The Earthrin Stones 1 of 3: Inheritance of a Sword and a Path

by Douglas Van Dyke

  “You claim my life for your goddess, do you?” Petrow shouted in her face. “Well what if I claimed your life instead? Why don’t I claim you for any god that I choose?”

  Savannah squirmed underneath his weight. The cleric thrashed about more than she had before. His right hand clamped down on her jaw and face harder. He pushed her head back so far that he thought her spine might snap. His fingers stayed clamped like a vice around her nose, denying her any air. Petrow would have liked to step away from his body at that moment, to do what needed to be done and then walk away to find his friends. This was not how heroes won in the stories. He lived a nightmare of his own choosing. Every muffled noise of despair from her throat came to his ears. Her wrist felt so small and frail in his hands, yet he continued to twist it to keep her under control. He hated himself for depriving her of air, yet at the same time he hated her for what she had done to him. If Savannah escaped, she would kill him and his friends.

  Petrow saw tears coming from the abbess’ shaded eyes. The young man cried as well, though he would not ease his grip. He yelled at her, wishing for the moment to go by, wanting it all to end.

  “Why can’t you just die?”

  His voice cracked, and he closed his eyes. Petrow no longer looked at her, though he could not shut away the sounds she made. Her limbs struggled…then twitched…and then finally went limp.

  He held her for a few seconds longer, unsure if she was trying to deceive him. Finally he opened his eyes. Her entire body felt limp. Petrow stepped back, allowing her to collapse to the floor. The woman who served the Death Goddess lay still. The handyman from the small village of Troutbrook trembled as his own emotions tried to recover.

  He heard Savannah gasp in a breath. Petrow wasn’t sure what to feel. He nervously drifted between feelings of whether he should run or strangle her again. Savannah did not show any signs of consciousness, her body did not move, yet just the sound of her breathing caused his knees to shake.

  As evil as he viewed the woman, he didn’t want to live with the memory of ending someone’s life that way. Petrow had defeated her in combat; he had to find a way to remove her as a threat without suffocating her again. He set about removing any items from her that might be used against him or his friends. Petrow scrounged until he had come up with several lengths of leather and cloth: some from her and the rest from storage in the room.

  Petrow tied her arms and legs, and gagged her mouth. By the time Petrow finished, Savannah remained unconscious. Petrow hoped that he wasn’t making a mistake by allowing her to live, but he couldn’t carry out a death sentence as before.

  He blew out the candles in the room, and shut the door behind him. In such a large keep, Savannah lay captive behind one of many doors. Her friends would have a hard time searching her out. From Petrow’s belt hung Savannah’s gold pouch. He figured that somehow she owed him that much. Petrow retrieved his woodcutter’s axe in the hallway, and went off to find his friends.

  * * * * *

  The Tariykan faced Cat’s back as she turned her head away and her shoulders sagged. Loung stood easily within the doorway, expecting some last ditch trick. His confidence and patience allowed him to stand in easy meditation at the door. Let them try another trick, then he would finish both. By all appearances, the gnome was still chained helplessly to the wall. A few seconds passed as the Tariykan detected whispers between Cat and Mel. He saw the muscles tense in her shoulders…a shift of balance…a slow, methodical movement from one arm almost hidden from his view.

  Loung released his muscles to a relaxed state that would react by instinct more than rational thought. Cat spun around fast enough that Loung had to admire the attempt. Despite all her bruises, the woman remained as agile and swift as ever. The Tariykan’s senses came alive. Cat held Mel’s tiny crossbow. As she aimed, Loung could almost look directly down the sights and into her green eyes.

  Cat fired. Less then ten feet separated them, which gave little time to react. Loung Chao’s physical body and mental focus reacted among the masters of his homeland. The next moment became a blur in the eyes of Mel and Cat, as the Tariykan twisted around. The man spun away several feet.

  Loung faced them once more, the tiny bolt clenched within his teeth. The Tariykan smiled his victory around the bolt. As he looked at the two adventurers, he noticed something odd about their reactions.

  Cat and Mel smiled back.

