Helene nodded in understanding and adjusted the grip on her sword.
Sean’s fingers counted down. On the last, he darted forward and twisted into the right-hand passage. Helene mirrored him turning left. Back to back, they braced for attack.
Both tunnels were empty.
Each turned to see what the other had discovered.
“What sort of Labyrinth is this?” Sean said. His passage was the same featureless stone and flaming torches as the one they had already traversed. It stretched away for fifty metres and ended in a flight of stairs leading up. The light shining down them was not the flickering yellow of burning torches, but the even white of day. The stairs led back outside.
“At least we found a way down,” said Helene. Twenty metres along, at the end of the left hand tunnel was a short flight of steps. They led down to a large and very solid looking door. “All we need now is a key.”
“Couldn’t we just break it down?” asked Sean.
“I doubt it. Look at the reinforcement on it. And the racket we’d make would attract every creature in the labyrinth. I’m sure you’ll see some action soon, but let’s try and delay it for as long as possible.”
Sean sheathed his sword and leaned against the tunnel’s smooth stonework. “This is pathetic,” he said. “A T-junction does not a labyrinth make.” Looking at the three empty tunnels with distaste he crossed his arms and asked, “What do we do now?”
Standing in the intersection, hands on hips, Helene said, “We can try searching. There might be a secret chamber or hidden switch or something in one of the tunnels.”
“You’re right,” said Sean bouncing off the wall, “This can’t be all there is. If it were, this would be called the Rabbit Hole of Skarnos, not the Labyrinth.” Sean dashed down the right hand passage towards the second exit. Reaching a point midway between the stairs and junction, he started a minute examination of the stonework.
Within moments he cried, “I’ve found it,” heedless of the fact he was trying to stealthily steal a magic book from a dire labyrinth. Crouching low, he removed a stone plug from the base of the passage wall. Hidden behind it was a length of thick rope with a fist-sized knot on one end. The other end disappeared through a hole in the back of the recess.
Helene hurried over to see what he had found.
“How did you do that?” she asked.
Sean looked up. “My heightened elven senses and keener intellect makes obvious what is obscure to dulled human perceptions.”
“You mean dumb luck wins again?”
Sean chose to ignore the jibe. The knotted rope was more interesting. It beckoned to him like an ugly insect did a young boy. As he reached a hand for it Helene cried, “Stop.” And he jerked back as if stung. “What’s wrong?”
“That is,” she said pointing at the rope end coiled in the niche. “It’s too easy.”
“A door handle usually is,” Sean replied.
“A door handle in a labyrinth renowned for being full of murderous traps and pitfalls?”
“Ahh… I hadn’t thought of that.” Sean stood and took a tentative step back. The rope continued to lie innocuously within its niche. “So what do we do?” he asked.
Using the tip of her sword Helene lifted the rope, pulling it out of the niche. Nothing happened.
“Well that was exciting,” said Sean.
Helene ignored him. The rope now lay on the tunnel floor and stretched across a third its width. She studied it, waiting.
After a minute’s inactivity, Sean began to fidget. “Helene, I think it’s safe to assume the rope isn’t dangerous.”
“You could be right. If something were going to happen, it would have by now. Give it a tug, but be careful.”
Sean discarded his buckler and kneeled next to the rope. He grabbed the end knot with one hand and pulled. Nothing happened. It was as if the rope were tied to the wall rather than disappearing into it. Sean dropped his sword and pulled on the rope with both hands. Nothing continued to happen. It didn’t move so much as the thickness of a fly’s wing.
“Is there a problem?” Helene asked.
“No. No problem,” said Sean. “The mechanism is just a little stiff, probably from lack of use.” He sat on the ground and braced a foot either side of the niche. Rubbing his sweaty palms on his breeches, he took a firm grip on the rope and pulled.
His thighs and arms burned under the strain. His back felt like a rack of overheated wine bottles where the slightest jolt would cause his vertebrae to pop like corks. As he was about to abandon the rope it gave a little. Then it gave a lot, sending him sprawling flat on his back. With the sound of stone grinding on stone a door opened in the passage wall. It swung inwards with ponderous weight, revealing a hidden room.
