by C. M. Carney
“Hold him down,” Gryph roared. Ovrym and Lex pinned the big man’s arms, while Vonn tackled his legs. Even Raathiel helped by coiling herself around the warborn’s ankles, cinching them. Gryph closed his eyes again and renewed his push into the Phage. His will entered the tendrils and used them as conduits, moving closer and closer to the Chaos Spore at the heart of the corruption.
It was like he was swimming through LSD laced magma, part burning and part hallucination. He was detached and ever present, but he would not give up. He stretched himself and grabbed at the spore with his will, closing around the Phage like a virtual hand. Then he activated Phage Domination and screamed an order.
Leave him now!
The Phage screeched, and a world away a trickle of blood dripped from his nostril as the torrents of mana poured from him. He secured his grip on the Chaos Spore and pushed more of his will into the Phage. I am your master. You will yield. In his mind’s eye he saw the spore retract, drawing the infectious tendrils from Errat’s body and into the vortex of magma colored energy.
In the real world, the root-like tendrils tore at Errat’s flesh as they retreated into the egg-shaped spore. Errat spasmed and coughed up a spray of blood. The others increased the pressure of their grips, hoping to prevent the warborn from breaking free.
“Gryph! Keep doing whatever the hell it is you’re doing!” Lex roared above Errat’s screams. “But hurry, the fucking spore is shredding Errat’s insides.”
Anger built inside Gryph and he experienced the smallest fraction of his friend's torture. The anger transformed into incoherent rage and Gryph began to roar. In the infinite distance he heard the chortling laughter of the Prince of Chaos. The mocking chortles grew louder and closer.
Ease back Menaaire, came an even more distant voice. Do not lose yourself to the chaos.
Gryph stopped screaming and secured his grip on the spore. With a final focus of will he wrenched his virtual hand back, tearing the Phage from Errat’s shoulder. Gryph’s eyes snapped open, and he took a huge breath. He lurched to his feet and backed away from the others, clutching the pulsating sack of chaotic protoplasm in his fist.
He tossed the spore to the ground and poured more mana and more willpower into his domination of the Phage. The spore writhed and pulsed, desperately trying to escape Gryph’s weakening will. “Kill it,” he spat through gritted teeth. “I cannot hold it much longer.”
Orange light burst to life to Gryph’s left and a jet of fire engulfed the spore and the smell of rancid burnt meat filled his nose. He glanced left to find Lex gleefully casting Flames. A volley of gleaming white Order Bolts zipped over and around Gryph and punched into the writhing Chaos Spore, courtesy of Vonn. Even Ovrym joined the fray, slamming the Chaos Spore with an invisible boulder of telekinetic force.
With one last screech, the Chaos Spore disappeared in a wisp of rancid orange smoke, leaving the Adventure Group winded and exhausted. For several moments Gryph stared at the spot, fearing their victory was an illusion and the Chaos Spore would return. His heartbeat thundered and his eyes were wide with madness. Magma colored chaos energy flowed around his hands distorting the surrounding air.
“Easy bud,” Lex said, placing a gentle hand on Gryph’s shoulder. “You’ve done it. Now it’s time to come back from crazy town. Can you do that for me?”
Gryph’s eyes snapped down to Lex and a manic grin split his face. “I’m fine, I promise.”
“You sure? You look loonier than the Joker on April Fool’s Day.”
With a last cackle Gryph forced the vestiges of chaos from him, regaining some measure of composure. “No, I’m good. I think.”
Lex gave him an unsure thumbs up and turned back to the others. “He’s good.”
Then a most welcome voice broke the silence. “Errat feels very ouchy.”
All eyes turned to see the fallen warborn looking up at them, a confused and pained expression on his face. He tried to sit up, but Vonn put a hand to his chest. “Easy buddy. Just sit back. You’ve been through hell, literally.”
Gryph knelt by Errat’s side and cast Minor Healing, providing some relief to the warborn’s pain. The warborn smiled up at them. “Hello friends. Errat had a most awful dream. It was quite invigorating.”
Lex gave Errat a thumbs up. “Good to see you, buddy.” Then his eyes went wide as he saw something behind Gryph. “Oh, shit.”
