“Thank you,” Teacher replied. Dark humor for a dark place. As he followed the barkeep’s instructions, he reflected on the days he had lived as a poor man. There had been days when the accommodations around him might have seemed sumptuous. Well, he thought as he shook something unidentifiable from the toe of his boot, maybe not “sumptuous.”
The “room” was a glorified closet, with a hammock for a bed and no window. Pinpricks of light that streamed through gaps in the wood fell upon a makeshift nightstand that had been cobbled together from salvaged wood. It leaned against one wall and comprised the only furnishing beyond the hammock. The stand supported a single unlit candle in a battered brass tray.
Teacher smiled. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about the lice and mites that infested traditional straw bedding. For what he intended, this place was perfect. All he required was a place to sleep.
Teacher called upon the Shamonrae and willed the arcane power that filled him into a box of unmovable force on the walls, floor, and ceiling of the tiny room. That should hamper any unwanted guests, he thought. Teacher did not bother to disrobe. He simply crawled into the hammock and let his exhaustion finally claim him.
A hammering at the door woke Teacher with a jolt.
“Yer day’s up!” The angry voice of the barkeep was muted by the wooden boards and force wall he had placed, but Teacher could still make out the words. “Ya hear me? Yer day’s up!”
Teacher blinked. The room was pitch black and the low rumble of a crowd could be heard through the unseen walls. He must have slept the entire day.
More pounding came from the door, followed by a scraping noise at the lock. “Ya still in there? I can’t open the door, damn ya!”
A yawn escaped from Teacher’s lips and he stretched mightily in the hammock. He felt good. The fatigue that had threatened to overwhelm him earlier had been reduced to a muted lethargy at the back of his mind. He pushed away the last of his weary thoughts and opened himself to the Shamonrae. Energy flowed through him in a rush, and his skin prickled as his body became invigorated. He willed a small fiery ball of light into existence and lit the candle that sat on the rickety nightstand. He looked around the small room and smiled; nothing had changed.
The thunderous assault on the door came a third time. This time, the barkeep’s shouting voice was somewhat hoarse. “Wake up, ya too-good slacker!” Teacher could hear his muttering on the other side of the door.
Teacher stood and dropped the walls of force that had protected him in his sleep. He went to the door and opened it.
Sounds of drinking, gambling, and coarse laughter rolled over him like a wave. The oily haired barkeep had his fist raised to beat on the door again, but he lowered it with a deep scowl. “Ya took long enough,” he grunted. Two large men stood behind him, filling the narrow hall. Their thick, scarred knuckles and broad shoulders were sure signs of their occupation.
Teacher tilted his head slightly. “My apologies. Thank you for waking me.” He produced another coin. “For your trouble.”
The barkeep’s eyes widened at the sight of another coin and he snatched it from Teacher’s fingers. “Very well, be off with ya.” Without waiting for a reply, the barkeep turned and pushed his two thugs to the side as he stormed down the hall. “Outta my way, ya stupid fools!
Teacher smiled pleasantly at the two men, who gave him resentful stares, as though it were his fault their master was in foul temper. He tapped the power he had drawn in, infusing his limbs with strength and bolstering his sight and hearing. When he followed the oily man, the two shifted to the sides and let him pass. The twin heartbeats sped up slightly as he passed between them, but neither made a grab for him. Perhaps I was wrong, Teacher thought as he left the brawlers behind and took in the sights before him.
The tiny tavern was transformed. Men with hard, calloused hands and rugged faces filled every available space. Women from the brothel across the street prowled through the crowd in search of their next customers. Raised voices, cheers, and catcalls followed the rattle and tumble of dice at many of the slanting tables, and a flautist had been wedged into a remote corner where he was piping out a merry, if off-key melody.
Teacher waded into the crowd and immediately felt the touch of a hand as it brushed his thigh. He turned his head just enough to see one of the whores smiling at him as he passed. Teacher bowed his head in acknowledgement but did not stop. The woman’s touch was but the first of several, but most were not seeking negotiation for his affection. His money pouch was tied securely behind his belt, although it was not the loss of money that concerned him presently. He could feel the eyes of the barkeep’s two men watching him move through the crowd.
