Stealing Sorcery

by Andrew Rowe

  “Dominion of Protection, wrap around my blade.”

  A blue-white shroud encapsulated the sword, causing it to shimmer in the low light.

  “Not sure what that was for,” Sterling remarked, “But I’m pretty confident it’s not going to help you.”

  Torrent reappeared directly behind Sterling. The Vae’kes didn’t seem to notice.

  Lydia stepped forward into a lunge. As she had predicted, Sterling reached for the blade, but she whipped it out of the way, slashing downward. She severed the bindings on his right boot, smirked, and danced backward, resuming her stance.

  The Vae’kes glanced down at his boot, sighed, and then looked back up at Lydia. “Really? Do you have any idea what that cost?”

  She shrugged. “Probably not a fraction of what you’re making on this contract – although I’ll wager it isn’t in coin.”

  He sighed. “You don’t have to try to bait me into talking – I think we’re all relatively clear on who is killing who at this point, and I’ve never minded a bit of a conversation before a meal.”

  Lydia quirked an eyebrow. “A meal?”

  “Your sorcery, my friend. It’s going to be delicious.”

  Sterling rushed forward – enhanced by a motion sorcery effect, Lydia judged – and Lydia flicked her blade outward to stop his rush.

  She had no time to aim for his eye, but nevertheless, Sterling turned aside to avoid her strike.

  Ah, Lydia smirked, perfect. He doesn’t know if the sword can hurt him.

  It probably can’t, but I’ll solve that problem later.

  Where’s Taelien? If he’s one of the bodies down in that cave…

  …well, then at least the Sae’kes could be nearby. We could use a weapon like that for dealing with the Vae’kes.

  Lydia stepped back, resetting her stance. Torrent flickered and reappeared behind Sterling, thrusting a rapier at the Vae’kes from behind, but Sterling spun and caught the blade.

  Lydia took the opening, slashing the back of Sterling’s other boot. He had other positions that would have normally been more tempting, but if she connected with his skin and failed to bite, Sterling would know her blade was useless.

  Sterling snapped Torrent’s sword in half.

  Garrick disappeared again.

  Sterling lazily cast the broken half of Garrick’s blade aside, turning back to Lydia. “You know, you’re beginning to irritate me.”

  “I should hope so. But, in fairness, I should probably offer you the chance to surrender and face a trial.”

  Sterling ran a hand through his hair, looking contemplative, and then shrugged. “Declined.”

  “I expected as much. But you seem like a talker, so humor me – what’s all this for?”

  The Vae’kes laughed, shaking his head. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  “I’ve always considered myself very tolerant of outside perspectives.”

  Sterling folded his arms across his chest, glancing briefly skyward. “Well,” he smiled, “We’re saving the world.”

  Lydia took another step back, knowing each step her opponent had to take widened her advantage. “That’s somewhat grand even by Vae’kes standards.”

  Sterling tilted his head to the side. “Is that so? Are you acquainted with many Vae’kes?”

  He began to advance again, glancing from side to side.

  Lydia followed his glances, noting that Velas had dragged herself over to a tree and was valiantly attempting to pull herself to her feet, but that Landen and Torrent were out of sight.

  “Not directly, I confess. But I’m relatively confident one of my friends works closely with one.”

  “That’s scandalous. A paladin, friends with a contact for the Vae’kes? What would your superiors say?”

  Lydia shrugged. “Not much, to be honest. I think they’re fairly accustomed to spies from other organizations being omnipresent at this point.”

  “What a sad state of affairs.” Sterling shook his head. “Your once proud knighthood, slowly decaying from within.”

  He’s stalling.

  I thought I was stalling, but he’s stalling for something – even the most arrogant assassin wouldn’t want to talk this much. And I don’t think my little protection trick on the sword is what’s deterring him.

  I need to end this.

  Lydia braced herself as Sterling stalked forward, and as he came within reach, she lunged again, aiming directly at his right eye.

