Pendulum Heroes

by James Beamon

  “Then go northwest,” Druze said. He looked at them like a father who knows his children are procrastinating.

  Jason reattached his finger and tossed the bowl, which disintegrated into air. Melvin, finally decent in the cloak, threw on her pack. The three of them made their way over to their hava-chaises. Druze presented Rich with a ring.

  “Wear this. It will reduce the cost somewhat.”

  Rich nodded and took the ring. “Thanks.” He put it on right there.

  “And thank you, Majora,” Rich said “for helping me with my casting and everything.”

  The way he looked and talked to her made her smile. She approached Rich. “Call me Rew.” Then she leaned and whispered into his ear.

  “You really are sweet, Rich. If you ever want to talk and you feel I’m worth the cost, remember this...” she told him, in slow, hushed whispers how to create a scry and how to attune to her. She hoped he would remember and, better yet, use it.

  When she stepped back Rich’s friends were giving him eye language again.

  What’s going on with you and her? Jason and Melvin’s eyes asked.

  Rich’s eyes only flickered briefly to his friends. Then he cleared his throat, started his hava-chaise and turned it northwest.

  Rew watched them depart into the unknown. She felt Druze come to stand beside her.

  “What was that you gave him?” she asked. Nothing mitigates the cost.

  “Insurance,” Druze said. “I do not like this task in their hands, Rew. Our very lives at are stake.”

  “I know,” Rew replied. Druze was sounding every bit like the father he was to her. “That’s why I wanted to take care of this myself.”

  “Your role is here, daughter, to guide the Hierophane. It is not to meander around the world in search of monsters. And it is not to develop crushes on children.”

  Rew looked at him with steel in her eyes. “I am over three hundred and fifty years old, father. What man isn’t a child to that?”

  “Do not be fooled by the length of his beard. He is baby fresh.”

  “And he has risen to a challenge men twice his age would cower from.”

  “Hmmph.” He walked off, his purpose and destination unknown to her. Even now, after centuries, his ways were sometimes utter mysteries.

  Rew stayed in the courtyard, watching the three silhouettes grow smaller in the distance.

  Chapter 11

  Hollowers

  Mike was impressed with the beer. They kept it cold. And it was good, even though it smelled like breakfast cereal.

  One of the beehive buildings near the lake served as the bar in Maltep. The high domed ceiling made the barroom feel big, which Mike could appreciate after being stuck in that little wagon for hours. Only a few of the nasrans were in there with him and Runt; everyone else was outside checking out the caravan. The ones that had stayed didn’t seem happy about out-of-towners.

  They probably weren’t happy about anything. Mike wouldn’t be if he lived here. Seemed like the only thing to do in this town was get drunk on part of his complete breakfast. Speaking of, he sipped his cereal beer. Hopefully by the time they finished drinking, Ruki would be ready to push off.

  Ruki’s appearance in the bar settled that mystery. An old nasran was with him, probably the same dude he had been talking to during the wagon unload. They came over to Mike and Runt’s table.

  “Ah, my team’s already procured a table for us to finalize our transaction. Excellent,” Ruki said as he and the nasran filled in the empty chairs. He motioned to the bartender for more beers.

  “Damn, you not done yet?” Mike asked.

  Ruki took the question with a smile, his road-dusted face and clean circles around his eyes making him look like a reverse raccoon. “We’ve hit a bit of a business snag, Mike. Nothing a little discussion over drinks can’t fix.”

  The nasran shook his head. “I’m afraid there is naught you can say to sway us on this matter.”

  Ruki’s smile brightened as he leaned toward the nasran. “Hear me out, Gazi. The original agreement the town officials made with Provos Trading was for six crates of nasran craftworks and three crates of hexes. You can’t just substitute three more craftwork crates for the hexes like the only factor here is box arithmetic.”

  Gazi didn’t respond to the smile. “We understand craftwork and hex are not the same; we make them both. The extra craftwork crates are compensation for the hexes that we will not provide.”

