Gorm shook his head. “It’s still after Niln.”
“Of course,” said Heraldin. “Why wouldn’t it go for the easiest meal?”
“The easiest meal …” A flash of inspiration struck Gorm. “Heraldin, ye and Gaist get in there and make Niln a bit harder to get hold of. I’ll find our friend some easier targets.”
“Got it!” said Heraldin, sharing a nod with Gaist. The bard charged to intercept the drake, drawing his dagger and rapier. “A bold offense distracts the foe while we launch a clever ploy. It’s the Imperial Offense!”
“What’s the Imperial Offense?” Jynn shouted.
“The most famous opening in thrones,” Heraldin hollered back, running alongside the Stone Drake. His blades flashed in the sunlight as he slashed at the creature’s legs. “I use it all the time.”
“Don’t you usually lose at thrones?” Laruna yelled.
“Huh. I suppose I do,” said Heraldin, and then let out a startled cry as he dodged a swing from the Stone Drake’s mace-like tail. The bard was too off-balance to totally avoid the backswing, and it was only through a feat of luck and dexterity that he managed to leap atop the tail and avoid being clubbed by it.
The Stone Drake skidded to a halt, it’s meaty legs churning up soil as they backpedaled. A growl rumbled in its throat as it turned a beady eye to the bard clinging to its tail.
“Perhaps it looks like I have this under control,” said Heraldin as he tried to climb further up the drake’s tail. “But some help wouldn’t be amiss!”
Then Gaist was there, a black specter gliding over the battlefield. The weaponsmaster darted past the Stone Drake’s face, lashing out with a pair of swords. Twin trails of black blood bloomed amid the yellow and blue paint on the drake’s scales. The drake roared in pain.
Glancing back at the battle, Gorm gave a snort of satisfaction. The beast was well distracted, between the bard on its tail and the weaponsmaster dancing around it. Better still, the Lizardmen were wrapped up in the fight as well, cheering on their scaly deity and hurling unintelligible insults and small stones at its foes.
Gorm knew that the Lizardmen couldn’t have trained the Stone Drake; the Empire of Man spent several centuries trying to tame dragon-kin, and they never managed better than teaching a Sand Drake to sit and roll over before eating its handler. Yet, if the Lizardmen kept the Stone Drake well fed and comfortable, it was entirely possible it would start to see them more or less as scenery.
The trick was to readjust the drake’s perspective.
He located a Lizardman who had strayed too far from the pack, likely distracted by the spectacle of the drake fighting the other heroes. Gorm quickly closed the gap between himself and the spectator and seized the surprised Lizardman’s tail. The creature yipped and hissed in protest as Gorm lifted it above his head and swung it around and around like a bola until the perfect moment came, when he released his grip. The Lizardman sailed in a high arc through the air, screaming and tumbling, until it smacked against the side of the drake’s head and flopped to the ground.
“Bones,” Gorm swore beneath his breath. “Missed.”
He launched another unsuspecting Lizardman, and then another. Both bounced off the distracted drake with no effect. By the fourth attempt, the Lizardmen around Gorm had noticed what was happening, so Gorm had to disarm his ammunition by giving them a good punch or two before hurling them toward the target. It took nine tries, but Gorm finally managed to get a perfect throw over the protests and jabs of the nearby Lizardmen. His hapless missile flew like an arrow into the gaping maw of the Stone Drake.
A tense silence fell over the battlefield. The Lizardmen looked on in anxious confusion as the Stone Drake, initially confused by the assault with a long-range snack, thoughtfully champed on its victim before swallowing it. The dragon-kin cocked its head to the side, smacking its lips as it reflected, and then grabbed one of the dazed Lizardmen that Gorm had bounced off its face and ate that as well.
“What’s happening?” shouted Heraldin, climbing down now that the drake’s tail had fallen still.
“A taste test!” shouted Gorm.
Worried murmurs broke out among the Lizardmen, and a few started inching toward the woods. Perhaps sensing the shift in attitude, a Lizardman bedecked in a priestly array of chicken bones and feathers hopped from the crowd. Boldly scuttling across the tower grounds, the scaly shaman stood before the drake, raised a staff above its head, and launched into an impassioned speech. The drake considered its babbling priest with a lazy eye; then it snapped him up in one bite.