  If Loung took a good look at the bolt clenched in his teeth, he would have noticed a ball of clay on the end of the tip. That clay was a special spell of Mel’s design. The gnome would brag that he could set the time to detonation when he threw it, or that he could leave it ticking away the time as he left it somewhere…and did he mention that he is usually quite accurate with it? Even if Loung had examined the clay ball, he still might not have guessed the terrible explosive force it unleashed against two goblins just south of Troutbrook.

  A blast of heated air, followed by a roar of buffeting wind erupted from the entryway of the room. Cat turned to protect Mel from the deafening blast, but the force of it knocked her into a roll. Dust and debris were quickly and forcefully relocated to other areas in a pelting storm. Objects clattered down like a hailstorm. Although the initial blast died quickly, the resulting cloud took time to settle. Cat felt her way through darkness for Mel. The sorcerer coughed up dust. The half-elf and the gnome found each other covered in dark soot. The two of them looked towards the entry of the room, searching for any sign of the Tariykan warrior.

  They spotted most of his body. Loosely draped in shredded silks from far off lands, the man’s headless corpse rested in the doorway of the room. Loung Chao had finally fallen victim to a projectile, only because he preferred to catch them instead of avoid them.

  Cat and Mel smiled, bright teeth gleaming through soot-stained faces. As one, they gleefully shouted the name of Mel’s prize spell.

  “Timed Boomy!”

  To complete their jubilation, Cat finished unlocking Mel from his bonds. The two of them then proceeded to find a route upstairs.

  * * * * *

  Trestan knew he couldn’t escape the minotaur. Every breath brought more pain than air. Bortun spit on his massive hands, adjusting his grip on the handle of his weapon. The minotaur started to lift his axe for a finishing blow. The young smith from Troutbrook made a final look around the room, scanning the walls from his kneeling position. He wondered if anything could turn the course of fate. Suddenly, the young man found an idea.

  Trestan looked up into the dark eyes of the minotaur. “Sorry about the horn. I shouldn’t embarrass you like that, making you go through life as the hornless minotaur.”

  Bortun’s eyes widened in surprise at the doomed man’s insult. He snorted his displeasure as he spoke. “I think you should be begging for mercy, boy.”

  “Not at all,” Trestan shook his head. As he continued to speak, his voice took on a more menacing, even daring tone. He chose his words carefully. “It would be an honor that you end the suffering I now face of smelling your ugly hide! It’s embarrassing that I lost a fight against a worthless…hornless…abomination. You aren’t even half as tough as a dwarf!”

  Bortun roared in rage. No one ever dared insult him in the face of his mighty axe. The creature backed up a step, then two. He snorted his anger, and Trestan noted how his eyes took on a blood-red appearance. He recalled fearful stories of minotaurs so enraged that their eyes sparkled a promise of blood. The creature’s two hooves pawed the ground just like a charging bull. Bortun jumped forward in a great overhead swing, throwing more than enough momentum to split a human in half. Trestan dove flat and covered his head, shouting one last, desperate word.

  “Fifteen!”

  Bortun didn’t have time to puzzle over an object propped on a stone bench behind the young man. The metallic disk, three foot across, leaned casually against the wall. In such an upright position, the gnomes would name it a Horizontally Mounted Magical Pushing/Moving Assistant. The magic of the device re
sponded to the command given. Trestan lay flat below the stone bench, out of the way.

  The magical device quickly halted Bortun’s ‘descent’ towards its surface. It rigidly held his body in suspense for a very brief moment. The minotaur tried stubbornly to bring its axe down on Trestan’s prone form, but the magic of the lift resisted the movement. It weighed the half-ton minotaur, including the great axe and the momentum of his charge. The magical mind of the device calculated the force required to launch the minotaur fifteen gnomish equivalent levels. The device was not expected to realize that it was within the confines of a small room, for gnomes expected buyers to use their trinkets respectably and carefully.

  Bortun shot backwards in a blur. Trestan still lay flat, covering his head, when he felt the impact of the creature striking the opposite wall. Big creatures fall harder…and Bortun had been a very large creature. Trestan heard the cracking of bones mixed with the sounds of stones tumbling free of the age-old mortar that had held them in place. Trestan waited for more sounds, but eventually the noise died after the last few chips of stone tumbled to the floor.