  The beers had made their way to the table, but neither Gazi nor Ruki seemed to notice. Mike noticed; the waitress had brought him and Runt another one. It was the only perk to being stuck in the middle of their haggling.

  Ruki dropped the smile. “Let me get this straight. Barring all other factors, you have enough hexes here in Maltep to easily fill one crate with offensive hexes, another with defensive hexes, and a third with utility hexes, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you won’t?”

  “No, we won’t.”

  “Let me tell you something, Gazi,” Ruki said, pointing a finger at the stone-faced nasran. “I didn’t make this trip to Maltep to feed kids licorice and to pick up some extra blankets and pottery. The only reason I’m taking craftwork in the first place is because I have a perpetual grudge against empty space in the caravan. I came for the hexes. You can give me what we agreed upon, so why are we even discussing it?”

  Gazi didn’t answer right away. He looked at Ruki, his slender fingers massaging the wide open space between his eyes like he was trying to work just the right words into his head. At last he spoke.

  “Hollower attacks come almost daily now, threatening nasran settlements from here all the way to the Burai Plateau. Hexes are our best defense; we cannot trade them away, reserve or otherwise. Times have changed since we first made our arrangement.”

  “You want to know what else is changing?” Ruki asked, his face screwed in angry disbelief. “My reputation is changing, Gazi. And you’re the one who’s changing it. You think I can show up at the Hierophane with none of their order and go ‘Times are hard for the nasran’? You think they’ll say ‘Can’t wait to put in another order with those Provos Traders’? Or ‘That Ruki Provos has my confidence; I wager he would follow a demented mage through a megrym’s asshole if it meant delivering what he promises’? You think they’ll be saying that when I deliver nothing but excuses?!”

  Mike guessed he was the only one who thought that was funny. Runt was in his frosty new glass like everyone else at the table was speaking in a foreign language. Gazi’s stone face didn’t twitch.

  “My concern lies in protecting nasran lands, not kept promises to factory mages,” Gazi said.

  “Well, kept promises are my concern. Ruki Provos delivers what he promises. Protect this dirt pile after you settle your debts.”

  Ruki’s words broke Gazi’s poker face. His anger was obvious. “Maltep is a sacred site,” he said in a low growl.

  “Then treat it as sacred!” Ruki cried. “Or is this the holy site of broken deals? Maltep stands as sacred as the dust between my toes if it comes between honest agreements.”

  Mike didn’t know if Ruki’s words persuaded or angered Gazi; they all became victims of bad timing. A little nasran kid ran into the beehive bar, his eyes wide with panic.

  “Hollowers!” he cried.

  All the nasrans in the room jumped out of their seats. Ruki looked in confusion as they all ran out of the bar. Mike and Runt went back to their beers. After watching the nasrans pour out of the bar, Ruki’s head jerked back to his security detail.

  “My caravan!”

  The three ran the short distance to the edge of town where the caravan sat. Coming around the lake and heading toward Maltep were four guys. It was hard for Mike to see with all the sun glare, but one was a man in armor, two were aians, and the last was a man in white that hurt Mike’s eyes the most to look at.

  Why were they almost at the town? The nasran should have seen them coming from th
e dry flats miles out. Mike wondered how worried could the folks of Maltep be about attacks if they didn’t even keep a decent watch.

  Swarms of nasrans armed with hatchets, daggers and glaives ran out to meet them. Those nasrans were fast runners on their backward knees, and they looked like serious business. Near the caravan, Gazi stood waving his hands, yelling for the armed nasrans to stop.

  “Wait for the Hexenarii,” he cried. “We’ll need their expertise!”

  The nasran warrior in the lead turned to face Gazi but kept his pace. “We’ve no time to wait for expertise! The Hollowers will make Maltep if we don’t stop them now.”

  Mike couldn’t understand what the fuss was about; the nasran fighters outnumbered those Hollower dudes five to one.

  The Hollowers seemed unconcerned about the approaching swarm. One of the aians dived into the lake. Moth wings unfurled behind the other aian and he took to the air. The guy in white just stood there while armored man unsheathed his sword and continued his stroll forward.

