Firebrand 8 the sage, p.1
Firebrand 8: The Sage, page 1
THE SAGE
©2025 D.E. OLESEN
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the authors.
Aethon Books supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact editor@aethonbooks.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.
Aethon Books
www.aethonbooks.com
Print and eBook design, layout, and formatting by Josh Hayes.
Published by Aethon Books LLC.
Aethon Books is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead is coincidental.
All rights reserved.
ALSO IN SERIES
Firebrand
The Novice
The Fire-Touched
The Acolyte
The Spellslinger
The Warrior
The Renegade
The Adventurer
The Sage
Want to discuss our books with other readers and even the authors?
JOIN THE AETHON DISCORD!
Calling all LitRPG fans: be the first to discover groundbreaking new releases, access incredible deals, and participate in thrilling giveaways by subscribing to our exclusive LitRPG Newsletter.
https://aethonbooks.com/litrpg-newsletter/
CONTENTS
Summary
1. Deadlands
2. Restless Encounter
3. Depths
4. Around the Ring
5. Trio
6. Where it Began
7. Where it Ended
8. A Tomb Below
9. Phantom Threats
10. Arch
11. Mage
12. Another Day
13. Two Against One
14. With Great Responsibility
15. Take Care
16. Into the North
17. Howling Flames
18. Guidance
19. Full Circle
20. Out of Many
21. Celestial Light
22. Hunters
23. A Killer’s Skin
24. Revisited
25. Returned
26. Reunited
27. Recruited
28. Requested
29. Talents in Stone
30. Petrified
31. Master and Rival
32. The Words of a Firebrand
33. Old Acquaintances
34. Two Rabbits
35. Taking Shape
36. Signs Below
37. Senses and Sensibilities
38. Keeping a Close Eye
39. Springing Traps
40. Weathering Missives
41. A Senatorial Response
42. All the Animals of the Forest
43. The Laws of Men
44. The Sound of Laughter
45. The Last Mage of Archen
46. A Triumvirate Divided
47. Hasty
48. Maximilian of Marche
49. The Guns of Nahavand
50. Landfall
51. The March of the Mages
52. Declaration of Intent
53. The First Clash
54. Reaching
55. Gestures
56. Labours
57. Messages
58. A Helping Arm
59. Abomination
60. Good Fences
61. Old Scars
62. Neighbours
63. An Old Face
64. An Existential Question
65. Magic and Mail
66. Seasonal Celebrations
67. Friends in Strange Places
68. Master and Apprentice
69. An Educational Meeting
70. Golden Inspiration
71. Bodies and Bones
72. Nocturnal Council
73. Rest in Peace
74. The Rising Tide
75. Night Never-ending
76. Daystar
77. Dead Reunion
78. The Lair of a Lich
79. A Fiendish Encounter
80. Those That Remain
81. Scattered Plans
82. The Gate Is Barred
83. The Battle for Archen
84. Trapped
85. If Not Victors
86. Sage Deliberation
87. The Price
88. Counting the Hours
89. Choices
90. The Nether
91. A World of Will
92. Three
93. Acorn
Thank you for reading The Sage
Groups
LitRPG
SUMMARY
Freed from obligations and duties, Martel and Eleanor leave Morcaster behind. No longer captain prefect or legate, they can travel freely as they wish. They cross Aster to visit Martel’s family and the mausoleum of the Fontaine family in Aquila. They befriend a Tyrian skáld, Rolf, in the ruins of an Archean outpost and venture deep into Tyria, slaying a lindworm. Their journey takes them across the ocean to the Western Isles and back again to Khiva, where their presence helps conclude the peace negotiation between that realm and Aster. Afterwards, they continue to Sindhu, where Martel studies alchemy, and once more to Tyria, where war is being provoked by Asterian legionaries and Tyrian berserkers alike.
A final confrontation at the Tyrian solstice gathering leads to a duel between the two Asterian mages against a berserker and a skáld, their friend Rolf. The southerners take victory, though at the cost of grievous injuries to Rolf, and while war has been averted, the Asterians quickly leave Tyria, which has become hostile to their kind.
Months later, they inflict punishment on the Asterian noble who sought to cause the war against the Tyrian tribes, just as he caused the previous strife with Khiva. After years of suffering and countless grievances inflicted upon them, Martel and Eleanor kill the duke of Cheval, leaving him burned beyond recognition in an unmarked grave in the forest.
