by R J Murray
The mage in question was backing away from the creature, hands moving in a complicated pattern as a torrent of words spilt from her mouth. With a final cry, she cast her spell and the creature stopped, seemingly surprised as its feet lifted from the floor.
“W-what did you do?” Kristdor asked as the creature growled, windmilling its arms as it floated in the centre of the corridor.
“Levitation spell.” She grinned. “Like they use on the airships.”
Kristdor stepped towards the flailing creature, a smile beginning to form on his face. There was no way they could effectively imprison such a creature and the best they could hope for was to kill it. He raised his sword above his head and brought it crashing down on the creature’s skull with all his strength.
A chip appeared in the darkness that covered it and it widened with his second strike. The creature flailed all the more, panic setting in as it realised the danger. His constables moved forward, cautiously as they eyed its arms and legs, well aware of the danger it posed.
“Captain!” he turned and acknowledged the appearance of the sergeant he had sent to the rear of the temple.
“Take her into custody,” he said with a wave at the priestess. “If she so much as looks to be using her powers, kill her.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Wait! This is a mistake!”
Kristdor glared at her, fury filling his face as he stormed towards her. His sister followed behind, ready to reign him in if required but willing to let him have his say. She too felt anger at the priestess. Behind them, the constables continued to hack at the helpless creature.
“You would dare!” he snapped. “Keep your filth strewn lies from your tongue lest I cut it from your mouth. The creature you unleashed on this city, on its people and your own devoted here in the temple, is an abomination and you will pay for your crime!”
Amina, eyes flicking from face to face, realised she would have little chance to plead her case. The creature’s actions, while confusing to her, had been pretty damning and while she was unsure what she could do to prove her innocence in the long run, she knew that for the moment, with tempers so hot, she should keep quiet.
Instead of replying, she held out her hands, palms up to show she was unarmed and allowed them to bind her. The iron shackles were cold against her skin and the sergeant was not gentle as he pulled her arms behind her back to attach the second iron to her other wrist.
A leather cover was placed over her face and buckled tight. It had a hollow tube that went in her mouth, allowing her to breathe but forcing it open so that she couldn’t speak, effectively gagging her and preventing her from giving orders to the creature or speaking words of power.
“Take her to the watch-house,” Kristdor said sternly. “I want her guarded by two full squads at all times and if there is anyone in the cells, cut them loose. I want no one in there but her. Is that clear?”
“Aye, captain.”
He nodded abruptly and turned back to the creature, not watching as they took her away. There was a pain in his chest that he couldn’t understand, and he smoothed the hair of his goatee with a hand the trembled.
“Mother will be pleased,” Vala said.
She felt wrung out, the spells she had cast had taken much of her power and she couldn’t help but wish she had more magi to call upon that were battle trained. As it were, all she had was apprentices and their old teachers. Mages too long in the tooth to be willing to risk their hides.
“I don’t really care,” Kristdor said softly. “I never did. I just wanted my people to be safe.”
“You’re a good man, brother.”
“Perhaps,” he said as he hefted his short sword. “But not right now.”
He marched down the corridor towards the helpless creature. It had stilled its struggles as it curled in around itself, trying to find some protection from the repeated sword strikes. It mewled softly, pain in the sound.
Kristdor raised the sword in his hand, aiming for the crack he had made in its skull. There was a rising hatred for the creature and he wanted it dead. He hesitated as the darkness receded, flowing back as though falling into the skin that was revealed.
“I know you,” he said as a mop of sandy hair, stained with blood from the cut on his skull, was revealed. “The attendant to the high priestess.”
“P-please,” he cried in a small voice. “S-she m-made me do it!”
Revulsion twisted his features as the boy began to cry, great wracking sobs shaking his skinny, naked body. His constables waited, eyes turning to him as they awaited his command and he made sure to look each of them in the eye, one after the other.
“Justice be done,” he said and they each repeated it as one.
His sword crashed down, splitting the skull fully. Blood sprayed across his breastplate and he shuddered, stepping back from the limp form of the dead youth. That was the first person he had killed, and it left a foul taste in his mouth.
Vala placed her hand gently on his shoulder and snapped her fingers, ending the spell she had cast. The body slammed against the floor and the constables stepped back from it as they would from a poisonous snake.
“Take that to the college,” she ordered. “I will need to study it before it is destroyed.”
“Ma’am,” one of the constables said with a brisk salute. He sheathed his sword and gestured for the others to help him.
“Is that wise?” Kristdor asked softly.
“Whatever it may look like, that is not the man you see. Likely it killed him long ago and stole his form. This is a creature that was created by the greatest of the ascendants and it could reveal secrets that have been lost for a millennium.”
“Be careful, sister. That thing may be dangerous still.”
“I’m always careful, brother.” She flashed him a grin and strode away, following the constables that were carrying the body.
Kristdor, alone in the temple but for the dead, felt an immense weariness settle around him and dropped to his knees, head bowed. He’d had an undeniable attraction to the high priestess and his heart ached with the realisation of all the evil she had done.
