The Ruby's Flame

n the days long ago,

It is a tale from the earliest of days. In those days, man was still learning to master the world around him. Smiths and soldiers, sailors and swordsmen all were creating what would later become the standard tricks of their trades. And in the land that would become Pdallar, the secrets of battle magic were being unlocked.

The first of the great mages arose at this time. Tiroc, an ignem mage whose control of fire allowed him to conquer any who would stand against him. He pinned his foes with walls of flame, marching across the battlefield, and destroyed whole armies with burning rain. Most terrible of all, he could turn the very blood in an enemy's veins to fire, burning them from the inside out. Reserved for those Tiroc truly wished to make suffer, the pain from this spell exceeded all known tortures. Even Men of Valor screamed in anguish when it was cast on them, and it was said just the screams of his victims were enough to make a Summer Man faint.

Tiroc began his conquests near the Ladysblood, and in just six months, he captured all the land for two hundred miles south of it. Many of those he conquered fought and died to the last, but enough of them threw in with his cause that his army continued to grow, and by the time he stood at the borders of Reshalar (a land in the south of what is now Belid) he outnumbered its defenders ten to one.

Now in those days the people of Reshalar were led by Attor Bearsbane, one of the strongest men alive, who earned his name by killing a bear in hand-to-hand combat. At his side in all things rode Kenala of Redat, and it was said that the two of them together had never been defeated. Kenala was quick and wise, and one of the first in the East to train horses, a skill she put to great use in designing a cavalry force for Reshalar.

This was before the nonnig trappers made communication across the land simple, but even then, word still traveled. Attor and Kenala knew of Tiroc's approach, and of his reputation. They gathered their warriors into an army, and rode to oppose him, hoping against hope that their horse would be enough to match his infantry. And so it seemed for a time, as they met in battle on the first day. As the sun grew in the sky, they were able to strike and retreat faster than their attackers could persue.

Then the burning began. At the stroke of noon, walls of flame appeared, pinning the Reshala in place. Many of their horses panicked, and riders were thrown throughout the army. Then Tiroc's forces moved in and began cutting the Reshala down. Attor slew more than twenty men himself, and Kenala, who had managed to keep astride her stallion, Morca, rallied a small cavalry band to provide his men with support. But it was clear that the Reshala were doomed. As they tried, again and again, to find a way out past the flames, Attor's frustration with a foe he could not fight grew, and finally in his rage, he cried out that Tiroc was a villain and a coward, afraid to fight his foes in honest combat. The shout was powered by all his anger, and all his need to protect his people, and it echoed across the battlefield so that all who were their heard it, even Tiroc, in his tent at the back of the battle.

Now Tiroc was a mage, not a swordsman. He had spent his days in learning, not in battle. But even so, he was a Man of Valor, born of Shagras's blood. He heard Attor's challenge, and he gave it answer. Words of Fire, hundreds of feet high, appeared in the sky, that he would meet Attor at dawn the next day, in single combat, for the fate of Reshala, if Attor dared face him. Attor agreed, and the walls of fire behind the Reshala vanished. The two armies withdrew, one from the other, until there was only one person left on the field of battle. Kenala still held her ground, and her faced was filled with a great black fury.

None dared approach the tent that Kenala and Attor shared that night, as the two fought, for the first and only time. She assailed him for deserting her, and for daring to exclude her from the defense of Reshala, and he responded that it was his land and his decision, and his honor to undertake the single combat. The argument raged far into the night, and none knew it's resolution, but in the morning, only Attor emerged from the tent. He swore all his followers not to interfere in the duel, and rode forward, away from his army, towards the distant figure of Tiroc, who stood calmly on the field, waiting for Attor's approach.

It had been agreed that any weapon was acceptable, a raw match of skill and strength between the two men, and so as Attor rode forward, he took the long bow from his back and emptied his quiver at Tiroc. Every arrow flew straight and true, and any one would have pierced Tiroc's heart and ended his reign, but every one, as it neared Tiroc, burst into flame, and all that touched him was ash. Still Attor rode forward, drawing his great sword, but his horse's shoes began to strike sparks from the ground, greater and greater as he rode forward, until finally the horse reared, throwing Attor, and turned to run. Tiroc smiled, and stood still, waiting for Attor's approach.

Sword in hand, Attor moved forward, and the fires that had panicked his horse seemed to have fled. He was within ten feet of Tiroc, and had begun his final charge, when suddenly his sword shone bright red, as if returned to the forge, and melted in his hand, burning him as the molten iron fell to the ground. Attor staggered, and gripped his hand in pain, but he continued forward. Finally, then, did Tiroc move. He waved a hand, lazily, and great chains of fire surrounded Attor, dragging him to the ground and holding him immobile. Tiroc walked the few feet between them, and said something which neither side could hear, as Attor lay bound at his feet. Then he raised his hands again, and began a serious of complicated gestures that went on for some minutes. When he was done, he reached down and touched Attor, gently, on the forehead.

If the challenge of the day before had been heard across the battlefield, Attor's screams at that time were heard for miles. Tiroc had unleashed his final, fatal spell, and Attor's very blood turned against him. His skin blackened and cracked, and he struggled once, and collapsed. Tiroc smiled slightly, straightened, and headed towards the forces of Reshala. Behind him, the flames holding Attor flickered and died, and the cheers of Tiroc's army rang across the field. And then they died, slowly, as the impossible happened. Attor moved, struggled to his feet, and grabbed hold of Tiroc from behind. Stunned, the mage gave his foe half a second to act, and that was long enough. Attor's great strength had not deserted him, and he reached up and broke the mage's neck, then dropped him to the ground.

Silence held the field for but a moment, and then, with a cry, the forces of Tiroc moved forward, to avenge their fallen leader. (There are those who say that the first to move was a child of the Breaker of Oaths, a touched man who was one of Tiroc's apprentices, but the truth is that vengeance and ambition run nearly as strong in the Men of Valor as honor does, and Tiroc's forces were principally composed of those who had thrown in with him, rather than defend their own lands to the death.) Attor drew his dagger and turned to face them, but the Reshala stood stunned, unable to believe what they saw, until out of their midst a woman rode, blackened and charred as badly as Attor, unrecognizable except that she rode Morca and wore Kenala's armor.

Alone in her tent, Kenala had done sacrifice to Shagras, that she would bear all that Attor did, even to the burning blood, and so long as she remained silent throughout the pain, Attor would not die by fire. Alone of any in the world, she had felt Tiroc's final spell and held her tongue. But now she loosed it again, crying to the Reshala to mount and follow her into battle, as raced across the field to Attor's side.

She was the first to reach him, and lifted him up behind her on Morca as Tiroc's troops surrounded them. The two fought there, side by side once more, and as their foes cut at them, fire flowed from the wounds instead of blood. Tiroc's forces, disheartened by the loss of their leader, and already squabbling within themselves as to who would lead them next, would not hold the field that day. The Reshala cavalry would beat back their infantry before the sun set. But when they did, they found their rulers lying dead on the ground, surrounded by a hundred enemy corpses. The fire in their veins had died with them, leaving two charred and bloodless bodies, but lying between them was a single ruby, the size of a man's fist, within which danced an ever-burning flame. The ruby was taken by the Reshala and adopted as the symbol of their ruler, their most important relic, until they were finally conquered by Rorvan of Gerok three hundred years later, and the ruby's flame was lost. But that, as you know, is another story...