The black crystal on the end of the staff struck the glass case holding the relic stones.
Magical energies flared along the shaft of the staff. The symbols under Cat’s fingers lit up as a stored spell triggered. The prepared magical spell that Revwar had imbued in the staff went off with dangerous consequences, before the staff itself was consumed by flames. The trap guarding the relic also went off, sending out a force of energy that knocked Revwar and Cat sprawling.
Inside the inner sanctum, the clerics of Ganden were focused in their meditations in order to speak the mantra that kept the ship aloft. They hadn’t noted the incense chandelier hanging above the cauldron of holy items had changed somewhat since the beginning of the voyage. A few decorations had been added that seemed to be a perfectly natural part of the chandelier unless closely inspected. As Revwar’s staff hit the relic exhibit, with Cat’s fingers placed along certain runes, a destructive spell went off prematurely.
The incense chandelier exploded with terrible force.
As part of the surprise, two objects dropped from the chandelier into the cauldron: grave dust consecrated by an abbess of DeLaris, and a carved stone known as a scion of Mothrok. These items dropped into the sacred waters dedicated to Ganden and came to rest alongside other holy items dedicated to the God of Duty.
These items had only been put there as a back up plan, in case the initial surprise did not knock the vessel out of the sky. As it was, the blast of the chandelier sent wickedly twisted pieces of metal spinning out across the inner sanctum. The priests who had been in union humming the mantra of flight were suddenly interrupted as jagged projectiles lanced through several at once. A few immediately dropped dead, while others opened their eyes in surprise to see robes turning red with their own blood. A stunned silence interrupted the prayer.
In the absence of the mantra, Doranil Star began to freefall towards the clouds below.
CHAPTER 16 “Panic and Chaos Spread”
His light blue eyes stared, entranced by the spell show dancing in the night sky. Lindon held his hat down by his side, not wanting the wide brim to obscure any of the arcane details displayed across the heavens. The long, red sideburns of his beard framed a wide smile. He had seen fiery dragons chasing griffons made of blue ice. Explosions of noise and flame lit the sky to symbolize some great aerial battle. Illusions on a giant scale played out over the heads of Orlaun’s nobility. Surely this was a night he would never forget.
Lindon’s thoughts turned out to be truer than he would have guessed. Amidst all the laughter and delight there was a sudden interruption. The minstrel felt it before anyone else. He had been attuned to the background chanting of the mantra reverberating through the ship. When the humming mantra abruptly silenced, Lindon realized its absence a split second before the repercussion manifested.
The ship dropped out from under everyone’s feet.
It was an odd sight from the deck, as the deck itself didn’t seem to move. Yet everyone lost their footing as they fell away from the stars and from the flickering remnants of the display in the sky. Lindon was near one of the rails at the side of the ship when all of the sudden he felt weightless. He drifted up from the deck a few feet before he could cling to the rope netting running to the masts.
The screams from a couple hundred throats joined the rushing noise of the wind. Wisps of clouds swirled about and were lost above them as they plunged. The ship did not fall straight, for it started to roll slightly towards one side. Lindon looked upwards from the rope work, noticing as he did that loose clothing items such as hats, scarves, and cloaks were flying ownerless in the sky above them. It would have seemed that a great wind had thrown them up from the deck, but the reality of the vessel’s fall was not misunderstood by anyone. Orlaun’s nobles and rich merchants were helpless as they slid across the deck or tumbled in the air a few feet above it.
Somewhere inside Lindon’s mind he recalled the great aerial battles from the Godswars. He knew that many such great vessels were knocked from the sky at great altitudes, leaving warriors to fall to their deaths from the clouds. So this was what it must have been like to be on such a ship as it was defeated in the air: the rush of wind roaring past, ripping of cloth masts, screams as people panicked…until the moment when such a great vessel crashed into the foreign lands below it.