The ragged doors creaked as he pushed through them to the outside. The city had come to life while he recovered from his hunt for Rylan. Small groups shambled from one building to the next, singing, in most cases, poorly. Calls of praise for Prince Alexander and his new bride floated to Teacher’s enhanced ears along with more sounds of general celebration from all around him.
“Oy?!” a thick voice called from behind him as he turned into the nearest alley.
Teacher stopped and let out a short breath. So much for being mistaken.
The dull-eyed bruisers from Fisherman’s Harbor approached him at a slow gait. Their hands hung easily at their sides and the larger of the two wore a pleasant smile. At least, it would have been pleasant, if not for the nasty scar along his upper lip, which made it look more like a sneer. “Ya made a right mess in the room back there.” The large man jabbed his callused thumb over his shoulder. “You’ll be needin’ to pay for that.”
Teacher smiled, knowing this had been done before, likely dozens of times. “I believe you are mistaken, friends,” Teacher replied.
A sharp exhalation and a scuff of leather on stone came to his sharpened ears.
Teacher took a giant, leaning step backward while leaving one foot extended.
The filthy man who came charging in from his right rushed by, tripping on Teacher’s outstretched foot. Cursing and stumbling, the thug crashed into a knot of people as they staggered by.
Teacher drew his outstretched foot back, rising to his full height, then he quickly stepped to one side, chopping outward with a flattened hand.
The second attacker stopped cold as the ridge of Teacher’s palm collapsed the cartilage in his throat. The man gagged and fell to his knees, coughing uncontrollably.
Teacher had not taken his eyes from the pair in front of him. “This needn’t go any further, friends. I will count it as a misunderstanding and be on my way.”
Neither of the two brutes seemed to be daunted by the fact that their partners had been so easily laid out. Their hands clenched into fists and they approached Teacher with murder in their eyes. A yell erupted from the struggling knot of people, and the first man who had attacked came charging once more.
Teacher lashed out with his heel as the enraged attacker closed in with hands upraised. The kick connected with the unfortunate man’s crotch, and he joined his weakly struggling companion on the cobblestones.
The pair from the Fisherman’s Harbor charged forward.
Teacher’s hand flicked up and an invisible wall of force sprang into being between him and his attackers.
The two bruisers slammed into the wall with terrific force. Scar-lip hit the wall with his face and he fell backward without even trying to break his fall. His close-cropped hair provided no cushion, and the thud of his skull rebounding from the stones was clearly audible.
The second man’s raised hands collided with the wall first, slowing him just enough that he did not lose consciousness as his face connected with the unseen barrier. He staggered back unsteadily with blood flowing freely from his crushed nose and split lip.
Teacher let the wall dissipate. He rushed over and guided the swaying man to sit on the hard ground next to his incapacitated friends.
“Perhaps,” Teacher said dryly as he stood, “You should take this as a l
esson and find another line of work.”
The bleeding man looked at him stupidly through the mask of pain that dulled his features.
Teacher knelt again to check on the two men who still lay unmoving.
Scar-lip was steadily breathing bubbles through a broken nose, and new gaps decorated the already repulsive smile. Teacher sighed in relief. Respect for life was a core virtue of the Monastery. He was allowed to defend himself, but if he had taken a life, even in self-defense, he would perform a penance.
Teacher moved to check the other tough that now lay facedown on the ground. He turned the body over and twisted his lip at the blue tinge around his attacker’s mouth. Teacher laid two fingers on the man’s throat where the hand strike had collapsed the delicate tissue.
A pulse thumped slowly but erratically; it wouldn’t last long. Teacher’s strike with his enhanced strength had almost been enough to crush the man’s spine. This man would die.
