Chapter 6
Cross Training
Coral walked cautiously up the tunnel. He wore heavy boots and gloves, and sturdy, but not dressy armor. A plain surcoat kept it relatively protected from the grime of the environment. His shield was slung over one shoulder, and his sword was buckled at his waist. A variety of other equipment hung from his belt, and more from a backpack slung over his shoulders. He wore an open faced helm, with a magelight crystal on the brow. He paused and surveyed in the environment.
The passage was slightly wider than he was, and up to his shins in water. There was the ever present sound of dripping, and his breath fogged in the air. Slime marred the walls, which were roughhewn stone set in a crude arch. The passage opened out into a room just ahead of him. Something dimly glowed within, but he couldn't make it out from where he stood.
“Check the ceiling, check the floors,” he hummed to himself. Moving one foot at a time, Coral gingerly stepped towards the entrance. First he would lift his foot, then balance, then move it forward and tap it lightly on the ground. If nothing untoward happened, he would place it down and shift his balance again.
When he got to the threshold he stopped and played his magelight about the room. There was a small plinth just past the middle of the room and in a corner on the left wall glinted a white stone statue, hands raised in reverence. “Huzzah!” cried Coral, softly.
He took two steps into the room towards the statue and felt something give under his foot. With a scrape and groan a portcullis crashed down in the doorway behind him, sending a wave of filthy water over him. He winced and wiped his forehead. “I knew that was going to happen.”
He moved, gingerly once more, towards the plinth near the center of the room. It proved to be about thigh high, made of mortared rubble, with a solid stone slap top. There were some engravings in highly ornate calligraphy that glowed under the magelight. In the center was a small bowl in which burned a thumb sized flame, the origin of the glow.
“I like this not,” said Coral. He looked around and examined the plinth as best he could. “It smells of a trap,” he said. “Of some sort.” He fished, back handed, amongst the things hanging from his backpack. Eventually he unhooked a water skin and brought it out.
“Take that!” he said, squirting water from the skin onto the flame. It hissed and steamed, but the flame did not go out. He poured more out until the small bowl overflowed. The water boiled, frothed and steamed away. “Or not” he corrected himself.
He bit his lip in thought for a while. Then he fumbled in his girdle and pulled out a small bottle. “Blessed Forbearance” he read from it. Then shrugged, pulled the wax top from it and drank it. “I feel very forbearing now.” He placed the empty bottle on the plinth, and took out a knife and started to cut into the water skin. Water gushed out, and continued to gush. He widened the hole, put the knife down, and fished around inside with his hand.
“There you are,” he said, drawing out his hand, which continued to flow with water. He played the magelight over it and cupped in his palm was a slightly darker blue spot. He dropped it into the bottle which quickly filled up and began to overflow.
Coral picked up the bottle and squatted to get nearer to the flame. “If I recall my alchemy, water and fire are opposites.” He then quickly upended the bottle and slammed it down over the flame. Blue and red light danced within the jar and steam and water spurted from the rim as he held it down.
“Ow, ow, ow” said Coral as the heat began to radiate through the gloves. He was just about to let go when the lights went out. He drew the jar back and all was still. “Huzzah for me!”
He then looked to the statue. It was the same size as him and only roughly carved. He traced the light around the edges and saw that it appeared to be free standing. The base was hidden by the water. “I bet something happens if I move it from that base,” said Coral, moving forward to try to see through the water.
He groaned again as he felt another slab on the floor shift beneath his boot. There was another rasping sound and dust fell from the ceiling. He then cried as he felt something drench his face. Wiping furiously and whipping the light around the room he saw that several nozzles had appeared and were drenching him and the room in a fine, oily liquid. It shimmered on the water's surface and rippled in rainbows in the magelight.
“Ha!” he cried in joy. “Foiled you!” He pointed at the plinth. “I knew it was a trap. If I hadn't put that out and set that off then... whoosh! Half-elf flambé! No fool am I...” But his words trailed off as he heard another grating noise and saw movement.
In the niche, the statue had begun to glow. Then it moved, taking a step out. Coral held up his finger. “I knew that was going to happen too.” He backed away, drawing his sword and unlimbering his shield. The statue lurched towards him.
