The Questing Game f-2

by James Galloway

  The air in front of him began to pulsate with a reddish aura, a misty cloud of glowing air that was the beginnings of a very simple weave, a weave that his enraged mind could easily create. It began to coalesce, to brighten, as Tarrin wove the flows of pure Air, with only token flows from the other spheres to grant his spell the power of High Sorcery. The woman was still in the air, nearly hovering, staring down at him with a suddenly serious face. He saw her reach out and point at him, and a blasting cone of fire erupted from her palm, lashing down at him with tremendous speed.

  With a flick of his tail, Tarrin's enraged mind divided its attention. One part of him continued with his weaving, and the other attacked the magical conduit running from the winged woman's magical attack to the outside, a place beyond his comprehension, a place that granted her the magical energy to create her spell. She was connected to her spell by the Weave, and she was connected to the source of her power throught Weave. And there was no magic that flowed through the Weave that he could not affect with his own power. His power cut that connection like a scythe, and the fire simply winked out of existence well before it reached him. A barrier of his will formed around her, pulling the Weave away from her and isolating her, robbing her of her connection to her magical source by slicing them away from her. He had effectively cut her off from her formidable magical powers.

  "Impossible!" she gasped, staring at him in absolute shock.

  That instant of hesitation proved to be deadly. With a building scream, rising to a tremendous crescendo that was magically amplified by his own weaving, the reddish aura before him suddenly became coherent, a wall of angry red light that faced in the woman's direction. It was ready. With absolutely no regard for the damage he was about to deal out to the local geography, Tarrin's enraged mind released the weave.

  The reddish wall of energy shuddered, then it exploded outward, away from him, as a shockwave of pure Air, a blast of air that raced away from him at supersonic speed. The buildings in front of him simply disappeared as the shockwave slammed into them, killing instantly those unfortunate souls that were inside. The shockwave did not slow down in the slightest as it shattered everything before it, expanding in an arc before him and above him, striking the winged woman not a heartbeat after she called out her surprise that he could cut her off from her magical powers. She was slammed by that shockwave, the wall of air, and was carried along with it as it raced away from him, destroying everything in its path. Building after building was shattered by his magical attack, creating a wall of flying debris that built up in front of the shockwave's front, sending dust and smaller bits of building tumbling in its wake. The radical speed of the weave caused it to expand to the terminus of its power in a single heartbeat, dissipating nearly as quickly as it was released. In the wake of its end, an ear-splitting BOOM shook the ground, caused Tarrin's eardrums to rupture, cracked the walls of the buildings that had been safely behind him, a monstrous sound that rolled out just behind a deadly cloud of debris and dust that rained down on the buildings that had been outside his weave's area of effect, destroying many of them as cow-sized chunks of shattered masonry slammed into them.

  Panting, Tarrin hunched over. He stood at the narrow end of a cone of absolute destruction that extended before him, and went on for nearly ten blocks before the scoured earth gave way to a huge field of shattered wreckage. Buildings to each side of the magical weave were still standing, though they were covered in dust, and many of them had been cracked by the sound of the weave as it roared over them. The echos of that explosive sound still rang through the city. Still absolutely furious, he looked up into the dust-choked sky. She was gone. If she truly was a Demon, then his weave could not kill her. But she was gone now, hidden by the dust, and she had his staff. The object of his fury denied him, Tarrin stood up and threw his arms into the sky, screaming out his rage, his humiliation, his sense of being violated by the winged woman, who had taken his most fond memories and dreams and twisted them so she could gain his trust, and get his staff.

  The Weave was flooding him with power once again, but he had used almost everything he had to create his retaliatory weave. He was drained, exhausted, and even his enraged mind seemed to comprehend that it had to do something before that power scoured his flesh from his bones, and left him nothing but a pile of smoldering ash. With barely a thought, it cut him off from the Weave, generating a backlash that literally ripped his shirt with its power, sending a powerful gust of wind away from him, disturbing the dust that had come to cover the entire area. He was furious, in total rage, and that lent him the strength to turn away. There would be no finding her tonight. The shockwave threw her up, not out. She would not be in the debris field. She was probably tossed a few longspans before she regained control of her flight.

