Reality's Plaything

by Will Greenway

  Not good.

  Metal creaked.

  Bannor froze. His heart abruptly became thunder in his chest.

  His skin tingled. He felt a presence. There was something hiding in the darkness.

  The reeds swayed. The river gurgled. His blood pounded.

  It’s close.

  He caught a faint sizzling sound at the far edge of his hearing.

  Searing pain swept over him. There were images of blue-black walls and spikes. Bannor staggered and clutched his middle. In an instant, it vanished. He caught his breath.

  What in Hades? The pictures and pain had come from outside of him. A wave of agony abruptly cut off. Wren? The burning felt the same as the time he’d tried to pass through iron while in astral form.

  Iron walls, spikes. A cage designed to restrain an astral form?

  His body felt like a bowstring now, taut and vibrating. His arms and legs burned with hammering of his heart. He moved toward the source of the sound. Whatever was out here may have let him feel that burst of sensation to lead him into a trap.

  He’d teach them not to hunt a woodsman. He’d spent his life in the wilderness fighting the creatures of the hills and crags. He’d built a reputation among the border men for his knack of evading ambushes.

  One step. Two. Four. More sizzling. Another burst of sensation.

  Bait to trap him. Scum, they’ll pay.

  Sarai’s eyes became glowing slits hovering in the blackness behind him. He changed course, picking his way toward where the reeds thinned. The higher ground there would be an excellent place to put a lookout.

  He crouched low as he neared. Every rustle of vegetation became loud punctuations of the silence. Bannor held his breath again. His chest ached. No more sounds.

  Only a few steps remained between them and that hillock.

  Nothing moved.

  Closer.

  The wrongness felt palpable like a seeping cloud of paralyzing cold. Hecate’s minions were here, each of them with an image of him burned into their twisted minds. Laramis told him about the fanatics. They would happily lay down their souls to see their mistress’ bidding done. They were men and women who drank the blood of innocents to gain demonic strength. They wore the serpent armor not only for protection, but to hide the scaly deformities caused by their association with Hecate’s demons.

  He inched up the rise. Axes at the ready, Sarai was close on his heels.

  Two more steps to the top. The ground felt packed underfoot.

  He glanced down.

  Fresh tracks.

  Slash!

  Bannor brought his weapon around before he even saw the figure descending on him with a sword upraised. The whistling head of his axe thudded into the minion’s throat while the creature was still in mid-leap.

  The humanoid toppled to the ground and writhed like a beheaded snake. A sulfurous smell filled the air as a greenish mist rose out of the mask and separations in its armor. Its body was gone, leaving only the metal shell behind like the husk of a bug sucked empty of life by a spider.

  Bannor surged forward to meet more armored figures rushing out of the night. One of Sarai’s arrows hissed over his shoulder and struck the lead creature in the faceplate. It dropped.

  The remaining minions continued their charge. He blocked a sword with his right axe and swung the other so it slammed home into his opponent’s exposed ribs. Bone crunched and the blade sunk deep in the creature’s torso. The minion snarled and thrust a hand forward. Icy metal gripped Bannor’s throat.

  Sarai flashed past him and met the last creature as it tried to strike him away from its companion. Steel resounded as they traded blows.

  Despite his efforts to resist, the creature pulled him closer forcing him to look into the eyeholes of its mask. Glowing yellow eyes narrowed.

  “Ours,” it rasped in a wheezing voice.

  The world started getting fuzzy. He couldn’t get air. Have to get loose.

  “Not yet, I’m not.” He wrenched the lodged axe side-to-side.

  The minion howled and its grip loosened. Bannor tore free and hacked down on the creature’s shoulder and neck. The minion staggered back. Mist billowed around the creature. Empty plate mail clattered on the hard dirt.

  The shriek of metal made Bannor turn. Sarai ripped her sword out of the torso of her opponent. The monster fell, gas pluming into the atmosphere.

  “Go!” She pointed.

  Heart pounding, he headed in the direction she indicated. What she’d seen became evident an instant later. A knot of figures grouped around a gleaming box.