“Great. I have to fight a stone creature?” He looked sympathetically at his sword. “Sorry friend. I promise you a quality whetstone after this.”
He drew the statue into the center of the room and tried an experimental lunge. The point caught the statue in the hollow of its shoulder. A small bit flaked off and a bright spark was struck. “Whoa, wait!” cried Coral, backing away. He looked from the statue to his sword and back again. “No, no. It can't be.” He cautiously lunged again, evading its clumsy strike. He drew his sword gently across it and a brief trail of sparks was stuck. He looked, worried, at the oil still floating on the water. “Flint? Flint!”
He thrashed around, looking for something, anything, which might help. Then he cried out as a blow from the slow moving statue landed on him, and he gave back. He sheathed his sword, looked at his shield. Also steel. He slung that as well. Then backed off again into another corner as it was catching up. “Think, think,” he said to himself. “You can't keep dancing forever.”
Then there was a clank and bubble, and his foot sank into a hidden cleft. He tugged upward, but some sort of barb held him in place. “Well that's lovely,” he commented.
The statue approached, and Coral pivoted as best he could on the trapped foot. When the first blow missed, he tackled it by the waist. It was heavy, but not quick. Thus embraced, it lacked the leverage to deal telling blows to him. However Coral's blows also appeared to do no harm to it. Coral growled, and tried to pinion its arms to its sides, but its relentless strength stymied this tactic. Slowly it bore him backwards until he was bent about it, trapped by his ankle. Suddenly, his foot pulled from his boot. Thinking quickly he pushed off with his other foot and tightened his hold. The momentum from his fall coming at the same time as the creature's swing pushed it past its tipping point and the two came crashing down, Coral on the bottom.
The weight of the statue held Coral down and he struggled to get his head above the water. The statue pounded his back, dealing no hurt through the tough armor, but making it harder for Coral to rise. As his breath was running out he let it push him all the way down, and then stuck out at the arm it was supporting itself on. Rolling in that direction he got past it and it went crashing down in the water. Wasting no time Coral rolled back on top of it and switched positions, now holding it down.
“Of course, the fact you don't need to breathe makes this less of a tactical advantage” muttered Coral. It thrashed around, but each time it got one or two limbs under itself, Coral swung his weight in the other direction and collapsed it again. “What I'd give for a flint napper,” he cried.
He then waited for it to slowly get half up again, and then threw his weight against it in a different direction and rammed its shoulder into the wall. There was a large crack and the arm snapped clean off. Coral leaped up and grabbed the arm, now gone stiff. With a whack he slammed it against its head as it rose up, unburdened. A shard flaked from the head but the arm snapped in two. Coral tried again with the remains of the arm, but this time aimed at its arm. He was rewarded with another crack as that arm snapped off.
“Well, now I'm getting somewhere.” He collected the fresh arm and used it repeatedly against its legs
. The torso of the statue fell to the water and writhed there. He watched a while, and was satisfied that it was unable to rise. He tossed down the chipped arm on top of it.
Coral stomped over to the corner, no longer caring about hidden pressure plates. He felt around, removed the barb from his boot and extracted it. Sitting on the plinth and replacing the boot, he eyed the now empty niche warily. “There has to be a hidden compartment under the statue. That's where they always are.”
He sloshed over and started poking about the base. Nothing moved at his gentle prodding. So he pushed harder. Nothing continued to happen. With rising annoyance he kicked the base. Then stamped it. Then jumped up and down on top of it. Water and oil splashed everywhere. “Move! Move! By the grace of the Queen, move!” But nothing happened.
Breathing heavily and feeling defeated, Coral slumped against the wall. One of the stones shifted under his weight and the panel that had been at the rear of the statue slid away. Behind was a shallow compartment lined in soft material. Suspended in it by pegs and wire was a fine fair sword. A magically large fire opal glistened from the pommel. The grip was wrapped in dyed red leather. The cross hilt was black burnished iron. And the blade. Oh the blade! It shone of blue steel undimmed by the dank surroundings. And as Coral watched the flicker of lightning could be seen flashing over its surface followed by a deep vibration of muted thunder.
“Yes!” he cried. “Lightning Lord!” He reached out an eager hand to grab it. There was a sudden flash as a spark arced to his outstretched hand. He knew no more.
White Mage Page 6