Yipion - part 4

Almost a week had passed and the armies of the Mountain Kingdoms – Inur’l and Orago – were now up the Black Mountain, seizing their victory. At the front was Yipion and his mighty behemoth. He didn’t care for the men of the Kingdoms, though they were his vassals. His eyes had long since been set upon the fortresses at the peak. There he knew he would find his true enemy.

On the morning of the seventh day Yipion woke up to the sound of the voice:

“Your father comes. Be…nice,” it laughed quietly at its own words.

On the hill Yipion saw a forward party from the Kingdoms’ army. There was nothing peculiar about it, and he wondered if the voice was trying to trick him.

When the horsemen arrived, one of them stepped off his horse and removed his helmet. Dressed as a common soldier, Yipion’s father, the King would at long last come to meet his son.

“Son…” the King mumbled, tears in his eyes.

“Father, you may be gone,” the prince said coldly.

Shock spread over his father’s face, speechless, motionless.

“I don’t know if I shall feel sad, sorry or have you killed…”

“Just be gone,” Yipion faced away from the party and leaped onto the behemoth’s back.

The King burst in tears, angry tears, frustrated tears. His face turned red, and he clenched his fists. Back on his horse, he rode down the hill and ordered an immediate withdrawal.

“We shall take the mountain back…once he comes crawling back for help,” he told one of his generals.

The voice heard everything. It always did. And it told Yipion, who didn’t care at all about the men of the Kingdoms. And so up the mountain he went, flying atop his mighty beast.

Suddenly, the air froze, his mouth spitting puffs of vapour. He instantly readied his sword, and imbued his skin with a warm energy. But the air was ever colder, and colder, until he had the beast land, but on the ground it was cold still. So cold the behemoth started shivering, spasms running through its body. Yipion conserved his energy, deeming the creature a dead weight.

And so it died. Frozen to death.

“Death by frost,” Yipion whispered in a strange tone, still not used to speaking.

Death by frost, Yipion knew, was a special kind of spell. A skill only known to great masters of the Arts. It made a spirit lose all its heat through manipulation of the Flux. And then he knew he was in danger. His mystical energy couldn’t stop the spell, but only compensate for the lost heat. As he walked slowly, he realized his doom. The spell was getting stronger and stronger, and even though he was almost unmatched in controlling magic spells, he couldn’t stop it.

Eventually it would come to a battle of endurance. A battle between two great magicians, for who had the most energy to keep their spell running.

And Yipion would lose, for his opponent, more than a spell, had an army.

So he acted fast. He conjured two spirits of power and fire to aid him. The only way to stop the incantation was to find the caster. And he couldn’t be too far.

Yipion felt a sudden burst of energy as the spirits carried him over cliffs and openings in the mountain side. They rushed up the hills, and as they were about to jump over a deep crevice, the voice yelled in Yipions mind:

“There!” it referred to the huge crack in the rock, peering over a deadly fall.

The spirits stopped, and a ball of light filled the huge hole. Inside, a robed figure sat. As the spirits dropped down, it stood up and looked directly at Yipion’s eyes.

“Found you!” Yipion declared.

“No, prince. I found you.”