Dimension Shifter

by T. M. Nielsen

  She had injuries that were being neglected, and she hadn’t rested for more than a few hours in weeks, and her body was starting to give out on her.

  “Well spread out,” Waymen said. “Comb this grass and find her.”

  Kyrin felt her hands begin to tingle as she chanted softly. The spells came naturally, and she could never explain where the words and incantations came from. This instinctive ability scared the Shadowmere worse than anything.

  When Kyrin stood up, she took a step back as she came face-to-face with the massive members of the Apprehension Crew.

  Waymen smiled and pulled his sword, “Time to stop running, Kyrin.”

  Her hands glowed at her side, and Waymen’s smile faltered.

  “I’m not coming back with you, and you can tell Mika he’s next on my list of dead Shadowmere,” Kyrin said. She tried to make her words commanding and fierce, but her hesitancy made Waymen smile.

  “Interesting, but not true. It’s time to come with us. We can kill you now. Our orders have changed.”

  “Come and get me then,” she said. They came at her and she immediately threw her hand forward. A green ball of flame shot out of it and slammed against two of the closest Shadowmere, who instantly fell to the ground, writhing in pain.

  Kyrin turned to run. Another advantage of her size was her speed. She hoped the Shadowmere never realized that their heavy armor hindered their ability to move quickly. She almost immediately gained a good lead, and began throwing her hands toward them, pelting them with green balls of light. When they hit a Shadowmere, they would fall back in pain.

  A single arrow flew through the air and lodged deep into her thigh. She screamed and her hands instantly began to lose their green glow. She limped over and headed for the dying trees, struggling to keep her distance from the advancing forces.

  “Kyrin!” Waymen screamed, partially laughing. “Are you injured dear? I smell blood.”

  Her heart was pounding, and blood poured out of her leg as she limped as fast as she could, trying to get away. When she saw the flat rock, well away from any water, she knew she’d found another portal. With bloody hands, she picked it up and then disappeared just as Waymen came into sight. He slammed into the portal door when it closed, and Kyrin leaned against it from the other side, bracing in case he figured out how to come through.

  Once she knew she was away from them again, she turned slowly and looked out over the mountainous terrain. There was dirty snow covering most of the rocky surface of the mountain, and she looked down hundreds of feet to a valley far below. Blood dripped out from the embedded arrow and fell onto the rocks behind her as she walked over to the side of the small plateau.

  Kyrin sighed with relief when she saw an abandoned structure not far below her. Its destroyed walls still held the shape of a large manor, long since forgotten at the top of the vast mountain. Half of it had a partial roof, and Kyrin planned on using that part to get out of the snow and assess the wound.

  Kyrin couldn’t find an easy path down, but got onto her knees and lowered herself carefully to a rock outcropping just below where she was standing. She had to ignore the growing pain in her leg as she maneuvered down the sheer face of the cliff toward the ruins.

  When her feet sunk into the snow at the base of the cliff, she turned slowly and looked over the tall walls of what once was a grand castle. She limped toward the only shelter she could see, and then sat down and pulled off her belt and flail.

  In her travels, she’d learned how to treat wounds correctly, and she knew better than to yank the arrow out of her thigh without having a tourniquet ready. She wrapped her belt around her leg, pulling hard with her teeth as her hands tied it into a knot, cutting off the blood supply.

  Kyrin braced herself and, with shaky hands, pulled the arrow out of her leg. She bit against the belt and stifled a scream. Almost blacking out, she laid down on the cold ground and tossed the blood covered arrow off to the side. Once she was sure she wasn’t going to pass out, she sat up and then pulled her pants down and away from the wound.

  “Shamagiem,” she whispered, and her hands began to glow red. Bracing herself, she touched her leg and then screamed when the wound began to burn. This time darkness invaded her vision as the magic began to cauterize the wound. She collapsed back against the cold ground until the pain began to subside and her head cleared.

  Using what strength she had left, she backed up to one of the crumbling walls and then untied the belt from her leg before she shut her eyes to rest.

  ***

  When she woke up, night had set in, and she could see her breath in the freezing air. She was shivering in the cold, but was finally able to summon the strength to stand slowly and get dressed. There was enough wood around to make a small fire, and she fell down beside it and warmed her hands.

  Swift movement off to her side caught her eye, and a small creature came into view. She wasn’t sure what it was, but it was going to be her next meal. It wasn’t paying attention to her, so she was able to cast at it and immediately kill it. Within minutes, she was tearing at its flesh, too hungry even to bother cooking it.

  Once she calmed the hunger pains, she looked around carefully, but didn’t see or hear anything that would point to danger. She allowed herself one tiny swallow of water, and then leaned back against the ground to get some rest.

  An hour later, the sound of fast running woke her up, and she stumbled to her feet with her flail in her hand. The footsteps were erratic and coming nearer. Within a few seconds, she could hear fast breathing and a soft panicked mumble.

  Kyrin crouched low against the wall, hoping whoever it was would just run by. Her fire had long since died out and there was no other sign that she was even there.