  Bannor brought an axe down on the head of the first sentry as it turned to intercept him. The whirring of Sarai’s arrows thudding home sounded around him. The air filled with the noxious smell of Hecate’s minions dying. Two more fell beneath his strokes before the group broke ranks and faced him.

  He saw the flutter of a blood-red cloak. He recognized the silhouette of Mazerak’s broad body and the glint of polished brass buttons and boots. “That’s enough of that, Goodman Bannor. Unless, of course, you’d like me to clip the wings off this flaming chicken.” He thrust a black iron sword into the metal box. The burning image of Wren’s astral body flinched back. Gleaming sapphire eyes narrowed and her talon’s closed and opened.

  Bannor stopped. The armored minions spread out to either side, razor sharp weapons glinted in the moonlight. He guessed there were at least twenty.

  All he needed to do was get Wren out. The savant looked more than ready to do the rest. “Do it, Mazerak, and you’re dead.”

  The lord chuckled. “Old boy, you seem to be under the delusion that your threats worry me. Not only will you not attack me, you’ll lay those axes down on the ground and come quietly.”

  Bannor gripped his weapons tighter. “What makes you think that?”

  Mazerak snapped his fingers. “Show him, Darling.”

  He felt a sharp jab in his back. Steely fingers gripped his shoulder. Bannor glanced back. Glowing violet eyes met his. Sarai’s face had taken on a grayish cast and she looked stiff. She pushed him forward.

  Mazerak bowed. “Let me reintroduce myself. Lord Mazerak Duquesne, savant of storms. Master of the elements—” He gestured to Sarai. “And elementals…”

  * * *

  Even those of the pantheons do not possess the fundamental will-force known as the ‘tao’, they, like most mortal creatures, have only souls or spirits. The Ka’Amok and few rare beings that exist among the stars possess a tao, a thing that is analogous to a spirit, but can exist normally as personified life outside the shell of their bodies.

  If anything, it is the tao that makes Gaea favor the Ka’Amok over the pantheon lords.

  I surmise that if I were to possess a tao, Tan’Acho would indeed be mine.

  —From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’.

  Chapter Twenty

  « ^ »

  Bannor felt a hot rage fill his chest as he saw Sarai’s stiff bearing and grayish skin. The crimson moon’s illumination cast the marshy clearing in an eerie glow that matched the red haze clouding his vision. For him, the armored warriors of Hecate encircling him vanished. Wren’s frantic movements in the iron cage no longer mattered. One thing held Bannor’s mind.

  Mazerak.

  The dandy grinned at him brushing at his spotless cloak. He adjusted a belt on which hung a jeweled scabbard then rubbed a smudge off the gold chased guard of the saber in it.

  Bannor almost gave in to the urge to rush the Lord while his attention was diverted.

  Mazerak reached into a ruffled sleeve and pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed his nose. “What’ll it be, Man? You going to loiter there changing colors, or do I have to force you to surrender?”

  He glanced again at Sarai, noting the stiffness of her body. She looked like a statue as she held the dagger extended toward him.

  It took effort to force the words between his teeth. It took all his will not to go for the Lord’s throat. Every instant he thought of
Sarai enslaved by this pig made the rage burn hotter. “If you’ve hurt her, you’ll wish you’d never heard of me.”

  Mazerak sniffed. “Oh, of that I’m certain. You’re quite a fighter, a bit more than I expected, actually.” No emotion registered on the lord’s face as he surveyed the husks of the minions Bannor had killed. He frowned and dabbed his nose again with the cloth. “Such odoriferous places you camp in. Your concession, I’ll wait no longer. Drop your weapons.”

  “Let Sarai go!” Bannor growled.

  The minions all made hissing sounds and tensed. Mazerak held up and hand and they stopped. “No, no, no—you’re supposed to say, ‘I concede’.” He pulled the sword from its sheath. Sparks danced around the edges of the curved blade. “There will be no deals, Bannor. There is a hefty reward for Sarai back in her homeland. I plan to recoup some of my losses in this venture. Drop your weapons now, or I’ll have her run you through.” He gestured and Sarai’s knife pressed harder in Bannor’s back.

  Where are Irodee and the others? The sounds of the battle should have brought them by now. He thought they’d be attacking long before this. Careful not to give it away, he glanced around to see if Dac or Irodee might be hiding nearby to take advantage of an opportune moment.

