Outside the No Names Inn, people went about their business completely unaware of anything happening inside until Soren was thrown through the main door by Aneurus’s magic. He tumbled a good distance into the street, hitting practically everyone and everything along the way. Each time he hit something, he yelled "Ow!"

The crimson warrior could feel the eyes of all the pedestrians on him. Finally, as he was coming to a stop, he rolled to his feet using the motion of his tumble, extracted himself from the remains of the door, and shook his head to clear the stars behind his eyes, which then opened wide as the pain hit him all at once.

Yow! That hurt! he said to himself. Just my luck that this happens to be one of the rare occasions that a mage makes an appearance outside the Pentacle.

The road was straight in both directions in front of the inn, with no cross streets behind Soren. The abrupt change of scenery was accompanied by a change of smell and temperature. It was slightly colder outdoors, and the wafting smell of cooking food that had pervaded the inn was replaced with the scents of spices and smoke from the fires of smithies and other businesses in the area.

As Anneurus walked out into the street after him, Soren could hear the innkeeper shouting obscenities at the conjurer for destroying his door. Four new air scythes spun in the air just in front of him.

Though he had stayed out of the fight, Jadice followed a distance behind Aneurus as he kept an eye on Soren from afar. The magus of the White Guard then pointed toward Soren and cast another air scythe, with yet another just behind it. The pedestrians near Soren cleared the way around him and gave them plenty of room.

The air scythes streaked after Soren as he rose to a standing position. Too late, Soren saw the magic missiles heading toward him. The first hit him square in the chest and catapulted the crimson warrior into the solid white-brick wall of the house behind him. It was a two-story building that had long, thick, flexible rods protruding from it, presumably for hanging laundry or shade tarpaulins. The rods looked sturdy and bendable.

Soren bounced off the wall, the air thrust from his lungs by the violent impact. Spittle flew from his mouth, and he began to fall to the ground.

The white magus of Dol'ron threw his fist in the air. Once again too late, Soren noticed that the new air scythe had stopped just below him as he was falling.

Soren crossed his arms in front of his chest protectively. The weapon shot upwards and heaved him violently into the air, well past the top of the buildings. The scythe slashed into his gauntlet before spending itself and leaving Soren no worse for wear.

Soren opened his eyes wide in amazement as he began to fall. "This is going to hurt!" he sputtered, laughing ironically to himself as he looked down at the ground below. Then he saw his avenue of escape.

As he fell, Soren reached out and grabbed a flexible rod protruding from the house below him. It bent to almost a ninety-degree angle and threw him back upward, but after he quickly flipped to the other side to disperse as much momentum as he could, it only cast him slightly higher than the top of the building instead of hurling him far into the sky.

Jadice watched the fight with a smile and whistled in amazement. "Nicely done!" he murmured under his breath.

Soren came back down and misjudged the angle. Instead of landing on his feet, he landed with the scythe handle against his crotch. "Oh, that is not good!" he choked out, rolling his eyes in pain.

"Very nice!" Jadice exclaimed and laughed heartily, as did many of the spectators.

Despite the agony, Soren did not lose his grip. He swung himself up and balanced himself on the rod's tip, and it bent slightly under his weight. The crimson warrior used the correction of the bend as a springboard to jump one time; then, gathering energy from the weight of gravity, he jumped higher and higher until he was above the level of the top of the building.

Aneurus shook his head and growled as he cast his magic. Four more air scythes shot toward Soren.

When Soren hit the tip of the rod this time, he coiled his legs under him and used his weight to bend the flexible rod to almost a ninety-degree angle for the second time that day. When it released, Soren bent downward, and the rod threw him like a shot toward the conjurer on the ground, with four more air scythes coming toward him. Soren arched his body and aimed it in such a way that he would pass between two of the scythes with just enough room to miss them.

Jadice watched even more intently, as did all the spectators, none of whom was laughing now. A hush had fallen over the crowd. The magus readied four more air scythes and gazed at Soren with confidence.

The air scythes were just about to pass by and leave Soren unscathed when he did the unexpected. He reached out and caught one of the scythes around his arm, and instead of throwing him backwards it caused him to corkscrew wildly toward the magus.

Aneurus threw four more scythes Soren's way, but when they hit Soren, his motion only caused them to spin him harder, rather than catch hold, and his body was aimed toward the conjurer.

Soren hit Aneurus like a shot. His body was flying in what appeared to be an uncontrolled attack, but out of the chaos sprang a sense of order. Soren was fully in control, despite appearances, and he struck Aneurus ten times in the space of a breath. He continued past the stunned and wounded mage and hit the ground in a roll. He stopped his progress by digging his feet into the white stone road for traction and throwing himself to his knees to spin in a quick circle, kicking up a trail of dust in his wake. He ended his impressive display kneeling on the ground, facing Jadice.