  She looked over when a tall, thin figure in a robe appeared and knelt down not ten feet from her. His back was to her, and he was peering around a pile of rubble, still mumbling incoherently. Just as she readied to kill him, the sound of hoof beats pounded in the darkness.

  Kyrin looked up suddenly as four horsemen came into view. She held perfectly still, glad that the shadows hid her from obvious view.

  “We told you that you cannot hide from us, Priest,” one of the horsed men said, laughing.

  “Why are you doing this?” the man asked frantically.

  “You know why! Your Lord has been the bane of my existence for years and how better to get back at him than to kill his loyal Priests.”

  “He’ll not stand for this!” The Priest’s voice was high and squeaky.

  “No he won’t, will he? He’ll be forced to come after me for this. I fully plan on dealing with him once and for all once I get him away from his adoring minions.”

  The Priest stood up and shook his head, “No… no, don’t do this! Sithias will not stand for this.”

  “I’m not afraid of your god!”

  “Hey, look over there,” another of the mounted men said. Kyrin gasped when all of them turned to look at her.

  She stood slowly and her hands immediately began to glow.

  “Well hello there,” the closest one said, smiling down at her. She knew the look, and it infuriated her. It was the look one gave a helpless damsel, not someone they feared.

  “I have no business with you,” Kyrin said angrily.

  He rode his horse up closer to her, “Gorgeous thing, aren’t you?”

  She scowled at him.

  “Are you from Valhara?”

  “No”

  “You can’t be from Qualsax. I would have remembered you.”

  “Again, I have no business with you, so I suggest you kill your Priest and get out of here,” she said, backing up a step. She reached in and grabbed her flail, reveling at the feel of its heavy steel in her grip.

  He leaned his head back and laughed, “You don’t care if we kill him?”

  “Why would I care?”

  “Evil little wench, this one,” he said, smiling at the others.

  Kyrin had had enough and swung her flail
at the unsuspecting man’s neck. The sickening crunch of bones sounded as blood splattered across her and his horse. A gurgle escaped his dying lips, and he fell from his horse as the other men dismounted and came at her, no longer interested in the Priest.

  She fell into a defensive posture after her hands touched, and she readied the flail in her right hand. Her left hand balled into a fist and began to flicker with a deep yellow.

  The closest man frowned and took a step back, his sword dropping slightly, “What’s that?”

  “She’s one of them magic people,” another replied, somewhat fascinated.

  “There’s no magic anymore.”

  Without letting them finish, she advanced on them. The first she took out with a face hit from her flail. She spun and ducked down under a sword, then brought her hand up toward him and shot a yellow arch of lightning directly at his chest. It disappeared inside of him and his eyes grew wide, moments before he exploded, sending raw flesh onto his companions.

  Kyrin dodged just as one of them swung a long sword at her, but the second caught her in a tight grasp and turned her to face the other, with her hands trapped at her sides.

  “You just killed two of the Qualsax Warriors!” he yelled, moments before backhanding her. She glared up at him and ignored the blood dripping from the corner of her mouth.

  “You are under the mistaken impression that I care what a Qualsax Warrior is,” she yelled. She dropped suddenly, catching the man restraining her off guard. The second she was out of his grasp, she spun and brought her flail up squarely into his groin.

  The white-hot stab hit her instantly, and she looked down just as the tip of a sword appeared from her stomach. Lightning erupted from all around her as she fell to her knees. The last thing she heard was someone shouting in a language she didn’t understand.

  Chapter 2

  “Dewell, bring her in here!” one of the Priests said from the doorway of a large temple.

  The Priest who had first encountered Kyrin was carrying her toward the temple, and he was covered in her blood. He quickly ran up the stairs and laid her down on a wooden table. She was suddenly surrounded by twelve men, all wearing the same deep, purple robes.

  “What happened?” one of them asked as he pressed his hands against the sword wound.

  “I ran into four Qualsax Warriors while gathering wood. They chased me, and I found her out by the Boriana ruins. Just as they were going to kill me, they saw her and she… she fought them.”

  “And she’s alive? How is that possible?”

  Dewell’s voice dropped, “Magic.”

  “This one cannot know magic.”

  “I saw it.”

  Without another word, they began to undress her to see if they could save her life. What they found under her worn and tattered clothing was a body riddled with fresh wounds and vicious scars.

  “She’s very young,” yet another said.

  “Yes, I think she is. Maybe she’s been a prisoner of Qualsax.”

  “Maybe”

  “What is this?” one of them asked, and pointed to her wrist. Burned onto the soft side of her wrist was a tiny ‘D’.

  “I haven’t seen that mark before.”

  “It could be a brand.”

  “It could be a deity.”

  “We need to inform Lord Alric immediately. We can’t heal her if she poses a risk to Valhara.”

  “I’ll go,” Dewell said. He looked at her once more as one of the Priests covered her with a thin white sheet, and then he turned and ran out of the temple. He ran through the streets of Valhara and toward the tall castle that stood at the base of a great mountain. It was heavily guarded, but they let the Priest through without question.

  When Dewell entered the main foyer to the castle, he was met by one of Lord Alric’s private guards, “What do you want, Dewell? Lord Alric is resting.”

  Dewell bowed, “I found a girl… out in the mountains by Boriana ruins.”