  Nothing.

  The Storm savant shook his head as if he knew Bannor’s thoughts. “Delaying won’t bring the others. I’m a thorough man.” He reached into a pocket and tossed something. Tendrils of glimmering dust fanned out from his hand, reaching the ground they crept along like something alive. “It’s made from the blooms of the Silissian Jytteh plant. Released upwind, it can be effective fifty paces away. They won’t wake for half a day. A pity that elves and savants are immune to most sleep-inducing drugs.” He sighed. “Sarai, take those silly axes from him.”

  She placed the dagger in her boot, stepped around him, and pried the axe from his grip. His stomach churned. Fight him, Little Star; don’t let this worm control you. If Sarai heard his passionate mental plea she didn’t react. She simply reached for his other weapon. Bannor searched her face for any spark of the woman he loved. The elf moved like a wooden puppet, her limbs pulled into motion by invisible strings. Her eyes no longer shone. The bright violet that glowed in the night now looked like a dull lavender.

  “I never knew elementalism ran so strongly in the Malanian royal family,” Mazerak remarked. “I don’t know how I overlooked the princess’ strong ties to stone.” He raised an eyebrow. “Fortunate I noticed on our second encounter, wouldn’t you say?”

  Bannor only glared at him. Keep talking, fop. You’ll regret every word.

  Mazerak snapped his fingers and gestured to the cage where Wren’s Phoenix form hovered, its claws opening and closing. The fiery bird’s diamond eyes glittered with malice. If Wren freed herself, Bannor sensed she would do everything in her power to make an end of the storm savant.

  He tightened his fists. She’d have to wait her turn.

  Sarai gripped Bannor’s wrist and a minion slunk over to take his other arm. Two more took up positions behind him.

  He tested Sarai’s hold.

  Bannor yelped as she clamped down on his wrist so hard his bones groaned. The minions hissed. Unblinking reptilian eyes stared at him from serpentine masks. Mazerak chuckled as the four escorts propelled him forward and shoved him hard against Wren’s cage. Pain creased his forehead as his face hit the cold metal. Moisture ran down the bridge of his nose and cheek. It trickled over his lip leaving the coppery taste of blood.

  The hands holding him released. Bannor snarled and turned to put his back to the enclosure. Thick rods of iron thrust out of the ground around him as Sarai and the minions backed off.

  Mazerak’s hand glowed as he made a horizontal slashing motion. A slab of iron appeared, forming a cap over the bars surrounding Bannor. The metal sizzled and glowed red as it fused with the vertical shafts. The dirt under his feet shuddered. A slab matching the first pushed out of the ground and welded itself to the bars as the other had.

  His throat tightened. Sealed in iron. An icy sense of doom gripped his lungs, threatening to extinguish the anger burning in him. Bannor fought it down, keeping a steady glare focused on Mazerak. He would never give this bastard the satisfaction of thinking him beat.

  Lord Duquesne stepped forward and looked his work up and down. He nodded, apparently satisfied with the soundness of the cage’s construction. “I admire your spirit, Woodsman, but I advise you not to fight this. It’ll only make the combining worse.”

  The heat in Bannor flared again. He spat on Mazerak’s boots. “Bring on your death goddess, you worthless fop! I’ll spit in her eye. You have to get me to her alive.”

  The storm savant stepped back. His blocky face tightened. He gestured to Sarai. The elf came forward woodenly. When she stood next to him, he pushed Sarai down on her knees.

  The lord raised his chin, dark eyes flashing a challenge. “Lick it off, little bitch.”

  The flare of anger was blinding. Snarling, Bannor lunged through the bars his fingers passing only hairs from the Lord’s throat. “Bastard! Stop it!”

  The shriek of steel leaving sheaths echoed through the clearing. Four minions thrust their weapons through the bars forcing Bannor back.

  Mazerak fixed him with flat black eyes.

  Sarai hesitated. Her eyes flickered and her neck muscles twitched.

  Duquesne’s brow furrowed and his voice became a rasp. “Do it.”

  Her head dipped and she stopped again.

  “Now,” he gestured with a clenched fist.

  “No!” Bannor yelled.