  Trestan peeked from under his arms. He saw a portion of the minotaur’s body, lying in blood. The young man pushed himself to his knees. He looked across at the devastation on the other side of the small room. Parts of the creature had popped like a ripe fruit when it had hit the far wall. Portions of the creature blasted through the wall and into the next room. Trestan peered through a sizeable hole in the thin, stone wall of the chamber, spotting the axe. Its magical edge and great weight left it firmly embedded two walls over, between the halves of Bortun’s head.

  For a moment, Trestan stood speechless as he studied the scene. He couldn’t believe it despite witnessing it. The young man almost expected some portion of the creature to rise up against him as an undead ghost, claiming revenge for the killing. Bortun failed to rise. The great bulk of the minotaur stayed splattered amidst two separate rooms. The fact sank in, and Trestan became elated. He had passed a test of his courage.

  “Huzzah!” He threw up his hands in victory. “I had faith, Abriana! I actually won!”

  Trestan forgot to guard his words while kneeling in front of the magical gnomish lift. The device misinterpreted the word ‘won’ as a request for ‘one’ standard gnomish level. Trestan found himself tossed head-over-feet towards the other side of the room. He came to rest almost upside down against the pile of stones and minotaur body parts. He viewed the gnomish device from an upside-down perspective.

  He kept his next words as silent thoughts in his head. “If I live to have grandchildren, and I retell the tale of how I defeated the minotaur, I’m leaving out any word about this last little mistake.”

  * * * * *

  Salgor roared as his axe came down at Revwar. The dwarf’s axe bounced harmlessly off of the wizard’s staff. Revwar had not even been moved by the blow. Salgor cursed all magic! Revwar possessed enchantments that gave him a warrior’s fighting chance at survival. The elf withdrew his staff just enough to coil his muscles for a strike. Ignoring the big stick, Salgor readied his axe for a swing. The end of the staff rammed outward, slamming into Salgor’s armored chest. To his surprise, the hit knocked him flat.

  Salgor stared back at the standing wizard. He recalled a scene during the bluff battle when the elf wizard picked up Savannah’s armored body and carried her like a toy. The dwarf thought it a tragedy that one who studied books could magically achieve the muscles of a battle-hardened warrior. Even the wooden staff showed more resilience than it appeared. Salgor resigned himself to fighting another strong opponent.

  Salgor rolled aside as Revwar brought the staff crashing down on the floor. The dwarf barely gained one knee when Revwar swung the staff like a club. Salgor started to block with his mace, but the ensorcelled staff sent him flying. Salgor landed with a crash, but sprang to his feet before Revwar could approach. Yellow eyes stared at the bearded warrior with open hatred. Salgor realized he had lost his the mace. He didn’t bother to look for it. The dwarf put a firm, two-handed grip on his treasured axe. A part of him began to thrill at the dangerous challenges of this foe. His victory would be that much sweeter when Revwar finally did go down.

  Daerkfyre’s warrior raised his axe, ready to face whatever other tricks the wizard had in store. “Throw it all at me! I’ll take your worst and keep coming!”

  Salgor launched at the wizard with fury. Revwar met him halfway. Magic lent the wizard strength and sped his movements. Aside from those qualities, the mage lacked actual combat knowledge. The wizard fell for easy feints, but usually his enhanced reactions recovered in time to defend against Salgor’s real attacks. Salgor did succeed in getting past his weapon a few times, ripping tears across his black robe. The blessed axe drew blood: hits which would have downed most of the dwarf’s normal opponents. Revwar’s magical reserves handled the physical threat, and those energies kept him fighting where others would already be dead.

  The wizard also hurt Salgor. The staff spun with bruising force, knocking the dwarf away time and again. Revwar hit as hard as a heavily muscled dwarf. The elf managed to bring a heavy blow to Salgor’s forearms. The move almost knocked the axe from numb hands, but the dwarf held tight. Revwar hit the dwarf with his best shots, but the veteran warrior held the advantage.