Gryph turned to see a large group of rangers and warborn. All bore shocked expression and wide eyes. At the head of the war band, Grimliir stood in his Goliath Rig, arms raised and weapons at the ready. To his left, arrow knocked, stood Farrengiir, the head ranger. They all glared in disbelief at Gryph.
“By the Long Beards, what have ye done boyo?”
18
The incessant dripping of water made Gryph twitch. He could handle the hard stone bench that was the only furniture in his cell. He did not mind the isolation, nor the boredom. Even the tepid water and bland food were tolerable. After all, he’d experienced much worse back on Earth in his work for Central. But that damn drip, drip, drip would drive a man mad.
With a grunt he stood, tearing the arm from his linen shirt. The shirt and a matching pair of trousers were the only items they had allowed him as the Round Table debated his fate. He bunched the cloth into a wad and placed it on the floor where the water hit the stone, buying him blessed silence.
He eased himself back onto the stone bed and scratched his chest. The elvish healers had done a phenomenal job healing what remained of the gash in his chest. The only evidence of Sziilloth’s near vivisection was a thin red line that needed constant attention to relieve the itching.
“Things could be worse,” Lex had said when seeing the cell. “It’s homey in a third world prison kinda way.” The paladins, who’d taken over prisoner duties from the warborn and the rangers, were kind enough to let Lex accompany him. The elite guards of Sylvan Aenor were the official law enforcement arm of the valley, and until the Round Table decided Gryph’s future, he would be their guests.
“Yeah, you could be in here with me,” Gryph had said, trying to push some jest into the situation. He was certain he was only partially joking.
“No, I should be in here instead of you.” The NPC lowered his head. “This is my fault.”
“Bullshit.” The certainty of his words drew Lex’s gaze. “Don’t get me wrong, you should at least be in here with me. After all you’ve repeatedly shown an extreme lack of judgement, you think the rules are cute annoyances meant for other people and you’re kind of a jackass.”
“Can’t argue with that.” A wry, guilt-ridden smile, pursed Lex’s lips.
“But, when have you ever known me to let others make my decisions for me? You gave advice, and I took it. We can debate the merits of that advice and my clearly compromised wisdom later, if I live through the day.”
Lex had shifted on the stone bench. “They're not going to execute you.” His voice sounded less than sure.
“It’s the law.”
“Yeah, maybe, but it’s a dumb law. You did what you had to do to save Errat and technically you didn’t wield any actual Chaos Magic spells. I’ll Johnnie Cochran the shit out of your defense and then we’ll be back to drinking and fighting and being badasses.”
Silence hung for several moments and Gryph put a hand to Lex’s shoulder. “Promise me something.”
“Yeah, what’s that?” Lex asked in a noncommittal tone and eyeballed Gryph.
“You will abide by the Round Table’s decision. The last thing I need is you going all hammer smash in some crazed attempt to save my life.” Lex grunted under his breath, like a child on the receiving end of a lecture. “Promise me.”
Lex did his best impression of a defiant child, all pouts and crossed arms, but after a moment he agreed. “I promise,” Lex mumbled in the low tone of a man pained to agree to the situation.
“Thank you,” Gryph said in relief. Curious, he thought. The depths of his feelings for Lex surprised him. He seemed
as real as anyone he’d ever known, but a few short months ago he’d been nothing more than a magical cache of knowledge known as a Lexicon melded on top of his old banner AI personal assistant. It was only now, after ensuring the NPC’s promise to ensure his own survival, that he realized he thought of him as a living being.
But is he? Soul Magic would answer that question, tell him if Lex possessed a soul. But the same bleed metal that empowered Ovrym’s magic absorbing saber laced the walls, making the casting of any magic impossible. They'd locked him inside a magic dampening Faraday cage. None of his mystic arts would work in here. It even blocked his link to Raathiel, who had been a constant presence in his mind since her rebirth.
He supposed it didn’t matter if Lex had a soul. The NPC was as real as anyone he’d ever known, and his feelings for him ran as deep as they did for anyone, Brynn included. I’ll leave the philosophical debate about Lex’s personhood to others.
