Highmage's Plight (Highmage’s Plight Series Book 1)

by Aire, D. H.

  “You know what I intend,” he said, even at that moment feeling the inexplicable pull westward. “You know what I must do.”

  “You are Summoned,” she replied, having seen the impact of the spell take its physical toll on him. “We will accompany you to the Empire and help you find the answers you seek. But understand we intend to do our duty.”

  He could hear the pleading note that underscored her words. “Understand and respect that and matters will be much simpler.”

  He moved across the room and gazed out the window. His protests were indeed futile, while she could not understand the distance between them.

  Viewing the city from this vantage, he slowly closed his eyes and concentrated, opening himself to rapport. As Se’and watched him standing there, his staff began to glow. The disguising wooden image grew faint, revealing the scaled wyvern hide insulating it that lent the staff its camouflage. The crystal staff’s glow danced in response to George’s thoughts.

  The city rose before him in his mind’s eye. Lines formed, creating a map in relief. The true details of the city’s foundation, hidden beneath grime and myriad structures, formed. The only difference between this visioning and so many others he had had over the years was that this site was not an ancient ruin needing painstaking extrapolation. This was a place that should exist only in the much vaunted past, not his here and now. His consciousness expanded outward, touching the reality that was the city-state of Edous. He did not belong here; wherever here was in the cosmos.

  “This isn’t even my world!” he said breaking rapport, opening his eyes wide.

  Se’and frowned at how forlorn he looked, the staff once more appearing to be a thing of wood.

  “An even better reason to trust my judgement, m’lord.”

  Sighing, he heard the door open and could see Fri’il and the fierce looking Cle’or, with their baggage in hand, talking heatedly about something. Se’and fought hard not to laugh at George’s puzzled expression. Abruptly the conversation ended and Fri’il hefted her bags and entered their room with a sheepish glance at the staring George.

  “What was that all about?” he muttered as Fri’il secured the door behind her.

  Smiling broadly, Se’and shook her head as Fri’il blushed and headed toward the adjoining bath chamber and said, “I’ll see to your bath, m’lord.”

  “Fri’il, set those over there, your sleeping mat is on the floor there. Then see to it that dinner is sent up.”

  The two women left him alone while the staff in his hand sparkled, remarking something unheard to everyone but George. He scoffed and mumbled back to it, “Oh, just mind your own business.”

  Chapter 13: Lord Je’orj Being Difficult

  Steam rose from the tub as George lowered himself gingerly. He sighed as the hot water soothed his aches. Picking up a bar of sweet smelling soap he began scrubbing the dirt from his skin. After a while, he sat back and took a moment to luxuriate in the peace and quiet.

  Abruptly, Se’and and Fri’il entered the chamber, wearing only their bodices and sleek knives strapped to their legs. Embarrassed he ordered them out. They smiled back as Se'and grabbed a bar of soap and Fri’il moved behind him to massage his shoulders.

  George hastily tried to launch himself out of the tub, then quickly thought better of the idea and hurriedly covered his privates. With a thin lipped smile, Se’and started rubbing soap into his hair. Swallowing angrily, thinking enough was enough, he shut his eyes tight and concentrated, then mentally “pushed” the two grinning women away.

  Shoved roughly backward, the women steeled themselves for the fight. They had expected and prepared themselves for his magely trickery. Se’and took a firm grip of his hair, and held on for dear life while Fri’il dug her fingers into his shoulders, putting painful pressure on his nerves. The force exerted against them suddenly eased as George grunted in pain.

  Grinning, Se’and asked, “Going to behave yourself?”

  He turned his head and glared at her.

  “You will let us do this properly,” she asserted, and yanked on his hair for good measure.

  He gazed up at the ceiling and realized he had dropped the soap. Sighing, he acquiesced.

  Fri’il gently massaged his neck and back as Se’and took great pleasure in working out the tangles in his hair.