  He intercepted the blade with an iron grasp, just as she had expected. And she stepped in close and tapped his arm.

  “Sleep.”

  The dream spell flooded over Sterling. His eyes closed.

  “I’d really rather not.”

  He jerked the rapier out of her hand, flipping it around into his grip.

  Lydia stepped back, but not fast enough. Sterling struck with her own weapon – and sparks flew as the blade’s barrier struck the one around her body, deflecting the sword and leaving both barriers undamaged.

  And, with Sterling’s hands occupied with a useless weapon, Lydia was free to raise her own – and begin an incantation.

  “Xerasilis, I bind my aura to this ring.”

  She felt a chill as her body heat briefly shifted, creating a flicker of flame over the ring she wore on her right hand. It was miniscule; a dying candle’s flame on a winter night, but it was enough.

  The ring glowed white on her hand as she spoke again, turning her right palm toward Sterling.

  “Eru volar shen taris.”

  A sirocco of blue-white flame burst from her hand, sending shivers through her form.

  Sterling dropped her sword, thrusting out both hands and inhaling deeply. A black aura manifested around his hands, creating a vortex that tore her flames out of the air, leaving nothing but a trail of smoke.

  Lydia staggered backward, shivering uncontrollably and falling to her knees.

  Gods, so cold. Hartigan warned me, but…

  Sterling shook his head, kicking Lydia’s fallen sword out of the way as he advanced. “Not a bad trick. That might have actually hurt me if it made contact – a shame you won’t get another chance at it.”

  Sterling blurred forward again, reaching out – his hand’s flickering black as it tore through her barrier and grabbed her around the throat.

  “You have many skills – enough to survive without a few of them, I’d think.”

  Lydia felt something reach through his hand – foreign essence, probing within her, flooding her blood – and tearing something out of her.

  She screamed, in spite of the hand clenched around her throat.

  Lydia was only vaguely aware as she crumpled to the ground, feeling terribly empty within, worse than any loss of blood.

  “Stay down,” Sterling instructed, delivering a kick to her right leg. Bones shattered within and Lydia’s mind fluttered again.

  She curled into a ball, shivering, nearly insensate.

  Torrent appeared behind Sterling, grabbing directly onto the Vae’kes.

  “We’re going on a little trip,” Garrick murmured.

  The pair vanished.

  Moments later, they reappeared, only a blade-length away.

  Sterling had Garrick in a single-armed headlock, and he was shaking his own head. “Against an ordinary opponent, I suppose teleporting them high into the air would be quite creative. Against a Vae’kes, well – you just gave me travel sorcery. Appreciated.”

  He dragged Garrick across the ground, the lieutenant struggling within his grip.

  Lydia could not even consider intervening. Her mind was frozen, broken beyond the state of her body.

  Sterling smiled, reaching down. “A gift like that deserves something in return, don’t you think? I don’t have much on hand,” his grip settled around Lydia’s fallen rapier, “But on such short notice, this will have to do.”

  And he plunged the blade into Torrent’s chest.

  Garrick fell free, released from Sterling’s grip. The h
ilt of the sword struck the ground first, driving it further into Torrent’s chest, leaving him coughing as he rolled helplessly on the dirt.

  Sterling stepped close to Torrent again. “What were you thinking? I mean, honestly, couldn’t you have thought to go for help?”

  He laid a boot on Torrent’s side, flipping him to face upward, and plucked the rapier out of his chest.

  Garrick let out a rasping cough, raising a hand in what looked like a warding gesture – and then smiled, grabbing onto Sterling’s leg.

  “How pointless.”

  Sterling thrust the rapier downward – only to find it snapped in half by a blade that glowed with blue-green fire.

  “As it turns out…” Garrick rasped. “I did go for help.”

  Five more glowing blades appeared around Sterling, swiping inward.

  Sterling deflected each of them with precise strikes, jumping backward and spinning around, scanning for his attacker.

  “War! What is this nonsense?”

