“You done here?” Every time Erinaeus heard that tone, he had to restrain himself from roasting the diminutive man right there.
“I am.” He waved his hand with a flourish over to the prone Lian, still staring into space at the wizard’s side.
“What did you do to him?” Elrik, completely missing the annoyed undertone of Erinaeus’s reply, scurried over to the merchant’s side. Erinaeus had to remind himself of the benefits of leaving him alive. He moved aside, as much to allow his fellow wizard to inspect Lian as to be away from him.
“It’s a little spell I concocted.” Erinaeus allowed himself to inject a little pride in his voice. “An illusion spell that forces the recipient to relive his own death in his mind, over and over again. What better way to kill a man more than once?” It truly was a work of art. The complications of a spell that involved warping the mind and then keep it enthralled were very painstaking.
The bald wizard’s brown eyes grew wide with respect and, Erinaeus noted approvingly, a twinge of panic. He tolerated the small wizard for a few minutes, watching the man wave his hands comically in front of Lian in an attempt to garner the spell struck merchant’s attention.
Erinaeus noted that his cohort seemed a bit worse for the wear, there were burn spots along the man’s dark red robes, and the slight smell of sulfur permeated the musky tang of cigars the room had acquired. He even noticed a thin trickle of blood running from the smaller guy’s hand, which would explain why the normally left handed wizard was using his other appendage as he investigated Erinaeus’s handiwork.
Finally, Erinaeus had enough. “So, since you are here, I’m to assume the dwarf is dead?”
The small wizard nodded, becoming very interested suddenly with the merchant. Erinaeus didn’t have time to deal with slowly coaxing the small wizard into spitting out what was bothering him.
One second Elrik was watching the now twitching face of Lian, the next he was staring at the eerie pulsing eye of Erinaeus, held by the throat tightly against the wall. He hadn’t even seen the wizard move, even though he had been watching Erinaeus out of the corner of his own eye.
“Is the dwarf dead?” The hoarse voice of Erinaeus left little doubt at what the wizard would do if the answer wasn’t satisfactory.
Elrik’s eyes flickered around, looking for an escape route, and Erinaus could feel the rapidly beating heart against his arm. He had already dipped into his own nether sight, for he could see the man was scared. And when a man was this frightened, there is no telling what he would do.
All he was greeted to was the chaotic swirl of disturbed nether around the two men; most likely from the spell he cast on the merchant. There was no gathering of energy by the mousy wizard, and Erinaeus couldn't help but to feel a bit disappointed. It would have been a fine excuse to kill him and explain it to the council as insubordination.
"He’s dead!" The man practically squeaked, his feet flailing as he struggled to keep himself from choking. Erinaeus allowed himself a few extra moments to enjoy watching him squirm before he released him. He fell from Erinaeus’s grasp, gasping for breath, hunched over the cold wooden floor. The smell of power was intoxicating, and Erinaeus resolved to do this more. "There was one minor problem. . . " Elrik stammered between coughs. He visibly shrunk as Erinaeus took a step toward him.
"And that is. . . ?" The wizard's hand started to glow, green flame like energy licking the edge of his sleeves. "You know Elrik, I did invent another spell, I've been dying to try it out. . . "
Elrik gulped, pushing himself even further against the wall than he already was, his red robes tearing a bit at the hem in his haste to get as far away as possible. It was a pitiful sight. "S-six d-d-dead Inquisitors, sir."
So stunned was Erinaeus that the flames that had been dancing in his hand were snuffed out, completely forgotten along with the diminutive wizard in front of him.
Six? How?
Inquisitors were trained to operate in squads of four, and the expedition to assassinate Antaigne was done by two full squads. Inquisitors were generally a skilled lot, handpicked by the head of the Academy for the sole purpose of enforcing the laws set forth by the institution.
They were not a group to be trifled with, well known for operating with a military like efficiency; even Erinaeus would have had trouble with two squads of them. His eyes flickered back to the condition of his fellow wizard, realization dawning.
