by Clayton Wood
Kalibar closed his eyes, feeling despair overcome him. Without magic, there was no way to save Erasmus...or his staff.
His staff.
Kalibar turned to stare at the white crystal on the tip of his staff. Except it wasn't white, as it had been before he'd been cruelly blinded by the Dead Man.
It was the faintest of blues.
Kalibar burst into action, sucking what little magic remained out of the crystal. He dropped his staff, grabbing Erasmus with one arm, and the captain with his other. The staff rolled down the riser, shattering as it struck the wall.
“Grab the guards!” he shouted at the captain.
Then he activated his gravity boots.
Kalibar rose through the air above the falling riser, clutching Erasmus and the captain to his sides. He grit his teeth, willing more magic into his boots, but he had little magic left; streaming what remained to his boots was enormously difficult. Still he fought, knowing that if he gave up, they were all going to die.
He stared down the shaft, seeing the riser falling faster and faster.
And then it shattered.
A loud boom echoed through the riser shaft, and Kalibar yelled as pain lanced through his left ear. He felt his concentration waver, felt himself accelerating downward, toward the rapidly approaching floor of the shaft.
He pulled the last ounce of magic from his skull, groaning from the effort it took, and shoved it toward his gravity boots. Their descent slowed, but only slightly. And he had nothing left...no magic in his brain, no magic in his skull.
He stared down at Erasmus, then at the captain. He opened his left hand, letting go of the captain.
Then he slammed his left forearm into the wall.
Unbelievable pain shot up his arm as it splintered on the unforgiving stone, the limb flopping grotesquely in the air. He wanted to scream, but he bit it off, grinding his teeth and bringing his shattered forearm to his forehead.
He pulled.
Magic flowed into his mind, and he redirected it to his gravity boots, feeling them burst to life. At the same time, he wove magic, thrusting the pattern at the captain falling helplessly below, encapsulating him in a gravity sphere.
They were only fifty feet from the floor now, and still falling fast.
Kalibar pulled more magic from the exposed bones of his forearm, pumping the gravity boots with as much magic as he could. He gripped Erasmus tightly, feeling more of the portly man's weight as he decelerated. He heaved upward, letting the gravity boots' stabilization fields pull his friend to his side.
Thirty feet. Twenty. Still too fast.
He groaned, sucking the last bit of magic out of his bones, sending them to his boots in one final burst.
Then the ground rose to meet him, and he closed his eyes.
* * *
Kalibar felt his feet strike the ground, felt his legs buckle underneath him, his butt slamming into the cold stone below. He cried out, falling onto his back, the breath bursting from his lungs. His left forearm exploded with pain, and he howled, letting go of Erasmus and clutching his broken arm to his chest. He heard a loud snapping sound, and a scream.
Then there was silence.
Kalibar took a deep breath in, then opened his eyes.
He was surrounded by chunks of shattered stone, the remains of the riser having scattered across the stone floor underneath. Erasmus was lying on his back to Kalibar's left, rolling onto his side to try to push himself off of the floor. To Kalibar's right, the captain sat propped up against the side wall of the riser shaft, his jaw clenched in pain. Kalibar looked down, and saw that the captain's right leg had been broken below the knee, the red armor covering his shin bent at an impossible angle. The two guards laid on the ground beside the captain, appearing to be relatively unharmed.
Kalibar groaned, then sat up slowly, hugging his broken forearm to his belly. It complained bitterly with the movement, and he stifled a scream, pushing himself off of the ground with his good arm. Erasmus struggled to his feet as well, staring down at himself, then at Kalibar. He looked dazed.
“Damn,” he mumbled. He glanced up the riser shaft, then down at the rubble at their feet, wiping sweat from his forehead. His hand was shaking.
“You okay?” Kalibar asked. Erasmus glanced up at him, then nodded.
“You?” he asked. Kalibar grimaced, cradling his broken forearm. Erasmus’s eyes widened with horror. “My god,” he blurted out. “Kalibar, your arm!”
