Delver Magic Book I: Sanctum's Breach

by Jeff Inlo

  Chapter 17

  As soon as Holli led the group of algors around the corner of a large boulder, she bid them halt.

  Ryson brought up the rear. He made a quick check behind him. Satisfied that the boulder now blocked the view of anyone, or anything, that trailed, he moved with uncanny swiftness and precision. He immediately gathered up two dozen stones of varying sizes. He had each algor rub each rock. He placed his dagger in his mouth, blade outward, and his spyscope in his back pocket. He opened his pouch for the quick return of the stones as well as the cores of the cactus fruit the algors ate during their previous rest.

  Ryson quietly pointed to a path close to a narrow cliff ledge. He made a swooping motion with his hand to Holli, making it clear she was to circle to the northeast using the ledge and the rocks to hide their movements.

  He then quickly motioned for the algors attention. He touched his head and bent it down. He pointed to his feet and lifted his toes from the ground so his weight rested on his heels. He looked back at the algors with an expression of expectancy.

  The algors acknowledged the request without reluctance or hesitation. They duplicated his actions, bowing their heads and lifting the claws on their toes from the ground. As Holli waved a final good-bye, the algors followed with their heads low, crouched over. They walked on the heels of their feet, keeping their claws clear from any surface. They took their own leave of the delver with placid acceptance.

  Ryson did not find the detached response even slightly surprising. He could not find it within himself to blame the algors for their apparent lack of concern. Ryson simply assumed that his departure from the group was nothing more than accepted activity for the algors. He was being considered just another algor that decided it was time to break from the pack. In that, Ryson found a slice of cheer. If these algors could accept him as just another part of their community, perhaps all of the inhabitants of the land could accept the inevitable changes they all faced.

  He shrugged off his inner contemplations as he returned his concentration to the task at hand. As the algors followed Holli toward a ravine, Ryson inspected the path they walked. He moved quickly but softly over the ground the algors passed. Not a single scratch mark. He nodded his head with satisfaction, but he took the precaution to wave his hand just above the ground. A thin layer of rock dust swirled about, then settled quickly. Any marks in the dirt were thus covered.

  Certain the actual path was now well hidden, the delver set about marking a false trail. He pulled the core of a cactus fruit and two of the stones from his pouch. He stepped off in a direction opposite from the path taken by Holli. He dropped the first stone as he bent low to the ground, and he tossed the second further off into the distance. He lightly pulled the dagger from his teeth, and with dagger in one hand and the soft remains of the fruit in the other, he began marking a trail.

  Shuffling along, hunched over, Ryson moved with unbelievable speed. His hands worked miracles in the fine arts known only to delvers. The dagger moved as if it knew by itself what it must do. The crisp sharp tip created short shallow scrapes in the rocky ground. Each scratch finished with a light curve as if made by an algor claw.

  With his other hand, Ryson rolled, dotted, pressed, and nudged the fruit core against the ground. He followed this trail with his nose as well as his eyes. He sniffed the air to ensure sufficient amounts of juice spilled out of the core to leave a scent trail. As the core disintegrated, he dropped it to the ground and smashed the remains under his boot. He quickly outlined the shattered core with scratch marks. The results looked nothing more than unwanted remains cast out and trodden underfoot.

  Further and further he moved, staying as low to the ground as possible. He continued laying the trail, digging into his pouch over and over until all the stones were cast upon the ground and all the fruit cores were left behind. With his pouch empty, he surveyed the long winding trail he had forged with satisfaction. He knew the markings were sufficient to lead even the best tracker away from the actual path of the algors.

  His only fear was that he might have been spotted while laying the trail. Try as he might, he could not locate the actual position of the mountain shag, thus he could never be sure if it still followed. If the shag saw only him, it might have seen through the deception and returned to the last known position of the algors.

  Ryson inspected the Sword of Decree which was sheathed and belted about his waist. His hand slid over the jeweled handle. With the sword in his possession, Holli and the algors were truly defenseless. He could picture the elf guard attempting to defeat the shag with the goblin short sword. Holli had stated that facing the shag with the Sword of Decree was risky. How much more dangerous was it to face the monster with a blade that was only slightly longer than his own dagger?

  He exhaled deeply as he looked back upon the trail. He had to make certain the shag remained after him and had not doubled back.

