by C. M. Lance
Sig ducked his head. “I know. I don’t ever seem to get far enough ahead to attack.”
“You can’t wait to get ahead to attack, or you’ll end up dead. Furthermore, you can’t do what you never practice.” She held out her hand for Karina’s sword. “I am going to give you three exercises. You will practice attacking out of blocks.”
She demonstrated the three exercises. Each exercise consisted of generating an offensive maneuver from several different defensive positions. “As you work on these, develop a rhythm. Instead of block, block, block it must become block, slash, block, thrust, block, and slice. Your current technique doesn’t put your opponent off balance. Take away their constant hack, slice, thrust. Make them replace offensive moves with defensive moves. Use your rhythm to force them to change theirs.”
She returned Katrina’s sword and said to Sig, “Over to the practice dummy. Work on your rhythm before you face an opponent.”
For the next two hours, he beat up the practice dummy. He quit when the dummy began getting the best of him. His arms felt like noodles when he changed clothes. He knew anything that tired him that much had to be good for him. Maybe in a week he’d be ready for live opponents if he spent at least an hour with the dummy every day.
Chapter 60
Dmitri backed up on the broad stone porch almost to the flagstone steps that cascaded down to the manicured lawn, and looked around. He had toiled up those steps, thumped the verdigris copper knocker, and waited, but nothing happened. What next? He’d been summoned. He stepped up to the enormous carved double doors and reached for the Gargoyle knocker again. The patinaed replica of a demon’s head appeared immense even in his massive hand.
He released it to swing back. The thud echoed through the spacious entryway behind the doors. He knew the space; he’d been here before. He waited.
He tried the door latch. It moved. The door swung silently open. “Is anyone here?”
Silence.
He took off his shoes and left them on the floor in front of the carved antique sideboard with the vase containing fresh flowers. In socks, he padded toward the back of the house.
His “Hello” echoed in the stillness.
He reached into his pocket and felt the demon’s finger bone. Inert since the summoning, it now directed him to the cellar below the basement. He choked back a sob.
He descended into the basement hallway that led to a wood paneled recreation room. Inside the room, he walked past the snooker table, around the poker table, and turned right at the end of the shuffleboard through a door into the storage area. Two doors stood at the far end of the storage area. He opened the door on the left and took a deep breath.
As he padded down the stone stairs, he detected a coppery smell. He hesitated before he entered the stone vaulted hallway. Lining the hallway on both sides, heavy wooden doors were set into stone walls. He reached into his pocket again. It confirmed what he feared, the door on the end.
Hand shaking, he turned the doorknob. The door swung open on blackness.
A voice hissed. “In, and close the door.” In the dim light from the hallway, he saw the chair. After he closed the door, he edged over in the stygian dark until he bumped into it.
“Sit.”
He sat. “I smell blood.”
“Yes, I needed a virgin sacrifice. Regrettably, she didn’t qualify. Twelve and not a virgin, sad commentary.”
Dmitri remained silent.
“Your brothers are here. They have her.”
Dmitri looked about frantically in the pitch dark. “My brothers, here?”
“Not in this room.”
“All of them?”
“Yes. Would you care to visit with them?”
“No! Please no.”
“Very well, I have an assignment for you. On the poker table is a vial of liquid. It must go in the boy’s food tonight.”
“What if he doesn’t come?”
“Today is the dart tournament. He’ll be there with his friend, the Were. Put it in his food. Bring him here when he loses consciousness. Place him on the floor outside the stairway and leave.”
“Yes Father.”
Like a slap, the voice hissed out at him. “Never call me that!”
Dmitri ducked his head and pulled his shoulders up. The darkness echoed silence.
“Is it a magic potion?”
“No. He’s a Battle Wizard. Magic won’t work. It’s a drug. There’s enough for two doses, in case you spill or fail with the first. Leave and bring him here - tonight.”
