by Taki Drake
None of that action was visible to the other three invaders. The one that was hunkered down behind cover would stretch up every once in a while and throw another hand weapon. His role was that of a distraction for the mage, supposedly preventing the magic user from understanding the total number of attackers and where they were.
The team that was approaching from the left of the mage could hear the clash of bouncing weapons as the first attacker put pressure on the mage’s position. They had worked their way closer to the mage until they were within 15 feet of the edge of the alcove. They were in position, but appeared to be waiting for some sign from the other team.
The yells and attacks from the concealed frontal force had started to get strained. Apparently, it was not in their plans to have an extended confrontation between the mage and single opponent. Finally, the remaining team decided to advance. Executing a flawless combination of evasive maneuvers, one attacker dove straight for the mage in a rapid charge while the other ran further to the mage’s left and attempted to sneak up beyond his peripheral vision. It might have succeeded if the mage had been alone. That attacker was hidden by the stone that blocked the arc of his gaze. However, the familiar’s vision was strategic and unimpeded. The mage responded, and the familiar went into action.
Thumping his staff onto the ground, the mage sent a secondary pulse of energy through the earth. Paying no more attention to it, a quick motion of his staff and a jerk to the left released a spell from the right-hand side of the doorway. It slammed into the charging assassin, sending a cloud of slivered knives through his body. Reduced instantly to many shredded little pieces of meat, the assassin did not have time to make a single sound. The bloody mess of his body and his shredded clothing pattered to the ground, while his metal weapons dropped soundlessly to the cushioned landscape.
The second team member started to pull up short in shock. Thinking himself unobserved, the remaining assassin slowed momentarily in his thoughts trying to adjust his mind to what he had just seen. He was further thrown off when an agonized cry rang out from the initial attacker.
Seeing the horrific destruction of the charging invader, the original attacker had tried to stand up only to find out that in his efforts to take cover behind the small rill had been a fatal error. He was now anchored by rootlets that had rapidly grown over his body and trapped him against the ground. Struggling to free himself, he went from dismayed to panic quickly. He could feel the roots starting to penetrate his skin, and the urge to flee became overwhelming. Attempting to rip himself free, the assassin found himself weakening as his blood was drawn by the thirsty roots. One last death-defying attempt ripped an agonized cry from his chest as he was pulled underground, down into the boggy soil.
It was too much for the final assassin. Turning to run away from the mage, back toward safety and a place to report what happened, the fighter made it only two more steps. Dropping like the hammer of the gods from the sky, the owl made a practiced, quick kill using the speed of her attack and the strength of her talons. The assassin was dead before he hit the ground, his neck snapped and his spine crushed.
The sheer satisfaction in the efficient and successful fight flooded through the familiar bond, and the mage returned it in full measure. Raising his arms up toward the sky, the mage stretched his staff out so that the owl could settle her considerable weight on the offered perch.
The shock of the sparkles was intense as the end of the lesson abruptly flooded her senses. Dascha was disoriented. She had been so entwined in the mind and emotions of the familiar and mage that she had been wrapped up in the moment and totally oblivious to what was going on around her and her real world.
The panting of her breath was loud to her own ears. She could hear similar short, half sobbing breathing as her friends recovered from the abrupt end of the lesson. It was a few moments before any of them could talk.
Unsurprisingly, it was Stinky that responded first. <
Murmurs of agreement came from the rest of her friends and those that were close by them on the coral arm.
<
<
Chapter 11 – Intelligent Actions
Trey had harassed their small group to go over and make sure that they ate and drank something. He kept up a cheerful conversation with Stinky as they moved around. Dascha thought perhaps that he was doing that to encourage everyone. It seemed to be working since his light chatter pushed them past their exhaustion into action.
<> said Trey.
Stinky replied, <>
Dascha mentally agreed but was content to let the two of them carry the burden of the conversation. She looked around their group, noticing that both Kevin and Jack were applying themselves to food and water without any complaint.
However, TT was not doing much of anything. Instead, the injured Persian cat was staring at the bowl of food with flattened ears and a bedraggled looking tail. It didn’t even look like the cat had groomed herself, something unheard of for such meticulous animal.
Dascha moved over by TT and push the bowl closer to the white cat with her nose. <
The other cat gave herself a small shake and lowered her head to the food bowl. <
The words sounded okay, but Dascha was not convinced that all was right with the cat. Perhaps, she just needed some time to recover from the shock of her injuries. Turning her attention back to her own food, the young cat quickly finished her own meal and spent a few minutes grooming herself while the others ate their larger portions.
