Wizard Trials: Humanity's Redemption (Patreon)

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          This version of the Wizard Tournament sequel is much more fleshed out than the previous version which was written to avoid any spoilers. Before reading this, I will assume you have completely read all of Wizard Tournament and know how it ends.

          As promised, this story is going to be a Fantasy & Action-Adventure, and I can now confirm that the 5-man-band of Draevin, Peter, Sylnya, Grrbraa and Istven will be reassembled for an important mission. This story picks up 3 years after Peter's wish. The Conflux is gone, never to return. So too is the world-enchantment that allowed for massive mana wells. The physiology of the magical races has changed to adapt to the lack of magic. Elves can no longer eat food to make mana, nor can eldrin extract the mana from objects (though that's less of an issue as there isn't much mana to go around anyway). The entire planet now functions as a passive mana sink. The only race still making mana are the dryads who convert sunlight to mana, most of which is used to animate their bodies.

          You will have to read and find out how Alex's new Council has adapted to this new world and what new crisis now faces Eldira now that the world-enchantment was harmlessly dispelled. Below I have included a draft of the first chapter of that new story and a cover mock-up (which will certainly change if this becomes my next writing project). I felt that the name of the series had to change as tournaments would no longer be happening, but I'm open to title suggestions for this new story arc.

Wizard Trials: Humanity's Redemption - Chapter 1

          Draevin opened his eyes. He laid there in his bed for a moment, wondering what had woken him up. There was a feeling of urgency, but nothing specific for his mind to latch onto. After a moment he heard shouting.

          “Rally the militia! Rally the militia!” someone yelled outside his door. That must’ve been it. Draevin rolled out of his bed and tried his best not to think about how desperately he wanted to stay in it. It felt like ages since he’d had a full night’s rest in his bed. There was always some emergency…

          “Draevin! Someone fetch Draevin!”

          Draevin let out a low moan, just for himself, and shook the sleep out of his eyes. There was no helping it now. He was awake, and if he tried to lie down again he’d have militia support staff shaking him by the shoulder in another minute. Better to be dressed at least. He stood up, stretched down to touch his toes one at a time, then grabbed his discarded clothes off the floor. The same clothes he’d worn yesterday without washing. Hygiene simply wasn’t what it had been before Peter’s Wish. Draevin had lived over three centuries with plentiful access to magic that kept himself and all his clothes sparkling clean and he wasn’t sure he was ever going to be able to adjust to losing those daily conveniences. Now he had to content himself with wearing clothes that just didn’t stink yet.

          The humans had a process to clean clothes they called “soap” but Draevin just never found the time or energy to use it. Once a week a lady he’d once saved did his laundry for him and the rest of the time he just put up with things as they were. Even Council representatives didn’t have anyone doing laundry for them, so Draevin tried very hard to remind himself to be thankful for what he had. He’d fought viciously for the right to a small private room but even as good as he lived compared to most, he couldn’t help but miss the way things used to be. The way things would never be again…

          The front door to Draevin’s room slammed open. Two militiamen burst into his room, marked by the pale blue stripe running down their front jacket. Their faces were obscured by shadow, but Draevin could make out the pointed ears of an elf on one of them. It was rare to see an elf serving in the militia, since they were now in the minority. With each week that went by, Draevin felt more and more like he was somehow obligated to know all the names of the remaining elves.

          “Good, you’re dressed,” the elf barked out in a distinctly feminine voice. “You’re needed on the frontline immediately. Dwyra’s men are attacking from the East.” The elf stepped the rest of the way into the room and Draevin realized he was a she. Braila, or Bailra? He thought her name was probably close to that. She was an aeromancer who had worked directly for Haenor once upon a time. She’d failed all her spell-casting tests and been relegated to a support role. He recalled she’d been pretty bitter about it. There was no room in their new society for hurt feelings though, only the best wizards were trusted with mana, and even then only for defense and gardening purposes.

          Draevin finished pulling his shirt into place and tucking it in. It was a tight, dark, breathable material designed to not get in the way. He nodded to the militiamen and snatched up his robe and a blue potion by his nightstand on the way out the door. These days he had to make do with a mundane chainmail robe. The metal of it still sparkled in the torchlight and he’d managed to get it painted with an iridescent blue to imitate the signature look of his old Frost Armor. His new robe had been Peter’s idea.

          Draevin shied away from the sudden, intrusive thought. He tried not to let thoughts of Peter bother him in the day-to-day struggle that life had become.

          “I barely got two hours of sleep,” Draevin complained while he pulled the shiny blue metal over his head.

          “Can’t be helped. We need you,” Braila said in a no-nonsense tone. “Now get out there. We’re getting overwhelmed. Last report said the Eastern fortifications had been destroyed.”