"You and Dahna were there?" he whispered. Elrik nodded his affirmation, using the respite to pick himself warily off the floor. "What of the merchant's son?"
"Uhhhh. . . we didn't see him. If he was in the dwarf's cottage, he died, no doubt about it." Elrik gulped nervously, licking his lips. "Tell you the truth, we kinda. . . uhhh. . . forgot about him." He let go a huge sigh of relief when Erinaeus just shrugged in response.
Erinaeus was too busy being impressed with Antaigne to worry about Marcius, as much as he hated to admit. Not only did the dwarf manage to severely damage two squads, but he held off two powerful wizards in their own right.
He was starting to think it was a good thing they decided to eliminate the dwarf first. Someone of that power may have caught wind of what they were doing if they had gone after the other targets first.
It was only Elrik's connections within the Academy that allowed them to "borrow" the services in the first place. Erinaeus doubted Denician would appreciate finding six dead Inquisitors, nor the fact that the activities they were killed in were unsanctioned by the Academy.
He had to do damage control. He would just keep an eye and an ear open for news about the merchant's son. It was a loose end he could tie up later.
His musings were interrupted by yet another visitor, the sharp crack of a gate spell once again invading the quiet study. Both Erinaeus and Elrik turned to regard the newcomer, a framed shadow against the window.
Dahna wore a light black, almost gray, robe this time. She also eschewed the cover cowls that Elrik and Erinaeus both sported, instead opting to allow her fiery red hair to run free, cascading down to reach the small of her back. Her face would have been considered beautiful, with her sharp, piercing green eyes and a sensual mouth that seemed to skirt the boundaries of a frown and smile, had it not been for the cruel and twisted scar that ran down the side of her face, gently overlapping the edge of her lip.
Even as marred as she was, she had a definite presence in the room. Her force of will hung about in the air, something Erinaeus grudgingly admired. Here was a person he couldn't bully like Elrik; he had to treat this one very carefully.
"I assume Elrik told you about the slight problem we had with the dwarf?" she asked, addressing Erinaeus. Blunt and to the point, Erinaeus nodded. He couldn't help but wonder if Dahna had deliberately sent Elrik as the bearer of bad news as an indirect way of amusing herself.
That seemed to satisfy her; apparently just noticing Lian, she sidled up to the merchant's side, curiosity framing every step. After a few moments of inspection, her eye turned to Erinaeus, the question evident in her face.
He explained it to her, how the spell dug through the very depths of the merchant's mind, finding new and unique ways to kill him, all from Lian's deepest and most secret fears. A death that was only real in the man's mind, an illusion that only Lian could experience, over and over again until the spell's energies finally played themselves out.
"How long until the spell runs its course?" Erinaeus smiled, leave it to Dahna to cut right to the heart of a mystery.
"This man is one of strong will and mind. I give him about two hours before his mind crumbles." Erinaeus started casting the sigils for a gate, his fingers worked with meticulous precision through the complicated motions. Time was of the essence, after all, and he had dallied here long enough. His body started to tingle as the icy grip of the spell took hold, Dahna's eyes narrowed into slits, causing her scar to twist nastily.
"You didn't answer my question." Once again, Erinaeus applauded the fiery wizard's intelligence.
&nbs
p; He was already becoming transparent as the spell began to take effect, the edges of him being eaten away by an invisible wind. Any moment now, and he would be gone.
As the lower half of him slowly eroded, he looked directly into Dahna's green orbs, his glowing crimson eye the only thing visible as usual. "About. . . eighteen. . . hours. . . " The last half of the message eaten by the sharp snap of the spell going off abruptly, and then he was gone.
"Eighteen hours. . . " Dahna mouthed, wincing a bit as Lian gave a particularly violent jolt in his chair, his knuckles still white from the force of gripping the arm rests and sweat poured from his face. The worst part was that the merchant's expression never changed, so deeply was he caught in the webs of the spell. Dahna almost felt sorry for the man.
No matter, it wasn't her business.