  Finally, finishing their ministrations, they left the chamber. Gratefully, he rose halfway from the tub then paused, looking about for the towel. He was certain that it was near a moment ago, then noticed that his clothes were gone as well.

  During his momentary confusion, Se’and and Fri’il burst back into the room with the towels to dry him. He gaped, stunned as the two now naked women dried him thoroughly before ushering him out. Each gave him a quick kiss on the cheek for his good behavior.

  He glanced back as Se’and got into the tub, while Fri’il added more hot water from the stove before helping wash her hair. He left one of the towels behind as he struggled to think about something else, anything else.

  It was bad enough, George thought, that to get home I must follow the Summoning’s lead. I’m not going to let them mess with me, demanding I play a role in this marriage-by-bond tradition.

  Me’oh had since taken up guard duty. She asked him if she could help him dress for bed. He simply stared back at her then said, “No, thank you.”

  She grinned, “You will learn to appreciate our ways.”

  I hope not, he fervently wished. He wanted to get off this world and back home. He swallowed hard and asked Me’oh to turn around. He wanted some dignity.

  The streets cleared as grey-robed acolytes of the temple appeared in the quarter. They began surrounding the inn. The city guard then decided to patrol another district. Sight of the acolytes also caused the quick barring of windows. When all was quiet, the black robed priests and the High Priestess of the Lord of Demons herself approached, accompanied by her shape-changed and now dark furred hellhound.

  She motioned to her minions, who flocked to her. “I want them all dead and the staff brought directly to me. My pet is only to be used should any of you fail me.”

  The acolytes paled. “We will not fail!” they averred.

  Her smile chilled them as she waved them away, while a half dozen of her priests remained by her side. “The human will see what true power is just before he dies.” She chuckled, knowing that soon the staff would be hers.

  George slept fitfully with Se'and resting soundly beside him. Sweat gleamed across his brow as he fought in the thrall of a familiar nightmare. He dreamt of standing at the dig, examining the two peculiar stones that had apparently served as the base for an arch, then falling, seemingly forever. He relived the fight with the wyverns and the outcome in his nightmare was the same as in his waking life. To relive it as it happened was terrifying all the same.

  ‘George, wake up, your heart and respiratory rates are dangerously elevated. Recommend entering primary rapport mode.’

  Se’and was shaking him as he opened his eyes and whispered, “You were shaking and crying out. Are you alright?” Fri’il rose hurriedly from her sleeping mat.

  Se’and frowned as he merely muttered, “Report.”

  ‘You seem to have had a powerful stimulus from the Summoning.’ The probability is high that it is a warning. Alert status is advised.’

  George glanced at the softly glowing staff leaning against the bed board. Fri’il and Se’and were looking at him in concern as they saw him nod and mutter, “Scan and wake Balfour. I fear we may not have much time.”

  “M’lord?” said Se’and.

  The staff flared and the scan swept through the building and the outside environs. He smiled grimly, “We’ve company coming, ladies.”

  That said he hefted the now brightly glowing staff across his lap, which muted the light it cast.

  “Robbers?” Se’and questioned, shaking her head.

  “Not common ones, if they are. They seem to have magical assistance from the feel of it. Fri’il, b
ack your sleeping mat away from the door and take a position over there.”

  The staff flared with brilliant light as Fri’il moved to her new post and drew her short sword. They all grew quiet and watched the door. Se’and poised on her knees atop the bed, her bodice’s drawstrings still loosened for sleep. A bead of sweat dropped from George’s brow as he deepened rapport with his computer staff. More and more functions were taken up by the recesses of his mind as the staff’s glow dimmed to the light of a burning ember.

  George whispered to Se’and, “We wouldn’t want our friends to know they are expected.”

  After a time, the floorboards outside began to creak under foot.

  There was an abrupt hush outside, then red fire engulfed the door and it burst asunder. Fiery splinters rained across the room. For a moment, Fri’il was forced to shield her eyes as the first grey- robed figures rushed inside, silhouetted by the smoke and flame.

