Frast tugged Randler’s shoulder. “Hurry!” He was fiercely directed in this sprint, which seemed a bit unlike the mage to Randler. Still, he had served as a great protection within the tower. He could not have entered to rescue Dariak without his help or without the risk to their lives.
Magehaven was coming alive with more sounds of alarm. Additional defenses were triggered, but there were no portcullises that fell to pin intruders, no trapdoors or secret arrow holes from which they were attacked. The defenses were all based in magic and now that the warnings had spread, the defenses came on in earnest.
“Follow my steps precisely!” Frast yelled suddenly. He hopped toward the right and then jumped forward and to the left. He sprang wide across and almost lost his balance, then he turned and leaped again. Randler did not ask; he simply followed, pouncing in the same intricate pattern.
After dozens of erratic leaps through the room, Frast teetered after a landing and he went down on his knee. Fire erupted floor to ceiling where his leg touched the stone floor and he screamed in pain, jumping back, ready to land on yet another square outside the invisible safety zone. Randler saw the plight and pounced ahead, grabbing Frast and holding him tightly to keep him from falling. The mage pressed healing magic toward his knee hoping to quell the agony, but the fiery column had some form of disruptive spell that made healing difficult. Frast couldn’t pull on the energies properly and the pain grew worse.
“Tell me where to go,” Randler said in Frast’s ear. “I cannot see the runes like you can.”
“A moment.” Tears streamed from the mage’s eyes and the throbbing grew worse. “No. Leave me, Randler. I’m no good to you. Make a run for it and don’t stop. It’s the only way.” He gasped in agony as the pain extended to his calf and thigh. “It’s getting worse. Go! You have to. I’ll follow once the pain subsides.”
Randler didn’t entertain the idea at all. He looked around and saw the door. It was too many paces away to walk to and he doubted he could carry the mage while making a run for it. “Frast, I’m not leaving you here, but we can’t stay. I don’t care how badly it hurts; you have to run with me.”
“No, I—”
“No choice, mage,” Randler cut in sternly. “If you collapse here, we both die. I’m not leaving you. Let’s move.”
Frast tried to put weight on his injured leg and screamed. Randler shook him and insisted that he had no choice. But Frast wouldn’t make a move. He looked like he would fall over at any moment, giving up because of the pain.
Randler wouldn’t have it. He didn’t care about the repercussions. They had to go. He gauged the door, braced himself, and then shoved Frast ahead with all his might. As the mage stumbled pitifully, the room erupted in a torrent of magic. Randler bolted across the room, grabbing Frast as he went and dragging him, using the mage’s momentum to get them both to the door.
Blasts of electricity and fire erupted all around the room as they made their escape and the bolts did their damage. Both the bard and the mage were badly seared by the energy and the pain receptors in their bodies flared as they collapsed on the other side of the doorway. They were completely immobilized by the magical forces. The agony grew in intensity and spread throughout their limbs, threatening to overtake them completely.
“Not like this,” Randler hissed. He could barely see through his tears but he did his best to ignore it. He summoned up the tales of Kitalla’s suffering in Pindington and tried to convince himself that he could survive this as she had overcome that. He thought of the battle dances he had shared with her and channeled his thoughts on the heavy beats of the drums. Focusing his thoughts helped him to set the pain aside, at least until he moved and everything flared up again.
“Come on, Frast,” he gasped pitifully. “Come on.” He coughed as a spasm of fire erupted within him. “Counter this magic. Somehow. Some way.”
But the mage was lost in his suffering. He curled in on himself and wept sadly, unable to fight the waves of agony.
Randler felt bereft. He had only minor skill with magic, and mostly just theoretical knowledge. He couldn’t fight a spell like this. He reached for his shadow jade, yearning to withdraw the pain, but he couldn’t focus on it strongly enough to have an effect. Randler thought of his friends and remembered that each of them had faced horrible challenges and yet pressed onward. Dariak was off somewhere in the tower fighting to survive, though the snippets Frast had given him about Dariak’s metallic condition were disheartening. But he had pressed on through the lightning battle against Sharice and he had proven victorious then, and Randler knew his mother’s skills were terribly strong. Dariak had survived.