  Landen stepped out from behind a nearby tree hurling something - just a handful of dirt, Lydia realized belatedly – into Sterling’s eyes.

  Sterling stumbled backward, dropping his sword and reaching for his eyes – and then vanished as the floating swords whisked through the air where he was standing moments before.

  The Vae’kes reappeared a dozen feet away, punching a tree hard enough to bury his fist within it. “War! You hear me, you fucker? I’m going to end you!”

  Snarling, Sterling vanished a second time – and for a moment, the forest was silent.

  A pair of figures moved into view, only one of which was familiar.

  Taelien.

  His sword glowed brightly in his hand, bathed in the light of seven runes.

  Lydia smiled softly at the sight – the mirror of a legendary god.

  The swordsman was limping forward, half-carried by the other figure – an unfamiliar man with strange coppery skin and hair.

  “Lydia,” Taelien muttered, noting her. His eyes shifted, catching Garrick on the ground next. “Oh, gods…”

  Lydia could not yet find the strength to speak.

  The pair moved forward with agonizing slowness, until Taelien pulled himself free, kneeling at Garrick’s side.

  “I’ll get you help. Hold still.”

  Garrick let out a choking laugh, reaching out for Taelien’s hands. The swordsman took them.

  “It’s too late for me, boy. But it’s all right – I never wanted anything more than to be a hero.”

  Taelien nodded. “I’ll be here for the end, then.”

  “Gods, don’t embarrass me, lad.” From her vantage point on the dirt, Lydia couldn’t quite see Torrent’s face, but his voice was strained with tears. “Go see to Lydia and the others. Eratar will see to my needs. He always has.”

  “Goodbye, sir.”

  Lydia felt little of what followed, but when Taelien lifted her into his arms, she knew that at last she was safe.

  Interlude II – Asphodel I – Oracle

  Asphodel chased the trail of her potential future.

  Having deviated from the main road, her boots crunched against leaves and branches on the forest floor. She ran at a steady rate, pacing the phantom vision of her own movements in her left eye.

  Each step brought her closer to a confrontation she had already heard. While her eyes only showed her varying future states of the location in her field of view, her ears provided her with sensory input that she would be exposed to at a later time, regardless of the location in which she gathered that sensory information.

  Thus she had known, just before Erik Tarren had teleported them, that they would find the bodies of fallen comrades at their destination. She had known that they would confront deadly enemies – but she did not yet know if they would survive.

  Without pausing to concentrate for a coherent vision, she could only hear a few minutes into their potential future. It was insufficient to judge if her platoon had just sealed their own fates – but if they had, she believed it was necessary.

  Deviating from the path of destiny can only lead to madness and ruin.

  Asphodel stumbled over a loose rock, just as the vision of her future had. She caught herself against a tree, her right foot landing inches from a snare. Nearby, she noted a piece of discarded armor – a single plate bracer, the leather straps cut away.

  She scanned the forest canopy, still unable to locate her quarry. She did, however, note multiple other pieces of glimmering steel scattered on the forest floor. When her own image moved deeper into the woods, she was swift to follow. The overlay in her left eye was only about one and a half seconds ahead of her own time, providing little chance to react to it.

  The images overlapping her right eye were further in the future –nine point seven seconds. She had measured this carefully, learning to utilize it to predict enemy movements.

  A crossbow bolt entered the vision of her right eye – and her future self, further ahead on the path, raised a hand.

  Asphodel rushed ahead, displacing leaves and grass, and raised her right hand. She saw the projectile approaching a second time, mimicking her earlier vision, and she copied that in turn, snatching the bolt out of the air and snapping it between her fingers.

  More traditional sorcerers often recommended that she use sorcery to adjust the timeframes shown in her vision, but her early experiments in doing so had proven unproductive – she had long ago acclimated to the specific timing of her sight, and adjusting the timing ruined her tactical advantage.

  Growling softly, she turned her head toward the origin point of the bolt – Susan Crimson, squatting high in the branches of a nearby tree, unarmored and frowning furiously.

