I'd hurt the thing.
"We can do this," I repeated, breaking into a grin.
XVI
The beast thrashed on the ground, kicking sand into the air in a cloud of dust as it worked to right itself. Throughout it all, I could see it staring at me. I'd kicked the hornet's nest now; it was going to be fixated on me for certain.
Small curls of blue flame licked at the edges of the shrike's claws and around its mouth. They seemed to be causing it further pain. Good, I thought viciously.
"Mendoz," I hissed. "It's going to come for me. See if you can get around it and give it a good stab, would you?"
"Uh… right," the big monster hunter said. "Sure thing."
"Vellierz, you cover Mendoz."
"Got it," my pudgy friend answered immediately. "Damn, that thing's big."
They took off running, skirting around the shrike's fury and keeping to the shadows. In order to ensure that it did not get distracted, I began hurling every insult I could think of in every language I knew at the beast, waving my hands around and jumping up and down like a fool. "Come on, you slimy sack of excrement!" I yelled in my best Old Tellarian.
When it finally righted itself, it spared no seconds in making another beeline for my heart. It moved so quickly I could barely see it, like a flash of black lightning.
I had no time to call up my power, so I threw my weight into moving out of the way. I barely avoided the claws gouging out my innards for the second time in as many days, but the beast's shoulder clipped me on the way past. Pain flared all along the right hand side of my body as the weight of a runaway ox cart slammed into me, sending me spinning to the ground.
My breath went out of me in a rush, and it felt as though my lungs were paralyzed. I struggled to get my arms beneath me and pushed my face up away from the sand, trying desperately to draw a breath.
As soon as its claws touched the sand it was moving again, turning as though it had no inertia at all. It bounded three or four times to the side, and then whipped itself around in midair, claws scything down toward me. I rolled across the sand, trying to right myself, and the claws slammed to the ground, sending up a spray of sand where my head had been only seconds before.
It was fast. It was deadly. Staring at the beast, I realized that we were outnumbered, though we technically had the advantage at three to one. It just didn't feel that way.
Why did I keep getting myself into these things?
Air, sweet, precious air filled my lungs again. I dropped to my side on the sand, threw out my right hand—the one with the gold ring and amber gem on it—and screamed out a phrase in Old Tellarian. "Khrona dakar!"
When all you want is to kill something, it's hard to beat fire.
True mastery of evocation depends on your understanding of the five elements: wind, fire, water, metal and wood. Each has its own specialties, and the greatest sorcerers in history were known for weaving all five together into massive enchantments and evocations.
I've never been particularly good at raw evocation. Directing pure manna and channeling it through one or more of the elements is difficult, and my mind has always been better suited toward careful analysis and tinkering enchantment.
Don't get me wrong—I wouldn't be able to call myself a sorcerer unless I was able to evocate on command. It just wasn't my strong suit, which is why I'd created the amber ring. It contained a power focus, a delicate enchantment designed to bear the strain of the evocation so that my mind wasn't forced to channel the power all on its own.
When I called on the fire, something strange happened. Normally I would have called up a fountain of yellow-orange flames as the manna passed through my mind and picked up the essence of fire from my will. Instead, brilliant silver-blue flames rippled forth in waves from my extended hand, rushing out of me with an intense feeling of power and ferocity.
The silvery fire poured out of the amber gem on the ring and washed over the shrike, eliciting a scream like nothing I'd ever heard before. Blood trickled from my ears as the sound rent my eardrums, but I barely noticed the pain. The exhilaration of watching the thing burn beneath the white-hot flames washed everything else out.
Though the fire was intense, it couldn't kill the shrike. That would have been too easy. Despite the heat, the shrike lashed out at me with its razor talons, and I stumbled desperately backwards, barking out another phrase as I transformed the manna from fire into metal, from offense to defense. "Viktas kallis!"