“There is something else I need you to do for me.”
“I’m gonna hate this aren’t I?”
“Maybe, but you’ll do it, anyway.”
Lex nodded. “I must protect Gryph.” The phrase was more than a mantra, it was Lex’s singular purpose in life, hard-wired into him by Sean before they’d ever entered the Realms. “Fucking Sean.”
“Fucking Sean,” Gryph said in solidarity.
“What do you need?”
Gryph told the NPC his plan, and Lex’s expression went from horror to doubt to one of tentative hope. “It could work. It is 100% batshit crazy and stupid and sounds way too much like a plan I’d come up with to be a good idea, but it might work.
“So, you’ll go to her?”
“Yeah, if I gotta,” Lex said, a shiver moving through him. “Not that it really matters anyway,” Lex said, his tone suggesting he was trying to cheer himself up.
“Why’s that?”
“You’re a player who can respawn, so death isn’t really death for you. Bet they hadn’t thought of that.”
“They have. Some of the smartest people on Korynn sit on the Round Table. Trust me, they’ve thought of it.”
Now, laying in the hollow silence left by the lack of dripping water, Gryph wondered if that was the holdup. A death sentence was not only the ultimate deterrent but also the last line of defense from the threat of Chaos Magic. Having the executed practitioner wake a few hours later would be less than effective. The Round Table needed another option.
A sudden clang of metal on metal brought Gryph back to the present and announced the return of his jailers. He stood and smoothed out his ragged prisoner clothes as well as he could, momentarily regretting tearing the sleeve from his shirt. It screwed with his symmetry and made him feel unbalanced. Then he thought about Ovrym’s missing arm and a bitter laugh pushed past his lips. The things we stress about when our fate is uncertain.
The door opened revealing a pair of elven paladin guards. One of them placed manacles on his wrists then bowed his head and motioned he should walk between them. Gryph did as he was bid. It wasn’t his first perp walk, but this one felt different, for those judging him were good people, people he respected.
Be strong, be confident, the Colonel’s voice said inside his head. You chose to act when others would have wavered. You do not let the fear of what ifs paralyze you into inaction. You did what needed doing, damn all the price. It is what makes you a leader and the others followers.
But does it make me a good leader or a bad one? Gryph asked but got only silence. They passed through a large set of double doors and moved down an even wider tunnel. At the tunnel’s end lay the Nexus, the control hub of the city.
The rhythmic thump of the paladin’s footsteps stood in stark contrast to his own silent, barefoot padding and for the first time since his imprisonment, he felt fear and doubt. Did I make the wrong choice? Was saving Errat an act of selfishness? Have I put everyone in danger? What have they decided?
It was that last question and the uncertainty of its answer that hit Gryph the hardest as they passed the threshold from the tunnel into the Nexus. Gryph had no idea what fate awaited him. The paladins brought him to the table. Arrayed around it were the members of his advisory and leadership council. Their stolid faces gave no hint of their decision.
He looked to Lex, whose normally expressive face bore no hint of the thoughts swirling inside. The NPC met his gaze steadily. Perhaps he is not truly alive, Gryph thought before breaking eye contact to gaze around the room. The members of the Round Table were impeccably dressed.
Gartheniel sat in the seat normally reserved for Gryph. Grimliir sat next to him. Barrendiel, the Regent of Sylvan Aenor, sat next to Gartheniel and his sister Sillendriel sat one seat over from Grimliir. She smiled lightly at him and some of the heaviness drained from his body, easing his shoulders. Yet there was a darkness in her eyes, a look that Gryph could not read.
He wanted to rush to her, to comfort her, or perhaps receive comfort from her, but knew he could not. His gaze travelled around the rest of the table, glancing at the arrayed elders. All sat in silence, eyes on him.
Vonn provided a modicum of comfort with a small bob of his head. Ovrym’s stare gave no hints of the thoughts inside his head, but the adjudicator had already killed Gryph once when he believed him to be a danger to the Realms. Gryph knew he would again, if circumstances required.
