Page 5 of Trial By Fire

When he opened his eyes again, Malekith was watching him, his gaze intent and searching. Aric met that gaze, trying to see past the mask of the scion of House Ixion to glimpse the truth beneath. But Malekith remained inscrutable, a beautiful enigma wrapped in shadows and secrets.

“I want to believe you,” Aric whispered, the words heavy on his tongue.

Malekith’s lips curved into a smile, sad and knowing. “I know,” he said softly. “That’s all I can ask for now.”

He pressed a kiss to Aric’s forehead, gentle and achingly tender, before pulling away. The loss of his warmth left Aric feeling bereft, adrift in a sea of uncertainty.

As Malekith rose from the bed, his lithe form silhouetted against the dim light, Aric watched him go. Questions burned on the tip of his tongue, but he held them back. Whatever game Malekith was playing, whatever plan he had set in motion, Aric knew he was just a piece on the board. A pawn, perhaps, or something more. But until Malekith chose to reveal his hand, all Aric could do was wait and wonder.

And hope, against all reason, that Malekith’s promise of an end to the war was more than just another beautiful lie.

Two

Aric had been one of the youngest mages ever accepted into the Order, his talent for magic evident from the moment he could crawl, if the scorch marks on the nursery walls were any indication. He’d been a prodigy, a once-in-a-generation kind of power, and he’d known it, too, with a cocksure grin and a toss of his sandy hair. But for all his skill, there was much he still had to learn, a fact that his mentor, Olaya, never let him forget.

“You are like an untempered blade,” she told him, her voice a gentle reprimand as they stood in the courtyard, the spires of the Silver Tower rising high above them. “All that raw power, but no discipline to shape it. You must learn control, Aric, or one day your flames will consume you.”

Aric bristled at the rebuke, as he always did. He was in control. Mostly. But he knew he had to master the more delicate aspects of magic if he was to achieve his true goal: protecting the human realm at any cost. And if that meant enduring Olaya’s endless drills and exercises, then so be it.

One of those exercises involved training the younger apprentices, a task Olaya had assigned to him in the hopes that it might instill a sense of responsibility and humility in her headstrong protege. Aric did his best, he really did, but therewas only so much patience he could muster for those who didn’t share his burning passion for magic.

“You must always be ready to act,” he told the young apprentice he was currently mentoring, a bookish boy named Tomas. “The demons will not hesitate to strike, and neither can we. If you take nothing else from our time together, remember that.”

Tomas nodded, his eyes wide as he tried to absorb his mentor’s wisdom. Aric had been much the same when he was a young apprentice, in awe of the older mages and hungry for knowledge. But he’d also been headstrong and overconfident, thinking he could master the most powerful spells before he’d even learned the basics. If only he could go back and shake some sense into his younger self.

“Let us begin with the summoning circle,” Aric said, leading Tomas down into the chamber where they would conduct their practice. “You have to be precise with your measurements, or the whole thing will be thrown off.”

Tomas dutifully set to work, measuring out the intricate design of the circle with a nub of chalk. Aric watched over his shoulder, his impatience simmering just below the surface. There was a time and a place for caution, but this was not it.

“Like this,” Aric said, snatching the chalk from Tomas’s hand. In a few quick, careless strokes, he completed the circle. “It doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to work.”

Tomas winced, but he held his tongue. Aric was not his mentor for nothing, and the younger mage knew that Aric would never strike him for such a minor infraction. “I know it has to work, but?—”

“But nothing,” Aric said. “You have to trust in your own power. If you doubt yourself, even for a second, the demons will sense it. They will smell your fear, and they will use it against you.”

Tomas shuddered, and Aric felt a pang of guilt. He remembered all too well the nightmares that had plagued him in his early days at the Tower, the visions of demons with their jagged teeth and searing eyes. He had long since outgrown such childish terrors, but in truth, the demons still frightened him. He simply refused to let that fear control him.

“Once the circle is complete, we will begin the incantation,” Aric said, his voice softening. “You must speak the words with purpose, with conviction. You are calling the flames to you, and they must answer your command.”

Tomas nodded, his face set in a mask of concentration. He finished the final arc of the summoning circle and took his place at Aric’s side.

“Are you ready?” Aric asked.

Tomas’s voice was fragile as soap bubbles, but there nonetheless. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Aric smiled. “Good. Now, let us begin.”

They chanted the ancient words of power, the air around them growing thick and heavy with magic. Aric felt the energy building, ready to spring into action at their command. But as the seconds stretched on, Tomas’s voice wavered, and the magic began to unravel.

“Tomas,” Aric said, his tone a warning.

“I’m trying,” Tomas said, his face pale with the effort. “It’s just?—”

Aric swore under his breath and reached out to steady the magic. But it was too late. With a sound like shattering glass, the spell came apart, the raw energy of it lashing out in all directions.

Tomas cried out and stumbled back, his robes smoking from the backlash. Aric moved to help him, but Tomas held up a hand, his eyes wide.

“I’m sorry,” Tomas said. “I tried to focus, but I was scared.”

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