She, too, began the gate sigils, not wanting to be around the handiwork of the vengeful wizard any longer than necessary. It made her feel unclean, as if she was bearing witness to some tryst between lovers. She ignored Elrik, as usual. The man disgusted her with his constant posturing and cowardice. A moment later, Elrik followed suit, trying in vain to complete the hand motions with some modicum of dignity. He failed in Dahna's eyes.
Lian was alone. He slowly slid off the chair, joining the pool of alcohol and stomach fluid that had gathered on the floor. His only witness was the statue of Avalene, their stares equally blank in the other’s eyes.
Chapter 09
Jared's leather scabbard gently slapped the side of his leg as he ran, his heavy breathing and hard footsteps on the forest floor filled his ears and the scraggly branches scratched at his face as he raced down the path, sword in hand. Gradually the thick forest began to lessen, and the light that broke through the thick forest canopy slowly increased. Jared could see his destination ahead of him, and the acidic smell of sulfur got stronger as he got closer.
He finally broke into the clearing, skidding to a stop as the scene overwhelmed him. Devastation. It was the only word that he could use to describe it. Jared wasn't entirely sure what Antaigne's place was supposed to look like, but he doubted the craters that littered the landscape, rubble, and smoking wreckage that used to be what he assumed was a cottage, was part of the normal decor.
Please, Marcius. . . be alive. . .
Numbly, he began to slowly tread around; taking care to avoid the few piles of debris still on fire. Books, papers, and other paraphernalia were strewn about indiscriminately, bringing a strange semblance of order within the turmoil. Gingerly, he searched for any sign of his friend or the dwarven wizard, each step came with the trepidation of what, or who, he might find waiting for him. His natural instinct was to hide. The person, or people, that did this could still be around, and judging by the aftermath, there probably wasn't much he could do about it. The sword in his hand seemed so pitifully small in the wake of such raw, bared power!
But, as his father was adept at pointing out, logic very rarely played a hand in Jared's decision making. A friend was potentially in danger, and despite the slight wobble in his steps, he was determined to get to the bottom of it. After all, how could a future adventurer carve his niche in history if he couldn't even help out a friend?
Each second that passed, his heart plummeted deeper. His dream was slipping away right before his eyes and there was naught he could do about it. His hands reflexively grasped the book in his tunic, seeking solace. Briefly he wondered what his father would think of his son searching through a wizard's property. The irony was not lost on him and brought some much needed levity to the situation.
He was nearing the completion of his third time around the clearing, beginning to feel the tugs of hopelessness slowly drag him down, when a slight movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. It came from behind a heavy slab of roofing leaning against the remains of what seemed to be a fireplace. Jared could easily see how he might have missed something from that angle. Foot over foot, he crept closer, nerves on edge. Gradually, he started to make out a crop of muddy brown hair. It was something he would have recognized in the darkest of nights. "Marcius!" he yelled, dropping his sword to the ground and leaning against the slab, attempting to push it off his friend.
No amount of preparation could have readied Jared for the sight that greeted him when the heavy chunk of roofing was finally moved. Instead of his friend being hurt, as he feared, physically he seemed okay. There were a few minor scratches and cuts, but nothing serious that he could immediately see. It was nothing less than a miracle.
What he didn't account for was the blank stare that greeted him. Marcius had a silver lion's head in his hand, the eyes were jeweled and, if he hadn't known better, it looked like it was decapitated. Jared assumed it must have been some decoration that belonged with the cottage. Rocking back and forth, Marcius just kept mumbling incoherently.
"Marcius." He put his arm gently around his friend's shoulder. "Are you okay? What happened here?" His priority was to get his friend talking, obviously he was in shock and Jared hated seeing him like this.
One could not have a sheriff as a father without picking up a few bad habits. Jared’s honor demanded to get whoever back for doing this to his friend, but first he needed information.
Of course he wasn't entirely sure how he could do that, considering the devastation caused. The idea was probably out of his league, and for all he knew, it could just have been a faulty magic spell or something. But that was something he could worry about when he crossed that bridge.