Dmitri rose and felt his way to the door. The light from the hallway blinded him like the sun after the total dark in the room. When his eyes recovered, he turned to look back into the cavernous room. It appeared empty except for the chair that sat in the middle of the circle inscribed on the floor.
A snarl issued from down the end of the hallway. His brothers. He bounded up the stone stairway. Rushing through the recreation room, he swept the vial off the poker table, ran up the steps, through the mansion, and out the front door.
He ran down the long driveway, through the iron gates, all the way back to his car parked in the street, and never looked back.
Chapter 61
Sig returned from visiting Grampa Thor, again disappointed at the continuing lack of change. Food went in one tube and waste out another. There weren’t any visions this time when he held Grampa’s hand. Visits to the hospital left him depressed.
He drove to pick Rick up. He smiled at Sig when he hopped into the Jeep. He was sure that Rick sensed his depression, but wasn’t going to let that ruin his night.
“Will the Professor be there tonight?”
Sig shook his head. “No, he’s out of town and flies in after midnight. I’m supposed to pick him up at Midway airport.”
“Darn, I was hoping he could check the darts tonight. Last time he caught the leprechaun with hot darts. I figure the big Moldovan will try the same thing.”
“Do you think the Moldovan trusts you?’
“Of course not… it goes without saying. That’s why we need a checker.”
“Have you ever used ensorcelled darts?”
Rick patted the breast pocket of his jacket. “Magic.” He leaned forward and patted his hip pocket. “Normal.”
“I wondered why you wore the jacket tonight. I thought you didn’t believe in using magic.”
“It’s like the Tour de France, if one person dopes, everyone has to dope.”
“I’ve never seen you caught with hot darts.”
“I only pull them out if there’s an incompetent checker. That’s why I wanted the Professor here, to ensure that everyone’s clean. I like a level playing field. I like it better if no one uses magic. However, I’d hate it if I lost because his magic was better than mine.”
“Who spells your darts?”
“Ve all haf our ways. Mine lipsch are zealed.”
Sig grimaced as he stopped to drop Rick at the Game Room front door. “OK, keep your secrets Dr. Frankenstein. Find us a table while I park. I’m famished.”
Upon entering, he spotted Rick at a high top table. Beyond the table, he saw Dmitri chatting up three waitresses. He just didn’t understand the attraction. He shook his head and hiked his haunch up into in a seat across from Rick.
Rick looked up. “What?”
“Mr. Nastase. He’s chatting up some waitresses and they’re smiling. Some people have no taste.”
Rick glanced over at Dmitri and turned back with a shrug. “Speaking of taste, I’m going to get the half pound burger with grilled onions and blue cheese.”
“Aren’t onions vegetables?”
“Don’t say that. You’ll make me loose my appetite. I think of grilled onions as the other white meat.”
“All right, with that bit of wisdom, I think I’ll have the lasagna - with meat sauce and meatballs, and sausage.”
Rick beamed and pointed at him with fingers like a sideways pistol. “Now that’s what I am talking about.”
“Oh man, you just ruined it.”
“Balance, everything in balance. My balance is different than yours.”
“Whatever.”
One of the waitresses finally broke away from Dmitri and sauntered up to take their orders. “Are you going to write it down?” Rick asked. She rolled her eyes and turned on her heel.
“I hope she doesn’t spit in our food.”
Rick snorted. “Growing up in a pack, spit is the least of my worries. Let’s chunk some darts at a circle while we wait.”
Sig and Rick strolled over to the dart area and Sig served as Rick’s warm up partner. Darts weren’t Sig’s expertise. He could throw a sword or an axe more accurately.
Rick thoroughly whipped Sig, and they returned to the table. Their meals waited. Rick finished his burger and fries in less than three minutes. Sig ate his salad with garlic bread first and started on the lasagna with sausage and meatball.
Rick jumped up. “Ready to get your butt whipped again?”