As Lindon was the first to hear the mantra fade, he was also the first to hear a solitary voice resurrect the missing prayer to Ganden. Urgent and strong, that lone voice hummed from the inner sanctum. Another voice, weak but insistent, joined the first. A new mantra ran through the hull of the ship. Lindon felt a third voice join in the chorus. As the mantra began anew, the Doranil Star began to halt its fall. The ship leveled out as voices brought its descent under control.
Lindon felt the sensation of weight return as the deck slowed. The minstrel let out a slight whistle as he let go of the ropes. Magic tapped from the harmonic web laced the tune. It allowed Lindon to levitate gracefully back down to the deck, while others about him dropped to the hard wood in a painful manner. He also used his voice to affect the fall of his plumed hat. With a flourish, he caught the wide red brim and settled it neatly upon his head. Most of the people around him were sprawled out across the deck. Some were frozen in a state of shock, while others sought to grab hold of any portion of the vessel that offered a handhold. Only a few others from the hosting mage guild were able to also cast levitation spells to settle gracefully back on the deck.
Not all were so lucky. Lindon did not have the magic in his voice to save some others that missed the deck when it regained its buoyancy. The minstrel watched helplessly as a few flailing people dropped beyond reach of the railings. They fell and tumbled away from the ship, leaving nothing but lingering screams riding the nighttime air. The ship still floated above a layer of clouds that hid the land below, thus Lindon watched those people fall against that gray backdrop until they disappeared into the mist.
The minstrel was thankful that the mantra had resumed and saved them all from a deadly plummet. At the same time, he wondered if this was only a momentary respite from any threat that still lingered. What had caused the vessel to fail, and were they only moments away from a more catastrophic plunge?
* * * * *
“What was that?” Montanya asked from a sprawled position in the back of her cell. The wide-eyed chiaso absently rubbed a sore spot on her shoulder from hitting the ceiling.
Sondra didn’t have an immediate answer. The blonde acolyte untangled herself from her own limbs a few feet down the hall. Smoothing her disarrayed vestments, the young woman glanced down the hall towards the guard. The man had collapsed, knocked unconscious from a head injury.
“The mantra was interrupted; I fear something dreadful may have happened.” The acolyte spoke absently, thinking out loud more than responding to the stowaway. Sondra attuned her ears to the humming noise coming from the deck. She could hear how weak the new mantra sounded. “Something is still wrong with the voices of the Chosen, as if only a few of them are still able to chant the prayers.”
As Sondra unsteadily got to her feet, Montanya did the same. The cleric realized that a chain around her neck had slipped above her collar when tossed about. Montanya noticed Sondra tucking away a metal symbol, shaped like a dog’s form, but was not interested in asking about it at the time. The chiaso brushed away the remnants of food that had spattered her clothes. Sondra, still dripping water from being splashed by the woman earlier, wasn’t in the mood to feel any satisfaction over seeing the stowaway get what she deserved.
Montanya had a different set to her face than before. While she normally scowled at everyone and everything, that face had been replaced by one of abstract terror. The red-haired woman came right up to the bars.
“Is that going to happen again? Are we going to fall?”
Sondra shrugged her shoulders, a response that did nothing to assuage the chiaso’s fears. The acolyte commented, “I must get to the inner sanctum at once and fin
d out what happened. They may need me.”
The faithful of Ganden edged past the cell, staying well out of reach of the woman inside. She was brought up short by a frantic plea from behind.
“Wait!”
Sondra looked back at the frightened woman still locked in her cell. Montanya, who would never beg nor ask for charity from anyone, was terrified enough to throw away her pride.
The imprisoned woman slapped the bars of her cell helplessly. “Let me out of here. I don’t want to be trapped in a locked cell if something else happens.” It was with great effort that she added, “Please.”
Sondra opened her mouth to reply, but paused. Montanya watched as the acolyte’s eyes seemed to focus in concern on something.
Sondra wore a look of confusion and worry when she thought out loud, “Why is there rust on the bars?”