  Asphodel saw herself slowly approaching the tree and followed her own path.

  “You know, I was really hoping they’d send someone else,” Susan called down to her. “Your little prediction trick is irritating.”

  Asphodel smiled, following her own image as it circled to the right, breaking Susan’s line of sight. As she moved, she discarded the broken pieces of the crossbow bolt, noting a distinct patch of grass that had been directly in line with Susan’s position – most likely another trap of some kind.

  “Candidate Crimson, I offer you the opportunity to surrender,” Asphodel offered, recalling the words that she had heard herself speak – the words that had guided her to break from Taelien’s path to seek her own.

  She already knew the reply, and thus she drew her sword, deflecting another crossbow bolt with ease.

  She also knew that this action would trigger a silence in her mind – and as she struck the bolt, she realized why. The metallic blade shattered a vial of black fluid attached to the bolt’s shaft, splashing the Delaren with droplets of liquid and fragments of broken glass. The glass shards impacted harmlessly, but the few beads of the fluid that touched her skin triggered an immediate effect.

  The images of her future selves vanished. Her eyes saw only the present. Her ears processed only that moment in time.

  Asphodel rushed behind a nearby tree, breathing heavily. Ducking, she raised a gauntleted hand in an effort to wipe the droplets away from her face – but the brush of metal against her skin did not avail her.

  Don’t panic.

  Don’t panic!

  “Hah! I knew that would work. You fucking sorcerers are all the same.” The Delaren heard a nearby thud that she judged to be Susan hopping down from her tree. “Take away your little tricks and you’re worthless.”

  That vial must have been void essence – she just cut off my connection with the dominions.

  Asphodel dropped her sword and slipped off her backpack, tearing open the top compartment and scrambling to retrieve her water skin.

  Footsteps were rapidly approaching. The Delaren tore open the water skin, pouring it over her face and tossing it aside just as Susan rounded the tree, a loaded crossbow in hand.

  “Not a bad tactic, but a little late.”

  Asphode
l’s vision was blurred from the water, but she still managed to throw herself to the side when Susan lifted her hand to fire. The bolt landed harmlessly in the nearby dirt.

  Susan made a tsking noise, continuing to approach. Asphodel blinked ineffectually, using her left hand to raise her tabard to wipe her face as she scrambled to her feet.

  As Asphodel turned toward her opponent, Susan slammed the empty crossbow into her temple. Her vision swam as she fell backward, blood seeping from a shallow cut, the crack of the wood echoing in her mind. She landed hard on a large stone, but her armor served to cushion the impact.

  “Fucking worthless.” Susan cast the crossbow aside, drawing the sword from her side. “I mean, your hair is going to be worth a fortune, but your fighting skills – those are pretty unimpressive.”

  My hair, she processed. Of course.

  As Susan’s blade descended toward the Delaran’s neck, Asphodel focused on the crystalline strands that housed her essence – and drank deeply of their strength.

  The assassin’s blade seemed to slow as each strand of power flooded Asphodel’s body, filling her with years of stored power in each of her body’s dominions.

  She caught the blade in a gauntleted hand and flexed her fingers, snapping it in twain. Growling lightly, the Delaren shoved herself to her feet.

  Susan backpedaled, flicking her left wrist in Asphodel’s direction. A dagger emerged from the assassin’s sleeve, but its movement was sluggish with Asphodel’s altered perception, and she stepped around it.

  Asphodel advanced, raising her arms into a simple unarmed combat stance. She felt a shiver of euphoria as the essence continued to seep into her body, but maintained her approach, knowing that every instant she utilized this inner strength was borrowing from the span of her life.

  Susan swept her broken blade at Asphodel’s eyes. Asphodel raised a bracer and deflected the strike, stepping inward and slamming an open palm into the assassin’s chest. She felt ribs buckle at the strength of the blow, sending Susan falling backward into a nearby tree, coughing blood.

  “Fuck,” the assassin muttered, breaking into a coughing fit.