The amber ring on my finger flashed again as I called up a shield, which should have been nearly invisible but for a faint white light, but instead it flickered with the same blue fire. I avoided five of the six razor claws as I dragged the shield across my body in an attempt to parry them all. The last ripped across my arm and my back, opening up a torrent of pain that threatened to drown me. I fell backward and hit the sand, a scream of agony ripping itself from my throat.
Only a moment later, I realized the shrike was screaming right along with me.
With great effort, I rolled to the far side. The beast was covered in a spray of brilliant liquid azure which seemed to have set it aflame. My disbelieving eyes followed the spatter trail of burning cobalt back to… me.
My eyes caught sight of Mendoz and Vellierz, sneaking up behind the shrike. Vellierz's gaze did not linger on the creature.
It was on me.
The pain retreated, again far more quickly than I'd expected. With a surge of adrenaline, I rose to my feet. The shrike clawed at its eyes and head, trying to remove the curls of blue fire that my blood had set alight. That was interesting, I noted clinically, but the beast wasn't done yet. As the fire from the blood began to subside, it started moving forward again, coming at me. My mind felt as though it had been burned raw; despite the help of the ring, the channels in my consciousness were scorched from reforming so much power.
Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. The shrike's muscles bunched together as it leapt into the air, sand flying out behind it as its claws dug into the earth, propelling it forward with a sickening grace. Its talons flashed in the air; six remaining crimson eyes burned at me with rage and hatred as it barreled toward me, an unstoppable killing force.
Now, I'm a sorcerer, and tangling nose-to-toes with a fanged death machine is not exactly my forte. Which is why I'm not too embarrassed to tell you that when that thing leapt whole-body right off the ground and came at me like a runaway ox cart, I screamed like a little girl and threw myself down to the ground, my hands flying up to cover my head.
I ducked under the shrike's body without too much trouble, but I hadn't counted on the thrice-damned tail. It slammed into me on my way to the ground like a tree trunk wielded by an ogre, and I felt bones crack beneath the impact. My breath rushed out of me once again, and I was flung across the sand like a discarded rag doll. My scream choked off abruptly and I made only a muted sound of pain as I hit the ground some fifteen feet away, desperately trying to draw breath.
Against all of my better instincts—which advised me that simply lying there to die was by far the better option in this circumstance—I pushed myself over to see Mendoz engaged in sword-to-claw combat with the shrike. He wasn't doing too badly, really, but he was losing ground quickly. His massive flame-shaped blade flashed back and forth faster than I'd ever seen a sword move, fending off claws and fangs alike.
In that moment, in the dim light beneath House Brauch, I couldn't see the dings in his armor or the three-day-old beard growth that covered Mendoz's chin. All that was visible was a figure in steel armor with just enough of a shine, fighting off a roaring tide of oily darkness and crimson eyes.
He really did look like a hero.
Unfortunately, in real life, unassisted heroes tend to catch a bad case of dead.
Vellierz stalked around the thing, trying to find an opening, but if he wasn't careful the tail was going to—
I winced as the same tail backlash that had caught me a moment before smacked into my pudgy friend and sent him
sprawling. It was a glancing blow, nothing like the full-on smash that had caught me in the chest, but when Vellierz hit the ground, he stopped moving.
We were going to die—and dammit, it was my fault.
My ribs hurt every time I took a breath. My head spun from the lack of oxygen brought on by having the wind knocked out of me. I bled from three or four places: bright indigo blood with a blue-white glow trickled down my left hand and dripped from my right eyebrow.
If I didn't do something, the shrike was going to overpower Mendoz' flashing defense any second.
I reached into my bag of tricks and drew out the short silver knife which had struck such fear into the Conte a few hours before. I'd enchanted it to numb anything that it touched. From time to time I would craft an enchantment that had to be fired with blood, and frankly, I hate pain. It was a minor thing, but it had served me well in the past, and now I used it to draw a deep slice across the inside of my palm. That brilliant blue fluid welled up, but I felt no pain.
Then I closed my eyes and summoned the manna.
