Whisper of the End

by Held, Maximian

  “Sorry girl, I tried. If you hadn’t asked for mercy for this piece of trash, you might have gotten some for yourself. I’ll make this quick at least.” The cold look on his face ruins any boyish charm it has, his inviting blue eyes become chips of soulless ice. He advances slowly towards me, one hand outstretched as if to comfort me. This has gone on long enough.

  “Wait. You can’t kill me, I haven’t done anything wrong.” I say, and a cold grin crosses Karl’s face. That isn’t the response I was hoping for.

  “Lass I can kill who ever I want. I’m a Protector, annoying my Master is crime enough.” A look of annoyance crosses his face “Now be quiet, or this won’t be quite so quick.” Okay, common decency is out, I guess I should have seen this coming.

  “Fine, you can’t kill me because I’m also a Protector. Killing me would violate the oath we both took when we joined their ranks. Your Master clearly isn’t in danger, and I’m obviously not threatening you.” I say calmly, staring straight into his dead eyes. A cold grin splits his face, and a gleam of interest sparkles in his eyes.

  “A Protector you say? That just makes this interesting, instead of a waste of my time.” Great, just great, I get on the wrong end of things and I have to deal with someone like this. I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised, we have our reputation for a reason. I settle into a half crouch, letting my weight rest on the balls of my feet.

  My knife glitters in the rain where I’d dropped it when Karl pulled me to my feet. Too far to grab, and if I leap for it Karl will run me through before I regain my footing. Against him I don’t think I can risk fighting from the ground. I begin to lean towards the knife anyway, probably dead but armed is better than definitely dead and weaponless.

  I’m not in any condition to fight either, if I wasn’t so numb from the mead I doubt I’d be able to breathe let alone stand. A dull grating is all I feel in my chest when I take a breath, an annoyance instead of crippling pain. My arm still hangs uselessly by my side though, the broken collarbone is something no amount of mead could overcome. Why aren’t I healing yet? Caius should know I’m in trouble, and how badly I’m hurt.

  “You’re from the North, you love ice, don’t you?” Karl asks, his grin taking on a manic twist.

  With a snap of his fingers a ragged shard of ice a foot-long pops into existence above Karl’s hand, pointing straight at my heart. With another snap the ice comes screaming in, leaving little vapor trails behind it. He knows magic, this just keeps getting worse. At least I have a trump card. I don’t even try to dodge, I stand still as stone just boring into his eyes with mine. The icicle shatters into a thousand pieces, point first against my bare skin. I smile slowly as the twinkling pieces vanish back into the aether.

  “Is that the best you’ve got?” I ask, brushing nonexistent ice off my tunic.

  With a snarl Karl throws himself forward, drawing his sword and a dagger in his off hand. He lunges at me with both outstretched, the dagger slashing towards my throat as the sword drives towards my ribs. Perfect, right where I want you. I step forward, holding up my hand to stop the edge of his dagger. I reach out and grasp it, allowing the sword to arrow in on my exposed ribs.

  A glowing, sizzling green force sparks into existence along my left arm as I catch the blade with my palm. The dagger begins to glow from heat, throwing sparks a hairsbreadth away my skin as Karl vainly tries to cut me. The sword’s point is similarly stymied by a welter of sparks as it tries to puncture my insides. Karl grunts as he leans into his blades and glowing tracery spreads along my body. I don’t know why Caius isn’t powering my enhancements, but I can fuel them. Briefly.

  The magic washes away the fuzziness from the mead, and cool adrenaline floods my body. Strength, beyond what I naturally have, fills my limbs as I will more of myself into the enchantment. A tearing pain spreads in time with it as my body rips itself apart trying to sustain the magic. I slide my palm along the dagger and past it to crush Karl’s wrist, as he yells in pain I lift him by his throat.

  “Here, let me help you.” I say through gritted teeth “I think you forgot something in the tavern.”

  Karl lashes out with his sword, trying to strike my neck, the edge of it leaking black smoke as it slices in. This time the blade stops further away, inches from my neck, as an intense blue glow snaps into being and holds the weapon still. There’s Caius’s help.