  He surveyed the land all about him. The steeper hills were closer now, within but a few moments of a brisk delver run. The summit of a nearby hill would provide an excellent view of the land stretching back toward the Lacobian desert. Two small trees stood lazily off to the side, their growth stunted by the rocky terrain and paltry amounts of water. The first tree grew but four paces from the end of the false trail.

  Ryson stepped to its base and then gazed back to the first tall hill ahead. Gauging the distance, he took his spyscope and inspected the sides up to the ridge. It met his needs. With a snap of his wrist, his retracted the spyscope, and with the stones now gone, placed it back in his pouch.

  With his knife, he cut a small piece of cloth from the sleeve of his shirt. One quick leap and he was already two branches up the tree and within reach of the highest branch. He pulled the branch down toward him and tied the cloth to the very tip. As he released it, he saw it bounce upward, bringing the cloth into clear sight. In but another moment, he was out of the tree.

  Once back to the end of the trail, he took one long look over his shoulder. He saw nothing. With that, he took off towards the ridge.

  The delver moved in a blur. As fast as he cut across the land, this also was not his top speed. Slowing his pace, he scraped the heels of his feet along the ground rather than bounce off the soles. Every now and again, he slowed to shuffle his feet wildly in all directions. He glanced down to make sure his movements left the desired effect. Anything with eyes could surely follow this trail.

  Upon reaching the base of the hill, he chose a path which would lead him to the previously selected ridge. He now cared little about leaving a trail or not. Step by step, he scampered up the incline, his movements flowing with casual ease. Like a sudden warm breeze rising up to the sky, he reached the summit without breaking stride.

  At the hill's peak, he brought himself to an immediate halt and dropped to a squat. He had not yet turned to regain sight of the false trail, but instead, he faced the horizon of the northeast. Even as he crouched low, seeking obscurity among the abounding rocks, he could not restrain from lifting his head to peer into the distance. The view was stunning.

  Ahead of him, taller and wider hills lined the country side. Unlike mountains with their steep slopes and jagged peaks each fighting for attention, the hills rested lazily, comfortably out into the horizon. They blended together as much as they stood apart. He could not help but think of the algors. If anything exemplified their willingness to come together yet seek separation, it was this setting of dignified, uncomplicated scenic beauty.

  The hillsides grew greener as Ryson looked farther to the north and east. While countless rocks and boulders remained abundant, tall grass, small brush, even wild flowers adorned the gradual slopes. While a greater variety and a greater number of trees appeared along the landscape, they remained scattered in clumps. Their presence magnified the rolling beauty of the landscape.

  At the base of each hill, the grass and wild plants grew with much more vigor. The green was thick and dark, forming passages of meadow
which curved and branched off in endless directions, a testament to the rains which could not break into the Lacobian desert but could bring life to these hills. He could almost hear the welcome drops and the gushing streams which would run down the slopes and collect at each base.

  With a delver's eye, he examined some of the closer hills and noted the light crevices running down the hillsides, a sure sign that the hilltops held snow in the winter. During the thaw of planting season, the melting ice and snow would create temporary streams, bringing even more water to the thick growth at the bottom.

  Hills such as these always drew Ryson's interest. Some delvers lived to explore rivers, or the shore lines of the sea. Still others sought out thick forests at the bases of tall mountains, but nothing appealed to Ryson more than a natural setting of peaceful hills.

  Other delvers might scoff at the idea, but Ryson marveled at the subtleties involved. Each hill looked so much like another, each rested complacently within its boundaries. They appeared as nothing more than a collection of sloped dirt and grass, even sometimes to a delver's eye, but not to Ryson's eyes. Each hill in itself was a mystery to unravel. Some would indeed turn out to be nothing more than solid empty mounds, while others held secrets of long ravines, secret meadows, or even unexplored caves.

  The sight of the hills pulled upon Ryson. It called to him, almost forcing him to forget his true purpose for climbing the ridge in the first place. This seemingly endless line of hills could occupy his curiosity for months, and part of his soul yearned to explore the flowing countryside with all due haste.

  The attraction, however, was not strong enough to force the image of Holli and the algors from his mind. Their plight reminded him of the shag. The hills would wait; in fact they may even prove useful. For now, the matter of the shag remained of the utmost importance.

  Still squatting, Ryson shuffled completely about. He removed his spyscope from his pouch. He moved only his arm, the rest of his body remained completely still. He brought the scope to his eye, slowly, purposefully. Then, no motion at all escaped his body. If he could be seen, he would have appeared lifeless, for even his chest remained unmoving, as if he was no longer breathing. With one eye closed, he peered back towards the direction in which he had come.