  Se’and drew and cast two of her daggers into the smoke, even as George hissed, “Don’t kill them!”

  “Will they do less?” she hotly replied as her victims fell back wounded.

  “Don’t kill!” he demanded even as cries of pain could be heard from the other suite.

  The red fire that had shattered the door gathered itself, while George hastily peeled back the disguising leathery hide from the tip of his staff. Revealed was pure glowing white crystal, which surprised Se’and. George grimly looked at the balled fire which now hovered above the remains of the shattered door, then used the pent up force he had stabled in his mind and sent a pure bolt of white fire into the magical force rising against him.

  The explosion was deafening to the gray robed minions seeking to charge into the room behind the dark force. They were knocked backward into the hallway, unconscious. A blast of purest malevolent intent abruptly shot into the room as a black-robe figure strode through the doorway.

  White fire flared from George’s staff and deflected the blast. The figure cupped his hands and red energy welled as he readied another attack.

  Fri’il cast a dagger at him as she moved to put herself between her lord and harm. “No!” George shouted even as the black-robed mage chanted an incantation.

  Her dagger slowed in midair as George leapt forward and grabbed the young woman backward with one arm. The black-robed figure’s chant ended as the dagger stopped and spun back toward Fri’il.

  Energy flashed from the blazing crystal staff, blasting the dagger as George fell backward onto the bed with Fri'il struggling in his arm, desperate to defend him. A ball of energy shot from the priest’s hands and was upon them. There was a terrible flash of light and an explosion.

  The resultant blast shook the very walls.

  Staff’s shrill warning had awakened Balfour. He woke Me’oh and Cle’or and alerted them to danger. In the melee that soon began, Cle’or fought their attackers with unmatched fury, her sword a blur of motion.

  The legendary skill of Cathartan swordswomen was revealed to be no mere boast to the acolytes, who dodged back out of the room. One cried out to someone yet to be revealed as the window overlooking the balcony shattered. A black-robed figure stood there with hands raised, chanting. Me’oh threw one of her daggers, which bounced off him.

  Hearing the spell forming, Balfour concentrated and without uttering a single bespelled word reached out with his gift. Stretching out his hand, he lightly touched thumb to forefinger and the black robed figure, who he recognized as a servant of the Demonlord, staggered, clutching at his throat, the spell forgotten as he struggled to breathe. He desperately gasped out the final words of his spell and Balfour’s bed burst into flame.

  Cle’or ignored the distraction to pursue her attack, forcing the last gray-robed minions back. They shouted for help and the sound of running feet confirmed reinforcements a certainty. Me’oh pushed Balfour back into a corner, holding her sword poised for defense as Cle’or readied herself.

  Still without uttering a spell, Balfour gazed at the burning bed and concentrated his will. The flames were smothered, suddenly starved of the oxygen upon which they fed. The gasping dark-robed priest stared in astonishment, one echoed by the circle of priests working in concert with the High Priestess below, whose combined strength powered the dark spells being used this night.

  With the last of his strength, a bolt of energy blasted from the choking priest’s hand and arched toward the elfblood. Balfour tried to ward it yet knew it was futile, even as he released his mental hold on the mageborn’s windpipe. The dark figure sank to his knees and sucked for breath.

  Cle’or grimaced and leapt between the blast and its target, even as Balfour concentrated on deflecting it. It veered minutely from its deadly course and glanced off Cle’or.

  Her shoulder and arm were outlined in red ethereal fire, taking the partial blow. The rest struck the wall deafeningly, only inches to Balfour’s right.

  The mageborn eyed him darkly as he rose once more, but this time Balfour was without mercy, believing Cle’or dead. He gestured once more and the black-robed figure clutched his chest as his heart ceased to beat. He fell backward and faded out of existence.

  The acolytes who had appeared in the doorway saw the vanishing and fled. An explosion from the next room echoed through the hall.

  The priests’ deaths reverberated through their circle’s link. At the death of the first priest at the elfblood’s hands, they had hurriedly sundered their tie before taking the full brunt of his agony. But this second demise had come too soon after the first and caught them totally unprepared. Never had they seen a spell work so fast or thoroughly.

