Stealing Sorcery

by Andrew Rowe

  “Thanks for the ride. Mind filling us in on what you know?”

  “The Overseer is coming. If we push on now, we can reach the exit before she comes across our path. If we wait for Landen, we will encounter her.”

  Velas stretched her legs, feeling tiny pinpricks of pain in her muscles. “That doesn’t sound so bad, now that we’re out of the cells. I think we could handle another one of those guys. Sal?”

  “I could take maybe ten.” He nodded magnanimously.

  “Twenty for me,” Velas grinned. “We got a minute before this Overseer gets to us?”

  “Yes, but I would not advise—”

  “Sal, can you make me a weapon from the bars on one of these cells?”

  Taelien nodded, setting the gauntlet down. “Yeah, I think I can. My head is still feeling pretty swimmy, though, and any kind of use of sorcery is going to slow me down for a fight if we get into one.”

  “Aww, I won’t hold it against you if I have to pull all the weight again.”

  Taelien rolled his eyes. “Fine, you get a dagger. I’ll make Landen a pair of swords.”

  Velas folded her arms. “Don’t be such a poor sport. Just pull off a bar and make me a spear, it’ll probably be the easiest thing to make, anyway.”

  “Not a bad idea, actually.” Taelien moved to a nearby cell, putting a hand on a bar, and closed his eyes. The bar separated from the remainder of the cage. He set the sword down, repeating the process with another bar, and then brought the two bars together. After another moment of concentration, the bars merged together, and then reshaped into a spear.

  The swordsman set the spear down, putting a hand over his abdomen. “That hit me even harder than I expected. I must not have eaten in a while.”

  “You have not.”

  “Thanks, Asphodel, you’re always a font of useful information.” Velas picked up the spear with her burned hand, which fortunately wasn’t burned too badly to grip the weapon.

  Taelien wobbled slightly on his feet, leaning against the wall. “I think I need a moment.”

  “You can rest easy now – I’m here.” Landen’s voice came from down the hall, and he came into sight a few moments later. He held the cracked green crystal in his left hand. “A spear. Nice! Can I get one?”

  “I don’t think my stomach can handle another spear. I could offer you a metal bar, maybe.”

  “Hey, I’ll take what I can get.”

  Taelien pulled another bar out of the nearest cell, offering it to Landen and nearly falling over in the process.

  “Maybe you should hold onto that, actually. You’re looking a little wobbly there.”

  Taelien frowned. “But I want the sword. I like swords.”

  “I know you do, big guy. You can have it back later.” Landen picked up the sword. “Asphodel, can you get the gauntlet?”

  “Yes.” Asphodel picked the gauntlet up. “She is coming.”

  Scraping noises, not unlike those made by the knight, but more in number. Velas counted six, seven, eight…nine. They were not footsteps.

  They were the sounds of chains, dragging along the stone floor as the Overseer floated down the hall toward them. Her plate armor lacked the spines and ridges of the knight, but only his gauntlets and neck had been marked with runes, she had them written across every surface on her body.

  Her hands, neck, and helmet glowed with scarlet glyphs, but the runes on her chest, legs, and shoulders were blue.

  Asphodel threw the gauntlet at the Overseer immediately.

  The nine chains rose from the floor, and it was only at that moment that Velas realized that each of the chains ended in a dagger-like blade.

  Oh, that’s not good at all.

  The chains slapped the gauntlet out of the air and it tumbled to the floor.

  Taelien took a step back, moving into a defensive position with his metal bar. “When I said ten, just to clarify, I meant ten of the normal ones.”

  “No need to be modest, Sal.” Velas nudged him in the ribs. “It’s not like you.”

  “You will abandon your weapons and surrender immediately,” The Overseer demanded. Unlike the knight, the voice sounded like an ordinary human woman. It might have even been familiar, but a itching at the back of her mind seemed to prevent that thought from fully forming.

  “Well, that’s clearly not going to happen. How about we trade places and you surrender?” Taelien made a swishing gesture with his makeshift staff to help elucidate the proposal.