Montanya glanced at the iron bars of the cell, noting a few small patches of rust. She absently ran a fingernail over one such spot. “It’s an old ship. Why? What else do I need to be worried about?”
The faithful of Ganden cocked her head to one side as she stared at the bars. “It’s well over a thousand years old. All the metal, all the wood, is from another age. However, this is a divine chariot blessed by my god and wrapped in its own magic…it isn’t supposed to rust.”
Sondra was backing away from the cell, heading back towards the exit when Montanya made one more plea. “Don’t leave me here. I beg you!”
The acolyte glanced at the unconscious guard, and then back to the ill-tempered occupant of the cell. “It is beyond me. I’ll ask the elders if someone can come back to get you out. I have to go do my duty.”
“Nay!” Montanya shouted, but the cleric was already disappearing down the hall.
The chiaso heard the words of a healing prayer spoken as Sondra knelt beside the guard. The acolyte healed the head injury, and then headed for the door as the guard stirred. In frustration, the martial arts student stepped back and kicked the unyielding metallic lock.
“Curse you cleric!”
* * * * *
The exhibit room lay in shambles. The abrupt fall had managed to set off all the remaining traps and wards protecting the exhibits inside the room. The light shed by magical sconces still illuminated the wrecked chamber. Other light sources now came from tables and cloth set aflame by the explosions. A good part of the ceiling and floor had been blackened. Parts of the floor had splintered and fallen away to the next deck below. Everyone inside the room had been tossed about when the vessel had dropped.
Trestan regained his senses after feeling as if he’d been in a barrel rolling down a hill. He kept awareness of the danger that he and Cat were in, all he had to do was stop his head from spinning. His dizzy eyes finally found focus just in time to react to a threat. A deadly blade swept at him. His right arm, the elvish sword absent, reached out and caught the halfling’s arm before the poisoned stiletto could reach him. Kemora lay pinned underneath him, straining against his strength to force the blade into him. Trestan had no qualms about hitting a smaller woman attempting to stab him with poison. Abriana’s champion still held the warhammer in his left hand. He brought it cracking across the side of the domid’s head. Kemora’s pupils rolled up past her descending eyelids as the stiletto dropped from a limp hand.
Trestan dazedly climbed to his feet. The haze of smoke filled the room. Beyond, he could see shapes as his enemies staggered upright as well. Even with the halfling possibly dead or severely injured, the rest were more than he and Cat could handle. Trestan spotted the Sword of the Spirit on the floor, and attempted an uneven run to retrieve it.
Cat’s sensitive ears were ringing with the sound of bells as she coughed up more blood. She painfully lifted her head up to spot what was left of the relic table. She saw at least one of the stones rolling around on the floor a good distance away. Nearby, flames flickered on Revwar’s broken staff. The half-elf tried to move, but even turning her head required a good effort.
She saw the scroll from the relic case lying on the floor within reach. There was no mistaking the skin it was written on. Katressa’s left hand was burned beyond use. Withholding a grunt from the effort, she reached out her right hand and seized the prize. Aware of movement in the smoke around her, her right hand quickly rolled it up. She tucked the scroll into her belt.
Cat struggled to rise. She had her eyes on the relic stone which still rolled about the floor several steps away. Though her hearing suffered, she sensed Revwar staggering to his feet off to one side. A glint of silver in a pile of debris caught her attention. She spotted the cat’s-head pommel partially visible amidst a pair of broken table legs. A few uneven steps carried her to the rapier. She felt safer when her fingers wrapped about the hilt.
Revwar materialized out of the smoke with one of the relics in his hands. The other hand was glowing with the power of a spell as he spoke an incantation. The elf wizard and the half-elf infiltrator were within a few steps of each other. Cat dodged closer to the spellcaster.
His hand spewed forth a colorful greenish fire. Cat had to sidestep so dramatically that she lost her balance. The effort was not without retribution, however, as the rapier slashed across the wizard’s face. Cat landed hard on her rump, aware of the greenish glow behind her where the spell lit up more debris.