After a long silence, it was as if everyone nearby was given a chance to breathe again, and there was a collective inhale as they all realized the need.

Jadice was simply amazed. The warrior before him was a master of his own body. He had used every available move to achieve a goal, and it seemed as if the physical laws of the world responded to his whim and that none of it was a trick but merely a practiced use of his own faculties. This man did not need a weapon; he had his own hands. The taller twin had never lost a fight in his life, but for the first time Jadice was unsure that he could take down this foe alone.

Soren got to his feet, dusted off his chest as if nothing had happened, and looked up at Jadice confidently. He was not even breathing hard.

Jadice clapped his hands together lightly in an applause. "That was an interesting display," he said, hiding the fact that he was so impressed by his opponent. Then he raised his helmet from his side and slipped it onto his head. He flipped the angular visor over his eyes and gazed at Soren through the horizontal slit. Then Jadice reached back and pulled his great sword from the holster on his back and put it through a quick, one-handed practice swing, an impressive feat on its own.

Soren flicked at his nose casually, and then his demeanor changed in a flash. The crimson warrior quickly charged at Jadice. In response, the larger twin kneeled in a ready stance and raised his sword at an angle with the tip resting on the ground.

Soren leaped, and his foot hit the edge of the sword. Jadice braced himself as Soren's weight landed on his weapon. Then Soren pushed off and kicked the back of Jadice's head as he followed through. Soren hit the ground behind Jadice, and they turned to face each other.

Jadice smiled to himself, secure in his armor's complete protection. "That was unimpressive," he said.

"Enough!"

Aedan's yell split the crisp air and stopped the duel. He was standing in the entryway to the inn, clasping Penndarius tight in front of him and tapping his dagger suggestively against the scholar's neck.

Soren spat on the ground and put his hands into the pockets of his loose-fitting black pants as if it had all been only a slight bother. "Damn!" he said to the sky. You should just have walked away, he said to himself.

"Is everything all right, little brother?" Aedan called to his twin.

"We are fine," Jadice responded.

"I think your men might disagree," Aedan said with amusement as he pointed to the guardsmen groaning on the ground.

"They needed the exercise," Jadice retorted, without revealing a hint of concern. He did not want his men to know that he was worried about them and chance injuring their pride. "They will be fine."

Aneurus and the vanquished guardsmen began to stir and slowly make their way outside, holding their wounds. Jadice walked to Soren and gripped his wrists. Soren jerked away, but he then saw Aedan tap his dagger on Penndarius's shoulder to remind him to comply.

Jadice grabbed him again. "Hold still!" he said as he took a rope restraint from his belt and bound Soren's hands tightly in front of him. "We must take both of them to Diametries," he called to Aedan, then turned to address Soren again. "When you were at the back of the inn, the Speaker sent us a missive," he said and pushed Soren toward the road. "Move!"

As they were walking away, Jadice noticed that his helmet felt ill-fitted. He reached back and touched the surface and was stunned to find a dent the size of Soren's foot in his solid metal headgear.

There is a growing notion amongst the peasantry that magi work only for the Pentacle, and that is incorrect. We train many magic users here, and in return for that tutelage we require their services for a tenure equal to the time they spent learning with us. Afterward they are bound to us no more and are free to seek whatever their hearts desire. Organizations such as the White Guard, and many others, count magi amongst those who serve them. They go to their new lives with our blessings and the power we taught them to manipulate.

- Aran Adamus the Grey, acting leader of the Pentacle

Chapter 10: Anger Cage

As others left the inn to observe the source of the commotion outside, a shadowy, hulking form dragged its way into Penndarius's room. Craven looked around for signs of people and found no one, but he sniffed the air and determined that whoever had been there had just recently left.

He locked onto a scent on a piece of clothing that had carelessly been tossed to the floor, then brought the shirt to his nose and breathed deep. The same scent seemed to be coming from outside the room, as well, and he slunk back toward the window and pulled himself onto the roof to hide from view. The scent was close, but it was in a crowded area with too many potential witnesses, so Craven bided his time. 

- End of Episode -

Make sure to like and add this episode to your library to subscribe to future releases. Follow me on Facebook and Twitter for updates on future content. Leave a tip or become my patron on Patreon to help support the channel. Links in the description below and on my author profile.

Thank you for all of your love and support

New Episodes of A Scholar's Journey: The Divine Tempest are released every Wednesday at 7AM PST.