  Sarai’s face went to the Lord’s boot. Her tongue flicked out. Bannor looked away. “You bastard.” He felt the tears burning on his cheeks. He pounded the bars. “Leave her alone.”

  “Up, girl.” Satisfaction rang in the storm savant’s voice. “I can see why you’re so attracted to this willful bit of fluff. Maybe I should forget the reward and keep her for myself.”

  Bannor faced the man. He tasted bile in his throat. For Sarai’s sake, he dared not defy Mazerak further.

  The savant took his handkerchief and wiped Sarai’s mouth. He wadded it up and tossed it at Bannor. “You’re a peasant, Starfist. I own you.” He put his fist in Sarai’s hair, forced her head back, and kissed her. “I own you both.”

  Bannor narrowed his eyes. He kept his voice soft, but he loaded every word with the anger seething in his gut. “Mazerak, you aren’t half as smart as you think you are.” His gripped the bars white-knuckled. “When you least expect I’m going to be out of this cage. Next thing you know I’ll be reaching down your arrogant throat to turn you inside out.”

  The Lord snorted. “Bold words from a condemned man. I’d be a fool to ignore such conviction.” He clapped his hands. “Sazaaran, silence him.”

  Bannor tried to dodge too late. He heard metal slide on metal and a burst of ringing as something hard cracked against his skull.

  The world went gray. The last thing he saw through the bars of his prison were the fading silhouettes of Mazerak and Sarai together beneath the blood-colored moon.

  * * *

  Liandra Kergatha was the experiment that should have succeeded.

  She instead became the most troublesome mortal I have ever had the displeasure of knowing. The witch has personally and by proxy caused the deaths of more of my avatars than any immortal, and been the source of more irritation than I care to admit.

  She is a vicious little sprite that lives to thwart me. She has Gaea’s own luck, and as I have lately concluded, the Green Mother’s embrace as well.

  Considering what she has cost me, I almost regret the torture I inflicted on her—almost.

  —From the Dedriad, ‘musings of an immortal’.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  « ^ »

  The sun burned over the hills, casting the battlefield in shades of vermilion. A thick layer of pasty ash covered the parched ground, the trees and bushes charred to blackened skeletons. The mugg
y air reeked of carrion and shuddered with the sound of the Northerner’s marching drums. King Balhadd of the South had lost this territory. No trumpeters remained to even sound the retreat. The North’s armies poured through the valleys like a swarm of insects.

  Bannor shifted his brother’s weight, keeping him secure over his shoulder. He paused, something seemed wrong. This all seemed familiar, as if it all happened once before. He pushed the sense down and forged forward, struggling to stay ahead of the tide. I’ll get you out, Ramm. Three more leagues to the staging camp. Bannor’s stomach knotted as he looked back and saw sunlight glint off an advancing wall of armor and weapons.

  Fire burned in his chest. Up down, up down-the ground sucked at his feet. He couldn’t give up.

  Arrows hissed through the air. He felt a stab in his shoulder. Yelling, he stumbled and the two of them rolled into a ravine. Agonizing pain ripped through his shoulder. He heard the shaft snap. Lying in the grime, Bannor twitched. Rammal groaned, fingers raking the dirt. Bannor clawed onto his knees. Ramm!

  His brother only shook his head and closed his eyes. Bannor grabbed Rammal’s shoulder. His skin felt so cold. Ramm! He knelt next to the still body, tears burning on his face. No!

  He heard footsteps and the sound of steel being pulled. Scrambling out of the ditch, he ran…

  I failed. I was a coward. I should have died protecting you.

  A haze swept over the scene. Bannor found himself leaning over Rammal’s still form again. Dead. My fault. I should have done something.

  Done something…

  Something…

  A scratchy voice spoke behind him. “Haven’t you plowed that field of guilt enough, SproutBoy? I’m gettin right tired of seein it myself.”

  His vision of the ravine and the hills wavered. Colors sparkled and danced. Bannor found himself standing on the porch of the wood and brick house of his childhood. The lake gleamed. Flocks of birds dipped and flashed on the water’s surface. He smelled the heady scent of his mother’s flower garden and the lingering odor of his father’s pipe tabac.