Raid

by Terry Schott

  “That would be helpful.”

  “Maybe.” She shook her head. “I’ve not been able to find specific instructions on how to use them, even in the books. But knowing what prior wielders were capable of will at least make you aware of what is possible.” Mercy frowned.

  Xander knew that look. “You have an idea?”

  She ignored him. Xander waited.

  Her eyes focused on Xander, and she frowned, as if only now realizing he was standing there. She returned to the table, sat, and poured another glass of wine as she considered him. “You are too young.”

  “For what?”

  She smiled. “Every success you have enjoyed so far. Let’s see if the trend continues. You are too young to be able to summon your shard imp yet, but perhaps that is possible as well.”

  Xander laughed. “Xyclotl? Why would I want to summon him?”

  Mercy’s eyes narrowed, and then she laughed. “Of course, you’ve already met it. In the Dark Lady’s realm?”

  Xander nodded. “And in this one, last night.”

  “Remarkable. Summon it for me now.”

  “Um. I didn’t know I could actually do that.”

  “How did it materialize last night?”

  “I don’t know. I woke up and he was sitting on my chest. Then he led me to the ebony door and—”

  “The ebony door?”

  “That’s right.”

  “What did…Xyclotl have you do at the door?”

  Xander shrugged. “He told me to open it.”

  “And?”

  “And I did.” He held up his hands. “That’s where I got these babies.”

  ***

  Xander sat cross-legged on the ground, eyes closed as he focused on his breathing. When his mind felt clear and relaxed, he visualized the shard imp, careful to be as thorough with his imagination as possible. When the mental picture was as realistic as he could make it—down to the finest detail, which included crossed arms and the disappointed expression that seemed to be the creature’s most common expression—he spoke out loud. “Xyclotl, I command you to appear.”

  Long seconds passed. Xander pursed his lips to say the words again, and there was a faint popping sound in the air like a full balloon being poked with a pin. He opened his eyes and Xyclotl was there, black clouds of fog dissipating as the shard imp hovered in front of him.

  “Great,” he muttered. “You’ve figured out how to summon me.”

  “Hold out your hand,” Mercy said.

  Xander did as instructed, and Xyclotl’s frown became an evil grin. Then he gave an excited shout and dropped onto Xander’s palm.

  “Don’t let it drink more than a drop or two,” Mercy warned.

  “Huh?” Xander frowned.

  The shard imp bent down and bit into the skin of his palm. He cackled with laughter, raised his head back, and waited for a large drop of blood to well up. “This is the only good benefit of being ripped from home and sent to serve.” He bent down and began to lick the blood, making loud slurping noises. The pool of blood receded, and then began to well up once more.

  “That’s enough,” Mercy’s voice was stern. “Make it stop.”

  “How?” Xander felt a stinging pain start to move into his arm, and blood began flowing faster from the wound.

  “With your will.”

  “Okay.”

  “Be forceful!”

  “All right!” He tried to focus on sending a mental command to Xyclotl, but it didn’t seem to work.

  “If it doesn’t stop feeding in the next ten seconds, you will die.”

  The news sent a pang of fear and then anger through Xander. Before the feeling could overwhelm him, he latched on to the emotion and envisioned sending it at the shard imp as a blast of hot energy.

  “Ow!” Xyclotl fell backward onto Xander’s palm. The shard imp scrambled onto his hands and knees, eyes focused on the bit of blood, but Mercy’s hand streaked forward and slapped the creature into the air.

  “For the love of—.” Xyclotl stopped falling and rose, whipping around to face the Death Strykers. Xander could see rage in his eyes. After a moment, the expression faded and was replaced with amusement. He leaned forward, grabbing himself around the waist as he began to laugh loudly.

  “What the hell just happened?” Xander asked.

  Mercy said nothing, her icy glare fixed on the shard imp.

  Finally, Xyclotl stopped laughing. “Whew, that was fun.” He wiped at one eye and shook his head. “Almost had ya there, buddy. Killed on your first summon. That would have been great.”

