Wednesday has come around again, and I’m happy to present this week’s flash fiction. I am also delighted that this is a continuation from last week’s tale.
Riz stared at the gloves. That the casters had trapped magic in them he didn’t doubt. Casters too precious to leave the shores instead sent those they had trained with artifacts bearing their powers. They sent the Magikers.
Riz was not Magiker.
“To arms!” The voice cried from nearby. Pulling his gaze from the gloves he saw the battle neared.
Raising one hand in front of him, Riz cried out as the first stumbled through the lines and onto the quarter deck. Stumbled, and locked onto the gloves on Riz’s hands. Strengthening his grip on the sword, he advanced. Greed showed in his sneer.
They didn’t have magic. A fact which had preserved the islands thus far.
Riz shrunk back. A fact he should have recalled before grabbing the gloves. They’d want them.
“Strike him,” a voice cried out wheezily. Riz looked from the raider to the captain. The man shoved another raider away and pointed his sword at Riz. “Strike him!”
“But… how!” he cried dodging as the nearest raider lunged for him. They danced over the deck with Riz trying to stay away. Blessedly a hand and not steel grabbed his shoulder.
Swinging about, Riz balled his hand into a fist and struck the raider.
Power flared.
Riz saw the man’s eyes widen as the power struck him, sending him flying from Riz.
He felt the power rebound on him. Shove him.
Riz tumbled into the wake behind the boat.
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