  His rage lessened, allowed his conscious mind to rejoin with the Cat, and it wasn't much better. Tarrin was indignant, he was humiliated, he was just so angry over what she had done to him. Losing his staff was just a drop of water in the well compared to his feeling of being utterly violated by the Demoness, violated all the way to his soul.

  Recovering from the backlash, Tarrin turned his back to the scene of total destruction he had wreaked upon the city. And he gave it not a single thought. Those who died did so because of her, not because of him. Stalking off into the dust, almost like a fog, concealing everything not ten spans from one's face, Tarrin started back towards the house.

  There was going to be hell to pay for one Empress of Arak.

  One Shiika.

  She had to go home eventually. He knew where to find her. And he meant to pry his staff out of her cold, dead fingers.

  The Book of Ages be damned. It could wait. This… this was personal.

  GoTo: Title EoF

  Chapter 27

  The walk wasn't doing him any good at all.

  He was still fuming, seething, calm on the outside but utterly furious within. How dare she do that to him? What was inside him was his own, and she had no right to look into his dreams! It was bad enough that they were dreams denied to him, but to show him what could be, then strip it away from him… it was enough to make him want to kill people.

  Underneath that anger was a confusion, and not a little concern. Why did she do that? Why take his staff? It made no sense. All that accomplished was to make him furious and deprive him of a weapon capable of hurting her. It wouldn't stop him in any way. It really wouldn't even dissuade him from coming after her. He would find a way to make her pay for what she did. Her actions only managed to focus his attention on her, and put her and her position in danger. She should have killed him. She could have killed him, easily, yet she did not. So why take his staff?

  It just didn't make any sense.

  Padding through dust-choked air, passing people who stood at doorways and looked out in fright and uncertainty, Tarrin marched straight back towards the house, following his own scent through the dust, dust that made him cough and sneeze every few seconds. It filled his nose, it got into his windpipe, it even coated the inside of his mouth, but he needed to be able to smell. He couldn't see to the end of the block, and since he hadn't seen how he got there, he needed to be able to scent-track his way back. The dust was a pall in the night, reflecting back the lights of the street lamps, giving it an eerie reddish glow that made the night seem ominous, menacing. The dust was still, showing that there was no wind.

  And the dust restricted his ability to scent those nearby.

  They appeared first as indistinct, hazy shapes in the ruddy light, but as he approached them absently, more intent on his own anger than on his surroundings, he took notice of them. Nine shapes, human in form. But as he neared, he realized that three of them had non-human attributes. Large membranous wings silhouetted against the light, shadows he had thought were signs hanging behind them. He got close enough to see them through the dust, and his heart froze in his chest.

  Nine of them. Six males, three females. The males had bluish-black skin, black hair, and
glowing yellow eyes, but despite those inhuman traits, their faces were very handsome. They all wore archaic plate armor, much like what Jegojah wore, and seeing it reminded him of the Doomwalker. The three females were about the same size, with blond hair, black hair, and brown hair, and were voluptuous and toned. All three had large bat-like wings, but that was the only thing that set them apart from a human. They were all very pretty, and in their faces he could see their mother. All nine were armed with those black-bladed swords, and all nine had them drawn.

  They were all Demons. Cambisi, these were Shiika's brood.

  And she had set them here. It had all been an elaborate trap.

  No wonder she didn't kill him. She only took his staff, taking away the only thing that could hurt them. Then she gave him to them, probably because he killed one of their number.

  Welcome to the family, a female voice seemed to speak into his mind. He had no idea which one had done that.

  Forgetting everything but the threat before him, Tarrin reached out and touched the Weave. He'd fought them before. He knew what to do.