  “Yeah, that’s more like the usual Sal.” Velas grinned.

  “Prisoners have refused to surrender. They will be executed.”

  Velas had expected the chains to be fast, but she hadn’t expected them to tear the air apart. She barely managed to parry the two that came her way, and it looked like one of them managed to slice a gash in Sal’s side.

  The other six went for Landen.

  Landen deflected the first two before charging forward, dancing to the side of the hall as two more flew past him, and then jumping onto the wall and kicking himself off of it to dodge another, and finally swinging the blade back downward to smash the last chain out of his way. He landed in a tumble, rolling behind the Overseer and swinging at her back.

  The chains repositioned immediately, blocking his strike.

  Landen cursed, backing away, now on the opposite side of the Overseer from the rest of the group. Her attention seemed focused on him for the moment – and Velas suddenly realized why, along with processing why Asphodel had thrown the gauntlet.

  Asphodel picked the gauntlet back up, advancing. Velas glanced at Taelien, who was holding the pole in one hand and holding the other to his side to stem the blood from his wound.

  “Let me see that.” Velas walked over to him. “Can’t tell how hard you were hit if you’re covering it.”

  “Never mind me, fight happening. Go get her, I’ll be right behind you.”

  Velas nodded. Landen was doing admirably to deflect the chains, but he only had a single weapon and fighting while backing up was never easy. Velas managed to close in just before Landen took a hit to the ribs from a chain, knocking him backward. She jammed her spear into the Overseer’s back, but it barely reacted to the strike.

  Asphodel threw the gauntlet again; five chains whipped around to deflect it. Velas had to duck to avoid the projectile.

  “You want to stop doing that?”

  “No.”

  Velas growled, lashing out at the Overseer, her spear once again bouncing off the armor.

  “Asphodel, what exactly are you – oh, gods, it’s so simple,” Taelien trailed off. “Landen, keep her busy. Asphodel, bring me the gauntlet, and Velas come here.”

  “You should not do this.” Asphodel gave Taelien the gauntlet, but she had a disapproving expression.

  “Yeah, I’ll feel terrible, but it’ll work.” Taelien laid his staff down, turning the gauntlet around. “Velas, stick the spear into the gauntlet where the hand would go.”

  Velas blinked. “You’re joking.”

  “He is not joking.”

  Velas stuck the spear into the gauntlet, and Taelien closed his eyes. The wrist portion of the gauntlet tightened around the spear, sticking into place.

  Taelien broke into a wracking cough, letting go of the gauntlet. When he recovered from the coughing fit, a trickle of blood was dripping out of his nose. “Now,” he said, “Go hit the blue parts.”

  It finally clicked.

  Her job was hilariously simple.

  Velas spun, charging her target. “Landen, I’m going to hit her in a second. When she’s distracted, go for her head.”

  Four chains shot at her, but Velas didn’t care.

  Surge.

  The burst of momentum shot her past the bladed chains, driving her one-armed spear attack straight into the Overseer’s torso. The red runes on the gauntlet flashed as they contacted the blue runes on the armor. Both flickered and died.

  The Overseer didn’t stop moving.

  The five
remaining chains went for Landen, and he wasn’t fast enough to avoid them all this time. One of them speared his left arm and forced him to drop the gem. Another hit his right leg, knocking him to the floor.

  Unable to make his swing, Landen threw the sword.

  The Overseer ducked. The sword missed.

  As the sword fell, the Overseer spun around, the chains that had been aimed at Landen whipping around toward Velas. She managed to knock three of them upward, but the others were coming in at different angles.

  Asphodel stepped in front of her, grabbing the two remaining chains out of the air with her left hand. She pulled, and the Overseer came within reach. With her other hand, Asphodel pushed Taelien’s collar around the Overseer’s neck.

  The blue collar met with red. The Overseer’s head fell off.

  It was, more accurately, only a helmet. As the Overseer tumbled to the ground, Velas noted that much like the knight, the Overseer was just a hollow suit of armor on the inside.