Sean’s elven reflexes had him back on his feet sword in hand before the door had fully opened. His own unique and exaggerated bravado propelled him through the door first.
The room Sean entered was Stygian. The only light came from a fireplace comprising most of the room’s far wall. In the centre, facing the fireplace sat a large throne. Drowsing in it with his feet stretched towards the flames was a huge scab and wart encrusted ogre. A club, made from the trunk of a medium sized tree, rested against the arm of the throne.
Upon sighting the drowsy ogre, Sean yelled his battle cry and leaped forwards. The unexpected onslaught surprised the creature, but its quasi-magical reflexes were fast enough to deflect Sean’s blows.
Helene entered the fray at Sean’s side, her sword slipping past the ogre’s guard to draw blood from two deep gashes.
The ogre’s size and power made the wounds minor troubles, but the pain they caused shocked it to full awareness. Wide-awake and boiling mad, it lashed out at Helene.
The wild blow missed allowing Sean and Helene to press their attack. They both struck fiercely inflicting further wounds. Blood flowed freely down the creature, the tinny smell suffusing the room.
“Break for the passage,” Helene cried and dashed out through the door. Sean followed without thinking.
“What are we doing out here?” he asked between gasped breaths.
Helene indicated the doorway they had just exited through. “We can’t take it in there, too much room. Out here we can attack front and back simultaneously. And the ogre will be hampered by the tunnels confinement,” she said, her breathing laboured.
“Good plan,” Sean replied lifting his sword in readiness. Together, their backs to the wall and the doorway between them, they waited.
The ogre did not keep them waiting long. They were still breathing hard when it appeared. It had to crouch low to fit through the door.
As it shuffled forward Sean peeled himself away from the wall and attacked using a straight-armed full swing, but he’d misjudged the width of the tunnel. His sword clanged against the far wall raising sparks, the impact almost jolting it from his hands.
Being halfway through the door the ogre couldn’t bring its club to bear on Sean. It struck out with an arm. The blow landed squarely, lifting Sean into the air and splitting his cuirass with a load crack.
It manoeuvred the rest of its bulk through the doorway with surprising agility as Sean struggled back to his feet. The ogre advanced on him its club raised. This presented its broad undefended back to Helene.
She took advantage of the opportunity. While Sean held its attention, she rushed it from behind. With her sword held low and blade angled up, Helene used her momentum to aid her strike. She thrust upwards into the ogres back.
The ogre arched its back and roared in pain. Its agonised scream reverberated along the tunnel causing the torch flames to flicker. It turned with lightning speed, the motion ripping Helene’s sword from her hand. Bloody foam flecked its lips.
With her sword gone, Helene’s only defence was Sean’s discarded buckler. She raised it to ward off the ogre’s attack. Its club splintered the buckler on the first blow and the follow through smashed into her head. Helene flew sideways, slapped into the tunnel
wall, then crumpled to the ground the side of her head red with blood.
Sean stood motionless, unable to believe what he was seeing. A red mist seeped into his vision and ungovernable fury seized his thoughts. His sight narrowed to exclude everything but the creature who had hurt Helene. He leaped towards the ogre. Using Helen’s sword wedged in its back as a step he raised himself above the creature’s shoulders, inverted his sword and lunged down with the full weight of his body. The blade penetrated the ogre clear to the hilt. Arterial blood fountained from the wound. The ogre stopped, its preternatural will unable to overcome two swords impaling its heart. Silently it toppled forward like a marionette with its strings cut.
Sean jumped from the ogre’s corpse and raced to Helene’s side. It was no use. One look told him she was dead. Her eyes, which had flashed with emerald fire, were dull green. “No I won’t have it,” he said clenching his fists until his nails drew blood. “You can’t die. Not like this.” He thumped his fists on his thighs, using the pain to hold back his tears. “Think, dammit. What would Helene do if I was lying there?”