  “Why do we care?”

  “She fought off four Qualsax Warriors.”

  “One girl did?”

  “Yes, she used magic.”

  The guard grinned slightly, “She what?”

  “She’s injured badly and we’re waiting for Lord Alric before helping her.”

  The guard nodded, “Very well. Go back to the temple and I will alert Lord Alric.”

  Dewell nodded and then turned and walked out of the castle.

  The guard watched him leave and then turned to the nearest staircase. He quickly took the stairs, two at a time, and was soon on the top-most floor. Two more guards were standing before a set of intricately carved wooden doors. The guards bowed to him, and he knocked softly.

  “Come,” Lord Alric said. He was a tall man with broad shoulders and a well-muscled body. His blond hair was long, but tied back in a low ponytail. His age was somewhat hidden by a short goatee.

  The guard walked in and bowed, “I’m sorry to bother you, Sir.”

  Lord Alric looked up from his book as he read in a lush chair by the fire, “No bother, Finn.”

  “Dewell has just come from the temple. He found a girl out by Boriana ruins, and they were attacked by Qualsax Warriors.”

  Lord Alric put his book down and stood up, frowning, “Is she dead, then?”

  “No, my Lord. Dewell claims that she fought off all four of them… using magic.”

  Lord Alric smiled, “Magic?”

  “Yes, my Lord. That’s what he said.”

  “I doubt that. There hasn’t been a magic user for almost a century.”

  “I know, Sir.”

  “I’ll go take a look. Is she speaking?” Lord Alric asked as he pulled on a belt containing a long sword.

  “No, Sir. She is badly injured, and the priests are waiting for your ok to heal her.”

  Alric started out of the room, “They better not have killed her by waiting, simply because Dewell thought he saw her use magic.”

  As they descended the steps, an older man appeared and looked up the stairs at them, “Sir?”

  “You might as well come too, Trox,” Alric said to him.

  The elder man nodded and followed them down the stairs. He was in a long silver robe, and his white beard and mustache hung down against his chest, “Where are we going?”

  Alric smiled, amused, “Dewell claims to have caught a magic user.”

  Trox rolled his eyes, “He has an imagination, that one.”

  “Yes, well. She’s injured, and the priests don’t want to heal her without my permission.”

  “I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding.”

  “Yes, I agree.”

  Horses were waiting for them when they got out into the cold night air. They mounted quickly and then rode off toward the temple. The lights were on, and Dewell was waiting at the door for them.

  Alric dismounted and tied his horse to a post, “She better still be alive, Dewell.”

  “She is, Sir. She isn’t well though.”

  “Then you should have healed her immediately. This land needs no more casualties from Qualsax.”

  Dewell nodded and moved aside so they could enter. Alric shook his head and sighed when he saw the body laid out on the table. As he got nearer, his heart constricted at the wounds the small body held. Vicious scars were covered by bruises and fresh tears across her flesh. Her thigh was still tied tightly with a new bandage, but the skin beneath it was red and inflamed.

  “Qualsax did this?” he asked, moving up to the table.

  “Not all of this, Sir,” Dewell explained. “The only damage she took from the Qualsax Warriors was the abdominal wound.”

  Alric turned to him, “This girl killed four Qualsax Warriors and only sustained a single injury?”

  “Magic, Sir. She used magic.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  Alric turned to her again, this time more guarded and leery, “Heal her. I want to speak to her.”

  “She has seen battle,” on
e of them said as he gently laid his hands over the inflamed arrow wound on her thigh. A soft yellow glow appeared from under his hands and when he moved them away, the wound was gone. He removed the blood-soaked bandage and tossed it into the fire beside them.

  “She could be dangerous,” another priest said. He was running his hands over the sword wound on her abdomen. When the wound didn’t heal, two other priests joined him. Their hands were glowing slightly, but the wound was taking a while to heal.

  “Sir?” one of the priests said, lifting her hand. He flipped her hand over to expose the soft side of her wrist, and the ‘D’ burned there.

  Alric moved forward and looked at it, “I’ve not seen that before.”

  “It could be a property brand.”

  “It could, though I’ve never seen one that small or in that location.”

  “A lot of these scars are from early childhood,” one of the priests said. Alric looked over at him just as a light-blue glow erupted from his hands, and the scar beneath it disappeared.

  Trox walked up and studied the scar that ran alongside her ear, “Even Qualsax wouldn’t have visibly scarred one so beautiful.”

  “Yes, they do like their women beautiful, don’t they?” Alric said, standing back. “However, she’s dirty, dehydrated, and underweight. That is common for Qualsax slaves.”

  “She wouldn’t be a slave, I daresay,” Dewell said as his hands ran along a fresh wound across her lower leg.

  Alric nodded, “That is true.”

  “What was she carrying?” Trox asked, looking around the room.

  “There, on the table,” Dewell said, pointing to a small table beside the fire.

  “That’s all?”

  “Yes”

  Trox went and looked through the small amount of belongings, “I’ve never heard of a magic user having a weapon.”

  Alric walked over and picked up the flail, “I’ve never seen a weapon like this, either. It’s seen battle too.”