  He immediately locked sight on the small scrap of sleeve he had knotted to the tree branch. With his marker located, he angled the scope slightly back to the ground where he pinpointed the false trail. Ryson followed the path as far back as possible. His elevated position allowed him a greater perspective than at ground level, but the rocky landscape prevented a clear view for any real distance.

  The numerous boulders and ravines allowed for hundreds of hiding places, and the shag could have been in or behind any of them. However, at the point where the trail changed from the forged claw marks to Ryson's shuffling boots, the path would certainly create confusion. If the shag in fact followed the false trail, it would be forced into the open to inspect the markings. Ryson waited patiently for this revelation.

  As moments passed, as the sun moved slowly overhead, a shifting breeze brought a familiar scent to his nose. Ryson's nostrils flared to catch as much of the scent as possible. He gauged the speed and direction of the breeze by noting the wave of crab grass at his feet. The scent disappeared as the breeze died away, and Ryson's concern died with it.

  Without moving his head, the delver adjusted his view to the far left. Only the spyscope and his eye shifted. His sight locked upon a cluster of rocks. There Ryson stared, stared and waited for the inevitable.

  Long moments passed. The scope remained on its target and Ryson's eye did not blink. Through the lens of the scope, it bore down upon the rocks incessantly. It would not stray for even the slightest moment.

  As if rewarded for its persistence, Ryson's sight was granted its wish. The mountain shag staggered reluctantly out from behind the cluster of rocks. As it paused, apparently to sniff the air, Ryson commanded a clear view of a creature which he would have considered part of a nightmare, another unthinkable monster like the crab-spider that attacked Holli.

  No doubt, it was tall. How tall, however, was difficult to gauge. Thick and long matted fur, encrusted with dust and dirt, covered the creature from head to toe. It made it impossible to distinguish where certain parts began and where others ended. Unable to isolate the knees or the waist, Ryson could not determine whether the legs were bent or if the creature was hunched over. And he certainly could not judge the actual length of the arms for both remained close to its body, and they blended in with the brown fur of its chest and its shoulders. Only the hands and face broke free from the thick hair.

  Its hands were thick, meaty and wide. The fingers long but round with the total absence of claws or even fingernails. Its face, encircled by the same filthy hair, held no beauty or charm. A short muzzle hooked downward, tipped with a gray nose and whiskers similar to a cat. Its mouth was uneven and never closed completely. It revealed several slanting, uneven rows of jagged teeth. Gaps in the first row were filled with rough fangs behind. Its eyes were set close together directly over the sloped muzzle. They appeared to glisten with a yellow tinge whenever the sun rays hit them just right.

  "It can probably see in the dark," Ryson spoke just above a whisper to himself but watched the creature closely after he spoke.

  The shag made no reaction. Instead, it lumbered hesitantly toward the trail marked by the delver.

  Ryson had tested the shag with his spoken words and he spoke again to himself of the results. "And it's either a good actor or it doesn't have extremely sensitive hearing. Let's see how it reacts to the end of the trail."

  The shag slunk towards the open ground. Its head turned left and right as it approached. It stopped only once, for but no more than an instant. It picked up a stone, held it up to its nose, and tossed it away indifferently. Finally, it placed its hand upon the last markings of Ryson's knife. It looked back down the trail where similar markings abounded. When it turned its head forward to the high hills and to where Ryson remained perched, it only tilted its head.

  Apparent indecision and confusion hindered the shag as it considered the change in the trail. It could easily see the scuff marks of Ryson's shuffling boots, but it could not find any scratches which it first identified and followed when it spotted the group of travelers crossing its territory.

  "A little slow witted," Ryson murmured. A smile crossed the delver's lips. His enthusiastic enjoyment grew with every new shred of knowledge he procured from watching and analyzing the movements and reactions of the monster. A delver's blessing was before him; an entirely new species to examine.

  The shag continued to move about with indecision, its nose and eyes passing across the broken path. Eventually, it spotted the lighter trail to the small tree where Ryson used the sleeve cloth as a marker.

  "Very impressive," Ryson conceded. "I wonder if it found it with its eyes or its nose." He spoke a little louder each time, testing the range of the shag's hearing.

  Still, the shag showed no sign of picking up the sound. Instead, it followed the nearly invisible trail which led to the tree with the marker.

