Blast from the Past

by
Tom Haynes

Copyright 1999,2000,2006 - All rights reserved by the author.

The dawn was breathtaking in its own right. On most days, the elves would be basking in its warmth and celebrating the cycle of the forest. On this day, the majority of the elves were crispy corpses, smoldering in the light breeze. The rest were standing around, gazing off into some inner landscapes. Here and there, a few of the braver souls were trying to help the physically wounded, but they did not spare a glance for their other comrades.

A soft sputtering drifted in on the morning air. Some heads shot up in alarm and then relaxed at the familiar sight of a Nomad III as it lazily circles in over the battlegrounds and suddenly a line is released and someone repels down the rope to the scared ground. As soon as they are clear of the line, a squad follows the pathfinder.

The newly arrived squad of Paladins just stands as their plane lazily circles about and resumes its normal morning excursion. They then wait, staring impassively at the carnage. Finally, one of the weary survivors dusts himself off, runs his fingers through his sweat matted hair, dons his helmet, and saunters over to the newcomers.

"What the hell happened out there?" Koritigan asked his son.

"Sister dear was back in town", replied Caraval, "and she brought some friends."

"Those CAS deserters she has been hanging out with?" asked his father?

"Yes, and one mean wiz. He erected that monstrosity over there." he pointed to the still flailing mass of thorns and roses, "Our best magic and napalm hasn't withered it. I'd call an air strike of Agent Orange, but I could just see the conservatives having a field day with that tidbit on the news."

"I want the council to see it anyway. It conjures up images best forgotten." said Koritigan as he tried to pull his eyes away from the rose bush. He could see imprisoned Paladins, their flesh impaled by thorns and he could still see new thorns popping out of their skin. "At least the poor bastards looked like they died quickly."

"Dead? Why do you think we've been trying so vehemently to fry that bush? They are still alive. The ones you see have passed out from the pain. When they wake, you can listen as they scream. Nothing shuts it out." Caraval impassionately told his father. He walked over to a circle drawn on the grassy floor of the forest and pulled his Manhunter out. He took careful aim and shot at one of his oldest friends. A thorny branch whipped over and the bullet ricocheted off of one of the thorns. Thorns then burst out of the closed eyes of his friend, who shrieked a mindless blast out of a throat raw from a night of such piercings. As the scream died out, a soft bleating could be heard from the captive. "See, the bush protects them."

A branch darted out towards Caraval and he ducked back a meter. "We don't know how, or on what, but it is getting bigger."

"The wiz also scragged Azureflame and then animated both it and one of the CAS warriors. I have seen and fought zombies, ghouls, and insect spirits, but none of them compared to the terror induced by these undead creatures. Finally, he bombarded us with waves of mana bolts. We thought he would eventually collapse from the strain, but he kept on throwing bolt after bolt." added Caraval.

"Azureflame dead? Who is going to tell his father?" ponders the older elf, ignoring the remaining comments from his son.

"Dead twice, you can see the smoldering remains about 100 meters into the forest." replied his son. "Listen, did you bring the memory crystal like I asked?"

"Yes, but tell me more about this mage. No-one should be able to call forth such magics for decades." stated the father. He made no effort to bring forth the crystal his son had just requested.

"Give me the damn crystal and I will show him to you. Or do you want the image to blur?" in his anger, Caraval failed to mention that he would never forget the stranger who incinerated his command.

The father fished in a belt pouch and handed over the blue-green crystal. Caraval stared into the murky depths, calling forth the image of the man he planned to throw into the living roses. Slowly the silver-haired wizard started to appear. At first the image was blurry and then it was double. He twisted his fingers over imaginary knobs, fine tuning the clarity.

The older elf sighed at the dependence of the youth of today on technology. He believed that once the mana levels started to peak, technology would wilter away under the glare. He wanted his son free of the taint of the machine, but it was hard to undo lessons learned early. His sister was much worse - at times he despaired of her ever turning away from the modern world.

As the image snapped into focus, Caraval was astonished to hear his father let out a quick gasp. He did not know if it was for the stranger or the white disk. During the battle, he did not recall seeing the disk, but his subconscious must have attached some significance to it being there. "What is it father?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing. I will meet you back in the city." was the reply he got.

"What about Azureflame? Who is going to tell his father that his pride and joy is mostly ashes?" he pounded.

"I will, I will, don't worry. I'll handle Lowfyr. You just get your Paladins back to camp. Don't let word of this leak." Kortigan dismissed his son by turning away. He quickly spun back around and he chose to ignore, for now, the resentment, which flared from the younger elf's eyes. "By the way, how did the human kill Azureflame? By magic or by blade?" he asked.

"How did you know he had a sword?" rejoined his son.

As Kortigan turned away for the last time, he threw back over his shoulder, "Then perhaps he was not a wizard after all?"