  “Killed?” Xander frowned.

  “If you hadn’t stopped it from drinking,” Mercy said, “the thing would have killed you.”

  “You want me dead?” Xander glared at Xyclotl.

  “Only if I get to do the killing,” the shard imp laughed again. “That’s the game, pal. And I was so close to winning!”

  Xander turned to Mercy. “The thing’s nuts, right?”

  Mercy’s anger disappeared, and she grinned as well. “It’s fine now. You are safe.”

  “But he was trying to kill me?”

  She nodded. “At its core, the bond between shard imp and shard is adversarial. There is always danger during the summoning.”

  “Wish you’d have told me that before.”

  “Did I not tell you to make sure it stopped drinking after one drop, two at most?”

  “Yes.”

  “How many times did I stress that?”

  “Many.”

  “Thirteen.”

  Xyclotl cackled, and Xander threw him an annoyed glance.

  “When the creature is summoned, a battle for control takes place,” Mercy said. “The summoner must retain the upper hand. If the creature ever wins the encounter—”

  “The summoner dies,” Xander said.

  “Worse.” Mercy said.

  “You mean, better,” Xyclotl giggled. He hovered in front of Xander, sharp white teeth flashing. “If I win, you become one of us.”

  “A shard imp?”

  “That’s right, kiddo. A shard imp. And if I do the deed, then I get an exemption from serving a master for a hundred years.” The creature licked his lips. “Plus, you’d have been my slave for the next few decades. How cool for me would that be?”

  Chapter 24

  Isaac dropped to the ground and wiped sweat from his brow. The bard drum brushed against his knee and he kicked it, not bothering to watch as it clattered away.

  “Hey!”

  He looked up and shaded his eyes to better see Jyachin, who stood over him with hands on hips and a scowl on his face. “What in the twelve hells do you think you’re doing?”

  “Leave me alone.” He looked back at the ground, lungs burning from the drill that he’d failed to do correctly for the tenth time.

  “I don’t care,” Jyachin spoke through gritted teeth, “if you fail or succeed. I certainly don’t care if you’re tired and sore. Hell, I don’t even care if you quit.” He squatted down and pushed his face into Isaac’s until their noses were touching. “What I do care about is the instruments.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Sorry? You’re sorry?” He sniffed and stood. “That drum was crafted over two hundred years ago by a revered master crafter. Artisans of such skill have faded into legend, and you are fortunate enough to own an instrument created by one.”

  “Oh,” Isaac said.

  “That drum has travelled this world more than once. It has healed kings and destroyed powerful monsters.” The young man swore and shook his head. “Its skin was taken from a race of animals that fell from the sky and no longer walk this land.”

  “Really?”

  “Do I look like I am spinning tales to amuse you?”

  “No.”

  “No!” The young bard yelled. “I most certainly am not. What I am doing is watching an old fart who has lost his way. A man who once entertained kings and queens, who stole the heart of a princess and made her fall so deeply i
n love that she chose to live out her life as a common farmer’s wife in order to be with him.”

  Isaac looked up. “Wait, what?”

  “Shut your mouth.” Jyachin stopped and panted for breath, having put everything he had into dressing Isaac down.

  Isaac hung his head. “I apologize.” He waited for a reply. When none came, he looked up at the bard.

  “Don’t apologize to me.” Jyachin threw his arm outward and pointed at the drum. “Apologize to it.”

  Isaac frowned and turned, his eyes briefly passing over Fen, who sat near the campfire. The young warrior’s face was blank, devoid of its usual mischievous expression.

  Isaac slowly stood and moved to the drum. He bent to pick it up—

  “Don’t touch it!” Jyachin yelled. “You do not deserve to put your filthy hands on that beautiful piece of history.”

  Isaac knelt down, head low. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

  “Not like a child. Apologize like a man who has forsaken his true love because he was possessed by a demon and has returned after years away to win her back, even though he be unworthy and certain to fail in the task.”