          “Shit,” Draevin cursed. “I’m coming, I’m coming!” He followed the two militiamen as they took off at a jog. They were in the new underground residential area under the battlefield and had a ways to go to get outside again. Draevin’s joints complained about the lack of rest for the first dozen or so strides, then he got into a comfortable rhythm. He was soon able to pick up enough speed to catch and then pass the militiamen. The constant daily struggle to survive had gotten Draevin in pretty good shape. Once he passed the militiamen he kept going on his own, he knew the way. He jogged down the tunnel and, towards the green-tinted glow of sunlight at the end of it. All the while he worried about the seriousness of the attack. The men Dwyra sent to raid them weren’t all that dangerous—not much more than desperate refugees—but if they were able to break through the fortifications then something must be different this time.

          Once Draevin emerged above ground, he was greeted by the sight of the tiered gardens that now occupied the arena grounds. They were stacked row upon row up into the sky and beyond his sight. The light that filtered down to ground level was a verdant green. Draevin had to slip between gardeners to get to the exit tunnel. Even in an emergency the gardeners were still out doing their jobs. Growing food was important to the long-term survival of the Council. They couldn’t afford to stop for even a minute, not with ten thousand refugees to feed and one arena’s width to grow crops in. Even in the tunnel—which used to transport contestants to and from the battlefield—Draevin still had to dodge the mushroom farmers. There really wasn’t enough space anywhere.

          On the other end of the tunnel Draevin darted past yet more gardens until he got to the old East exit of the arena. The stone walls of the arena were the only original material left of the place, everything else had long since been scrapped and replaced to make room for more gardening. So much gardening. Draevin looked backwards and up at the arena walls once he was outside. Tiers of gardens poked up into the sky as high as their engineers had been able to manage. It still wasn’t enough. The Council had to spend the majority of the mana their dryads generated accelerating the growth of food. That was just the reality they lived in now.

          “Hey, sleepyhead,” Sylnya greeted Draevin. He’d been so lost in thought he hadn’t even noticed her.

          “What are you doing here?” Draevin asked. “I heard there was an attack from the East.”

          “There’s no sunlight in there,” Sylnya answered with an annoyed wave of her hand. “Besides, I’m bored. I wanted to go with you this time.”

          “No,” Draevin shook his head firmly. “You know you’re not allowed.”

          Sylnya’s face shifted into a frown. “Oh, come on. Don’t be like that, Drae.” She flipped a knife out from her belt. “You know you’re going to need me.”

          “You know the rules,” Draevin chastised her. “You can fight vamps, but you were expressly forbidden from engaging with Dwyra’s forces. You remember what happened last time?”

          “They had me for, like, five minutes tops!” Sylnya insisted.

          “Only because I rescued you.” Draevin shook his head. “We’re not having this discussion now. Stay put. Dwyra’s men are here to abduct dryads like you. We can’t send them to the frontlines for her. Sorry, Syl.”

          Before she had a chance to object, Draevin turned away. She had a way of winning all their arguments once she got talking. Besides, he was supposed to be in a hurry. He scanned the horizon. All that remained of the thriving metropolis that surrounded the arena was gone, only the bones of a few of the stone foundations remained to mark that there had ever been a bustling city here. There were no obstacles to block Draevin’s line of sight, so he could see all the way to the wall of debris that passed for their defenses. He could see a broken section in the wall and a flurry of activity around the breach. That was the direction he headed, as fast as he could run.

          As he ran, Draevin pulled out the potion from his nightstand and removed the cork. The bottle was specially designed by a certain someone to hold spells. It contained the remains of the last cryomancy spell Draevin had used. He drank the blue liquid inside. The mana absorbed into his body without actually needing to be swallowed, but it still gave Draevin brain freeze. Feedback; that was the cost paid for reabsorbing shaped mana, and for cryomancy that meant freezing his body. There was no helping it; they couldn’t afford to waste anything anymore. He kept jogging towards the breach, shivering in the jungle heat, his breath came out in puffs of mist.

          At the breach there was a clash of blades. Spears and swords for the most part, but Draevin did spot the occasional flash of light. That meant there was at least one wizard among the invaders. There certainly weren’t any on his side. The presence of a wizard made a lot of sense. As he drew closer, Draevin focused his eyes on the spot where he saw the last flash and waited for another to appear. After a moment it did. The flash had come from a bolt of lightning. A fulgramancer then.

          For the last leg of his approach Draevin conjured a slick of ice, which he very carefully recycled behind him. It was more for the show than the speed it offered. Most of the time all Draevin really needed to do was show up and the raiders would retreat without putting up a fight. Nobody could stand against him without magic. He was sure one of the elves fighting for the raiders saw him approach, but he didn’t sound the retreat. That was unusual.

