Petrow had to gather up the courage to act. Neither of them was armed, but he had a chance to surprise her. As the abbess walked closer to the door, her gaze drifted to a line of light emanating from the crack. As her eyes narrowed on that oddity, the door flung open. Petrow leaped out and landed a firm punch on the side of her face.
Savannah reacted blindly, swinging the pot against Petrow’s head. The young man latched one hand around the right wrist of the abbess. His other hand grabbed a fistful of hair. She struggled to no avail against his muscles as he pulled her into the room and kicked the door shut behind them. He twisted her arm enough to make her drop the pot. Savannah responded with a swift kick between the legs.
Petrow was thankful for a metal cup-shaped groin piece on the new armor that offered some protection to that area. The two of them continued their struggle in the candlelight. Petrow clamped his other hand down on her free arm. With his physique, he proved more than a match for her strength. He backed her up against some crates.
It should have been easy to find a way to put her out of the action, but Petrow had forgotten the nature of his foe. Her lips parted, as words started to flow in prayer, “DeLaris…”
Petrow realized he had entered the same situation as before. It didn’t matter that he had her arms restrained; her prayers had the power to immobilize him. His new armor could not protect against this attack. The young man could foresee that in seconds he would be paralyzed on the ground again, and she would wrap her hands around his throat to choke him. He would only be able to stare helplessly into those shadow-ringed, blue eyes as she sent him into the afterlife.
If Petrow didn’t stop her, he would soon be dead.
* * * * *
Cat stumbled through a small maze of passages in the cellars, musing that it was the prefect place to be ambushed by a minotaur. The feeling came back to her right arm, but it was a small victory. The rest of Cat’s body felt stampeded by a herd of animals. She tasted blood, and numerous joints ached. She passed room after room, looking in each as she went. The half-elf wondered how she might get back up to the main floor without going back past the storeroom where she had fought Loung. Petrow’s fate worried her. Cat remembered getting the cleric off of him and trapping her in a room, yet the same cleric had just attacked her.
Cat shook her head. The odds of their survival looked bad; victory didn’t even seem to be a consideration. She wondered how many of them still lived. The rogue prayed that her friends would find their way through safely, but she was too acquainted with reality to expect they would escape unscathed. These thoughts swam through her head as she searched room after room in the cellar.
She glanced into a dark room, lit by a barred window. A shaft of light illuminated the small body of a gnome lying against one wall. Cat’s breathing halted when she saw him. Mel wasn’t moving, nor making noise. Then Cat noticed chains in the wall running down to the gnome’s wrists. If Mel was dead, they would have no reason to chain him.
The door to the room was unlocked, and Cat walked right in. She stepped over to the small body, looking warily for traps before checking his health. She saw a shelf above him, but that was empty. His pack and weapons sat nearby, hiding out of reach behind a corner. Cat exercised caution. She wanted to have a weapon handy. The half-elf grabbed his pack and crossbow, and then knelt next to him with both. She rummaged through his belongings. She promptly loaded a bolt into the tiny crossbow. She set it on the empty shelf above him, within easy reach if necessary.
Katressa started to feel for a pulse. She reached out a hand to touch him. Suddenly, the gnome jerked upright to the limit of the chains. Mel’s eyes looked about, locking on Cat but not recognizing her at first. One eye was swollen and bruised from Loung’s kick. His gaze softened, although it was hard to read his expression. A gag prohibited him from spells or saying hello.
Mel began to cry, and Cat felt the same. They tried to hug each other, but Mel’s arms were chained behind his back. Tears ran from his eyes down Cat’s leather, making trails through the powdery dust left over from the shattered balcony. His three foot tall body pressed against hers tightly, and she ran her hands comfortingly over his back. A pitiful noise came from his mouth, muffled by the gag. She told him that everything was fine, over and over again. Cat undid the gag from his mouth, tossing it away like a thing possessed. Mel started to mumble apologies, but Cat told him not to worry. For some time, they just hugged while she kept whispering assuring words to him. At least Mel was alive; that alone put a smile on her lips.