  “What magic is this? It’s not possible, nothing can stop Seelenfresser!” A note of panic enters his voice, his blade skittering on the blue ward around my neck as he tries to cut me again. The muscles in my legs feel like they’re fraying under the strain of keeping the magic going.

  “Maybe nothing your pitiful master can create, but mine is clearly a cut above.” I grate out. With that parting remark, I cock my arm back and throw him the straight into the silently blazing rubble of the tavern. Before he can be consumed by the hungry flames he dissipates into smoke, a look of hatred plastered across his face. I need a drink, probably several drinks.

  My original attacker has passed out again. The green tracery fades, and so does the consuming pain of the magic. I grab the man by one of his savaged arms and totter over a nearby wall, collapsing against it. The rough, cool stone provides some measure of comfort against the exhaustion threatening to overwhelm me. The rain patters down all around us, sending a weak shiver up my spine. My head slumps against my chest as I fade away.

  Caius wouldn’t be mad if I slept now, would he?

  Chapter VI - Caius

  Duras - The Town of Hurendale

  29th of Herras, 1873 MD

  Once we arrived at the city I had dismissed Kearika, figuring that she could use some time alone. I regretted what I said to her atop the mountain. I haven’t thought of a way to apologize yet, and her pained look had been getting to me. Unable to think of a solution, I had sent her away. Here I am at the desk in my room, in one of the finest inns, and all I could think about is Kearika. I am never going to get anything done until I find a way to make this up to her.

  With a huff, I snap shut the book I’ve been trying to read. Maybe I can find something in the market to apologize with, some smoked meat perhaps? With a small utterance I bind the aether to hide my appearance, so that I would look nothing like myself. Swirling robes become a simple cloak, the purple of my eyes now a deep cobalt blue. My soft boots are now a rugged leather pair, and a tattered looking coin purse dangles from my belt. I set out towards the market, sure that I can find something to assuage my guilt and Kearika’s pain. At least I can still wield the aether in some small way, I cannot imagine being without my magic.

  Hurendale is alive and well, despite the string of disappearances we were sent out to investigate. I hadn’t informed the governor what was in the mountains when we finally got back. The governor has a rather abrasive personality, and he’d made it clear that if we froze to death on the Cratertops he’d be perfectly happy. I’m in no rush to speak with him again.

  The sounds of the market can be heard for blocks and even this late it is full of vendors and their wares. The whole thing is a barely organized hodgepodge of merchants and their shops. In between the more permanent stores there are mats set out and covered in baubles, their proprietors bellowing prices into the crowd. The more nomadic merchants have set their carts up along the back of the market, their guards stuck out in the crowd of townspeople. Scented smoke seeps through the air, incense merchants selling their “protective” goods to those heading over the Cratertops.

  I roll my eyes as I pass one such shop, where the owner is extolling the virtues of his product. Anyone with a lick of sense knows that Eisen are not afraid of lavender and cypress. A small assortment of jewelry catches my eye and I stop to examine them. Not bad, but this is not pure silver. The weight is off, probably some pewter or lead mixed in it.

  “Yow!” A man shouts from behind me, clutching at his singed hand.

  That is what you get for trying to steal from me. He was good enough to slip through my alarms though, w
hich is troubling. I turn around to face the pickpocket, but he vanishes into the press of the crowd before I get a good look at him. With a shrug I continue on my way through the market, trying to find something interesting.

  So far everything I have seen is ridiculously overpriced, but being a mage has its perks. After a quick stop at a cart selling foodstuffs, and some haggling, I walk away with smoked fiendcat and a small keg of ice wine supposedly made in the North.

  I have my doubts, but the man swore up and down that “This will put some hair on your scrawny chest, then you’ll be big like the northern barbarians!”

  Humming to myself as I weave through the crowds, I spot an old woman selling cosmetics. She’s crushing something in a dish as I come up to her counter, but she quickly stops when I drop a few coins in front of her.