The answer came to him in a flash, magic. He jumped to his feet and began patting his pockets. “Money. I’m going to need lots of money.” A thorough search of his pockets revealed nothing, and he knew Helene had none. His eyes roamed the passage hoping to find a stray diamond they had overlooked earlier. Unsurprisingly there was nothing, but his eyes finished their search on the ogre’s body. Perhaps the creature carried something of value. Sean rolled it onto its back and ransacked its clothes. His efforts rewarded him with a coin pouch. It contained fifty gold coins.
This was more money than he had seen in a very long time. He hoped it would be enough to purchase a revivification spell. Tipping the coins into his own purse, he hurried back to Helene’s body.
Sean stripped off his armour and used his shirt to wrap her head. He didn’t know if it would make any difference to the wizard, but the makeshift bandage made her wound seem less serious.
Slipping his arms beneath her Sean tried to stand. The weight was too great. He quickly shed her armour. Without it, she seemed to weigh nothing. If Helene lived to chastise him over the lost accoutrements, he would celebrate.
He left the swords, the armour, and his dreams of fame and fortune to rot where they fell. All that mattered was saving Helene. Burdened body and soul, he began the long trek back to town.
The workroom of Master Wizard Alabrasia Alyonsius was a cornucopia of arcania. The shelves lining the walls held all manner of objects; books and scrolls, jars of embalmed animals, and pieces of animals, and what Sean hoped were pieces of animals. A garden of drying herbs decorated the roof trusses. They hung in bunches filling the place with a thick pungent aroma.
A granite block dominated the centre of the room. The wizard directed Sean to it with a wave of his twig thin arms. “Bring her over and let’s have a look.”
Sean crossed to the block of red-flecked granite and lay Helene gently on it. As he stepped back he saw the arcane symbols and unknowable scripts carved on its sides start to glow a faint yellow.
Leaning over Helene Alabrasia removed Sean’s blood soaked shirt. He looked at Sean. “Has she been dead long?”
Sean struggled to keep his voice from quavering as he answered, “It happened earlier today.”
Alabrasia clicked his tongue as he considered. “Her death is recent enough for a revivification to work, however it will cost you one thousand gold.”
Sean reeled at the sum. Not only was it far more than he had, it was more than he could ever hope to get. Even if he completed their mission in the Labyrinth, he wouldn’t have enough.
“One thousand, that’s ridiculous. I could buy my own kingdom for that.”
“Bringing people back from the dead isn’t some back alley parlour trick. If it were, we’d be up to our eyeballs with people who should be dead.”
Sean decided to bluff. “Okay, I’ll pay. You’re a rip off merchant, but I’ll pay. Just bring her back.”
Alabrasia folded his arms, his hands disappearing into opposite sleeves of his robe. “Show me the money. I’m not lifting a metaphysical finger until I’ve seen proof you can afford my services.”
Lifting the edge of his tunic Sean flashed the coin pouch tied at his waist. He let the fabric fall back in place before the wizard could study it.
Alabrasia laughed. “Son, I may be getting on a bit, and the eyes aren’t what they used to be, but I’m no fool. At best you’ve got a tenth of my fee in that pouch.”
Sean tried to keep the desperation out of his voice as he said, “I admit I don’t have a thousand on me, but I can get it. I just need you to revive Helene.”
“This isn’t a charity. Restoring the dead uses expensive ingredients and it’s draining. If I brought her back, I wouldn’t be able to do anything else for a month. If I had Koton’s book of magic, there’s a spell in there with cheaper ingredients, I could perform the rites for seven hundred. How much do you have?”
Sean’s shoulders slumped. “Fifty. But I’ll do anything you want if you bring her back.”
“Fifty. Stop wasting my time and clear off. All you can afford is a funeral.
The place Sean chose was on top of a hill with views to the ocean and setting sun. Helene had loved sunsets and their vibrant colours. She had called them a splash of happiness on the dreary road of life. The tombstone was simple, but perfectly carved. It bore her name and the inscription: Robbed of life by the quest for fame and fortune.
Sean stood by the grave until the sun’s rays had faded to night. He had not shed a tear. Helene hated soppiness. In her memory, Sean vowed to stop chasing rainbows and focus on the fortunes to hand, though he had lost his greatest treasure.
