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wounded?”
    “I…I don’t think so,” I said. “God, the
fire…”
    I shook my head, which was a bad idea,
since that made it hurt worse. The fire in my blood seemed to
intensify further.
    Mallister’s eyes got wide. “Camorak! My
God! What are you…”
    I fell to my knees next to Romilius, and
the fire in my blood seemed to burst from my skin. The wounds in
the boy’s torso called to the fire, and I focused upon it,
directing the fire towards it.
    And I pulled his wound into me.
    I screamed as pain erupted through me, as I
felt the axe blow rip my chest open. I wanted to push the pain
away, to shove it back into Romilius and let him die. Instead I
gritted my teeth and held on, forcing the pain to remain in my
flesh as the fire poured into Romilius.
    And then all the pain vanished, and my
headache disappeared with it.
    “By the Dominus Christus,” whispered
Mallister.
    Romilius’s wounds had vanished. He sat up,
looking bewildered.
    “Optio?” he said. “What…happened?”
    “Oh, good. I think my headache went away,”
I said.
    I fell over and passed out.

    ###

    “The magic of the Well of Tarlion has
manifested within you,” said Mallister.
    I shook my head. “That doesn’t make sense.
I’m not…I’m not a Magistrius.”
    “I’m afraid,” said Mallister, “that you’ll
have to be.”
    We stood on the road with Sir Primus as the
men went about their work. The dwarves tended to their wounded, and
the men-at-arms prepared to escort the taalvar and his warriors to
Castra Durius.
    “It is the law of the High King,” said
Mallister. “All those who manifest magical ability must be taken to
Tarlion to be trained in the ways of the Order of the
Magistri.”
    “I’m twenty-seven years old,” I said. “I
thought only children were trained as Magistri.”
    “Sometimes the power manifests at a later
age,” said Mallister. “As it did for you. Look at it this way,
Camorak. You saved Romilius. Perhaps now you will have a chance to
save others.”
    “I am a soldier,” I said. “A man-at-arms in
service to the Dux of Durandis.”
    “Optio Camorak,” said Primus. “I think the
time has come to give you my final order. Go to Tarlion with
Mallister, and train to become a Magistrius.”
    I sighed. “As you command, sir.”
    It seemed my time as a soldier was
finished, yet that did not trouble me as much as I thought.
    I thought of Romilius, of the leader and
knight he would one day be because he had not died from the axe
wound.
    My duty as a soldier was over, but perhaps
it was time for a different duty.

    THE END

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The First Quest (http://www.jonathanmoeller.com/writer/?page_id=4439) .
    ***

FROSTBORN: THE FIRST QUEST Chapter 1 - The
Archmage

    In the Year of Our Lord 1469, the court of
the Dux Gareth Licinius celebrated the Festival of the Resurrection
in the great hall of Castra Marcaine.
    Ridmark Arban walked across the hall, his
boots clicking against the black and white tiles of the floor. He
wore his finest tunic and mantle, both crimson with gold trim. A
sword belt of black leather encircled his waist, the soulblade
Heartwarden resting in its scabbard there. He felt the sword’s
magic, his link to its power. He had felt it ever since he had
become a Swordbearer, ever since he had spent the night in vigil in
the Chamber of the Well within High King’s citadel of Tarlion.
    But now the sword’s magic was quiet.
    For today was not a day of battle, but a
day of celebration.
    The gates of the Castra had been thrown
wide, and townsmen and freeholders from