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Frodi startled from sleep, alarm bells clanging discordantly. He lay still and listened for a few seconds before jumping from the bed and pulling on his clothes.
Eydís sat up groggily. “Where are you going?”
He rolled his eyes fondly at his wife as he tugged at his left boot and hopped toward the door. “How do you not hear the alarm bells? There’s a fire.”
“Be careful!”
Frodi ran as quickly as he was able for the fire that even from this distance he could feel tickling and teasing his magic. If I can feel it from here, it’s got to be big.
As he approached the Ostfold market square, he saw that two other Verglas fire magic users had already arrived and a third puffed up behind.
Frodi assessed the situation. Several of the wooden structures in the town square were burning, three of which were entirely engulfed. He barked to his team, “Lysander, take the center structures. I’ll take the north end of the street. Markus and Fiola, take the south end.”
As the other mages moved into position, Frodi scooped up his magic and sent it toward the flames. He felt the fire resisting him for a moment, hungry and angry, but within seconds the fiery animal was quelling. He calmed and soothed the flames, feeling his magic bending even the tiniest spark to his will. Feeling the fire grow contented, he paused long enough to check on the others.
The most powerful fire mage Frodi had ever met, Lysander, had the engulfed buildings almost completely quenched with only tiny flickers still rebelling against his magic. Further down the street, Fiola and Markus were well on their way to having those flames under control as well.
Frodi called to a nearby soldier, “Get some people to put out the smaller fires. We’ve got the worst of it contained, but we need help to be sure it doesn’t spread further.”
The soldier hurried to obey and soon a bucket brigade had formed.
Frodi stepped close to the flicker that had so recently been an inferno and crouched. He cradled the last of the flame in his cupped hands, then carefully closed his palms over it, snuffing it like a candle.
His magic seemed to skip around the square of its own accord, delightedly trying to find new playmates. To Frodi’s relief, there were none beyond the typical hearth fires slowly dwindling in the early morning hours.
Lysander approached. “What do you think, Frodi?”
“Is everything out?”
“Yup. It was over quickly. My magic was pretty disappointed.”
Frodi grinned. “No one but us would understand that, Lysander. They’d accuse you of wanting the town to burn.”
Lysander grimaced. “I don’t want people to get hurt or to lose their belongings. My magic just likes the caress of the flames.”
“I know. One of these days we’ll build a nice safe bonfire and let our magic play as long as it wants.”
Fiola walked up, yawning. “Can we go back to bed now?”
Frodi smiled proudly at the group in front of him. “Great job, lady and gentlemen. You’ve saved the day–er–night.”
Markus grumbled, “Why do fires always want to happen just when I’m having the best dreams?”
Frodi shrugged. “Just lucky, I guess.”
Markus harrumphed.
“Goodnight, team. Go get some rest. You’ve earned it.”