“Yeah,” Kalibar muttered. “I needed more magic,” he explained. Erasmus frowned, staring at him blankly. Of course Erasmus wouldn't have seen the magic being sucked into that white sphere; he would only have sensed a sudden absence of magic in himself and the immediate surroundings. “That white sphere absorbed all of our magic,” he explained.
“Well that explains why I couldn't weave anything,” Erasmus grumbled. He stared at Kalibar’s forearm, shaking his head slowly. “So you broke your own arm.”
“Right.”
“Of course,” Erasmus grumbled.
“It would've taken too long for the magic to back-fill from my arm to my skull,” Kalibar explained.
“You're a sick man, Kalibar.”
“Saved your ass, didn't I?” Kalibar countered with a grin. Erasmus chuckled. Then they heard a groan; they turned around, seeing the captain still propped up against the wall, trying to rise to his good leg with little success. Erasmus rushed to the man's side, unstrapping the metal greaves from his broken shin, then pulling the exposed black pant leg upward. Underneath, blood-stained skin shone, a ragged cut running down his shin. The sharp end of his shin bone was poking through the wound.
“Leave me,” the captain pleaded. “I'll just slow you down.”
“Like hell,” Erasmus retorted. He draped the captain's arm over one shoulder, then lifted him upward onto his good leg. The two guards rushed to the captain’s sides, holding the man upright. The captain yelled out as his broken limb hung uselessly at a grotesque angle. Kalibar walked up to him, kneeling down to stare at the exposed bone. It was glowing a faint blue.
“I need your magic,” he said to the captain, his tone apologetic. The captain nodded.
“Take it.”
Kalibar lowered his forehead until it was inches from the limb, pulling the magic out of it, feeling it fill his mind. The magic quickly left his brain, sucked into the starved bones of his skull. Still he pulled, until he had drained the limb of everything it had. Then he stood.
“Come on old friend,” Kalibar stated wearily, gesturing toward the hallway. They were hardly out of the woods yet; the lobby was only a short distance down the hall, but the enemy was still out there somewhere. With the riser out of commission, they would take a while to catch up, but Kalibar knew his lead would not last long.
The five men left the riser shaft, stepping up into the hallway leading to the lobby. They passed the painted carvings on either wall, of groups of enemy soldiers in black armor facing Ancient Runics and Weavers. They'd been carved by sculptors soon after the fall of the Empire, one of the few relics that had survived that age whole. Kalibar quickened his pace, ignoring the pain each footstep caused his left forearm. He realized that it hurt significantly less than before; he glanced down at his wound, and froze in his tracks.
The skin had nearly closed over his wound, a slight knob where the break had been.
“What's wrong?” Erasmus asked. Kalibar hesitated, then continued forward, shaking his head.
“Nothing,” he muttered.
The hallway opened up into the main lobby of the Tower, a massive room with walls three stories high. Usually deserted at this hour, the lobby was filled with guards and Battle-Weavers; each door was covered by a few guards, the hallways leading to other risers walled off by Battle-Weaver gravity shields. On the ceiling, more guards stood, blocking the various hallways on the reverse-polarity section of the lobby. Three Battle-Weavers stood between Kalibar and the lobby; the Battle-Weavers instantly recognized Kalibar and Erasmu
s, saluting sharply. Kalibar pointed to the captain.
“This man needs medical attention,” he declared. Erasmus turned to Kalibar.
“So do you,” he countered. Kalibar shook his head, showing him his forearm. The skin had mended completely, the knob of bone nearly smoothed over. Erasmus's jaw dropped. “How in the hell...?”
“No idea,” Kalibar interjected. “Not complaining though. Come on,” he added. “We have a war to run.” He turned to one of the Battle-Weavers. “You,” he stated, pointing directly at the man. “Get me High Weaver Urson.” As the head of the Battle-Weavers, Kalibar would need Urson to coordinate any large-scale counterattack. The Battle-Weaver nodded crisply.
“Yes, Grand Weaver.”
Kalibar turned to one of the other guards. “I want the Tower evacuated now, he ordered. “The enemy came through the evacuation tunnels...they came from the 40th through the 42nd floors. They have a weapon I've never seen before,” he added. “Our magic will be useless against it.”