Revwar jerked back reflexively, his cheek bleeding from a thin line. Enraged, the wizard did not pause long. Even with Cat sitting on the ground next to him there was no time to properly prepare another spell, so he reacted with the physical strength an earlier spell granted him. Using muscles in a way that could only be enhanced by magic, he reached down with his single hand and picked Cat up by her collar. The elf wizard spun in a half circle, flinging her body away from him as if throwing a doll.
Trestan ran through the smoky haze to find his love; his magical sword in hand, the warhammer tucked into his belt. With the brief opportunity he had, the paladin used a prayer to Abriana to fashion a shield from a miracle. A somewhat translucent glowing disc moved with his left arm without straps of any kind holding it in place. The prayer shield would not have helped against a blade such as Kemora’s; instead, it was designed as a guard against magic. He thought it might prove useful as he sprinted through the gloom. The human saw the green fire highlighting where Revwar and Katressa were fighting.
On the way to aid his beloved, he caught sight of Savannah off to his side. The abbess of DeLaris formed a miracle, harnessing dark energies from the surrounding air. Trestan continued to run past her, but raised his shield as the prayer finished. A ball colored like the darkest night flew at the young warrior. The blackness hit the glowing shield, causing both to vanish suddenly. The shield had served its purpose, deflecting one threatening spell before it lost its form.
Trestan halted as Cat’s body tumbled to the deck in front of his feet. His heart nearly caught in his throat when he saw how hurt she looked. Abriana’s champion kneeled and patted her shoulder.
“Cat? Are you with me? We must get out of here!”
Trestan gave up hope of recovering the relic stones in the face of his remaining foes. He managed to help Cat get to her feet, but she was quite shaken. All that seemed to matter at that moment was escaping with their lives intact. Cat could do nothing to offer any assistance of her own. The half-elf leaned all her weight on his supportive embrace.
Revwar came out of the smoke from one side, holding both relics in one arm, while his other readied another spell. Savannah now stood behind Trestan, swinging her darkly glowing flail while she also started a prayer. From a third direction Jentan appeared out of the smoke with his wand in hand. All three were moving in with an arsenal of magic at their disposal.
At that critical moment, Trestan stepped backwards and nearly lost his footing. The floor of the deck had also been damaged with all the spell traps being ignited. Trestan’s foot rested on a cracked plank that dipped precariously with his weight. The paladin-aspirant looked about the floor and saw light seeping from
the deck below through several broken floorboards.
Trestan dragged Cat another step out onto the weakened floor. The wood groaned in protest under the added weight. With three spells about to be launched from different directions, Trestan held Cat close as he brought his sword high. He then swept the magical blade down at his feet.
The sword did enough to finish the damage wrought before. Severed planks gave way, dropping Trestan and Cat down to the next deck. Cat’s rapier also fell through the opening, nearly adding to their injuries. He did his best to cushion her fall, and looked up to witness what they had narrowly missed. A light show of magical carnage lit the open space above where they had just been standing.
Aching from his own hurts, Trestan acted quickly. He had no plans to stay underneath the opening in case some fiery spell was launched through it. After sheathing his blade and Cat’s sword, he leaned down and picked up Cat again. She made no words, only groaned as he set her over his shoulders and carried her down the new passageway.
* * * * *
Kemora came back from a wall of deep pain. Warmth spread from her face down into her body. She welcomed the sensation. Her consciousness drifted up from the pain towards that alluring feeling. As she became conscious, weariness returned as well as the bad air of smoke. She coughed as she opened her eyes to the world. The cold, blue eyes of Savannah hovered over her, watching her from behind the skull mask. The cleric held the side of Kemora’s head. The halfling couldn’t remember what had hit her, but apparently Savannah had healed the damage.
She sat up on her own and looked about. Savannah moved on to another wounded person as the domid saw the damage around them. Smoke hung like a heavy drape over the piles of shattered wood.
The Earthrin Stones 2 of 3: Trials of Faith Page 27