I returned Ezra’s glance with one of ice.
I’m not a person who gives up control lightly. I handed the reins to Murov because I had little choice, but I was aware of the risks. He could get us lost, or he could lead me straight to the Sway mage-hunters’ base of operations. I had no reason to trust him, but I preferred this to the other choice, which was to leave this duo behind and start back at square one. I detested the idea of admitting that the day had been one big failure.
As for Ezra…
This was my show. Mine. The purple-eyed midget intruded upon my life because they were too afraid to travel alone, and then acted as if the script was theirs to write and edit as they wished. They promised that I wouldn’t harm Myris? If that’s the way things unfolded, then I’d love to see Ezra try to stop me. A goose might as well try to turn back an airship.
Without a word, I handed the knife back to its owner and followed Murov. He led the way confidently, even though he’d just been knocked out and dragged an indeterminate distance through the forest. As I walked, my mind wandered back to the skirmish in the clearing.
I had always had an affinity for ice. The idea that it was more potent than my fire magic wasn’t a revelation – I knew that already. What I hadn’t expected was the enormous gulf between the two. Working with a mere split lip, my fireball had been so ponderous as to be impractical. In a real battle against a foe with half a brain, I wouldn’t be afforded the time to slowly build the blaze. Yet with the same minimal amount of blood, I conjured and fired a potentially-lethal piece of ice in the blink of an eye.
On impulse, I pulled up my sleeve to inspect my cut. My arm was smeared with dried blood, but the wound itself still oozed red. This was a good chance to practice. I shrugged the sleeve back down, then held out a hand and concentrated. A ball of ice appeared at my fingertips in an instant and rocketed away into the trees. A crack reverberated through the forest as it ended its flight on a sturdy trunk.
As expected; now for the unknown.
Sparks ignited and swelled into a small blaze. I fed it my power, growing it into a roaring head-sized ball. I watched it critically for a moment before allowing it to fizzle out. The entire process took perhaps three seconds; still long, though not unworkably so. The greater quantity of blood certainly made a difference. The strategy was clear – if I was only bleeding a little bit, stick to ice. If I was wounded, my options were much greater. But where was the boundary between ‘practical’ and ‘impractical’?
Bah. So many variables now. And I hadn’t even considered the other elements yet, such as lightning or air. I suspected that I was in for many long, painful nights of practice and experimentation before I developed any sense of comfort with my magic in its new form.
How I loathed this curse on my power.