“Sir?”
He looked back and nodded to the young constable. The poor lad looked a little green around the gills as he stared at the many dead that littered the temple.
“Constable, ah, Oern, is it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is it just you?”
“No, sir. Serjeant Bjorn has half the nights watch with him.”
“Good. Go see if you can rouse some of the priests from the other temples. We’ll need their help with laying these poor souls to rest.”
Kristdor pushed himself wearily to his feet and sheathed the sword once more. The young constable dashed off to see his orders done and that left the watch captain alone once more. He couldn’t help but feel as though the temple were a mausoleum. The sense of peace that wreathed the building was gone.
He made his way slowly along the corridors and through the many rooms of the temple. At each body he passed, he paused a moment to reach down and gently close their open eyes. Adjusting robes and trying to give what dignity he could back to them.
Serjeant Bjorn caught up with him as he passed through a small chamber filled with the younger novitiates. The serjeant didn’t draw attention to the tears on his watch captains face and instead, just saluted smartly.
“Sir.”
“I want this place secured, serjeant.” He paused to pull the blood-stained hood down over the face of a girl of perhaps ten years of age. “When news of this reaches the city, we will have riots.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where’s constable Asa?”
“Went out on an errand earlier and not yet back, sir.”
“When she gets back, have her find me. I have more tasks for her to do.”
“Sir.”
“When the priests get here…” He paused, reaching down to close the eyes of another body and stopped still, eyes widening.<
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“Sir?”
“Send a squad to the college of magic, now!”
Before the serjeant could reply, Kristdor was off, running through the halls like a man possessed. In his mind, all he could see was the sandy-haired youth lying dead on the floor of the temple. Eyes open wide in pain and face set in a rictus of agony.
It was a face he recognised. He’d last seen it on the body that his sister had left with. The high priestess’s personal attendant. Which could mean nothing. But then again, he couldn’t shake the thought that if it had to kill someone to take their face, then it had only worn the attendants that day.
There was no reason for it to show that new face and not whichever other it had been wearing unless it had a reason to protect its stolen identity. A reason, he didn’t want to think about.
He raced out of the temple, past the astonished watchmen on guard there and through the dark streets that were slowly filling with the faithful of the other temples as they came out to help or to just see what was going on.
Past the darkened, weed-choked temples of Kembris and Egyn, the dead gods and on along the wide avenue towards the college. He turned the corner, leaving the temple district behind and skidded to a stop, a cry escaping his lips.
He was too late. His city watchmen were sprawled about the street like children’s dolls, their bodies limp and faces blank, all life drained from them. His sister lay, half propped against the wall of a shoemaker’s shop.
She turned to look at him, pain in her every movement as she pressed her hand against the bloody wound in her stomach. A grimace formed as she shook her head, slowly.
“I’m sorry, brother. I thought it was dead.”
Chapter 23
Mia awoke, her head thumping and entire body aching as though she had spent the day before working in farmer Boga’s fields. Much like it had the day after she had done that work for the first time all those years ago.
Elva was the first to note her stirring and pressed a hand over the girl's mouth to stop her from speaking out. Mia’s eyebrows rose in silent query and the ranger held one finger up to her lips as she gestured for her to remain silent.
The hand was removed after Elva was sure that Mia wouldn’t speak and the former serving girl pushed herself up slowly, looking around. They looked to be in a small cave, barely more than a wide crack in the rocks that went back just far enough to let them all squeeze in.
Clearly, it wasn’t the cave they were headed to and that meant they were still close to where they had been attacked. She jolted fully upright as the memory of the owlbear came rushing back to her and she looked around in panic.
Syn crept close, putting his lips almost on her ear as he spoke. “Calm yourself. We’re safe for the moment but they are close, so we need silence.”
She nodded quickly, heartbeat thundering in her chest and she took a moment to slow her breathing and enter that calm state she needed to be in to reach for her magic. After several long moments, she was there and to her surprise, there was no magic to reach for.
Her hand went to the stone that hung from around her neck and it glowed gently as she touched it but there was no magic to draw on.
“You used it all,” Syn whispered. “Give it time. With rest and ample food, you’ll have it back.”
She nodded, looking around at the others before whispering back, “what happened?”
“That… thing you did.” He shook his head, a wry smile on his lips as he remembered the blast of raw magic that had burst from her. It had been scarily impressive. “It’s not something you should do.”
“Why?”
Wynn turned his head to glare at them but Syn just flashed him a smile and leant in closer, voice so low she could barely hear him.
“When you cast a spell, you take magic, yes, but your own energy too. That is why you are so tired after casting spells. You understand?”
She nodded, and he smiled encouragingly.
“What you did was throw out all of the magic you could reach and all of your own energy too in one blast of raw power. Caused much damage, yes, but dangerous for you.”
“Why dangerous, it worked?”