"He's dead, he's dead, he's dead. . . " Marcius kept whispering his mantra, slowly rubbing the one remaining deep crimson inlaid ruby eye of the lion. He completely ignored Jared.
Jared sighed, squeezing the bridge of his nose. He had watched his father handle situations like this before, back when a tribe of oggrons were attacking local surrounding farmsteads and villages. It had been rather commonplace to see, but the Bloodhound's methods weren't pretty.
Jared really didn't see any other option though, every minute that passed was one wasted. Goddess, forgive me. . . Without another thought, he punched Marcius as hard as could. His friend flew face first into the dirt, the lion head dropping to the ground with a dull thud. He had put all his weight behind the strike, and his hand stung as a result.
For a second, it didn't seem as if it worked. Marcius just lay there, unmoving. Perhaps he hit him too hard? With a roar, Marcius suddenly jumped to his feet, tackling Jared, knocking the wind out of the swordsman. They went careening to the ground, a tangle of arms and legs, each trying to get the upper hand in the ensuing scuffle. The tempo shifted frequently, but as quickly as it started, it had stopped. The participants lay next to each other, gasping for air and waiting for the rush of adrenaline to slowly ebb away.
"Thanks. . . Jared. . . I needed that."
"No problem. . . you were not yourself." Jared looked up at the sky, the peacefulness of the ruined clearing at odds with what had just occurred.
He brought a hand up to his left eye at that thought and grimaced. Marcius had clipped him good with a right hook, causing it to already start closing. He would most likely have a black eye for a while. A small price to pay for getting his best friend speaking again, he figured. "So. . . care to tell me what happened?"
At first, nothing but silence greeted him, and Jared was afraid the question might relapse his friend. Glancing out of the side of his good eye, he noticed, with a sigh of relief, Marcius wore not that blank stare, but seemed deep in thought, as if he was searching for words that escaped his grasp. "I'm not entirely sure. . . " He finally admitted, pushing himself to sit against the wall where Jared quickly joined him. "Well, not sure except the fact that my Master is dead. I can feel that much."
Jared watched as the lanky Marcius stood and picked up the lion's head that had been discarded on the ground during the fight. He, again, began to gently rub the deep ruby eye. A look of extreme sadness graced his features for just a moment, so quick was it, that Jared was not sure he had seen a
nything at all. Marcius turned and looked straight at Jared, his eyes misty and glazed over, "Do you know what it is like to have your entire world turned upside down within the span of a single day?" he asked in a quiet whisper; a plain inquiry, but the weight of it was immense.
Jared was at loss for words to that simple question. He had a taste of it. Only half an hour before, he was wishing for an adventure and wondering what the very person standing before him was up to, only to have fate unceremoniously dump it on his lap. But to have it put so bluntly, his friend could not have had a greater effect on the swordsman if he had belted him with a blacksmith hammer!
He understood far more keenly than his friend could ever realize. His own dream was etched into his will, the urge to be recognized, to be needed, and respected. He responded in the only way he knew how, by not saying anything at all. What, really, could he say that wouldn't sound contrived and placating?
Seconds became minutes as they waited, content in the memories and turmoil within their own worlds, but safe in the company of each other. Both loathed starting the journey of piecing things together, because that meant accepting whatever just happened. It was Marcius who broke the silence first. "Faerril!" it was a cry of one who had just found a long lost friend-or perhaps lost one.
Who, or what, is Faerril? Before Jared could even ask, his friend bolted off as if guided by an unseen hand, with a confused Jared in close company. Past the burning wreckage they ran, and each step was a bit faster than the last. Marcius ran as if his life depended on it.
I t didn't take them long to move past the clearing, leaving the devastation behind for the quiet, but just as deadly, Fae’lorea forest. As they delved deeper, Jared could see that he missed this part in his initial inspection, for it was hidden from the view of Antaigne's ruined cottage. It seemed as if the fight, or whatever it was, must have extended into the forest itself. Here the destruction was different, but just as all encompassing.
A Dead God's Tear (The Netherwalker Trilogy) Page 13