“Yes Grand Weaver,” the guard stated, running to his superior officer to relay the order. Kalibar surveyed the lobby, collecting his thoughts.
“Now,” he began – and then he heard shouting from above.
He glanced upward, at the upside-down lobby three stories above, and saw something small rolling across the ceiling-floor, passing through the legs of one of the guards and coming to a stop in the center of the ceiling.
A small white sphere.
“Run!” Kalibar shouted, grabbing Erasmus and bolting toward the double doors leading outside. He glanced upward, seeing the sphere dropping down from the reverse-floor above.
And then there was light.
Massive cords of blue light pulled away from the walls, the floors. Small rays were torn from each soldier on the ceiling, more rays pulling upward from each man around Kalibar. He saw a faint blue light rise from his own body, felt the magic draining from his mind. Still he ran, dragging Erasmus along with him, racing toward those double-doors.
Then he heard the screams.
“Duck!” he yelled, pulling Erasmus to the side, toward a granite table nearby. He dropped onto his back, sliding underneath the table and curling into a ball. Something slammed into the ground where they'd been only seconds ago.
A body.
More bodies fell onto the ground, guards and Battle-Weavers dropping from above, no longer held to the ceiling by the reverse-polarity gravity field. Tables and chairs fell onto the granite floor, shattering on impact. Water from the fountain on the ceiling above splashed onto the ground, forming a rapidly expanding pool. The ice-cold water rushed over Kalibar and Erasmus, soaking through their clothes instantly.
Kalibar could only watch as the bodies continued to fall, some striking the men rushing for cover. One guard slipped on the water, falling to the ground with a thump. A large statue from the ceiling above fell on his head, crushing it.
Then, mercifully, nothing more fell.
“Go!” Kalibar shouted, grabbing the edge of the table with both hands and pulling himself from underneath it, sliding through the chilly water. He rose to his feet, breaking into a run toward the double-doors a mere thirty feet away, Erasmus right behind him.
A high-pitched screeching sound tore at their eardrums from behind.
Kalibar glanced over his shoulder, spotting the white sphere levitating in the center of the lobby. Countless layers of rapidly rotating gravity fields surrounded the object. Except these weren't ordinary gravity fields; they had large holes punched through them. Each layer spun in a different direction than the other; at the outer edge was a much larger gravity field, glowing an intense blue.
Pulling inward.
Kalibar leaped toward the double-doors, grabbing hold of the polished doorknob with both hands. He felt the air pulling backward at him, sucking inward toward that white sphere, and tightened his grip. Erasmus grabbed the other doorknob, holding on for dear life. People and furniture slid backward through the water on the smooth granite floor, flying up into the air toward those madly rotating gravity fields. One of the wooden chairs was the first to strike the outermost layer.
It shattered.
Men screamed as they flew toward the deadly vacuum, dissolving into a horrid spray of blood and tissue as they struck the gravity fields. More furniture slid upward off of the ground, some already shattered by the fall from the ceiling; they were similarly destroyed.
Kalibar felt his legs rise from the ground, felt them being pulled toward that maelstrom, saw Erasmus's fingers slipping from the doorknob. Felt his own fingers, slick with sweat, sliding away from the smooth metal.
And then it stopped.
Kalibar fell onto his belly, the air bursting from his lungs. He heard a splash beside him, saw Erasmus lying in a shallow pool of water, groaning in pain. Kalibar grunted, rising to his knees, and turned around.
The white sphere hovered there, the remains of every man that had been in the lobby – over a hundred living beings – falling to a massive heap below. Kalibar stared in disbelief at the smooth white sphere, unable to believe that something so small could have done all this.
And then it happened again.
Blue light poured from the walls, the ceiling...even the heap of remains below, sucking inward toward the levitating sphere. The light from the heap was brightest of all, the now-exposed bone fragments relinquishing what remained of their magical stores. Kalibar felt his body go numb, and stayed there on his knees in the cold water. He knew he should get up, open the Tower doors and make a run for it.