Cat began to worry about his restraints. It was time to free him. “Let’s get these chains off of your arms. Then we can get out of here and find the others.”
Mel leaned off to one side, allowing the kneeling woman access to his bindings. Cat withdrew some metal implements from a pouch and set to work. Mel held still, but he started talking again. “I hope you all stopped them in time. They planned to use me as entertainment for the demon.”
“Demon?” Cat asked, “What are you talking about?”
Mel continued to hold still as she worked on the lock. “Did you see the throne room? All those markings on the floor? For whatever reason they were about to summon in a powerful demon.”
Cat paused in her efforts. She remembered seeing the etchings and symbols around the floor of the throne room. “Are you sure, Mel?”
The gnome nodded. “I’ve seen such spells before, though mostly for teaching.”
Cat finally worked loose the catch on one manacle, and it slid free of Mel’s arm. The half-elf had to wonder if they would ever get any good news. Every turn in this adventure they attracted more enemies than they ever expected, and now an otherworldly creature. The gnome was flexing his freed wrist. His other one was still secured.
Cat was still hunched down over the gnome, about to work on the second lock, when she spoke again. “Aren’t we ever going to get a break?”
A voice came from behind her, “Just the one on your necks.”
Cat almost dropped her tools. She slowly turned one look over her shoulder. Blocking the doorway was Loung Chang. The man’s silks showed damage, but his skin was unblemished and whole. He no longer displayed any bruises or cuts. Savannah’s healing! He looked as strong as ever.
Cat turned back to Mel with a defeated look in her eyes. It just didn’t feel fair. Altogether, she was full of bruises and the feeling of pain constantly throbbed from numerous injuries. Mel sat there with a worried look as well. He no longer had his wand. One of his arms was still secured tightly behind him, and against the wall. A tied-up sorcerer was of little help as far as casting spells was concerned.
On the shelf above the gnome was the small, loaded crossbow. One bolt stood ready to launch at their enemies. Cat’s body blocked Loung’s view of it, but that was no comfort either. So far, the Tariykan had easily caught every missile she had fired at him. Once she fired that bolt, he would catch it and then kill them. The half-elf doubted that her dagger would make any difference. Even worse than death, he might let one or both of them live to be gruesome entertainment for a demon.
They needed a miracle, or Cat and Mel would soon be dead.
* * * * *
Bortun filled the hallway with Trestan. The minotaur was still trying to get a good grip on the young man’s neck. Even worse, the minotaur raised his axe for a one-handed slash. Trestan poked outward with two fingers on his left hand. The minotaur got a good stab in the eye. Bortun yelled out and moved to cover the eye with a hand. Trestan would have hoped that it would have broken the grip, but it was the axe the minotaur dropped in order to protect his vision. At least the large axe was no longer in the creature’s hands.
Upset over Trestan’s persistent struggles, Bortun used his free hand to punch just underneath the human’s breastplate. It sounded as if the human would expel his last meal. The struggling abruptly ceased, if only temporarily. Bortun delivered another punch, hitting Trestan’s head hard enough to send his vision spinning. The young man had
never been hit so hard in his life. Stunned as he was, the smith couldn’t protest when Bortun shifted the way he was held. Bortun lifted Trestan straight over his head. The minotaur slammed the human against the ceiling, then dropped him. As Trestan fell, the minotaur used a short hop to head-butt the man. The stubs of the broken horns blasted the air from his lungs.
Trestan fell down in a heap. He tried to get up again, but Bortun was not about to let his prey get out of his hands. A solid kick from the minotaur sent Abriana’s worshipper tumbling across the hall. Trestan barely staggered to his feet after that punishment when he saw a new danger.
The minotaur charged low, leading with his stunted horns. The young man threw himself to one side, rather than get pinned beneath the charging beast and the stone wall. As it was, the young man rolled enough that he was barely clipped by the end of one severed horn. Bortun did more damage to the wall than to his opponent. The angered minotaur pounded down with his fist, bashing his muscular arm against Trestan’s back. The armor stopped only some of the painful fury.