  “Doesn’t seem that dangerous,” Ruki said as he shielded his eyes with his hand and peered out at the Hollowers. His words echoed Mike’s thoughts.

  The moth aian fired his bow from where he hovered while reaching for another arrow. One of the rushing nasrans dropped. Moth fired again and grabbed another arrow as a second nasran dropped. Then a third fell as Moth reached for another arrow in the quiver between his fluttering wings.

  The armored man dropped three just as fast without breaking his stroll. The first nasran ran past him, disemboweled. The second and third dropped from single strikes faster than Mike’s eyes could track.

  Armored man dashed into the fourth, cutting a violent “X” that produced a cloud of red mist.

  The nasran closest to the armored man took a step back. He caught an arrow to the neck, death by moth archer.

  Now all the nasrans were backing up. But their backs were to the lake. Some of the nasran were already at the water’s edge.

  Three tentacles shot out from the lake and wrapped themselves around the faces of the nasrans closest to the water. They pulled the nasrans into the lake without ceremony. A pool of red started spreading in the lake.

  The aian emerged from the lake, floating on his back. One hand held a short spear. His other three limbs had morphed into long squid tentacles. He threw his spear into the back of a nasran on shore. Then his three tentacles shot out; one retrieved the spear and the other two grabbed more nasrans to drag into the water.

  There wasn’t but six nasrans left. Five now that the flying moth dropped one. Four after armored man cut another one into confetti. Those four bolted back towards town.

  “The living gods...” Ruki muttered.

  These guys were like the special forces of special forces. In less than a minute they had completely encircled a combat force five times their size and reduced them down to equal number. That was some serious long division.

  The nasran reinforcements had arrived. A dozen archers had assembled on one of the hills overlooking the lake. More warriors were coming down to where Mike, Runt and Ruki stood at the front of the caravan. The seven warriors in the front were the strangest Mike had seen yet.

  They didn’t have any weapons, at least none he could see. Each of them went shirtless, instead wearing a black cape with a hood. The exposed skin of their arms, chest and abs was covered in black tribal tattoos. They each sported a belt with bunches of little wooden figures attached to it.

  Every belt had to have hundreds of those wooden figures, all of them carved into various shapes, their edges dipped in silver. Mike swore no two looked alike.

  Meanwhile, the archers on the hill let fly a volley of arrows. They all came down on the armored man.

  Most of the arrows glanced off the armor. But one arrow lodged in his neck. He did not drop. There was no blood. Armored man kept walking as if nothing had happened.

  “What the fuuhh...” Mike’s words trailed off, his mind still trying to work out what his eyes had just seen.

  The Hollower in white, motionless this whole time, raised his hands in the air. The sun pulsed like a light bulb getting extra current. Mike had to shield his eyes with his hands as he saw a bolt of light come down from the sun and crash into the Maltep hill. The nasran archers screamed as the explosion blasted them off the hill or into ashes.

  Rock bits rained down on the town below.

  The tattooed, caped nasran in the lead turned to address the traditional warriors behind him.

  “These are Hollowers, not timid deer! Tell your remaining archers to scatter, not congregate. Focus their fire on the flyer. If they see his arrow point in their direction, they must take cover; he will not miss.”

  He pointed to the nasrans with hatchets and glaives. “You all need to circle back, behind the town and around to get to the Sun Cleric. Form two attack circles around him, hatchets in front, kneeling down for waist high attacks. Glaives stand behind the hatchetmen, stabbing his upper body. Do not let lack of blood be the measure of your success—keep stabbing. And be quick, as the Sun Cleric will surely bring a sunpulse down on his own head just to kill all of you around him.

  The hatchet and glaivemen left without a word.

  “Hexenarii,” he said, looking at the caped nasrans around him. “We focus on the knight.”

  The Hexenarii proceeded slow and cautious, fanning out like they were trying to corner a rabid animal. The armored man continued his stroll toward them, devoid of expression to this change in adversary.

  When they got close to enough to spit, the armor man rushed the Hexenarii in front of him.

  That Hexenarii pulled one of the wooden figures from his belt and yelled “Pyre!” He burst into flames.