<<<>>>
It had taken longer for the lesson group to reassemble this time. Looking around, Dascha could see signs of exhaustion and overload on many of the familiars’ faces and postures. She could feel it in her own bones, which ached. Her energy levels were down, and her muscles gave strange little jerks when she wasn’t consciously controlling them. Who knew what they were going to be like after the last lesson.
The lesson gong sounded again, but there was no one on the polished stone area. Murmurs ran around from animal to animal as a few seconds clicked by. Dascha happened to be watching the stone when she realized that a slight haze was lifting from an area about a foot across in the center. Until it started to lift, she hadn’t even noticed that it was there. Watching the haze carefully she was still startled when the fuzziness of the airlifted and a medium-sized rat appeared. The sight was so startling that she popped straight up in attention.
The abrupt movement drew everyone’s eyes to Dascha. Following her intent gaze, more people looked to the polished stone and their waiting instructor. The rat waited calmly until the majority of the students were staring at him. Sitting upright, his forelegs pulled against his chest, his resonant mind voice rang out cl
early, <>
Dascha’s tail twitched at the compliment, but she gave no other sign that it was directed at her. Her friends were more demonstrative, looking back at her in approval. A restrained wag of the tail was Jack’s congratulations, while Trey warbled a three-note fanfare of pride.
The rat continued, <
One of the larger cats in the session, a strongly marked Savannah cat, asked, <
Brett replied, <
<< In general, pooled knowledge provides a broader base of information for good decision-making. When you’re trying to figure out a problem, both you and your mage need to be contributing what you can. If you use everything you have and your mage does the same, you will be working from a bigger inventory, whether that be skills or knowledge.
<
The familiar sparkles swirled through Dascha’s mind as she quickly laid down against the coral. She could hear her friends settling down around her but the memory share had overtaken her senses. Her actual physical surroundings were whisked away by the winds generated by Brett’s memory.
She understood immediately what he meant by rough ride. The punch of the rat’s emotions hit her like a massive airstrike. Suddenly, she was there, in his skin, in his head, and in his emotions.
Running, running, frantically running. Pushing exhausted muscles long past the point where all he wanted to do was settle down and die. He couldn’t die no matter how much it hurt. His mage was in trouble. The familiar could feel agony through the familiar bond. He was trying to take some of it away, so his poor mage didn’t hurt so badly. Trying to block his own pain, so it didn’t feed back along the bond. He had to hurry, hurry now.
Danger! Tramp of feet. Scuttle down, hide against the wall. AHHH! The gaping hole on his side brushes the wall. Pain worse than anything he had ever felt floods through his system. His legs feel like jelly but he can’t, will not give up. His mage is in trouble.
Huddled down, the rat is motionless. Waiting for the tramp of soldiers’ feet to go past him. He waits, almost not breathing, afraid that his gasping pain may alert the enemy.
The feet go past, and quiet descends again. Forcing himself to move once more, the rat runs by the side of the wall down the hallway, drawn by the beacon of his mage’s agony. He is getting closer, he can feel it. The beacon of pain has become overwhelming, but he is drawn to it beyond conscious control. Just before he turns the last corner, he hears a voice and stops dead.
“Even mages bleed! You arrogant power mongers are no better than the rest of us. See how well you like starving for a day or so and then we will have some fun. I bet we can make you scream in five minutes or less.”
The clump of a large man with armored feet approached the corner. The rat shrank back as far as he could into a crevice of the wall, ignoring the slashing pain when his bloody side once again ripped open a bit more against the rough brick. He knew better than to look up at the man that was passing. Any available light would glint off his eyes and make him more visible to this, a hated enemy. So he huddled down and made himself as invisible as possible.
Hate, an emotion corrosive and vile, slipped through his veins as he listened to the man chuckling to himself. How could anybody be happy with the pain that he had caused another person? But he waited, knowing that there was a risk in moving too soon.
Just as he had suspected, the man returned on quiet feet. Carefully, the large male walked softly part of the way back to peer around the corner and check the doorway to the mage’s cell. The guard’s feet were inches away from the injured rat’s body. The rat could smell the filthy odor of the man’s breath and the miasma that clung to his armor.
He held absolutely still. As much as he wanted to attack the man so close to him, better judgment interfered. He would do no good to his mage if he was killed in such an unequal battle. His two pounds of flexible, little body would not fare well in a standup fight with a 250 pound armored man. So he waited.