  “I am looking to purchase some dyes, or paints. Something for my face, to make designs with. It cannot come off with water either.” I tell her. Or blood.

  The woman cocks eyebrow at me, but shuffles through the curtain behind her. After a minute of anxiously tapping my foot, she returns with a small wooden chest. With a dense thud she drops it on the counter and opens the clasps. Inside are three vials: black, green and blue.

  “Did you mean these deary? Got them from a big fellow a few years back. Real northern war paint he swore it was, for forty silver they could be yours.” She says waveringly. Forty silver, what robbery!

  “I am sorry, I must have the wrong store. I did not realize I was shopping for luxury goods! Fifteen silver, no more.” I reply.

  “Twenty silver, take it or leave it. These are the real deal, they’ll turn aside blades and scare away the evil spirits!” She replies sharply, making a face like someone sucking on a lemon.

  “Really? I need them then, twenty silver it is!” I exclaim, fighting the urge to roll my eyes and putting on my best shocked face.

  “Stay safe deary.” She says with a huge grin as she pockets the coin, wrapping the paints up in parchment before giving them to me.

  This should be more than enough, Kearika loves getting new war paint. As I stroll out of the market, one last stall catches my eye. A mountain of a man sits on a comically small stool, idly whittling away at a chunk of bone. A massive scar runs from his forehead, over his milky left eye, and down to the base of his neck.

  Whistling tonelessly, he makes no effort to engage the crowds walking past him. Intrigued, I walk over to him, marveling at the collection of weapons hanging behind him. After the incident, the crowd is surreptitiously parting for me, people exchange glances as I walk by. A few of them reach for their weapons, drawing my attention as my magical alarm picks them out.

  “Did you come to buy, or are you just going to stand there and gawk?” He grinds out in a rough voice, with hints of the same accent Kearika has. I push the crowd’s reaction out of my mind, confident that my magic will protect me against anyone looking for trouble.

  “I do not know, I want to protect myself but I do not enjoy the idea of killing someone.” I stammer, feeling strangely forthright with him. With a grunt, he sets down his knife and hunk of bone and starts rummaging around under the counter.

  “I want to protect the people I care about, but if I will not kill, how would I go about it?” I ask him, the same question that I have asked myself many times. With a satisfied noise he comes back up from below the counter, putting a long leather wrapped something down on top of it.

  “Ha! Let me give you some wisdom boy. Killing ain’t protecting. Killing is killing. Protecting someone doesn’t mean killing for them, it doesn’t even mean being willing to kill for them. You knock that crap out of your fool head, or I’ll do it for you.” He undoes the ties holding the leather on, revealing a long staff.

  “This here stick is exactly what you’re looking for little Master. Just the thing for someone like you. Keeps you strong when you aren’t, helps you carry your burdens when you can’t, and lets you give a wallop to life’s problems when you don’t have any other choice.” He says sagely, with a self-satisfied sniff he picks up his bone hunk and resumes his carving.

  “What do you want for it?” I ask as I examine the staff. It’s a beautiful piece of dark wood, twisting along its entire length and capped with gleaming steel on one end. Its wood has a shiny luster to it, someone has spent many hours polishing it to a mirror like sheen. I have never enchanted a staff before. I wonder what I could do with it?

  “Ninety silver. That wood is from way up north, grown by our shamans and fortified to be stronger than any other. I know you’re good for it little Master.” He says without looking up from his carving.

  “How could you possibly know that?” I ask him, surprised. My disguise is not that transparent, is it? Then again, he is a Northerner. Kearika never has any problems seeing through my illusions either.

  “Used as your clothes appear, they look far too comfortable. They might seem rugged, but the they still look soft. Only a mage goes through all the trouble of making something so ragged be comfortable. So, I know you’re good for the money.” He says with wide grin. With a grin of my own, I fish the silver out of my coin purse.

  “May the spirits of the Great Fox watch over you hunter.” I tell him with a wink as I take the staff from him, only to crumple as a searing pain burns into my body. I fall to my knees, one hand against the counter to steady myself. Kearika. She’s in trouble, and in pain.