THE END.
GYPSY’S CROSS by Shawn P. Madison
Soft footsteps approached in the lightly falling snow, still a good distance away but moving steadily closer. He didn’t allow that to distract him from his thoughts as he gazed down at the marble marker in the shape of a cross covered in a thin layer of white.
Snow didn’t come often on Aegis, in fact it was a rare event indeed, but somehow fitting to mark this very solemn occasion. The footsteps stopped some three meters away and he let the silence remain between himself and his new visitor.
A long silver chain dangled from his right hand, on the end hung a silver charm in the shape of a cross about five centimeters long and four wide. It was eerily reminiscent of the marble marker just in front of him. There was a single large word etched into the cold marble of that marker. No dates, no last words of wisdom to wait through eternity with the soul whose body lay underneath. Just one word...Gypsy.
“Frank,” the visitor said lightly, his name riding the breeze as it whistled through this part of the cemetery known as the Guarder Graveyard. “The Sarge wants us both in the Conference Room in half an hour.”
Frank Buzzito nodded once, almost imperceptibly, and continued to stare down at the hard cold block of cross-shaped marble. “It’s been a year already, Tony,” he said, his breath frosting immediately as the words left his mouth. The fierce cold accompanying the snow was also rare on Aegis but he was willing to bet that it was far colder than this about two meters down where the body of Gypsy lay.
“I know, Buzzer,” Tony Mestizo said, using Frank’s Guarder Codename. “That’s how I knew where to find you.”
“Tell the Sarge I’ll be on time,” Buzzer said.
Mestizo nodded in return. Buzzer caught the slight motion out of the corner of his eye, but his friend made no move to leave. Instead, Mestizo remained, standing silently, paying his respects to a fallen comrade. A man who had died in the line of duty. A man who had died during Buzzer’s very first mission as a Guarder. A man who had saved Buzzer’s life that day.
The bomb exploded seemingly right next to him, knocking him from his feet and the breath from his lungs as he landed in a heap about six meters away. Buzzer’s head was ringing but the pain coming from several part
s of his body grabbed his immediate attention. His partner was already up and running, a large black blaster in one hand and a smaller back-up weapon in the other.
Buzzer’s head cleared suddenly and a cacophony of screams, explosions and shouts in the small square assaulted his senses. He found his feet and both of his weapons and took off to join Gypsy’s mad dash around the remnants of the hastily erected stage. Blood from dozens of small lacerations covered Gypsy’s face and neck, Buzzer could only wonder what he looked like.
“Are you alright?” Gyspy asked without looking at him, his eyes rapidly searching the blast area and the mass of humanity running rampant throughout the square.
“I’ll live,” Buzzer answered and surveyed the destruction. Blasters and larger weapons were being discharged from several spots in the immediate area but the two Guarders were focusing their attention on just one man. Judeas Menolley, the President of BerkSys Transit, lie dead a scant few meters away within the wreckage of the stage. He had been addressing this gathering of the twelve largest chapters of the Berking Transit Worker’s Union in an effort to forestall a strike that could potentially shut down 85% of the most heavily traveled cargo lanes in all four Corporate Grid-Sectors. BerkSys Transit was the largest shipping operation in all of the Known-Grid Levels Of Space, controlling a huge majority of the shipping to and from every major system in the United Earthian Nations. With a strike in place by the workers’ union, all business throughout the Known-Grids would come to a screeching, crashing halt and with undoubtedly disastrous consequences on the Grid-Wide economy.
Such a strike had to be avoided at all costs, the U.E.N. Judiciary Board on Aegis recognized this just as much as the Universal Corporate Council did. It had to be stopped before it started, no matter what the financial cost to BerkSys and the other dozen or so ‘major’ shipping operations that utilized the cargo lanes. In fact, in order to stress the sheer importance of a quick and successful resolution to the pending strike, the Judiciary Board had insisted that at least one official from each of the one-hundred most successful corporate entities be present at Menolley’s speech.
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