Finally, the guard left, truly left. The rat waited a few minutes to make sure but eventually started creeping his way around the corner and toward the doorway. The beacon of pain that was his mage called to him, forcing his body to perform well beyond any expectation.
Soon, he was at the cell door. He sniffed, looked, and tested his teeth on the doorway, not not finding any vulnerability, especially anything that he could overpower. He could feel his mage on the other side of the door, semi-conscious, and in massive pain. Stymied by the door, the rat began to explore the hallway, looking for anything that might help. He noticed a blood trail that led to another room. Sniffing the blood, he recognized the scent of his mage. Moving as quickly as he could, he followed the trail of blood back into the other room and saw where his mage had been beaten. There was a pool of blood on the floor, but there was also something that might help.
A key. There was a small rack of hooks on the wall and keys hung from each of the hooks. There were no numbers or marks on the keys, but they seem to be arranged in a specific order. Additionally, propped up in the corner, he saw his mage’s staff. The staff with healing spells in it. Something that would deal with the pain that his mage was feeling.
How to get to the keys? This required some thought. It would be hard to get to them at all but he had a feeling that he was only going to be able to grab one. It needed to be the right one. There was one key missing. The rat took a deep breath and scuttled out of the room. Moving as quickly as he could, he ran up and down the halls looking for a door that had a key in it. Counting carefully, he found the open door with the key. It was the one next door to his mage’s cell. There were three rooms locked, then the open one, and six more rooms. Trying to think past his weakness and pain, the rat managed to match the pattern. The key he wanted was the fifth one.
Now to put the plan in motion. There was a chair that was close to the wall. And it looked like there was a crack in the brick that he might be able to cling to close by the key rack. He was not going to be able to do this more than once. His body was failing him, and his vision was starting to develop gray patches. To save his mage, he had to climb up the chair and jump onto the wall. Somehow he would have to cling to the wall and make his way across to the key rack. Once there he could grab the key, hoping it was the right one. There would be no alternative but to take a big jump down, jarring his side badly.
Something didn’t seem right. He stopped and forced his aching head to think through the process. If his mage was too hurt to come into this room, then how was he going to get his staff. If the staff were in the hall when a guard came by, all surprise and other options would be lost. He had to get the staff someplace where his mage could reach it but in a place that the guard would not see it if they came by.
Think. He had to think!
Scurrying over to the staff, the rat saw that the strap that his mage had put on
it to help his grip was still there. This gave him an idea. Steeling himself against expected pain, the rat ran as fast as he could and slammed himself into the bottom of the staff and causing the staff to slip sideways and come crashing to the floor. It made a lot of noise. The rat froze in place, worried that the sound would summon a curious guard. But there was no response.
Taking a deep breath of relief, which only intensified the ache in his ribs, the rat grabbed the strap in his teeth and dragged as hard as he could. It might’ve been a minute, it might’ve been an hour, the pain didn’t seem to go away. But inch by inch, the rat managed to drag the staff toward the doorway. Finally, finally, the top of the staff was just inside the doorway. Still hidden in the shadows but only a hallway width away from his mage’s cell door.
There was no time to delay. Who knew how long before the guards came back to do even more damage to his mage. And who knew how long he could last. His side was on fire with every breath, a dagger of pain dug deep into his stomach with every movement. The rat familiar knew that he was on borrowed time.
No more time, no more delay. Gathering his flagging energy, the rat took a deep breath and then moved. Not giving himself any time to think, no time to consider the danger, he ran up the chair onto its back, flinging his body in a jump with every iota of energy toward the wall.
Slipping! Oh no he was slipping! Frantic grabbing wracked him with more pain, but he caught himself in a crack. It wasn’t the one that he had expected to use, but it was better than falling to the floor. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to get up again if he did. Inch by inch, an agonized distance that receded oh so slowly, the rat managed to get over to the rack of keys.
His vision graying, he counted one with the key, two with the key, three. Reaching a foot out, he almost missed the next count, catching himself on the hook itself where the key was missing. The next one was the one he wanted, the one he needed.
Another hook. Carefully, carefully, he reached down and bit the key, lifting it carefully so that it slipped off the hook. His vision was dim enough he could not see the floor. He knew where it was because he could feel the drops of blood from his ripped side trailing downward. Falling would be easy. Falling lightly enough to be able to move afterward would be hard.