Trestan gasped for air. The minotaur finally let up, but only to pick Trestan up and stand him on wobbly legs. A solid punch belted Trestan enough to lift his feet off the ground. Moments later, a jab from the minotaur numbed half of his face. Trestan felt like he was dying on his feet. He wouldn’t have been able to keep upright on his own. The minotaur pinned him upright against his will.
The young man felt himself picked up, unable to see through teary eyes. He winced at the thought of being slammed against the ceiling again, but Bortun had a different plan. The minotaur flung Trestan outward. The young man tumbled in flight, glimpsing a closed door ahead. He idly wondered how rotted the door must be, in the hopes that it wouldn’t hurt too much more.
Trestan collided with the door in a jarring hit. Pieces of the door blasted inwards. The young smith heard the cracking of wood…and maybe bones? He fell limply to the stone floor inside the new room. He lay mostly on his stomach, but other than that he wasn’t sure how his limbs were arrayed.
The minotaur didn’t immediately pounce on him. It would have been so easy at the point to give in to unconsciousness, but he had promised himself that he would do what he could to help his fiends. Even if all he could do was prolong his torture before death, it would help give them time. Trestan got his hands on the floor, noticing how much they shook. He lifted his head with much effort. Looking down, he saw drops of his own blood dripping from his face onto the pale stone. Panic tugged at his mind. He willed the fear to go away. The young man was scared enough, but he needed to keep hope. His fine elvish blade, an inheritance that had been his for too short a time, lay somewhere a couple rooms away. He wouldn’t let it become a souvenir to Revwar again if he could help it. Somewhere to the west, his father was worrying for his return, and he didn’t want to disappoint his father either. Trestan’s fight seemed hopeless, but every effort had to be made. Jareth smiled a thank you to his goddess in his final moments; Trestan could do no less.
A sound came to his ears. The minotaur had gone to retrieve its axe. He heard the creature pick it up off the floor. Trestan trembled as the metal blade scraped the stone, stomping closer to where he lay. The smith had gotten to his knees by the time the minotaur appeared at the broken door of the room. A few casual swings with the axe left nothing remaining of the door to hinder the large creature’s entry. Trestan lacked the strength to run, or even stand. His own body betrayed him with tremors.
Bortun stood in front of the young human. The monster raised its axe, snorting as it stared its hatred down the length of its inhuman snout. “This is the end, little man.”
CHAPTER 27
Salgor’s slow death reflected a nightmare of all dwarves, crushed and suffocating under a collapse of rock. For any dwarf, it was better to go out swinging a weapon, laying low several enemies before dying honorably. He had been trapped for too long. Occasionally he heard Revwar’s or Savannah’s unconcerned voices, but mostly he only heard the grinding of rocks. The vulnerable center of one elemental spirit hovered just in front of Salgor’s vision, shaped in the form of the holy relic. Its green glow illuminated the otherwise dark space. It taunted him, whether intentional or not. Salgor would love nothing more than to slam a weapon against that target, and then charge across to plant his axe in the mage’s head. All attempts to raise his strong arms against the smothering rock creature proved futile.It was hopeless, or like the humans say, like banging your head against stone.
Why didn’t he think of that before?
Folk stories claimed that a dwarf’s head was as tough as any rock. Salgor did not have much room, but he tilted his head back. He mustered up one last breath of stale air.
“Daerkfyre!”
The dwarf slammed his head forward. His helmet smashed against the relic’s replica. The stone creature stopped shifting but it did not free its grip. Salgor tilted his head back for another try. Once more he slammed his head into the glowing stone.