  Isaac frowned and Jyachin closed the gap between them. “That’s what she is, you know,” he whispered fiercely in his ear. “A thousand men would give their souls for a chance to play a single song on that drum. Search my master’s memories and you will know that I am telling the truth.”

  Isaac allowed his mind to touch that of his host. The disgust and anger was so strong that he quickly fled from the contact.

  Jyachin’s voice softened. “I know this is challenging. Bards are the toughest class to master in the world. That you have made the attempt is valiant. Lofty. But you must respect the true creators of our magic. We live to serve our instruments, never the other way around.”

  Isaac bit his lip and nodded.

  “Now apologize as if your career as a bard depended on it. Because it does.”

  Isaac knelt and looked at the drum, seeing it in a whole new light. Up until now he had considered the instruments as nothing more than obstacles to outcomes that he felt were owed to him. Jyachin’s words and the memories of his host made him realize that this was not the case. It was Isaac who was the obstacle.

  He bowed his head. “I am sorry,” he whispered. “I expect no forgiveness, though I crave it more than my next breath.” He frowned, feeling tears fill his eyes. “Never again will I take you for granted. If you forgive me, I will do better. Treat you better.” He sobbed, some part of him surprised. Wondering how he could get so emotional over an instrument. Another part felt truly and deeply saddened that he had failed so miserably, and craved a second chance.

  Isaac heard a deep, faint hum. He opened his eyes and saw that the drum was outlined by a faint blue aura. The hum pulsed and then stopped. Then it repeated.

  “It appears that your apology has been accepted.” Jyachin’s hand touched his shoulder. “Pick her up.”

  Isaac leaned forward and picked up the drum. A warm pulse of energy filled his fingers and spread through his body. He stood and closed his eyes, smiling as the magic enveloped him and banished all feelings of weariness and frustration that had threatened to overwhelm him only moments ago.

  “You feel it?”

  Isaac opened his eyes and nodded. “I do.”

  “Finally.” The young bard smiled. “You can now begin to learn.”

  “Nice,” Fen said from his place by the fire.

  “It wants to run,” Isaac said, as an image of running filled his head, the beat of the spell pulsing in his mind.

  “Give it a try,” Jyachin nodded.

  Isaac’s fingers deftly snagged the blue and red cords, looping them through his belt to ensure the drum would not fall to the ground. He tucked it into the crook of his left elbow and rested the fingertips of his right hand against the skin. It was warm to the touch and vibrated ever so slightly. He turned to face the open field and then began to play the tune that filled his mind.

  The magic wrapped him up like a warm blanket on a winter’s night. He tapped the complete sequence twice, allowing the spell to fully materialize and fill the air around him.

  Continuing to play, he began to run, laughing with pure joy as his feet flew over the ground, his feet barely touching the earth.

  Chapter 25

  Sebastian and Ezref strolled down the middle of the main street. Occasionally, they would move out of the way for a horse or cart, but mostly it was foot traffic.

  A player who had selected an avatar from the Akshar race passed them and nodded, its reptilian eyes glowing red from the shaded depths of its drawn hood. Sebastian returned the gesture and continued walking, while Ezref turned and walked backwards, to keep watching the lizard man.

  Sebastian chuckled. “First time you’ve ever seen an Akshar?”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you think?”

  “Very creepy. I’m glad they usually stay away from towns.”

  Sebastian laughed. “They stay away from towns because they are KOS to pretty much every other race in Preu Treya.”

  “KOS?”

  “Kill on sight.”

  “Oh. Yes, that’s true, but it isn’t because of their appearance.”

  Sebastian snorted. “Sure.”

  Ezref frowned. “It’s not. There are other races that are odd-looking, and they are accepted.”

  “That’s true.”

  “They are forbidden entry to towns because they eat children.”

  “What?” Sebastian laughed.