          “Draevin’s here!” one of the defenders shouted. The Council’s forces were backed up in two lines on each side of the breach with spears held out in a line. Draevin could scarcely tell the difference between the raiders and his own men. If not for the dark blue line of fabric that marked the militiamen it would just be one group of dirty sweaty elves, gnomes and humans versus another. Though he supposed there were less humans working for Dwyra. The militiamen were giving ground at the wall’s breach and looked moments from breaking. As Draevin watched, an archer stepped forward on the walls above to take a shot at the raiders and was struck down by a flash of lightning. They needed reinforcements badly.

          Draevin slid to a stop, then pulled the mana from his ice slick into half a dozen Icicle Spears. He held them floating in the air in a cloud around his head. “Who’s ready to die today!” he bellowed across the battlefield. He let his obvious display of magic and flashy robes speak for him.

          The sounds of battle died down. The enemy forces slowly backed off. Draevin saw nervous glances, but instead of a full retreat someone stepped forward out of the crowd in a flashy robe of gold. Draevin recognized the face and shock of yellow hair. Well… for the most part. It was Zolt the Bolt, the eldrin fulgramancer Draevin had fought in the tournament three years ago. The final tournament of the old world. Zolt’s face was hollow and gaunt; he looked more skeleton than man. His gait was more of a limp than a walk, but he readied himself into a combat stance.

          “Draevin Getano,” Zolt called across the battlefield. His voice had no strength in it and Draevin had to strain to hear him. “You come for a rematch?”

          “Zolt?” Draevin called back. “You look like shit. Are you sure you should be out of bed? Why are you working for Dwyra?”

          Zolt’s face turned bright red. “Why are you working againstDwyra! She is—”

          Draevin wasn’t interested in engaging with this moron. He launched one of his Icicle Spears while Zolt was talking. It was a little unhanded, sure, but that’s what the world had come down to. He would take whatever advantage he could get.

          Zolt flinched and a bolt of lightning shot out of his fingers and struck Draevin’s spear. The ice was vaporized instantly. Not good. All of Draevin’s mana was currently in the five remaining Icicle Spears. He couldn’t afford to lose another.

          “I was speaking,” Zolt insisted with a hint of indignation in his voice. “That was underhanded, even for you Draevin.”

          “Save it for someone who cares,” Draevin shot back as casually as he could. He tried to act unconcerned about the loss of the Icicle Spear. “I’ve heard Dwyra’s sales pitch and I’m not interested. She’s a tyrant. And judging by the looks of you, she doesn’t even give her people enough food to get by. I could walk into the jungle and slowly starve to death without her help, thank you.”

          While he spoke, Draevin squeezed the air bubbles out of his ice like Tenna had taught him until they were nearly completely invisible. Then he sent four of them up high and out of sight. The last one he kept close in case he needed it. Zolt noticed the ice disappearing, of course, but all he could do was look around suspiciously. The rest of the soldiers on both sides stood at the ready, waiting to see the results of this meeting. Whichever side had a wizard left at the end of their exchange would be the winner, regardless how many more men were on the other side.

          “Your reign of terror ends now, Draevin,” Zolt announced. “I’ve been training three years for this.”

          “Really?” Draevin asked. “I find it hard to believe you can even walk unassisted. How could you possibly be training?”

          Zolt’s face turned bright red once again. Draevin suspected he’d struck a nerve, but with Zolt that wasn’t really very hard. “Yo-you bastard!” Zolt stammered. He pointed his fingers at Draevin and let loose with a thin bolt of lightning.

          The one spear of ice Draevin had held back came in handy now. He swung it down in front of his face and flattened it into a paper-thin wall of ice. It blocked Zolt’s attack but was vaporized in the process. Draevin counterattacked with his transparent ice. He had four spears, and he launched them at Zolt from four different directions at the same time.

          Zolt snapped his head up at the incoming attack like he could see the spears and caught one of them with a second bolt. The other three spears struck him in the back. There was one last look of surprise on Zolt’s face, then he went still.

          “Zolt’s down!” someone shouted from the other side. There was another shout of, “Retreat! Retreat!”

          “No so fast, fuckers,” Draevin muttered under his breath. He pulled the ice out of Zolt’s body with a quick gesture and divided the three remaining spears into dozens of smaller darts. He sent them out after the retreating raiders. His ice was razor sharp and utterly without mercy. Draevin stood stock still in the center of the action and took in every movement with wide eyes. He guided his little shards of ice toward every speck of exposed skin he could see. Dozens of little frozen knives swarmed out, all his to command. The enemy forces were cut down in droves. Little blades of ice slashed ankles, opened throats, and severed limbs. The raiders didn’t stand a chance. They were helpless before him. He was the eye of the storm. The frozen reaper of the battlefield. His own men stood back in a combination of awe and fear and let Draevin work. Most of the enemies didn’t make it to the jungle before his magic cut them down.

