Conflagration

Image by Nicola Redfern from Pixabay



The two archmages threw spell after terrible spell at each other,

an epic battle of good versus evil that would determine the fate of the world. Volcanos erupted beneath their feet, and tornados scoured the landscape.

“We have to end this!” Eloanne shouted above the din. She nocked
an arrow to her bowstring in impotent fury.

“We’ll never even get close to them, darlin’,” Kerlin said,
reaching up to put a comforting hand on Eloanne’s hip. “It’s up to Telos now.”

They watched, as one moment, the sky was alive with a horde
of descending dragons, the next it bore the remnants of a dozen scorched
planets circling a dead star.

“But they’re ripping the planet apart! Even if Telos wins,
will we have a world to live in? Back me up, Galan!”

The mage’s apprentice watched the faraway battle with obvious
concern. “Telos made me swear to keep you back. And to take up his work should
it become necessary.”

“But we can’t stand here doing nothing!” Eloanne seemed on
the verge of charging up the newly formed mountainside on her own.

“That is precisely what we will do!” Galan said, spinning
round in an uncharacteristic display of emotion. “This battle may rage for weeks,
and we will stand by to face the victor. You are not idle, you are preparing. If
Bartol wins, you may wish the world had been destroyed.”

Kerlin dug his spear into the ground and leaned on it. “I’ve
already prayed to my gods that our friend Telos emerges the victor.”

Galan stared off toward the growing conflagration. “Understand
this: It may be worse for us personally if he does. This kind of power can’t
help but change a man. The Telos who comes down that mountain may be worse than
Bartol.”

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