All along on the quest, Gabrion had pursued his missing lady and, despite all the odds, Randler believed the warrior would find her. Nothing deterred the young man’s quest nor broke his spirit. He had faced harsh doubts but still he strove.
And there was Kitalla, who had seen the worst of it all, ever fighting alone in the world, and often proving herself as the greatest defender amidst their group. Even at their best when all four of them were in their stride, Kitalla outshone them all with her agility and cunning. She never surrendered to her surroundings; she took control and dominated them.
Randler was determined to do the same, even as his mind argued against him. The pain kept increasing though he was nowhere near the initial runes. Magic skill or not, the bard would beat this.
The minstrel clutched on to any rational and irrational thoughts that might grant him survival. He realized partly that there had to be a counterspell to this effect, for if any acolyte or master inadvertently triggered the defensive spells, they would have to be cured. Thus, there was an answer somewhere. He rocked back and forth, considering battles he’d seen, stories he’d heard, toys he had played with as a child; none of it helpful.
Only one fleeting thought held anything substantial for him. From his own Trial upon entering the tower his first time, Randler had experienced the resonance and dissonance effect of sound. In some way, perhaps he could apply that to this spell. The only sound Randler had was his voice, and though it would be laden with intense pain, he pressed words to his lips and he chanted.
I’ll never let the pain succeed.
I’ll never let it win.
Just release the agony.
It will not start again.
I’ll never let it win.
I will use my inner strength.
It will not start again.
I will go to any length.
I will use my inner strength
To release the agony.
I will go to any length
To never let the pain succeed.
The challenge of crafting the oddly repetitive pantoum focused his mind deeply on the structure of the lines. He felt the echoing lines resonate within him as he chanted them again, twisting some minor variations here and there. As he chanted repeatedly, he heard Frast moaning in the background, but it wasn’t the random moaning of a man suffering. He was matching the tune that Randler was murmuring and Randler focused his energy on the words again. He uttered them over and over, building a resistance to his own pain by giving strength to the pantoum. As he did, Frast pulled healing energies and wove them into the melody, letting the repetition stack the spell into a stronger incantation.
It took time but the pain started to subside. The two of them focused their efforts and soon they were free of the torture. Frast decoded that the pain spells had been fortified with firegnat serum, hence the long-lasting effects. He would have to try to remember that as he considered a better counterspell. They hesitated for a few minutes to let their bodies readjust and then they had to press onward. Randler looked over his shoulder, but Kitalla had not joined them yet. He feared the other defenses may have harmed her, but then he dismissed it. No, she would only be delayed, not stopped. He knew.
“Let’s go,” the bard decided and Frast nodded, greatly relieved to be able to move and think clearly again. The two men dashed down a round
ed corridor, while Frast kept his senses alert for more magical traps.
They approached a room in which three mages were tensed and ready for intruders, though they were perched back-to-back so they could face all of the doorways at once. When the duo entered, the mages pivoted around and fired off their first round of spells.
Randler jumped to the left and entered a roll, pouncing back onto his feet and pulling out his mace. He had to split the mages’ attention so Frast could better neutralize them. He feinted to the left and then charged forward, as the apprentice brought his hands around and issued forth a binding web. Randler dodged it easily with another roll, but it landed him in dark sludge a second mage had set on the stone. The viscous liquid clung to Randler’s clothing and weighed him down. It reminded the bard of the Shield of Delminor that weighed down its victim, thereby immobilizing him. He tried to brush the ooze off himself, but succeeded only in spreading it.
Frast, meanwhile, was channeling energy like a master with many more years of experience than he had. Desperation pushed him to spells he didn’t know he could cast. When he had entered the room, two of the mages launched their defensive spells in his direction. Fire and ice darted toward him. He considered deflecting them, but he wasn’t sure which way Randler was headed at the time. Instead, he sputtered a quick incantation and breathed deeply as he clapped his hands. The effect brought a quick tug of air together, forcing the fire and ice to collapse and dispel each other in a sizzling mist.