Sig smiled. “One whipping a day is my quota. I’m over quota today after you and the Amazons trounced me. Go ahead; I have to finish my meal.”
Rick strutted away to the dart venue, prepared to conquer the world. Sig felt weary. It must be due to the extra practice dummy workout. Amazons were bad enough.
He mopped up the remaining lasagna sauce with the final piece of garlic bread. He got up and sat back down. Dizzy? He wanted to go to bed, but had to stay and give Rick a ride home and then pick up the Professor later.
He pushed the plates away and laid his head on his hands for a few moments of rest before watching the dart matches.
Chapter 62
Dmitry watched as Sig laid his head on the table. He waited a few minutes before he walked over and nudged Sig’s shoulder. No response. He nudged him again, still nothing.
The waitress walked up with the check. “Crap, just my luck. Who’s going to pay this?”
Dmitry took it. “I’ll get that.” He pulled out two fifty dollar bills. “Will this cover it plus your tip?”
Her faced brightened and she gave him a hundred watt smile. “Dmitry baby, it will cover all kinds of things.”
“I need to get my little buddy home. He’s had too much to drink. If anyone asks about him, don’t say he passed out and I took him home. We need to protect his reputation.”
“If someone asks in the next ten minutes, before I get off work, I’ll say I don’t know.”
“Perfect.” Dmitri said with a smile. He grabbed Sig’s arm and threw it around his waist, holding on to his forearm with the opposite hand. He grabbed Sig’s belt and lifted him out of the chair and lugged him, feet dragging, the short distance to the front door and around the corner of the building.
Out of sight of the door, he threw Sig over his shoulder and carried him to his car. He’d left the trunk unlatched. After a furtive look around, he shoved Sig into the trunk and slammed it shut.
Now, to dump the little pain-in-the-ass at the mansion at the stairs to the cellar. His brothers will take care of him. He shuddered at the thought of his brothers.
Chapter 63
The Dark Mage’s shiny dress shoes clicked on the uneven stone floor as he strode down the hallway, glaring at trolls sprawled in various poses in the chamber at the end of the hall. He passed an open door in the stone lined passage. His nose wrinkled and his stomach lurched at the smell, but he marched on. He must maintain a sense of command and superiority when dealing with trolls. If he let it slip, he could end up like the carrion in that stone cell.
As the Mage entered the large chamber, one of the three trolls belched. He didn’t know which one. They all looked alike. Eight-feet of lumpy, knotted muscle, with hands the size of shovels hanging past bowed knees. Misshapen heads with faces even their mother didn’t love. They had random patches of hair about their bodies, shoulders, back, ears, noses - everywhere but on top of their heads.
His brothers made the homely Dmitri seem movie idol handsome. The Mage usually tried not to think of them as Dmitri’s half-brothers. If he did, that made them his stepsons. He couldn’t go there.
He intended for Dmitri to have the strength and endurance of a troll and the magic of a mage. Instead, he had the smell of a troll and the strength of a wizard, but no magic. That wasn’t entirely fair, the child had his uses, and the football trophies he won were a nice touch in the library.
The half-brothers constantly mistreated Dmitri. Their dislike was inversely proportional to the affection their mother showered on Dmitri. A frightening creature, she was as big as the largest son, and meaner. He shuddered. If the spell he had used to have his way with her had failed…
When he entered the chamber and stalked to the barred cell, the trolls drew away. Good, they still feared him.
He looked through the bars. The Stromgard boy lay in a heap in the middle of the cell, still unconscious.
Snapping his fingers, he waved at the biggest. “Open the door.”
As he opened it, the big troll blubbered. “Little brother Dmitri put him on the stairs and called to us. We didn’t go upstairs.”
“Good, you better not or you know what happens don’t you?” He fixed him with a look between a sneer and a smile.
The gigantic oaf ducked his head down and up. “Yup, yup.”
The Mage held his hand out and wriggled his fingers. “Give me the key.” He took the key the troll handed him and walked slowly into the cell. He stopped and nudged the boy with his foot. No reaction. He kicked him and stepped back, still nothing.