          Draevin looked out at the carnage he had wrought. In mere seconds he had managed to kill or disable half the enemy forces. It was incredible what a little magic could accomplish when nobody else had any. He drew back all the ice that remained. It was a paltry amount. Even that short battle had left him with barely more than enough for a single Icicle Spear. Draevin held out his bottle and put the mana from his spell back inside, then replaced the cork.

          Draevin held his bottle up to the light. It looked so empty. He would need to get more mana before the next attack. He couldn’t risk going into another battle with such a small amount of mana.

          With the enemy retreated, Draevin marched up to the nearest contingent of allied soldiers. “Who’s in charge here?” he asked.

          A human in chainmail and a metal helmet sauntered up and gave Draevin a salute. He had a spear slung over one shoulder. “Lieutenant Hillerman, at the ready. What can I do for you, Mr. Getano.”

          “You can explain to me how you let your men get surrounded!” Draevin shouted. “You have one job, one job! Hold the line until I arrive. You can’t do that if you let yourselves get flanked!”

          “They had a wizard, sir,” Lieutenant Hillerman started to say. “We held for—”

          “Bah!” Draevin dismissed the man in frustration. “Just don’t let it happen again.” He waved out vaguely in the direction of the battlefield. “And deal with the wounded before they crawl away.”

          “Yes sir, right away, sir,” the human said in a perfectly level tone without the slightest hint of concern. He turned around and started barking orders to his men.

          Draevin turned his attention to the wall. The wall wasn’t the sort of defense Draevin was used to. No magnificent pillar of solid ice seven leagues long, just a pile of stones still high enough to see over and barely enough stable ground to stand on top of safely. It was an insult to walls everywhere, and now there was a gap in it. There was a scattering of broken tree branches, paving stones and other remains from the town that surrounded the arena around the gap in the wall. Draevin pointed to two soldiers who were getting a closer look at the breach. “You there, put that wall back together. Before there’s another attack.” The soldiers nodded, though he noticed they didn’t exactly spring to action.

          “Well, it looks like things are handled now,” Draevin muttered to himself. “I’m going back to bed.”

          He stopped by Zolt’s remains on his way out. The eldrin had been throwing around a lot of mana so it was possible he had an unused potion or something on him. His limbs were wasted away down to sticks. He looked like he hadn’t eaten in months. Draevin wasn’t really sure if eldrin couldeat. From what he’d heard, after the Wish, all the eldrin at the Protectorate aside from Istven had starved to death. They couldn’t eat mana, and they couldn’t seem to stomach regular food either. Istven had kept a few alive with his crown for a time, but one by one they all eventually chose death. Draevin didn’t blame them either; daily torture was no way to live. He almost felt bad for killing Zolt, he may have been one of the last eldrin on the planet.

          Almost… Zolt had been kind of an ass. Too cocky for his own good, even to the end.

          The frail wizard had an empty bottle in one of his pockets, but it was empty and there were no further signs of mana. Draevin turned around to leave. The extinction of one more race was hardly even worth noting on these days. A large furry form was loping across the empty field towards the group on all fours. Grrbraa.

          Grrbraa was sprinting at top speed. When he arrived he had to slide to a stop. He crouched there for a second panting to catch his breath. Draevin held up his hands. “Whoa there, what’s the hurry, Gerby? The attack’s already been repelled.”

          “Was. Sent,” Grrbraa panted. “Tell. Draevin.”

          “Tell me what?”

          “Vampires!” Grrbraa said with a slight whimper in his voice. “In the. South.” He pointed out a claw in the indicated direction.

          “A vampire attack? Now?” That was unusual. Extremely unusual. Vampires almost never attacked during the day. And to happen at the same time as an attack from Dwyra’s raiders… it couldn’t be a coincidence.

          Grrbraa took a deep breath and continued. “Mother-Taelshin says I’m not allowed to fight vampires anymore.” His ears drooped down and he whimpered.

          “Yeah. I know, buddy,” Draevin reassured him. “Leave it to me. I’m just going to need some more mana first. Give me a second.”

          Grrbraa bobbed back and forth nervously. “Okay. But only a second. Mother-Taelshin says they already broke through the wall.”

          Draevin snorted. “Yeah, well, that’s not really that hard to do these days. Now quiet. I need to focus.” He pulled out the bottle of cryomancy mana and swallowed everything that remained. A cold shiver ran across his skin.

          Draevin dropped to the ground and crossed his legs. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. In. Out. He thought of those he had lost. It wasn’t hard to do. They lost more people every day. Sometimes Draevin felt like his whole life was one big tragedy. He felt the cold rise up to meet him.

          He opened his eyes and Tenna was floating before him in a field of snow.

          “Hey, there Tenna,” Draevin said. “I’m running on empty here. Think I can get some help?”

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