“You have more magic than strength to wield it,” he said with a small shrug. “Your body couldn’t handle it. Took two healing potions to keep you from dying and a third to make sure you would wake up again.”
Her eyes widened at that and she glanced down at herself, seeing for the first time, the blood on the front of her leather jerkin and the way her hands trembled. She reached up, feeling the dried blood on her chin and around her mouth and a shiver ran through her.
Syn patted her gently on the leg and grinned impishly.
“Those potions cost a lot. Our fat friend was most displeased.”
She looked over at the glowering mage and bowed her head. Whatever damage she had done to herself must have been great indeed. While she’d had little experience with potions of healing she knew enough to know they were a mixture of alchemy and magic that could keep death at bay, though a healer tended to be cheaper.
“Sorry,” she whispered in a small voice and the thief grinned widely, showing his teeth.
“Better to learn this now, when you have friends with the proper potions to heal you.”
“But the cost…”
“He can afford it.”
A warning hiss from Jochum had them both fall silent and they listened quietly as something large moved through the undergrowth close by. The warrior, gleaming sword in hand, stood protectively over the others and prepared to fight.
He held himself like that for several minutes before he lowered his sword and leant back against the cave wall. He waved a hand to let them know the creature had gone past and settled in to wait.
The rest of the night passed in much the same manner. They huddled close together, the silence stretched taut as each of them listened to the crashing of the owlbears in the undergrowth and the occasional hooting growls they would call out.
When the dawn came, it found them tired mentally and physically and it was a weary party that set out again. Elva took the lead, bow held before her with an arrow nocked and ready to fly. Jochum was next with his sword drawn and face set, staring about him with hard eyes.
Wynn followed, muttering replies to voices only he could hear, the darkness speaking to him strongly with every step closer to the cave they were headed for. Mia and Syn brought up the rear, though she felt of little use without even the small magic she had previously held ready. Instead, she held her dagger, knowing full well that it would be of little use to any creature that attacked them.
The owlbears calls sounded often as the morning turned to afternoon, the midday meal was forgotten as they pressed on. They were wary of stopping and letting the creatures find their trail once more.
Around an hour after midday, Mia stopped and gawked at a statue that rose up from the undergrowth, fifteen feet tall. It was a woman, wearing unfamiliar clothing and holding something in her arms that had long since lost any means of identification.
The once white stone was pitted and scored, a sapphire blue moss covering much of its lower half. The face had just enough detail left to allow Mia to see she had worn an expression of deep sorrow. A fitting expression, Mia thought, as the dark sludge like rain left streaks down the cheeks making it seem as though she were crying.
“Noaris,” Syn said softly, seeing Mia’s look. “She was one of the first ascendants to fall to the thirteen corrupted. They built the statue to mark where she died after the first battles were fought.”
“Why would they waste the time building a statue?” Mia asked. “I mean, they were fighting a war, weren’t they?”
“There is always time to honour the fallen, child,” Elva said called sternly. “And for those with powers that rivalled the gods, was a small thing to create.”
“They used magic!”
“Aye, that they did. It’s why it’s withstood the corruption for so many centuries.”
Mia nodded slowly, looking back over her shoulder at the forlorn figure. Knowing who she was and why the statue stood did little to diminish the sorrow, but instead added to it, leaving her with an urge to weep for the woman who had died fighting evil.
They continued on, moving slowly as they traversed the treacherous terrain. The oily rain coated their clothing and skin, leaving a feeling of sliminess that didn’t seem to go away. As they walked, they instructed Mia on the many dangers of the wilds.
The bright yellow flower of the Dragon Flower, so called because if you came close the petals would close up, making the flower look like the head of some great beast and it would spit a sticky acid that burnt like fire.
Or the Pest Ivy, with a nettle-like sting that would cause intolerable itching and bring out a rash. If you left it too long without washing away the residue it left on your skin, you would become numb and then collapse. The slow-moving ivy would then have ample time to engulf an unwary traveller and feast on their blood.
When they took a moment to rest, Mia went to sit on a boulder only for Jochum to pull her to one side. He kicked the rock with a booted foot and thick, chitinous legs sprouted from beneath it as it scuttled away.
She stared after it, mouth open and shook her head. The creatures of the wilds were more dangerous than the plants and nothing could be taken for granted.
“There’s a village up ahead,” Elva said softly to the others as they rested. “I’ll scout it and meet you on the trail.”
“Aye, be safe.”
She flashed a smile at the big warrior and jogged on ahead, confident enough with the wilds to move faster than the others and Mia wondered if they were going so slow just because of her.
“A village?” she asked.
“Aye, from before this place was the wilds. Powerful magic was cast over it to keep it as it is after all these centuries.”
“Can still see the houses,” Syn added. “Covered in weeds and creepers, but recognisable enough.”
“Only problem is that it attracts all kinds of beasties,” Jochum grunted. “Last time we was here, it was, what? Gnolls?”
“Trolls,” Wynn snapped. “Foul creatures nearly tore my arm off. Was only the healing from the priestess that saved me.”