I didn't need anything complex. With a deep breath, I lifted my bleeding hand into the air, and then on the exhale I whispered a word.
"Svalenka."
The power flowed through the channels in my mind, converted into a wind evocation that howled like a winter gale as it sprang to life. The miniature tempest picked up the drops of my blood and sprayed them toward the shrike in a macabre rain. Everywhere that a sapphire pearl struck the oily black hide, azure flames burst to life with a hissing roar.
Within a few seconds, my blood covered the beast.
Hah, I thought viciously. Whatever would I do against such a weapon, indeed.
Its attacks immediately ceased as the shrike threw itself to the ground, thrashing violently and screaming in agony as it attempted to beat out the manna fire. The moment it was on the ground, I dropped my concentration on the wind evocation, closed my hand around the wound, and sagged to my knees.
"Now, Mendoz!" I gasped, hoping desperately that he could hear me. My ribs twinged in protest, but I bravely ignored them.
Like the hero from a story, Mendoz bravely ignored the beast's thrashing and the blue fire. He leapt atop the shrike's back, wielding his gilded ketzelvar in both hands. As I struggled desperately to keep the shrike from escaping my grasp, he reversed his grip on the sword and plunged the serrated edge into the base of the beast's skull.
Instantly, the shrike's struggles ceased. It collapsed to the ground like a heap of soiled rags, the sudden motion dumping Mendoz roughly to the sand, where he rolled away unharmed, leaving his sword embedded in the creature's skull.
After a few moments, once its final twitches had ceased, the big monster hunter spat, stepped atop the dead shrike's body and yanked his sword free, the blade covered in faintly-glowing ooze.
It felt as though I was made of pain. It took everything I had to stand. It felt like I'd immolated myself; agony burned through every part of me, consuming every extremity in a wrathful blaze.
Pushing myself forward, I staggered toward the fallen shrike. Mendoz was trying to remove the fel beast blood from his ketzelvar, and Vellierz picked himself up off the sand, seeming to have finally come back to consciousness. He wore a shocked, twisted expression, though… my pudgy sorcerer friend just stared at me, as though I'd become a shrike myself.
"Good work," I panted as I approached. "Nicely—"
"Kazzek," Vellierz interrupted, and the force bolt spell that I'd taught him slammed me to the ground.
XVII
"You bastard," Vellierz said. "You really did it."
I gasped, trying to clear the fog of unconsciousness from my mind. I was still lying on the sand, only a few feet away from the cooling body of the shrike. Mendoz was nowhere in sight.
"Did what?" I gasped.
"Don't play games with me," he snapped. "You've been trying to keep that damned heartblade a secret since you got here, but I saw through you."
"It was you," I said, as understanding suddenly dawned. "You tried to kill me."
"Have you killed, to be precise," he said. His double chin and drooping eyes suddenly seemed menacing as he stared down at me from his diminutive height. "I suspected that you would be forced to use the heartblade in an attempt to save your own pathetic life. Interesting that it worked."
"It did more than work," I panted. "I think it turned me into—"
"An Arbiter," he finished. "Yes, I think you're quite right, based on the display you just provided. You never were much of an evocator, Edar, and the wound on your back is healed, as though it was never there. The power of the heartblade has already changed you. How does it feel to be immortal?"
"To be honest, it feels about the same as being mortal." The pain was already receding, leaving my head surprisingly clear. I tried not to show it outwardly. "Except for the part where my blood sets things on fire, of course."
He kicked me; I jerked in pain, even though it didn't really hurt all that much. "Shut up."
"What do you want?" I asked.
"I want you to give me that heartblade," he said. "I'm going to take it apart, piece by piece, with Yzgar's chant of Undoing—as soon as I do the same to you."
I stared at him in horror. "What?"