His heart leaped in his chest on seeing Errat’s goofy grin. Of everyone at the table, the jovial warborn was the only one not hiding his emotions. He is alive and well, Gryph thought, lowering his gaze for a moment, overcome with emotion. When he looked back up Errat’s smile had faded. Let that not be a harbinger of what’s coming.
Gryph came back to Lex, who wore laundered gray robes, representative of his status as a Priest of Cerrunos. He looked almost pious. Under other circumstances Gryph would have laughed at the dichotomy of the image but knew beginning his trial by laughing in front of the very magistrates responsible for his fate would do nothing but convince them he had fallen victim to chaos. He inhaled and made his face a stoic mask.
The paladins led him to a seat opposite Barrendiel and the Stewards, a clear sign that he no longer had any authority. Raathiel flew down from whatever perch she’d occupied and curled up on the table in front of him. A golden glow poured from her, soothing him like the heat of a warm bath.
I am here, she sent. Until the end. Gryph was thankful for the solidarity but he extracted the same promise from her as he’d demanded of Lex. She scowled through their link but agreed.
The paladins made him sit and locked his manacles to a new metal ring set into the table. He did not complain, but his heart sank on seeing the ring sunk into the smooth surface of the stone table. It was a sign the covenant made here had been broken. It was this realization, that he had damaged their trust in him, that hit Gryph the hardest.
“Is that really necessary?” Lex asked as he got to his feet.
Gryph cringed, as images derived from a host of serialized legal dramas pushed through his mind. Don’t go down that road man. They were all saved from that unfortunate likelihood by Gartheniel’s reply.
“It is. The defendant is accused of a capital crime and he is both an accomplished warrior and a powerful mage. The restraints are for his protection as much as ours.”
The implication was obvious. They fear what I’ll do if this judgement goes south. He needed to ease back the tension. “It’s fine Lex,” Gryph said, adjusting his wrists in the heavy chains.
Gartheniel nodded a small thank you to Gryph for making the process easier. He then straightened and took on an official air. “Please stand Gryph, son of Quinn.”
Gryph did, a part of him scowling at the mention of his father’s name. He could blame the Colonel for setting him on the path that had led to this moment. It was a soothing fiction that allowed him to cast off the blame for his own actions and he knew it was complete bullshit. He was his own man and his choices had led him to be here at this moment.
“You a
re charged with knowingly and willfully partaking in the practice of Chaos Magic, and in so doing putting all the mortal Realms at risk. How do you plead?”
Gryph stood tall and looked at Gartheniel. “I freely admit to practicing forbidden Chaos Magic, but I disagree that we should forbid it.”
Gasps flowed around the table, as genuine shock filled everyone, everyone save Lex, who shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Gryph recalled that Lex had not been a fan of his plan.
“You do not believe that Chaos Magic is dangerous?” Barrendiel asked, leaning forward, his face intense. He looked every bit his uncle’s nephew, reminding Gryph of the last Regent Lassendir who’d reacted so viciously against the barest hint of chaos.
“I am not so foolish,” Gryph said, with more venom than he intended. “I am also no child who cowers behind old maid’s tales of fear and terror.” More gasps flowed and Barrendiel’s face turned hard, angry that Gryph had insulted his courage by implication.
It had been this part of his plan that had caused Lex to squirm. “Insulting those who will choose if you live or die, probably ain’t the best hand to play here bud.” Gryph had assured his friend that by the end of his speech, none of them would feel slighted. As Gryph met Barrendiel’s gaze, he wondered if he’d miscalculated.
“I have seen what the Princes of Chaos plan for me, for us, and I know this; if we hope to survive, then we must fight them with every weapon at our disposal, including their own.”
Murmurs moved like waves back and forth around the circumference of the table.
“Are ye suggestin’ that ye can learn tae wield Chaos Magic better than the fell princes?” Grimliir demanded, smashing a fist onto the table. “Surely ye are not that arrogant?”
“I am not,” Gryph said, pausing to let the slow burn of curiosity eat away at their resolve. “But, if we are to face them, without even trying to understand their power, we would be fools.” He stared right at Grimliir. “You were not a fool when you fought the Prime. You studied them, learned from them, and used what you learned against them.”