Teacher reached within himself once more and touched his stored energy. Healing was not his best talent, but he thought he had enough skill for this. The powers of the Shamonrae flowed through him and into the broken tissues of the man’s throat. Teacher directed the magic as it partially repaired the tissue that his blow had crushed.
The blue faded from the man’s lips as air once again began to whistle into and out of his chest. The man’s voice would likely never sound the same again, but perhaps it was appropriate that he pay some price for the violence he had tried to perpetrate tonight.
Teacher stood and moved deeper into the alley. Good enough, he thought after turning a bend, leaving the men and their bruises behind. It was finally time to find Rylan.
He focused inward again. This time, however, his intent was different. He pictured himself as transparent as a clear pane of glass. His skin shimmered for a moment and he smiled as he held a hand before him and looked directly through it to the rough-hewn wall beyond. His flesh was now completely invisible. Teacher turned his attention to his clothes, which hung in the air, empty to any eye that might chance upon him. The body was easy, in comparison to the fabric and metals that were draped about him. Mastering one’s own body was the first thing an acolyte must do, and it was accomplished in part by an intimate knowledge of self. Changing the body’s state became second nature to most initiates, or they did not move forward.
The clothes flickered then faded to transparency. Teacher redirected the power he wielded to lift him above the rooftops.
Teacher opened his mind to the essence of the young girl he had followed through the fringes of insanity. In some ways, her presence had been easier to follow in Dausos. All things beyond the veil were so alien that once he had locked his mind onto her vibrant life force, it had stood out like a beacon in the void. Here, life thrummed powerfully on all sides, but still, the feeling of her soul had been burned into him by days of pursuit. He would likely never forget this young woman. Teacher fixed Rylan’s direction in his mind and flew toward Terrandal.
His pulse began to quicken as he flew closer to the giant tree. Questions he had set aside in his quest through Dausos surfaced and nagged at him now. Whoever had taken the girl was obviously skilled in the use of the Shamonrae. This posed its own set of questions, as practitioners beyond the walls of the Monastery were rare, and figures of power were rarer still. Most of those in existence came from the savage lands or farther south in Skelris. None he had ever heard tell of wielded such control as he had seen apparent in the manipulation of the Dausos minions.
Rylan’s essence reached out to him from directly below. A courtyard full of people celebrating the royal wedding opened below him, nestled between two roots of Terrandal. Cobblestone paving had been set in patterns that reflected the shape of the massive, twisting roots, creating rivers of night-muted colors on the ground below the celebrants’ boots.
Teacher settled to the ground, unseen by the cheerful throngs. He sensed that Rylan was somewhere deep within the stones below his feet. A quick look about showed him no openings that might provide a path into the earth. Rylan’s nearness made him anxious. The girl was too close for him to be reserved now. He took a deep breath and drew upon his stores of power once more. This time, he willed his flesh into a ghost-like state.
The effort shook him. Teacher had to concentrate to keep himself from being blown apart by even the most gentle of breezes. Eos preserve me, he thought as he battled to hold himself together.
Teacher quickly slipped below the earth, focusing on his sense of Rylan to draw him down like a lodestone. The vibrations of the celebrants above ceased within moments as he plummeted through solid rock into the bowels of the island.
A moment of panic seized him as the cobbles slid past his face and he dropped into absolute blackness. The silence of the earth surrounding him made him want to scream and claw his way back to the surface. He could feel nothing. He could hear nothing. There were no smells or tastes to convince him he was alive at all. Rylan’s call and his absolute grip on himself became his only reality.
Suddenly, the darkness gave way to soft greenish light, and the earth surrendered him to an open cavern. It was with unreserved joy that Teacher willed himself back to solidity and dropped the last few feet to land solidly on a rough stone floor. Cool, clammy air surrounded him, and he realized with some chagrin that he had not transformed his clothing to make this part of the journey.
A rattling hiss jerked his attention away from himself and was joined by several others moments later.
The mage spun in place to face the unearthly noise and sent the Shamonrae to course through his bare limbs.