  "What in the world was that?" Camara Tal asked blearily as she came down stairs. She had only a sheet wrapped around her, and she looked down at the others with the sandy-eyed condition of someone who had just been awakened. The others were all there. Dolanna and Allia sat on chairs facing the fireplace. Dolanna wore a nightrobe of dark cloth, but Allia was fully dressed in her baggy desert garb, one of the drakes in her lap accepting her gentle petting enthusiastically. The other drake was on Phandebrass' shoulder, who had thrown on his own brown robes quickly. Jula sat on the floor, arms wrapped around her knees, and a very uncertain, frightened look on her face. Dar stood by Allia's chair, leaning down and scratching the drake's head lightly as she stroked its scaly back. He wore only a pair of breeches, his shirt still in his hands. Sarraya stood on Dolanna's shoulder easily.

  "That was Tarrin," Dolanna said grimly, looking into the just-set fire, a fire set to ward off the night's chill in the room.

  "He slipped away in the night," Jula said quietly. "And he's furious. Absolutely furious. I hope he's not mad at me," she said fearfully, wrapping her tail around her ankles.

  "How do you know that?" the Amazon asked.

  "Tarrin has used his Sorcery," Dolanna told her. "It shuddered the Weave. Whatever he has done, its power was monumental. Tarrin can only control that kind of power when he is enraged. The explosion worries me that he has destroyed a portion of the city in his rage."

  "This is exactly what Triana told me to stop," Sarraya grunted. "She's going to pull off my wings when she hears about this." She sighed forlornly.

  "So why are we sitting around here?" Camara Tal demanded hotly, taking a hand off her sheet. It slipped down to expose parts of her usually covered by her halter, but she made not even a sign that she cared about what she was showing. "If he's gone off the cliff, then we'd better get out there and find him before-"

  Another earth-shattering boom shook the house like a child's rattle. Camara Tal stumbled and toppled backwards, and Sarraya joined the drakes when they suddenly jumped into the air. The Amazon sat up and looked as Jula, Dar, Dolanna, and Allia all went completely pale, Dolanna putting a hand to her chest quickly.

  "Goddess!" the Sorceress gasped. "Tarrin, oh, Tarrin! Stop this, stop it now!"

  "Dolanna! What's going on?" Camara Tal asked as she got back on her feet, sneezing as dust shaken from the ceiling went up her nose with her breath.

  "Can you feel that?" Jula asked in awe. "He's going to tear the Weave!"

  "What is happening, woman?" Camara Tal snapped, rushing over quickly. She let go of her sheet, leaving it behind, but she gave her unclad condition not a moment's thought as she grabbed Dolanna by the robe, then hauled her out of her chair to look her in the eyes.

  "Tarrin is going out of control!" she replied instantly. "He is-we must find him now and stop him, or he will destroy himself!"

  They were all around him, mocking him, taunting him.

  Join our family, they chanted in strange voices, over and over, an endless, mind-warping whisper of evil invitation, a voice that caused the Cat to go totally and utterly out of control. He had already tried using Sorcery on them, but they had seen that, and had evaded his air-shockwave attack easily. Join us, join our family, feel our love, the females seemed to whisper, closing in on the enraged Were-cat slowly, easily, like a pack of dogs surrounding its next meal. Tarrin's entire body was limned over in Magelight as he demanded power from the Weave, sought to fill himself to the brink with its power and then turn it against his opponents.

  The first attempt had failed. He had destroyed everything around him in a vast area, a circle of devastation that went for nearly five blocks before ending in a shattered zone of debris-damaged buildings. They had fled when they saw him start the Weave, then had returned while he was trying to recover, fleeing outside the weave's area of effect. He had to admit, that was very clever.

  Despite his utter rage at their attack, his mind was still joined to the Cat, and it understood the situation. These were enemies he could not harm. He could only drive them away from him, push them back, buy himself time, and even then, they had an understanding of how long it took for him to weave the spells, and how much it took out of him. He couldn't do that more than one more time. There was no way to hurt them now, not without his staff. They would keep coming, and keep coming, and keep coming, until he had no more strength to keep them away.