  “Infant humanoids give off some sort of scent or aura that sends them into a blood frenzy.”

  Sebastian gripped the young crafter’s arm and stopped walking. Ezref was not smiling. “Is that actually true?” Sebastian asked. “Or is it some silly superstition townsfolk made up out of fear?”

  “It’s a known characteristic of the race.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “Your basic knowledge of the races has been very good so far,” Ezref said. “I’m surprised this is news to you.”

  Sebastian spun on his heel and took off.

  “Where you going?” Ezref jogged after him.

  They caught up to the Akshar, who had stopped to look in the display window of a spell component shop.

  “Hi,” Sebastian greeted it. “I’m Sebastian.”

  The Akshar turned and nodded. “Hello, Sebastian. I’m Srosk.” Its lips pulled back to reveal sharp, pointed teeth. “Tim is my name back home, but to go by that even among players seems ridiculousssss.”

  “Hey nice role-play touch.” Sebastian grinned. “Drawing out the s’s in your speech.”

  “I’ve tried to stop but can’t. Thankfully it only happens with words that end in the damned letter at the end of a sentence.”

  “Is it true that Akshars eat humanoid children?”

  Srosk’s eyes widened and the slitted nostrils of its nose flared wide. “Yesss. It is true.”

  “Wow.”

  “Tell me about it. I avoided towns when I first got here because the game lore is clear that Akshar are KOS to most. I felt it was safe to enter a small village at night, though.” Its eyes closed. “There were children sleeping in three housessss.”

  “Oh no.” Sebastian pursed his lips.

  “I had no idea what was happening.” The lizard man opened his eyes. “A powerful urge took control of my body. Before I knew it, I had climbed onto the second floor of a house and was staring through the window at a sleeping kid.”

  “You didn’t?”

  Srosk shook his head. “Thankfully a farmer came out of the barn and spotted me. He started screaming and throwing thingssss. It was enough to break the bloodlust, and I ran away.”

  Sebastian frowned. “That’s chilling.”

  The lizard man shivered. “I was afraid to go near anyone for days. Without knowing the exact problem, I had no clue what would set me off. Then I joined a party, and over dinner one night it came up.” Srosk s
hrugged. “Guess I don’t go insane to eat everyone, only humanoids under the age of ten or so.”

  “Thanks for the information, I appreciate it.”

  “You’re welcome.” The Akshar nodded and went on its way.

  “That’s disturbing,” Sebastian said.

  “It must be terrible for such madness to take control of your body and mind.”

  “Not that.” Sebastian frowned and shook his head. “I mean, yes. That. But what bothers me more is that I was unaware of it.”

  “You can’t know everything.”

  Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “Things like that, I should.”

  “It is common knowledge.”

  They continued down the street.

  A group passed them, and Ezref shook his head. “The gear on these adventurers is impressive.”

  “The quality of items?” Sebastian asked.

  “Quality, quantity. Everything from weapons to armour, right down to component bags and outer wear.” Ezref shook his head. “I haven’t seen a lot of this land, but I’ve visited the bigger cities. Hands down this group of New Travellers are geared better than the majority.”

  “Looks as if we are now calling ourselves players,” Sebastian sighed. “So much for trying to fit in with the regular folk and adopt familiar titles.”

  “The Scouts saw to that.”

  “Aye.” Sebastian stroked his beard. “New Travellers was a mouthful to say, anyway.”

  Ezref laughed. “Players does seem more fitting.”

  “True.” A shaman walked past wearing a cloak made from multicoloured feathers that sparkled and shone in the sun.

  “A gryphon cloak.” Ezref shook his head. “Seriously, where did it all come from?”

  “All the gear?”

  “Yes.”

  “In our reality, Bramell is a very high-level trader. As soon as he got here, he would have spread the word that he was open for business. Once he had a settlement as a base, players would have begun to make their way here.”

  “Why?”

  “To bring the stuff they couldn’t use and trade it for things they needed.”