  “Little master? Are you alright?” The massive Northerner is peering at me from his stool, making no move to help me regain my feet.

  “Looks like you and that staff have some protecting to do after all.” He says as I pull myself to my feet.

  I shake my head, and dismiss the spell that keeps me apprised of Kearika’s condition in an attempt to lessen the pain. I need to be able to concentrate if I am going to help her. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, letting my mind spread out and touch the aether. The cold touch of it scrapes along the edge of my mind.

  This is not how the aether should be, something very troubling is going on. That spell should not cause me pain like that. I focus on Kearika, trying to bend the aether to my will, to make it show me where she is. It roils and rebels against my touch, pushing painful barbs into my thoughts, making tears run from my eyes. I get a glimpse of a tavern in the lower quarters of the city. Something else is in the vision too, something dark and predatory.

  A chill runs down my spine as I begin to chant softly. Could it be the elf? It could not possibly have recovered so quickly, could it? I finish my incantation, and find myself standing exactly where I did before I closed my eyes. The Northerner is engrossed in his carving again. Well that did not work.

  “What’s the fastest way to the...Reedy Horseman?” I ask and the weapons vendor gives me a sideways look.

  “The Horseman? Why would a respectable mage like yourself go to a dump like that?” He pauses for a second “Never mind, it’s not my concern. Just head towards the mountain gate, the Reedy Horseman is the last tavern before the gate. Real rough area too.”

  “Thank you for your help.” I tell him as I heft the staff in my hands and put on a determined look. I put a few more silvers on the countertop and set off towards the mountain gate.

  The aether is still too chaotic for me to simply appear at the tavern, I would scatter so far it would probably take me longer than just walking there from where I am. The turbulence in the aether is still coming in waves, but they’re growing more intense. There are periods where the air feels dead, drained of any of the power that normally hummed through it. Then it would slam back into me like a physical force, crushing me into the ground before abating away into nothing again.

  My incantation to bring Kearika to me did not work either, something is interfering with the bond between us. One of the first enchantments a novice learns to weave is one to bind their Protector to themselves. With a single word, one could know exactly where their Protector is, with some more experience that same simple spell could allow that ma
ge to travel to their Protector’s side. I have laid many such spells on Kearika, each one binding us closer together.

  I could tell where she is, if she is injured and most importantly I could work my magic on her from a great distance. Normally if a mage wants to enact his will on something, or someone, he has to be physically present or able to see his target. Peering into the aether to see at great distances can help, but doing so tends to weaken the result. Magic works best up close. Through the many layers of enchantments I have bound Kearika and I closer together than any have dared before. I could strengthen her at any distance, heal her wounds from across the world just as easily as I could heal my own.

  Yet, now I can’t. I can barely determine where she is, and a dull pain is leaking through the many enchantments. My head feels like it’s being crushed, my collarbone throbs with pain and my right arm is strangely numb feeling. I’m channeling the chill touch of the aether into my body, trying to fix whatever sympathetic injury is leaking through our bond but it doesn’t seem to be having any effect. Red splotches expand along my shirt as I bleed in sympathy. This should not be happening, I do not even know how this is possible.

  Maybe I should not have lowered her wards after all. When I had sent Kearika off to unwind I had, rather spitefully, lowered the wards that shield her from physical injury. Normally they would keep her safe from mundane hazards like fists and stab wounds. They would heal bones and flesh as fast as it’s torn apart. Feeling rather unappreciated I had dropped them, thinking that she would appreciate my abilities more once she was bereft of them. Now I just feel like a fool. A dead fool, Kearika will take my head for acting like a child.

  Thankfully by now I’m almost to the Reedy Horseman, deep in the area around the mountain gate. A hybrid of slums and marketplace blossoms out from around the last gate before the treacherous mountain passes and the road that leads to them. The Reedy Horseman is the closest tavern to that gate, eager to rid weary merchant guards of their hard-earned gold. It should be just up ahead. I let out an inarticulate cry, clutching at my head as the world goes white with pain. I stumble into an alleyway, falling to my knees as I trip over the rough cobblestones.