Their sojourns continue beyond what the songsters record. Across continents, Martel and Eleanor travel, until they once again meet with Atreus, the mage of legends. He extends an invitation to them both, to journey where none has dared to go for centuries: to Archen, the fabled city of mages and magic that fell to ruin.
ONE
DEADLANDS
South of Tyria, north of Khiva, and east of Aster lay the deadlands once known as Archen. Despite the unflattering moniker, the lands were not barren or bereft of life. Lush grasslands provided a home for critters and birds, and a river flowed, teeming with fish. Even so, no people dwelt here. The Tyrians did not come to hunt, the Asterians did not settle despite their thirst for new territory, and the Khivans only looked north to utter curses.
The reason lay on a hilltop with the Archean mountains beyond; a ruined city where no living person had dwelt for three centuries. Its reputation sufficed to discourage people from journeying into these lands; should any have braved to enter all the same, tempted by rumours of fabled magic and artefacts, none had returned.
Nonetheless, a trio moved through the deadlands, disturbing mice in the grass and their progress watched by birds of prey; with determined steps, three mages travelled towards Archen.
Taking the first night watch, Martel sat on a log, watching his companions. He used his sense of magic to check the surroundings for heat intermittently, and both he and Eleanor had placed runes of warnings around their small campsite. It was deep in summer, making for a pleasant night; while Martel could enchant a heating stone that did not attract attention unlike a campfire, it was not necessary.
Years had passed since Martel and Eleanor had left their duties behind, exploring the continents, until they met the Archean mage in Morcaster. He had asked for their help, and together, they had set out for what promised to be the most intriguing – and dangerous – journey yet.
“You didn’t wake me.” Atreus’s voice reached him as the spellbreaker rolled over to look at him.
“I’m not tired. I thought I’d let you have a bit more shuteye.”
“No particular need. I don’t sleep much myself.” The Archean got up and sat down next to Martel on the log. “Habit of the life, I suppose. Or maybe once you’re a centenarian for the third time, you just don’t need much sleep.”
A mirthless chuckle followed the jest concerning his lifespan, far exceeding what it should. After spending some fivedays travelling with Atreus, Martel had gotten the sense that the Archean used humour in this fashion, allowing him to speak light-heartedly about matters that weighed on him.
Another time, Martel might have f
“What do you expect to find in Archen?” They had never truly discussed this, despite all the time that had passed since Atreus first requested their help, or the fivedays since they left Morcaster. Martel knew the Archean felt an obligation to cleanse the place of any foul magic or restless undead – a final tribute to his home and his duty as a spellbreaker. But specifics might help ease Martel’s concerns.
“I hope we find nothing but windswept ruins and old bones. That the cataclysm granted a swift and merciful death to everyone, and nothing further happened.” Atreus paused. “I suspect that we’ll find all manner of undead creatures,” he continued. “And I fear that we might encounter terrors beyond our powers to defeat.”
“Such as?”
“I have faced just about every creature this world can conjure up,” the spellbreaker explained. “I understand their abilities, and my spells can match them. But only once have I stood against a monster from beyond here.”
Martel suppressed a shiver as he spoke. “The fiends of Nether.”
“When Archen fell, Elena and her conspirators were trying to create a portal. Whether they sought to unleash the Nether upon us or they had some other purpose, I can’t say. Either way, I’ve no doubt that the fiends would have poured through.” Atreus turned his head, glancing into the dark horizon where Archen lay, hidden from view.
“Surely if any had come through, we would have heard of it in the past three centuries.”
“Assuming they were not somehow trapped in Archen.” The spellbreaker turned to look at Martel with a sardonic smile. “That’s what I fear the most. That we unleash something we can’t stop.”
“And yet we journey hence.”
Atreus blew out his breath. “Nothing lies undisturbed for eternity. If not us, someone else will one day stumble upon those ruins and release whatever there may be to release. Better it is I. At least I stand a chance.”
“You’ve defeated such a fiend before.”
“I did.” Atreus looked at him again, this time with his jester’s smile that could mean anything. “With help.”
Martel knew he should not ask, but he did so anyway. “And what happened to your companions in that fight?”
“They died.”
“If you are not going to sleep,” a woman’s voice interjected, “does that mean you will take my watch as well? Assuming you can do so without waking me up.”
“Sorry,” Martel mumbled while Atreus simply repeated his half-smiling expression.
“The fault is mine,” the spellbreaker admitted. “As is the watch. Both of you, sleep. I’ll keep both eyes out until morning comes.”