  He could not fight. So he had to flee. But he was surrounded, and they were all armed. He would certainly be wounded if he attempted to go through them, and if he became injured, he would be an easy target. He could not risk any injury, no matter how minor.

  Spreading his arms out, Tarrin tried a desperate gamble. They could only see the physical effects of his weaves. He was praying that they couldn't feel the real weaves. He spread his arms and allowed a faint reddish aura to overtake him, a ruddy glow that shuddered and pulsated erratically. They had seen this before. It was the buildup effect of his shockwave, a weave that had a visible sign of formation. He could not bring to bear the power to generate a real weave so soon after the last, so he bluffed them, seeking to make them back off as he wove the real weave beneath his misdirection, a weave that required much less power to create.

  They bit. All nine of them started moving backwards, giving themselves room to flee should that erratic red glow become bright and coherent, the imminent sign that another magical attack was about to be unleashed. But instead of pushing his arms out, Tarrin suddenly jumped into the air, jumped high and lowered his paws towards the ground and released his weave. A weave of pure Air, creating an intense blast of wind to issue forth from the ground and strike him. The force of the magical wind picked him up, literally hurled him into the sky, soaring him well away from his attackers. Cursing loudly, the three winged females suddenly unfurled their wings and vaulted into the sky after him, as the six males scrambled to follow along the rooftops and streets.

  He'd never done that before, so he had a great deal of trouble trying to control his descent. The wind was a very strong force, but it did like to be shifted quickly or a great deal. It moved sluggishly as he continued to maintain the weave, too slowly for his trajectory to keep him aloft, causing him to topple out of the invisible funnel of air that was driving him against gravity. Tarrin plummeted nearly forty spans to the top of a roof, landing hard and rolling to absorb the shock of the impact. He was up before the weave began to unravel when he let go of it, vaulting to another roof and scrambling away from this assailants.

  It had been quite a trap. Even in his anger, he could appreciate that. She had lured him out, taken his staff, incited him into an explosion of rage to tire him, then had her brood there to challenge him after he felt he was safe, to attack him after he had tired himself. She had to know that he always felt tired after a rage, after expending such energy on his heightened emotional state, and that controlling High Sorcery was a task that q
uickly drained him, whether he wove spells or not. Just holding it was an effort, holding it without letting it overwhelm him. She wouldn't even fight him herself. She sent her sycophants to fight him, forcing him to wear himself out against them if he wanted to get a piece of her. She was making him run a gauntlet. She was very clever. Very, very clever.

  Weaving together that chaotic mess of Air, Fire, Water, and Divine flows, with only token flows from the other spheres to give the weave the power of High Sorcery, Tarrin turned in his sprint and levelled his palm at the closest of the flying females, the brunette. A blinding bolt of incandescent white power exploded from his paw, lancing across the sky like the glowing spear of a god, slamming directly into her pretty little face. It picked her up and carried her along with it, sending her flying away from him, knocking her temporarily out of the chase. They could fly faster than he could run. He knew that. He had to keep those flyers away from him.

  He couldn't run fast enough. He saw one of them dive at him as he made a jump to another roof, whizzing by him as an icy cold line of sudden pain sliced across his back and shoulder. He saw his own blood spatter onto the roof as he landed heavily on his side, bouncing once and skidding to a stop, and he felt the blazing fire of pain lash through him. She had slashed him with her sword as she passed, like a raptor's claws tearing apart a pigeon.

  Trembling, Tarrin lifted himself off the roof with a paw, his teeth clenched in pain. It was like the sword left behind a line of fire! He'd never felt anything like that, not since-

  – -magic!

  The wound wasn't healing. Their weapons were enchanted, they just had to be. He could see another one lining up for a dive at him, and he ignored the pain despite the explosion of agony along his back, ignored it and drew himself up to his feet. She was diving at him with incredible speed, an evil smile on her face, her slender sword leading her assault. He stood his ground, paws out, feet wide, sizing her up. He could play chicken with the best of them.