  Beaten but not down, Revwar made one last rain of blows on the dwarf before leaping away from his opponent. Salgor accepted a few brutal hits, but when the elf tried to withdraw the axe succeeded in slicing another cut across the mage’s back. The elf made a strong jump, enhanced by the spell powering his muscles. He landed next to the holy relic that he had used earlier. The elf grabbed it as Salgor charged. The dwarf was determined to stop the wizard before he let loose any more surprises.

  Revwar’s cloak opened like a pair of wings. Just like his arrival at the bluff battle, Revwar’s cloak empowered him with flight. The wizard soared over the slash of Salgor’s axe. The dwarf could only watch helplessly as Revwar alighted on the second story balcony.

  Revwar stood upon a section of the suspended walkway that still remained whole. The wizard glared down at the dwarf. Salgor held tight to his axe with both hands, looking up at his distant opponent. The dwarf stomped angrily, unsure how he could reach his opponent. He dared not throw his axe, knowing the attack would be foolish. He glanced around, noting the distance to the different exits to the room, looking for objects he could throw, and watching out for any other enemies that might have reappeared. He spotted the mace well away to one side, though it would be useless now.

  Revwar looked down at the dwarf. His quiet tone carried to Salgor’s ears. “Curse the stubbornness of dwarves. Your ragged entourage interfered in something much bigger than yourselves, something you can not understand. The end result will be the same.” Revwar paused, and then added, “I do thank you, however.”

  Those last words puzzled Salgor. The dwarf decided to keep the elf talking, to learn what he could. If the elf wizard was going to try another escape, Salgor wanted every advantage in finding him again. “I have gladly tracked you down for many miles, and beaten many o’ your henchmen. You will have your death by my hands someday, as sure as every bad ore eventually breaks under pressure. But, why would you thank me?”

  Revwar leaned forward, holding aloft the holy relic. “For standing on an unmarked section of the floor.”

  Salgor reflexively glanced at the magically-inscribed patterns on the throne room floor. Apparently, Revwar still planned to use those symbols for some purpose. Whatever Revwar planned to do next, however, would probably result in the destruction of the floor where Salgor stood.

  Salgor raced forward, trying to run under the balcony and out of Revwar’s sight. Words from the elf wizard flowed into the relic, causing it to sparkle in greenish lights once again. The light bathed Salgor in its glow. The dwarf was not affected, but the floor underneath him started to buckle and crack. Salgor threw his arms and his axe forward, straining to get to the edge of the spell’s e
ffect. The floor tumbled away into the cellar much the same way as part of the balcony collapsed earlier. Salgor leaped to the edge of the open expanse, barely catching a hold on the side of the open pit. His axe slid several feet ahead, thrown to the safety of firm footing. The dwarf dangled at the edge of the open hole, listening to the crumbling floor smash upon the cellar room below him.

  Revwar noted the dwarf’s predicament, so the wizard refocused the energies of the relic. The green rays of the stone stretched up to touch the roof of the throne room. Stone and rock shifted again, buckling as the magic of the stone ripped into the structure. The section of the roof above the dwarf came down in an avalanche of rock and dust. Revwar had to step back to avoid falling debris. The elf lost sight of the dwarf, but witnessed the cascade of stone coming down past the balcony. Several large pieces clipped the second floor walkway, taking that stone guardrail into the cellar as well. The dwarf yelled out in pain once. The fall of stone and marble brought a crescendo of crashing noises to assault the sensitive ears of the elf caster.

  The downfall of debris soon ended. A cloudy pall of dust hung about the throne room. A shaft of sunlight pierced the damaged ceiling. Revwar peered over the damaged balcony. The cloud of dust limited visibility, but he could see what he expected to see. The edges of the hole had been widened as the stones had rained down. Several broken pieces decorated the perimeter of the damaged floor. The dwarf’s axe rested a few feet away from the edge. Of the dwarf himself, Revwar saw no sign. That section had been slammed into the cellar. Piles of stone and marble were visible in the cellar storeroom, unmoving now that the rocks had settled. For the longest time Revwar stared into the depths of the hole.

  “That is some of my worst and I’m waiting for you to keep coming,” the elf wizard spoke in a mocking tone. Silence was the only reply. Revwar shook his head. “I didn’t think I would get a reply; it seems I won’t be disappointed.”