  "I'm not sure, though, if I want it to find that. It may figure out what I'm doing. Maybe I can confuse it a bit more."

  With steady, deliberate motion, Ryson moved his arm to the ground and felt for a stone which fit the palm of his hand. His movement was so controlled, so steady, it would have barely attracted the attention of someone standing right next to him. With rock in hand, he cocked his arm back with the same preciseness. With one quick fluid movement, the stone sailed across the sky. It split the air, a screaming missile, as it soared away from the hill top. Its direction would lead it to the ground a good fifty paces away from the shag, but in the opposite direction of the tree.

  Before the stone hit the ground, the shag spun and fixed its glance directly upon Ryson's position. It stood taller than it had before, its shoulders pulled back. The thick hands opened
wide, the fingers trembled with apparent anger.

  Through his spyscope, Ryson watched the shag's indecisive expression roar into an angry sneer. Its yellow eyes never left the ridge where Ryson crouched motionless, even when the stone finally hit its mark.

  "So it can spot movement pretty quickly," Ryson whispered, his lips did not move. He watched the monster with a growing understanding of the developing situation. "It knows something is here, but it's not sure what. That means it can see fairly well, but it's better at spotting motion than at focusing over great distances. It's going to wait for me to move first so it can figure out what it's up against. Let's see if I can't use that to make sure Holli gets to the trees with no trouble."

  Ryson remained absolutely still, as did the shag. The furry monster could sense Ryson's presence, but it waited for the delver to move before it would make an advance. For now, it had the location of its quarry. It was apparently willing to let the prey make the first move, hoping and expecting it to be a critical mistake.

  The delver waited with monumental patience. He felt no urge to run, no anxiety over being watched so intently by the shag. He was accomplishing his mission, for if the shag remained in his sights it could not be chasing Holli or the algors. He allowed the day to pass with the two of them locked in this battle of inactivity. He judged the elapsing time by watching the shadows extend. When the sun reached a point halfway between noon day high and sunset, he decided it was time to end the stalemate.

  Certainly by now, Holli and the others were safely within the trees and heading toward the heart of Dark Spruce Forest. All that was left was to secure his own safety and all would be well.

  The obvious option was to escape toward freedom as quickly as possible. He could leave the shag behind by running off at top speed. Considering his own abilities, he believed he would be halfway to the forest before the shag could make a decision. Being a delver, however, Ryson considered other alternatives, options he chose to pursue.

  There was so much to left to learn of this creature, so many questions left unanswered. Ryson had only observed a fraction of the shag's tracking and hunting abilities. If he would face this new world with shags and goblins, if this was what the re-emergence of the magic dictated, he would need greater knowledge of each new dark creature in order to survive as a delver. With a shag in sight and upon his preferred terrain, he could not let the opportunity pass by.

  With his own decision cast, Ryson leapt upward and darted over the hilltop behind him and out of sight of the shag. He did not continue down the slope. Instead, he dropped to the ground upon his chest. He kept his spyscope in his hand. He waited. One breath. Two breaths. Stomach to the ground, he slithered back over the peak and brought himself into view of the shag's position.

  Nothing. The shag had moved, and moved quickly.

  "So it can make a snap decision when it has to," Ryson noted.

  Turning his head slowly, Ryson scanned the ground closer to the base of the hill. The shag moved furiously at full speed. It covered ground in amazing time. Two thick, hairy legs pummeled the ground ferociously as they propelled the shag forward.

  "I can outrun it, but I can't fool with it," Ryson gave the creature its due. "If I get cute, it might actually catch me." The delver watched for but a split second more as it assessed the shag's direction. "It's circling the hill and expects me down there. I shouldn't disappoint it."

  Again, Ryson leapt over the hilltop but this time with the intention of running all the way down. With fluid yet powerful strides of his own, the delver plowed downward. Ryson forced his eyes open as wide as possible and increased his peripheral vision to a greater range. He reached the hill's base, crossed a small gorge which rested in front of a second and taller hill, and started up that slope just as the shag rounded the first hillside and came into his view.

  The delver allowed for one quick glance up the hillside he ascended. In that moment, he noted all potential hazards and the quickest path to the top. With that image painted crisply in his mind, he slowed his speed and turned his head over his shoulder to watch the pursuit of the shag.

  Ryson watched with interest to see its next decision. Would it follow him up this hill or try yet again to intercept by cutting around the base?