  The two Hexenarii on either side of him pulled wood from their belts too. One yelled “Stone” and the other yelled “Life”. They tossed their wooden figures at the Hexenarii covered in flame.

  He turned to stone just as the armored man was upon him in mid-strike. His sword bounced off harmlessly. The nasran made of burning stone moved, apparently alive and well underneath the flaming rock. He embraced the armored man, bringing him deep into the fire.

  Another trio of Hexenarii did the same sequence with the wood pulled from their belts. The new burning stone man moved behind the armored man and hugged. The armored man was trapped between two burning stone walls.

  The remaining five Hexenarii pulled wood pieces and yelled “Heat”. They threw the wood, which stuck on the trapped man’s armor. Within seconds, the armor turned molten red.

  The arrow that had protruded from armored man’s neck had burned away awhile ago. If he had any reaction to being broiled alive in his armor, he didn’t show it... not even through sweat. He just struggled wordlessly to get free of the stone arms hugging him tight.

  The sun stole Mike’s attention. It pulsed. He looked and saw the Sun Cleric surrounded by nasrans going to town with hatchets and glaives.

  The light pulse never came down. The Sun Cleric dissolved, as if he had been made of nothing but crinkled parchment paper.

  Mike looked back to the armored man to see him dissolve as well. In a matter of seconds, the stone men were only holding themselves.

  The moth guy had four arrows stuck in him. He kept in a state of fluttery, sporadic movement to avoid arrows that came from random directions. His arrow was constantly drawn and ready but stayed unreleased as he was forced to switch targets when the nasran archers dropped out of sight.

  The two burning stone men were back to normal. All seven Hexenarii dove into the lake.

  Moth aian fluttered around for several minutes. The archers who ducked behind cover whenever his arrow tip pointed their way left him nothing to fire at. Likewise, the archers couldn’t get a bead on him, with him moving like a moth dancing around a light bulb.

  The Hexenarii emerged from the lake. They pulled a wood piece from their belts and uniformly yelled “Web.” The wood became what looked like spider webbing, which they threw
into the air at moth aian.

  All the lines missed him except one. That brought the moth’s attention to the Hexenarii below. He released his long held arrow at the nasran that snagged him with the web.

  It was too fast to counter. The arrow embedded itself deep into the Hexenarii, who crumpled.

  The moth’s pause allowed the remaining six Hexenarii to catch him in their webs. The six lines kept the moth from reaching his quiver or flapping away. They pulled the moth down, where waiting glaive and hatchetmen descended on him and stabbed it into nothingness.

  Ruki Provos turned to Mike and Runt. He pointed behind his back to the where the last Hollower had been, his eyes wide. “You don’t see this kind of shit sitting behind a counter in Suusteren!”

  Chapter 12

  Accomplished Accomplices

  If nothing else, Mike learned that nasran women were passionate mourners. None of that quiet grief for them. They wailed like air raid sirens as they threw dirt on their faces and held their freshly fallen loved ones. For any one dead warrior, there were several women clutching the body and several men trying to console them.

  “We should prolly go,” Mike said to Ruki. Them being there seemed a little too invasive for his taste.

  “I’m not letting these shriekers run me off,” Ruki said, crinkling his nose as if an odor offended him. “These women believe they have to wail their sorrow to keep the spirits from coming back angry. Until I get what’s mine, you’d better get used to the sounds of bereavement.”

  He looked around at the various groups of nasrans holding or hauling off their dead. “Where’s Gazi?” he asked.

  Mike panned through the crowd with his sorry excuse for daytime vision. There were too many nasrans and he was still at a point of racial unfamiliarity where they all sort of looked alike. Despite this, one nasran woman held his attention.

  Her hair was black, streaked with gray. She sat on the ground, her hand resting on the body of a fallen archer. She didn’t wail and her face wasn’t covered with tear-streaked dirt. There was no crowd around her or the body she silently mourned for. Instead of looking down at the body, she looked dead straight at them, a cold intensity burning in her eyes like this was all their fault.