Kneeling down, he reached fingers into the boy’s shirt and felt for the chain he expected. He pulled on the chain until he saw the sword medallion. Extending a single finger, he touched it, and snapped his hand back. Nothing happened.
His thumb and finger closed on it. It caught when he tried to pull it off. Grasping the boy’s hair, he lifted his head and pulled the chain off. He released the hair and the head smacked on the flagstones. He straightened, tensed to drop the medallion at the slightest danger.
He looked at the trolls. “I stole his magic when he was a baby. This is the last of it. Without this, he’s safe, like a baby.”
He peered closely at the medallion cupped in his hand, eyeing the intricate details. With growing confidence, he turned and walked out of the chamber, into the hallway. After two strides down the hallway, a burning pain stabbed at his hand. In reflex, he threw the medallion away from him, toward the stairway leading upwards. The medallion landed and slid back toward him, then past, toward the chamber, stopping three feet from the doorway.
Intense pain radiated from his palm. He saw a cruciform shaped blister forming in his palm.
He muttered a spell and gestured at the amulet. It didn’t move. Driven to anger by pain and frustration, he muttered the spell again and gestured toward the chamber beyond. The smallest troll slid across the stone floor. He scrambled and scratched at the floor to no avail. He kept sliding until he reached the sword amulet. The Mage’s bared his teeth with a hiss, his magic worked, but not on the medallion.
When the troll stopped, the Mage, cradling his injured hand close, pointed with the other. “Pick it up. Bring it here.”
The troll picked up the medallion, stood, and walked toward the Mage. After three paces, he roared, dropped it, and jumped back. The sword amulet slid back toward the chamber and stopped in nearly the same spot, in sight of the boy in the cell.
The troll clutched his hand and whimpered. Tears rolled past the wart next to his nose, through the patch of hair sprouting next to the scar by his mouth, and dripped on the floor.
The Dark Mage said through gritted teeth. “Pick it up again.”
The troll stared at it fearfully and then back at the Mage. He looked ready to run.
“Pick… It… UP.”
The troll stooped to grasp it. With closed eyes, he ducked his head and hunched his shoulders, holding the medallion out to the Mage.
“Do
es it burn you?”
The troll opened an eye and shook his head.
The Mage turned, stomped down the hall to the stairway, and turned back. He muttered a spell, and gestured again. The troll holding the medallion slid across the floor again. He roared as he continued to slide. His hand smoked, and burst into flame. He shook his fist, shrieked, and unrelentingly slid toward the stairway. Halfway there, he ignited.
The Mage shielded his eyes and dodged into the stairway. Intense fire blackened the stone ceiling and walls for eight feet in every direction.
The troll crumbled into a pile of ash. The medallion slid out of the pile back toward the chamber and stopped again in the same spot.
The Mage stepped out of the stairway, still cradling his hand, walked around the pile of ashes, and picked up a broom leaning against the wall. With his uninjured hand, he swept the sword shaped amulet into the chamber and hurled the broom after it. “Hang it on one of those pegs and then clean up this mess out here,” He hissed at the trolls.
He didn’t realize the amulet and the boy’s body were so attuned. He’d research how to break the bond. Meanwhile iron bars separated the boy from the amulet, with the trolls thrown in for good measure. Even the remaining two trolls were more than effective protection against a boy, especially a boy with a demon guardian to prevent him from practicing magic.
He turned, slammed the door behind him, and climbed the stairway. First, he must relieve the pain in his hand. Perhaps a dragon root spell.
Chapter 64
Sig jerked awake and clutched for his medallion. Gone. He looked around frantically. His last remembrance was the Game Room, eating Italian food. Now he lay on a stone floor surrounded by stone walls and ceiling. The fifth side, incredibly, was floor to ceiling iron bars. The dungeon, from Mom’s vision.