The mages growled and thrust their hands into their next volley, taking care not to fall prey to the same tactic. But Frast was slowly moving closer, subtly approaching them as they focused their spells. He hoped they might misjudge the distance and that it would give him an advantage. He listened intently for the key spell words, hoping to discern their attack before it was on in earnest. He hadn’t heard ‘contronor’ or ‘relliashinos’ before but the rest of the keywords clued him in to a sort of binding spell.
Frast dipped into his cloak and popped the cork from a small vial of thick oil. He smothered the liquid on his finger and called to the substance in the ancient tongue. “Encirrisiculous brevitishe forthranetricant shallious.” It was an inspired enchantment that he hadn’t ever attempted before. He didn’t know if his inspiration came from his earlier studies or from being exposed to the abundant energies in the tower itself. He released the last thread of the incantation and while the spell hesitated a few seconds before commencing, he set his mind to an offensive strike.
Randler continued to dodge the increasing fury of the mage he faced, barely able to consider an alternate strategy to defend himself. He considered tossing his mace at a second mage, but he doubted he could fend off the two of them with his agility alone, and he wasn’t fully recovered from his burns. Instead, he settled for duping the mage into a false security; he only hoped he wouldn’t distract Frast in the process.
When Randler’s attacker sent a volley of thorns flying forth, the bard collapsed, moaning in pain. He heard the brief snicker of the mage, who immediately set upon augmenting the venom within the thorns to further paralyze and contain his victim. Randler recognized a few of the intoned syllables and he reacted accordingly, though not a single thorn had actually touched him. He curled within himself, groaning madly and hoping that Frast would remember his recent cries of actual pain and understand his ruse.
Frast, however, was too engaged in his own spell-casting to pay much heed to Randler’s plight at the moment. While the bard tried keeping one mage detained, Frast was working to take down the other two and if Randler fell in the process, then he would have to find a way to help him later. For now, the mages’ paralyzing spell fell flat as it impacted Frast’s delayed lubrication shield. The mages had counted on the paralysis, for they had paused in their casting to gather themselves for the next volley.
But the inspired delay Frast had placed upon his defensive spell gave him the time he needed to pull the energies around himself and cast them toward his attackers. He drew upon the powers of wind and negated heat to chill the air and to create a freezing snowstorm. A flurry of snow blinded the other three mages and Frast ran forward in an attempt to overwhelm them.
Randler took the opportunity to drop his ruse and to spring to his feet, mace first, smashing his attacker and then turning to tackle the others. He struck hard but not fatally. The mages could heal themselves, but by the time they had healed enough to pursue them, it would be for naught. Moments later, Randler and Frast were on their way.
Exhaustion was taking its toll on the two of them as they made their way up a flight of stairs. Frast kept offensive spells at the ready so he could instantly strike any others they approached. Likewise, Randler nocked an arrow and drew his bowstring, hoping his aim would be true enough as he darted upward.
Frast called a halt as they crested the landing. He sent a wave of ice to his left, focusing more on the floor than any living target in the room. Randler peered over the mage’s shoulder and saw a slightly opened doorway from which the growling of beasts could be heard. The ice would cause the poor creatures to stumble as they entered, giving Frast and Randler a chance to subdue them. The ploy worked, though two lupinoes leaped over the icy flooring and stalked Randler angrily.
The bard fired off his arrows at the other beasts first, letting the lupinoes scope out his skills. He had time before the wolf-like creatures would attack. By then, he hoped to have the rest of the horde eliminated. Frast added more ice to keep the creatures stumbling as they tried to stand, but he, too, was wary of the lupinoes.
A cry echoed from behind Randler and he turned reflexively toward the sound. The lupinoes reacted instantly, racing for the bard to slay him in his moment of distraction. However, Kitalla veritably flew up the stairs and intercepted them easily. She had a slightly wild look in her eyes and the lupinoes halted in her presence and then cowered like timid puppies, after which they turned and fled.