  The shag showed no reluctance this time at following the delver's path directly. It must have believed its speed superior and it bounded upward directly behind the delver.

  The creature has confidence in its speed, Ryson thought. If it didn't think it would catch me, it wouldn't follow and waste so much energy.

  The shag handled the incline of the hill without the slightest difficulty. If anything, moving on a slope, even an ascending slope, added to the creature's speed and dexterity. The uneven ground aided the shag's movements, movements which were designed for even the taller slopes of mountains. A tractable joint at the creature's hip actually allowed the shag to proportion the extension of each leg to adjust for the slope of any hill or mountain, an attribute duly noted by the delver. Level ground rendered this sliding joint rather useless, but slopes in any direction allowed for full utilization and an advantage over those with fixed hip joints.

  Ryson, however, ran at a pace which matched the shag's exactly. Their current pace was perhaps slightly more than half Ryson's top speed. It was a pace Ryson could maintain for long periods without any true stress, and the creature could not gain even a step as they rose to the top of this second hill.

  Ryson charged over this hilltop. His head swirled to allow for another quick scan of the back slope. The descent offered a few obstacles, a patch of loose rocks, a few areas of tall weeds, but nothing to be overly concerned about.

  A wide-mouthed grin enveloped his face—a delver's true dream; pure exhilaration. Not only was he defining and categorizing the abilities of a mountain shag, he was now locked in a thrilling competition. This was as much a test for his own abilities as it was a learning experience. He would not be content in simply outdistancing the shag. There was more to be gained here, a greater opportunity at stake. The charging shag afforded him the chance to pit his greatest skills and cunning against a mysterious monster with unique abilities of its own.

  For safety sake, however, Ryson would influence the decisions of the shag; he would impose his own restrictions on the options afforded to the monster. The shag might believe that it determined the pace and direction of the chase, indeed Ryson hoped it would, but it was the delver who would decide where they would go and how they would proceed.

  The shag fell mindlessly into the delver's will. It moved as much on anger as it did on instinct. It growled and roared as it raced behind the quick moving delver. It showed only minor ability for tactics and strategy as Ryson dictated more and more of the struggle.

  If the delver felt the shag slowing, Ryson reduced his own pace. The gap between them closed and the shag would experience renewed energy at the prospect of ending the chase. With but a snap of his boots, Ryson would extend the gap once more. Thus, the chase continued over several hills. Influenced highly by Ryson's maneuvers, the shag at times followed directly behind, otherwise it circled around the base of a hill trying to cut off its intended victim. On such occasions, Ryson answered with different tactics. Stopping at the top to challenge the shag to ascend or changing directions and descending over the same path he used to climb, he would then wait to see how the shag would react. Ryson monitored the shag's apparent willingness to follow over certain obstacles as well as its tolerance for frustration. The shag showed mostly perseverance, almost stubbornness, even as the chase lingered.

  Ryson marveled at the shag's endurance. No signs of heavy breath, no signs of muscle fatigue. Except for a few fleeting moments of indecision as to how to follow, the shag maintained its pounding stride.

  The delver forced the chase northward, towards higher elevations. All the while he kept his own strength and ability in check. Hiding the full extent of his own endowments, disguising what he could truly do, he
forced the shag to reveal every secret of its own.

  By the time they were charging across long valleys thick with vegetation, Ryson acquired a wealth of information. He understood that a shag's abilities would vary in degree from individual to individual, but there were certain attributes he now understood with great consciousness.

  As the pursuit continued, Ryson noted they were closing upon the Fuge River. The benefits of the chase dwindled as the delver found little else in the way of useful information. The thought of river rogues made the delver realize that the risks were now growing. In gleaning all that there was to know from this particular shag, it was time to end the contest.

  At first he maintained his present speed. He chose a tall hill to his right and ascended with his eyes forward. He no longer bothered to watch his pursuer. Upon crossing over the summit and out of sight of the shag, he propelled himself at top speed. A blur of motion cut down the green hillside. At the base of the hill, he made a half turn, again to his right. He was now heading southeast and back in the general direction of Dark Spruce. He rounded the base of yet another hill as he gave one last backwards glance at the shag. It was just now reaching the summit of the last hill. Its head was turned in the opposite direction. If it caught Ryson's final burst of speed, it could do nothing about it. The delver was finished with this chase and beyond the shag's grasp.