  Once it was down, Landen picked himself off the floor and quickly struck each of the remaining red sets of runes with the sword. They dimmed and faded almost immediately. Velas repeated the process using her gauntlet-spear against the blue runes, just to make sure the headless monster wasn’t going to start moving again.

  Landen knelt down and began to pry open the breastplate.

  “You know, it’s rude to try to get under a lady’s garments like that, Lan.” Velas leaned against her spear, curious about what he’d find. It took him a good minute to find a spot where he could pry open the breastplate, during which time Taelien managed to limp over to the rest of them, and Velas remembered his injury with a pang of guilt. She turned to face him.

  “You okay, Sal?” He was still holding his side, leaning heavily on his makeshift staff.

  “No, not really. Asphodel, we almost out of here?”

  “Yes.”

  Velas reached up and rubbed her neck beneath the amulet. “Best thing you’ve said all morning. Hey, Sal, tap my neck?”

  Taelien seemed to get her meaning, taking the gauntlet-spear and prodding the back of her amulet. Like his, her amulet unlocked at the gauntlet’s touch, slipping off. She caught it in her burned hand, which wasn’t feeling quite as burned anymore. Dubiously, she took a look – her skin wasn’t actually damaged.

  Just a mental effect, she realized. I was never actually injured. How did I fail to notice- oh, right, when the guard spoke, he did something to my head. Not to mention whatever they did to me when I was asleep – I could have all sorts of spells on me, since I wasn’t awake to detect the shift in my Dominions.

  Well, that makes this simulation at least slightly more ethical. I was going to pound someone’s face in if they actually electrocuted Sal that badly. Still looked like it hurt like a knife to the gut, but it’s no wonder he’s up and walking again if it was just pain, not a real injury.

  The group took a minute to breathe while Landen worked to pry a golden gemstone out of the Overseer’s chest. Taelien was pressing a hand against the injury on his side and Velas approached to take a closer look.

  The wound was real. It wasn’t particularly deep, but when she touched a smear of the blood on his chest, her fingers came back wet. Fortunately, the cut didn’t appear to be particularly deep – but it was still a potential danger if they didn’t find him medical attention soon.

  Maybe I need to bludgeon one of the instructors after all. Why would his injury be real if mine wasn’t? Did the electricity break his shield, or was he never protected at all?

  The blood on his mouth was equally real, as was the numbness in her right arm. They had both overspent themselves on sorcery – and if this was a test, they’d probably be in some trouble for it.

  Once the golden gem was secured, the group made their way further down the hall until they reached a door covered in blue runes – which, predictably, opened at a tap from the gauntlet. Landen swung the door wide, revealing brilliant daylight outside. Together, they stepped into the light.

  Chapter XIX – Jonan V – Festering Wound

  Jonan watched as his family burned.

  Don’t let her see me. Don’t let her find me, he prayed. The boy stared intently through the space between the wardrobe’s doors. Packed between clothing, he was concealed as best he could manage, but he knew that a cursory examination would reveal his presence.

  And then he would be added to the still-burning pile in the living room. The smoke from the flames was steadily filling the entire home, but their murderer remained within, kicking something toward the pile.

  The latest of her victims was small, smaller even than Jonan himself. He forced his eyes shut, but he could not will the image away. The hateful orange-red glow burned his eyes even as the smoke seared into his lungs.

  His eyes reopened. As he watched the latest kindling begin to catch, he found that he could not associate what he was seeing with what had once been his sister. There was enough remaining of her face to be recognizable, but he could not believe that it was her – that it was little Chel – in that motionless form. He could see nothing human left in that husk.

  He could see nothing human in the woman that had burned his family, either.

  She raised her hands to the fire, grinning as if warming herself at a hearth. The glow of the flames illuminated the details of her face, thin and angular and punctuated eyes that mirrored the conflagration in color.

  He did not wonder at the murderer’s motives – her smile and behavior were sufficient to inform him of everything he needed to know. She was a predator, and they, unfortunate creatures, were merely her prey.