“Didn’t think you’d have all the fun yourselves, did you?” she said by way of greeting.
“Kitalla!” Randler gasped with obvious relief. “How we’ve missed you!”
“Never could do anything without me.” She looked at the pile of slain beasts and nodded. “I stand corrected. You have done well, you two. But let’s get to those jades and get lost before the magic here overpowers us.”
Frast nodded and led them toward one of the doorways. He sensed an electrical surge from the entryway and he disarmed it with a defensive shield he summoned up from a fragment of bark. He marveled at the spells he was calling, but only for brief moments, because the next challenge was never far behind.
Kitalla dashed past him and sprinted down the corridor, setting off all manner of rune traps. Light blazed in the room and Frast shielded his eyes until the brilliance dimmed enough to see by. The magical energies had been expelled and Kitalla leaned against the far wall, inspecting her fingernails as if she had been there all evening. Randler chortled as he and Frast jogged to catch up with her.
“We’re almost there,” Frast said needlessly. Both Kitalla and Randler possessed jades that pulsed with the proximity of another shard. Also, though, the next set of mages was ruthless in its defensive strike. Some of these were masters of the arcane arts and they thrived on tugging the energies in unique ways to disable their foes. Kitalla dispatched one of them quickly anyway. The other six ignored the death of their comrade and kept chanting.
Frast detected a protective field in front of the others; a ward they had erected moments too late to save their fellow. Physical attacks weren’t likely to get through the wall and Frast was uncertain how to proceed. He traced the energies swiftly, seeking a hole in the balance, but finding none.
Yet as Frast investigated their defenses, the mages were working insidiously to trace Frast’s own energy patterns. One of the masters was able to follow a keen line and tug on it sharply, which sent Frast tumbling to the ground with a stabbing pain in his side. It was very like the chamber that had harmed him earlier
. He was determined to stand against this torment better than before.
Without delay, Frast withdrew the vial from his pocket that held a vitreous oil and he smashed it to pieces on the floor. He grabbed a shard of glass and sliced his hand with it, tying himself to the piece. The spell he cast was not entirely a defensive spell, but it was similar in some way to the reflective spell Dariak had cast long ago against the healer Elgris back in Kaison. Where Dariak had drawn the energies through himself and cast them back to his attacker, now Frast was using the reflective property of glass to mimic a similar effect. Doing so, he was able to counter the intrusive twinges that hurt so much.
Randler and Kitalla were hardly idle during all this. The thief and bard, their cooperative skills honed after countless battles together, entered a dueling trance that would have impressed the mages if they hadn’t viewed these two as intruders. Kitalla and Randler drew upon the same battle dance and the bard emphasized the beat by striking his mace or boot on the floor when the timing permitted.
The mages themselves were seeking the weaknesses of their enemies and they were calling the energies forth into a concentrated spell that would obliterate the three foes while keeping themselves unscathed. It seemed in some ways that they were chanting to maintain a wall of force, but even Kitalla and Randler could feel the other energies at work. It wasn’t often that mages combined their energies to enact a major incantation such as this, but it wasn’t unheard of either. Indeed, the mages of the Kallisorian army during the War of the Colossus had done the same.
Kitalla realized that she couldn’t directly penetrate the barrier. She also noted that Frast would have a hard time taking down six masters collectively standing against them. But Kitalla knew something that the gathered mages did not know. She possessed a unique skill that no mage had yet been able to produce through any magical means. And so, with Randler’s lead, she danced.
The fire and metal jades called to Kitalla so she pulled them into her hands, where they flared with inner light. Her hands and arms swept sensuously around in the air and her hips cleverly dodged in other directions. She stepped lightly, spinning when the music hit particularly high notes, bending when the tempo slowed. It was a song Randler had sung some nights, and though he only hummed the notes and beat his mace on the stone to keep the rhythm, Kitalla had all the cues she needed.
The Shattered Shards Page 38