before snapping into two.

And then, just like Morgan had foreseen from the start, chaos happened.