"It's long been my theory that an Arbiter is no different than a corpse animated by corrupted manna, with their mind held in place by the heartblade's enchantments," Vellierz said. "I intend to discover if that is true, and since you have so kindly provided me with a test subject…"
"You can't be serious," I said, and it came out as more of a squeak than I might have liked. "There's no way to prove if I'm actually an Arbiter or not, short of one walking through here tomorrow and verifying it for you."
He shrugged. "It's a risk I'm willing to take."
"So that's what all this was about?" I demanded. The rapid rate at which my pain was disappearing truly impressed me. "You wanted to get me down here to see if your hypothesis was right?"
"Oh, not just me," he said with a yellowed grin. "Trulia and the Conte are also quite interested in the results; separately, of course."
Quiet, unassuming Vellierz. Oh, how I had underestimated him.
"I'm actually impressed," I said at last, pushing myself to my elbows on the ground. He watched me warily, but didn't make any move to stop me. "You seem to have outmaneuvered me from every angle."
"I thought as much," he said smugly.
"There is one thing you've overlooked, though."
"Oh?"
"The heartblade has nothing to do with my evocation."
His eyes opened wide, but before he could open his mouth, I flung up my hand. When I'd taught the force bolt to Vellierz, it had been for utility, for breaking down doors and for pushing an assailant back. I had never intended for that spell to kill, but when I brought up the manna and shaped it into a pure extension of my will, I knew just how much the ring would amplify it.
"Kettek."
A flash of white light, brighter than the sun itself, burst forth from the amber gem in my ring. It actually cracked under the strain; I felt it when the enchantments dissipated from the broken shards. It hit Vellierz like a carnival strongman swinging a tree trunk, picking him up with crushing force and flinging him away from me. He let out a choking sound which cut off almost instantly, and hit the sand almost twenty feet away.
With a cough, I picked myself the rest of the way off the ground. Vellierz didn't even twitch, but I could see the dark blood seeping into the sand. I shook my head slowly. I would never understand how someone could let themselves become so complacent when they thought they had the upper hand in a situation.
The shrike had killed Alvar Brauch. Mendoz had slain the shrike, and I'd killed Vellierz. Everyone still standing had a body count. The thought chilled me a little.
"Huh," Mendoz grunted. "I'd never have expected the little guy."
I looked over at the monster hunter, who looked at me with his head canted to one side, a
little smile on his face.
"What?" I muttered roughly.
"You handled yourself pretty well, sorcerer," he said.
"Is there a particular reason you didn't involve yourself when it looked like he was going to kill me?"
Mendoz slung his ketzelvar onto his back, and then held up his hands innocently at me. "I make it a policy never to get involved in a sorcerer's dispute."
I snorted. "That's probably wise."
Vellierz had been right about one thing: my wounds were healing strangely fast. I no longer felt like my ribs had been crushed, and my breath rapidly returned to normal. It allowed me to think clearly.
If I'd grown to know Trulia and the Conte at all during the past six months, the streets would soon be filled with blood as the cold war between the aristocracy and the Circle of Thorns quickly turned hot. I really didn't want any part of that.
"We're going to have to get out of town, and fast," I said.
Mendoz rolled his eyes and sighed. "Technically, you're going to have to get out of town fast."
"True enough," I said, stopping a choking cough before it could interrupt me as one of my ribs actually set itself beneath the flesh of my abdomen. It was the strangest feeling. "I might remind you that you crashed Trulia's meeting just as surely as I did."
He blanched; it was a funny expression on his homely face. "Point taken."
"Might as well stick together," I said, gesturing down at myself. "I suppose you never know when you might need an Arbiter around."
The big monster hunter let out a short, barking laugh that was more than a little strangled. "Don't worry. I won't leave you alone, Eddy."
My eyes caught something in his expression, and a realization hit me.
For the first time since we'd met, Mendoz was afraid of me.
He was afraid of me.
My own laugh was no less strangled than his. "We'll leave soon, then. There's just one thing I have to do first."
"Please tell me it doesn't involve killing another shrike," he said with a forced grin.
The Elements of Sorcery Page 14