  The High Priestess swayed elsewhere, images dancing in her mind. One priest felled, his heart crushed by the young elfblood’s ethereal grip; another dead moments after the explosion. The latter’s last glance showed to those bound to her circle that which should have been impossible; the man with his staff yet lived.

  One moment the human was destined for death by their combined might and in the next, triumphant. In sympathetic reaction, one of her priests clutched his face, feeling the terrible burns their colleague had suffered as if they were his own. In shock, the High Priestess realized that she had grossly underestimated her opponents. In her recklessness she had not recognized that the man must have a strong tie of elvin blood and that his companion must be a mage as well, one who had somehow cleverly concealed the breadth of his gifts.

  However, all was not lost. She shouted an order to release her beast. “My pet! Kill the human mage and bring me his staff!” The creature bounded toward the building as her dazed acolytes hastily moved out of its way.

  “Focus!” she screamed at her priests, calling the circle back to its work.

  Chapter 14: Inn the Worse for Were

  From the cellar doorway, the innkeeper cautiously peered and hushed those behind him who had sought refuge in the now invaded inn.

  At the sight of the beast loping past, he blanched, then noticed a temple acolyte slumped unconscious on the floor, at least he hoped he was only unconscious as he shut the door tight.

  The beast did not pause as it bounded toward the stairway to the second floor. A wounded acolyte was midway down the stairs and saw the beast too late. He was casually swatted aside as it raced past. The acolyte struggled back to his feet, thankful to be alive and limped away as fast as he could, desperate to escape knowing what the beast's entry boded.

  Smoke wafted from the ruins of the suite’s entry; where the doorway had stood only a great jagged hole remained. The beast slowed to sniff the air. Its eyes glowed with red fire as it padded forward and entered the room.

  Only one piece of furniture lay unscathed by the damage: the bed. Upon it lay a young woman who was barely conscious, and beside her another woman watched warily, sword upraised. The man, his true prey, stood next to the bed, turning away from the stricken woman.

  The man instantly became the sole focus of the beast’s attention.

  The staff! its mistress’s voice urged in its m
ind. I must have the staff! Bring it to me!

  The man frowned almost as if he could hear the unspoken words. He faced it squarely, holding the glowing staff. The beast took another step closer and white light flared around it repelling it. It charged back, undaunted.

  The defensive field George had erected flared once more and the dark beast cried out in pain as it was flung backward. It shook itself as it rose and started to pace the dazzling perimeter while periodically glancing at them.

  With startling swiftness it again charged and struck his force field. White fire silhouetted the animal as it willed itself beyond the pain. To George’s horror, he realized that the beast would soon penetrate the shield. He had to act quickly.

  “Se’and, hold me!” he shouted.

  He sat back down on the edge of the bed, gripping the now brightly blazing staff in his hands then slumped unconscious. Se’and dropped her short sword to the bed in her haste to grab him up.

  The barrier flared suddenly so bright that the walls of the room seemed almost transparent, unable to contain the light. Shrieking in indescribable agony, the beast lost its chosen shape, abruptly transitioning into a dark bird of the same proportions. In vain it tried to fly above the barrier entrapping it to dive upon its victims from above.

  The bird’s searing pain backlashed through the High Priestess’ circle, choking off the chants they used to maintain focus and add their power to her creature’s. They cried out in stinging agony.

  George, his mind free of his physical body, so deeply enrapport with his staff, found himself able to “glimpse” the elvin woman who served to focus the creature’s thoughts. He could hear her mutter, “Fools!”

  He felt her pour every ounce of her will into strengthening the creature's attack. The bird’s wings beat stronger, raising it gradually higher toward the ceiling within his flaring defensive field of energy.

  ‘Yes! Higher still!’ the Priestess shrilled, seeing through her creature’s eyes. ‘Kill the humans and bring me the staff!’