But he could only stare.
An army of Battle-Weavers, a military comprising over a half-million soldiers, an Empire spanning countless miles...all of it could be defeated by something no larger than an orange.
Xanos, he realized with simple certainly, had already won.
He turned to Erasmus, who was shouting something at him, gesturing for him to get up, and smiled sadly.
“Goodbye old friend,” he murmured.
And then the door burst open, throwing Erasmus to the ground. He slid in the water, coming to a stop on his side. Kalibar stared uncomprehendingly at Erasmus, then saw a boot step down before Erasmus's face, blocking Kalibar's view.
A golden boot.
A gauntleted hand reached down, grabbing Erasmus and lifting him to his feet. A moment later, Kalibar felt something grab the back of his shirt, lifting him bodily to his feet. He turned, and saw a pair of blue eyes staring down at him.
“Hey boss,” Darius greeted, putting a gauntleted hand on Kalibar's shoulder. “Sorry I'm late.”
Kalibar stared at Darius in disbelief, his jaw slack. Erasmus grabbed his other shoulder, pushing him toward the open door.
“Come on!” the Grand Runic urged, “...we have to get out of here before that thing goes off again!” Darius frowned, turning to look at the white sphere levitating above the floor. To Kalibar's eye, the blue light around the thing was starting to wane, the heap of bodies almost drained of their magic.
“What, that little thing?” the bodyguard asked.
He strode across the room toward the sphere, his boots splashing in the red-tinged water.
“Get away from it!” Kalibar shouted after him. “It's about to go off!” Darius ignored him, walking right up to the sphere and grabbing it in his gauntleted hand. He stared at it for a moment, then closed his fist, his fingers covering it completely.
Kalibar stared at the bodyguard in disbelief, watching as Darius's fist clenched, wisps of blue light glowing from the spaces between his fingers. Darius squeezed harder, his eyes narrowing slightly. The blue light between his fingers intensified.
Then it exploded.
A massive burst of magic shot outward from the sphere, slamming into Kalibar's mind and blinding his eyes. He cried out covering his eyes with one arm. The flash of light vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving the lobby in darkness. Faint starlight shone in through the windows, a few dim rays lighting on Darius's golden armor
, sending scattered beams across the floor in random patterns.
Darius opened his hand, white dust pouring out of it.
“Darius!” Erasmus cried, running up to the bodyguard and giving him a bear hug. “You glorious bastard! How did you do that?” Darius shrugged, looking rather perturbed by Erasmus's unexpected affection.
“I squeezed real hard,” he muttered. When Erasmus stared at him blankly, he smirked. “I wouldn't try it if I were you, though,” he added. Kalibar frowned.
“I can't believe that grabbing it didn't trigger defensive runes,” he stated. “Nearly all runic weapons have them.”
“Lucky me,” Darius grumbled. Then he gave a loud, high-pitched whistle, and someone extraordinarily familiar walked through the double-doors of the lobby. Kalibar's eyes widened, his heart skipping a beat.
“Kyle!” he exclaimed.
* * *
“Kalibar!” Kyle shouted, running up to the old man with his arms wide open. He jumped into Kalibar's arms, and Kalibar squeezed him tight for a long moment before lowering him to the ground. “My boy!” he exclaimed, looking Kyle over. Kyle gasped, staring at his adopted father with disbelief.
“Your eyes!” Kyle blurted out. Kalibar gave a weary smile.
“It's a long story,” he replied. Kyle turned to look at Darius, who gave him the slightest of nods. He nodded back, grinning ear to ear, feeling an almost overwhelming sense of joy sweep over him. Darius had given Kalibar his eyes back! He turned back to Kalibar, then glanced at the lobby beyond, his smile fading.
“What happened here?” he asked. The lobby had been completely destroyed; it was flooded, for one, with a heap of reddish mush and fragments of stone and wood in the center. All of the furniture was gone, and the entire lobby was deserted save for Kalibar and Erasmus.
“Another long story,” Kalibar said with a sigh. Then he shook his head at Kyle. “What happened to you?”