The stone-bound spirit recoiled. It tried to withdraw its ‘heart’ away from the dangerous dwarf. Other rocks shifted in an attempt to cover up the vulnerable one. Salgor smashed his head a third time, once again hitting the glowing target. The second earth spirit seemed unsure of what was happening. As the first one recoiled, several rocks loosened their grip on the dwarven warrior. The second creature tried to compensate. Salgor finally got an arm free. His axe arm plowed through the moving rocks. The cleric-blessed weapon impacted the green relic’s duplicate hard enough to crack its entire length. The creature’s heart split, and then disappeared as control of the spirit was broken.
The first elemental became nothing more than a collection of ordinary rocks. Stones and pebbles gave in to gravity and rained down on the floor. Salgor sucked in a deep breath of fresh air. The second creature retained its grip on one of his legs, but otherwise lost its hold on the warrior. Salgor no longer felt threatened by this manifestation of magic. Axe and mace chipped away the rocks of the creature’s body. Finally another glowing green stone came into view, and Salgor was quick to crack it with his mace. The second earth spirit fell in pieces to the floor.
Salgor stared across the chamber at his nemesis. The elf wizard watched, wide-eyed, at the destruction of his latest creations. Salgor raised his axe in a mocking salute. “Hope you enjoyed good ale while I was napping in there, like I told you!”
Salgor Bandago pumped his legs as he charged the troublesome foe. The dwarf wondered if Revwar had any more creatures to summon. Revwar rushed a few hurried steps to retrieve his staff from where it rested. He seemed to be out of conjured monsters. Salgor knocked aside the podium and book during his charge. The blessed axe slashed overhead. Revwar had only his wizard’s staff.
Salgor wasn’t worried. The general rule was that once a dwarven warrior got within reach of a wizard, the wizard was as good as dead.
* * * * *
Petrow felt panic building as Savannah continued her prayer. “…please stop this soul from…”
Petrow couldn’t allow himself to be paralyzed or he would never live to see his friends again. The handyman pulled her forward by her wrists. He brought up one knee into her gut, momentarily blasting out her breath. The prayer faltered. He released one of her arms to deliver a punch, but then they struggled again. Petrow had no idea how he could kill her with his bare hands before she could simply intone another prayer.
Petrow barged into her with all his weight. Savannah’s left arm got trapped in the corner, pinned by her own body and Petrow’s weight. The young man retained his grip on her right arm.
“DeLaris, please stop…”
Petrow slammed the heel of his free hand up against the bottom her jaw, shutting her mouth. He had her trapped, forced into a corner and holding one of her arms. The heel of his hand pressed hard against her jaw, forcing her mouth shut and her head back. She was under his control at the moment, but he knew might prove fleeting. Savannah grunted as she tried wiggling, kicking, moving her head, and
trying to free her pinned arm. Petrow in turn kept pressing against her, even trying a few kicks of his own but mostly trying hard to keep his balance. She fought savagely.
Without warning, she stopped. She relaxed her muscles and stared at him with those cold, blue eyes. He looked upon her hateful glare, fully remembering how heartless and cruel she could be. Petrow hated her just as much, considering all that she had made him endure. He couldn’t help but think of her strangling him, or the night she let the minotaur torture him. Now she was trapped and he was in charge. The situation was an illusion in Petrow’s mind. He could not hold her forever, and all she needed was to be free for a few seconds and she would have him. The devoted of the Death Goddess relaxed only so that she might struggle with renewed vigor again. As Petrow stared past his hand that held her jaw shut, he noticed her nostrils flare. Her breath fanned over his fingers as she awaited her opportunity.
An idea came to Petrow. With the heel of his hand firmly pressed against her jaw, Petrow’s middle and ring finger pinched over the abbess’ nose. Her eyes shot wide with fear. The young man no longer felt air passing over his hand. In her eyes he saw the scream she could not release.
The last thing Petrow wanted to do would be to suffocate a woman with his bare hands, but she had already proved no qualms about doing the same to him. Petrow’s face put up a barrier to hide his deeper feelings. As he often did growing up, he covered his own misgivings with false bravado.
The Earthrin Stones 1 of 3: Inheritance of a Sword and a Path Page 53