  Reaching toward the flames, she seemed to tear a fragment of the fire away with her bare hand, rolling it within her fingers. The flames traveled up her arm, wrapping around it in a wreath, but they did not burn her clothing or skin. Her songbird laughter echoed as she turned and stormed toward the wardrobe where Jonan remained hidden.

  Don’t see me.

  Don’t see me, he willed.

  She swung the doors of the cabinet wide.

  “Why are you hiding, Jonan?”

  Lavender smiled at him, caressing his left arm and setting it ablaze. He screamed as his exposed flesh began to burn.

  She shook her head, making a disapproving noise. “Jonan, Jonan. I always find you.”

  Jonan’s screams faltered as he inhaled the smoke, and his voice faltered into a cough as the flames spread from his arm to his shoulder.

  “There, there.” She patted his head with her burning hand, spreading the flames to his hair. The clothes around him caught as he brushed against them and fell to the floor.

  “It will all be over soon.”

  ***

  The scribe shivered as consciousness slowly returned.

  The sensation of flames lingered in his limbs, but lacked the sharpness of the bolt’s initial impact. His eyes fumbled feebly to open, revealing a dark and blurred world around him.

  Instinctively, he tried to move his arm to adjust his spectacles, but no arm responded to his command. A moment of panic gripped him as he twisted to the side, trying to get a better look. He heard a sharp breath from nearby.

  “Jonan! Don’t move.”

  The voice pounded into his mind, forcing his eyes shut. He laid back down, feeling skin pressed against his forehead a moment later.

  “Hey – relax, slow down. You shouldn’t be moving yet. You’re in bad shape.”

  “My…arm,” he managed to mumble.

  “It’s going to feel cold for a while, I’m sorry. It’s the best I can do for now.”

  The pounding in his head continued, but a dubious manifestation of consciousness was returning to him. He recognized the voice of the speaker as Rialla, and presumably she was talking about chilling his arm with ice sorcery.

  Is that a good idea? He wasn’t really conscious enough to be sure. And if my arm is supposed to be cold, why does it still feel like it’s burning inside?

  “Mmm.”
r />   “You probably shouldn’t try to talk yet, either.”

  Something wet was on his forehead now – a damp cloth, he realized after a moment. That, at least seemed normal enough. Having a fever made sense when he was poisoned.

  Oh, right. I’m poisoned.

  “Poison. What’s happening?”

  He heard Rialla take a deep breath. “I did what I could, but I don’t have much left in me after all that fighting. We managed to chase off the rest of the attackers, though, and get you inside. Some of the guards went and got Aladir.”

  “You’re too low. I mean loud. I mean, slow down. My head hurts.”

  “Sorry.” Rialla lowered her voice to a more tolerable volume. “I’ll be brief. Aladir and I have been trying to keep you stable, but we haven’t been able to cure the poison. It’s necrotizing the tissue around the wound. I’ve been able to slow the process somewhat by chilling the area, and Aladir has been treating the damage near the injury, but we’re more worried about the poison that spread throughout your blood before I managed to chill the area.”

  Jonan frowned. That sounded pretty awful.

  “Can’t you, um, water sorcery it?”

  The sorceress sighed. “I’m not very good at that, and I just dehydrated myself pretty seriously making you dominion essence of water before the battle.”

  “Antidotes?”

  “The ones you were working on all looked like they were for ingested poisons, so far as Aladir and I could tell. Neither of us is a poison expert.”

  Jonan nodded weakly. “You’re right. Drinking a potion isn’t going to help anything in my blood – not much, anyway. And putting dominion essence of water straight into my blood would be deadly.” His body felt weak. Lifeless. “I need you to help me, Rialla. Can you help me?”

  “You’re not going to like what I have planned.”

  He tensed his jaw. “I’m not losing the arm. No.”

  “You might have to, regardless of what I do. But that’s not the plan. I need you to follow my instructions exactly – this will be your best chance.”

  Oh, that sounds promising. I can already tell this is going to be loads of fun.