Four nightmares borne of Dausos surged from the gloom of the far reaches of the cavern. Sickly white bodies the size of young tundra mammoths moved at a lightning pace across the stone floor toward Teacher. Dozens of jointed legs propelled each of the four monsters as if they were weightless.
Teacher brought his arms up before him, palms facing inward and fingers extended toward the roof. Arcane power lanced from his fingertips into the fissures of stone above the creatures. With a shout and a surge of power, he yanked his hands down, and tons of fractured earth crashed down upon his enemies.
Two of the beasts were crushed below the boulders and debris. Ichor and shards of carapace flew into the air as the force of the falling rock pulverized the bodies. The remaining pair had leapt to the sides and skittered forward with their spiked legs chewing up the distance at a horrifying pace.
One of the ghastly creatures leapt for him, and Teacher ducked under its reaching arms, allowing it to sail by. The second rushed forward and attacked with several limbs, thrusting them toward him like spears.
Teacher brought up an invisible wall of force behind him while dodging the savage attacks of the monster before him. Power from the Shamonrae suffusing his body allowed him to match his assailant’s unearthly speed. None of the horrific hooked limbs had torn his flesh—yet.
Teacher gave a vicious snarl of his own as he dodged attack after attack. He had only moments before the thing behind him would join the fight. Rolling away from another assault, Teacher came up to one knee and slammed his fist onto the cavern floor.
Power flowed out from him in a rush and fractured the rock below the aberration. Many of the disjointed limbs lost their purchase and the thing stumbled.
Teacher pitched himself forward into a roll and he came to a stop directly below the heaving, spike-covered belly. He thrust both palms forward, releasing a blast of raw force into the slime-covered body.
The monster shrieked as it flew through the air and crashed into the ceiling above. Chunks of exoskeleton and ichor rained down on Teacher and the ground around him.
With a quick wave, he summoned a shield of power into a dome around himself.
A wet thud drummed off the dome as the fourth creature bounced away, chittering and screaming. The shield blazed with sparks and then collapsed.
Sweat poured from Teacher and he breathed in ragged gasps. Too tired, he tho
ught. Days without sufficient rest and the trek from the surface had taken their toll. Even the twelve hours of sleep he had allowed himself had been insufficient to prepare him for this.
He staggered to his feet and spun in place to face the final abomination.
The pale, insectoid monster hissed in rage and launched itself at Teacher. Clawed legs whirled and reached in lethal unison. A gaping maw in the forebody of the creature was filled with gnashing teeth, like a forest of crooked spears. The snapping jaws would grind his flesh easily if the legs had a chance to force him in.
Teacher touched the tips of his index fingers together, willing arcane power into each. Warmth spread through his hands and where his fingers touched, a brilliant pinprick of light formed.
The monster’s spear-like legs closed in on him.
He stretched his hands apart, creating a razor-thin rope of pale blue light that bridged two fingers of each hand. Holding them forward, Teacher braced himself for the creature’s assault.
The first attacks came at his chest.
Teacher swung his arms across his body at the last possible moment and the pale blue light cut cleanly through the limbs, sending them flying away, trailing ropes of black alien blood. The shadow creature reared away from him, keening in pain and rage. Black ichor spurted from the stumps that remained, painting Teacher and the floor with gore.
The thing hissed and came again, legs flashing with the ferocity of a hurricane. Teacher spun and leapt, dodging and slicing with his blue razor. The two circled and danced in a primal dance of life and death.
Teacher surrendered himself entirely to the dance, and his mind and body moved as one. He ducked below a swiping attack and came up just before the snapping maw. He swept both arms up with his hands spread wide and sliced into the creature.
The monster’s “head” flew away in a spray of black fluid, and its body staggered momentarily before collapsing in a quivering mass.
As the urgency of the hand-to-hand combat faded, Teacher’s growing fatigue threatened to overtake him. He stumbled away from the twitching creature and settled to the floor, pulling his legs into a cross-legged position.
Dark Fate: The Gathering (The Dark Fate Chronicles Book 1) Page 47