Eleanor pulled her blanket around herself and rolled around again. With a nod at Atreus, Martel lay down and made himself as comfortable as he could. He tried to focus on the sound of Eleanor’s breathing, ignoring the presence of their companion to fool himself into thinking it was simply him and her, like on their previous travels. After a while, he eventually found sleep.
TWO
RESTLESS ENCOUNTER
The land sloped gently up towards what remained of Archen. Its walls remained, but any buildings above a certain height had been blasted away, and the landscape lay littered with debris, beginning miles away from the city and growing more frequent as they approached. It reminded Martel of the tower he and Eleanor had investigated in Nordmark, where the top had likewise been blown apart and scattered around, simply on a much greater scale.
They reached what had once been the gates; only the gap in the wall indicated its location. Any wooden part of the construction had long since rotted away. In fact, nature had done its part to reclaim Archen. Tall grass sprouted amidst cobblestones, and vines rose up along the ruins. Here and there, a tree had managed to grow. All the same, Martel noticed the silence, which only added to the eerie mood that lay over the city. He released his sense of magic, but no heat returned to him other than that of his companions. No animals made their dwelling within the stone ring that had once been a thriving settlement of many thousands.
Besides informing Martel about the lack of heat, his sense of magic told him of something unpleasant in the air. Like a foul smell that irritated the nose, except when he drew breath, he did not notice anything. The malaise that lingered over the city was magical in nature, but Martel could not determine more than that. Its source, its significance, and how to combat it – he had no idea. He hoped that Atreus would have more answers, including whether they should fear that it could affect them in time, like a magical rot that might set in the longer they stayed in this place.
The place felt like a graveyard, and breaking the silence seemed disrespectful, yet it was necessary. "Where to?" Martel asked, and the sound of his own voice disturbed him.
"I suspect if we simply venture forth, it will become apparent," Atreus replied.
Martel was not sure what to make of this answer, but he would be bringing up the rear regardless, so he allowed himself to fall one step behind. Eleanor took the lead, sword drawn in her hand, and Atreus followed in the middle. The spellbreaker wielded no weapons; he had a knife in his belt, but that was a tool rather than an instrument of war. He did not require any, presumably, given the vast powers at his disposal.
Walking behind, Martel clutched his black staff with one hand while the other slipped under his tunic to feel the enchanted necklace that Atreus had provided him and Eleanor. It was of the same improvised kind that the spellbreaker had given them years ago, in the catacombs underneath Morcaster, before they were to face the maleficar Elena. It protected their minds from magic to dominate or influence their thoughts; Atreus had promised that the enchantment would last at least a fiveday. Martel hoped that if the malevolent magic lingering in the air could somehow be harmful to humans, the enchanted necklace would protect against that as well.
"Wait," Atreus spoke quietly. Both his companions arrested their movements. The spellbreaker closed his eyes. "There's a change. We've caused a disturbance."
"What does that mean?" Eleanor asked in the same tone of voice, raising her sword and shield.
"We should expect company."
Martel had experienced many different kinds of undead before. Those of the simplest kind, reanimated without soul or mind left, came in two varieties. Fast and dangerous, like the kind guarding the catacombs of Morcaster, or slow and shuffling, as encountered in the Archean outpost in Nordmark. Archen itself contained the latter.
From all sides, leaving the ruined buildings, the undead appeared. With torpid movement, a host of skeletons converged upon the three travellers. Immediately, Martel summoned his wall of fire in half a circle to protect their backs and narrow the avenues of danger. This accomplished, he began delivering fire bolts from the tip of his staff, striking at every enemy in sight.
Holding the front line, Eleanor stood patiently; every time an enemy came within reach, she swiftly stepped forward and struck with a flaming sword to sever spines, and retreated again.
As for Atreus, he barely seemed to move. He only turned his head, focusing on an approaching enemy. He spoke no words, made no gestures, and no visible spell happened; yet every time, the skeleton that had drawn his ire collapsed into a pile of bones.
Martel did not keep an exact count, but when somewhere between twenty and thirty undead had been returned to the grave, the assault ended. He glanced at Atreus, unable to use his own otherwise trustworthy sense of heat to know if enemies remained; when the spellbreaker gave him a small nod, Martel dismissed his wall of flames and glanced around the street. Only bones lying amidst the debris met his eyes. Any clothing once worn by these unfortunate creatures had long since been consigned to decay. Martel tried for a brief moment to imagine how this place – these people had been before disaster struck. They would have been bakers, weavers, cobblers, or potters; the size of one skeleton struck by Martel's spell suggested it had been a child.