Gorm whooped, and the assembled Lizardmen shrieked, as the priest’s tail slid down the drake’s gullet.
“Reconsiderin’ your religion, eh?” Gorm laughed at a nearby Lizardman. “I’d run if I was ye.”
The Lizardman raised its crest and hissed at him, but it took his advice anyway and scampered off. Many of its companions were experiencing similar crises of faith. By the time the Stone Drake had finished off the last of the dazed Lizardmen Gorm had hurled at it, most of its worshippers had fled. With a hungry roar, the Stone Drake charged at the stragglers, sending them running in search of safer homes and more docile idols.
Kaitha trotted up to Gorm. “Well, that takes care of that,” she said, watching the Stone Drake disappear into the woods.
“Now what?” said Laruna. She and Jynn held a panting Niln between them, Gleebek hopping along at their feet.
Gorm turned to the rubble that had been the tower’s western wall. “Now we finally get to see what them lizards were keepin’ in their tower.”
“Nothing,” said Jynn.
Gorm gave a grim nod. It wasn’t that the tower was empty; it was actually difficult to maneuver through the heaps of offerings and tributes the Lizardmen had set before their god, but the Lizardmen failed to take current market trends into account when choosing their sacrifices. He’d often heard it said that one man’s trash was another’s treasure, but in his experience the opposite was more often the case.
“It’s all garbage,” Heraldin said, kicking at a rusted plow that had been decorated with chicken bones and rat pelts. Lizardmen had hoarded animal skeletons, wooden signs, wagon wheels, smithing tools, hunting knives, and many other mundane trinkets that, while undoubtedly valuable in the realm of reptile spirituality, were completely worthless to professional heroes.
“What’s that?” shrieked Niln, pointing to an eerie amethyst glow near Jynn, emanating from a sphere about a hand’s width in diameter, set atop a black iron frame.
“It’s just an attunement orb,” said Jynn, stepping closer to the sphere. The light grew slightly more intense. “It must have belonged to the omnimancers the Lizardmen displaced. They use it to see which side of magic they’re attuned to.”
The warp and the weft of high magic invisibly alter a person who channels their energies. The more noctomancy or solamancy a mage weaves, the more his or her flesh becomes attuned to that side of sorcery. A benefit of strong attunement is resistance to one’s chosen discipline; Archmagi of the Moon are all but immune to noctomancy, just as solamancy can barely touch Archmagi of the Sun. The downside is a vulnerability to the opposing school of magic, and the fact that each order’s greatest rival wielded their greatest weakness did little to improve relations between solamancers and noctomancers.
Most mages considered attunement spheres more of a nuisance than a tool; Solamancers, for example, don’t need to be shown they’re attuned to solamancy, nor does knowing how susceptible they are to noctomancy make the idea of getting hit by a death spell any more or less attractive. Omnimancers, however, could be ripped apart by the conflicting energies they channeled if too far attuned one way or another, and therefore took a much more active interest in their current level of attunement. The orbs were a telltale sign that the defunct Order of Twilight had found a space to convene.
Jynn gave the orb the derisive sneer that mages everywhere reserved for anything associated with omnimancy. “I’ll find a blanke
t or something to cover it.”
“Why?” asked Niln.
“What’s the commotion?” asked Laruna, rushing into the basement from the upstairs, and the heroes were nearly blinded as the attunement sphere flared with radiant, golden light. Heraldin reeled and nearly fell into the deep tunnel the Stone Drake had burrowed into the cellar.
“It’s an attunement sphere!” snarled Jynn, shielding his eyes.
“Thrice-cursed omnimancers!” cried Laruna, staggering back up the stairs.
Once the heroes could see again, they located an old rug and threw it over the sphere. Gorm took the opportunity to take Niln aside. “Are ye all right?” he asked the high scribe.
The high scribe glanced around the room. “W-why do you ask?” he whispered, when he was sure nobody was listening.
“Well, you’re sweatin’ like an Scribkin cook at an Ogre’s grill, ye ain’t said three sentences since we fought the Lizardmen, and one of the sentences ye did manage was screamin’ in terror at a glass orb with an apprentice’s cantrip. And trust me, I ain’t the only one who’s noticed it.”
“I … I know,” said Niln softly. He deflated as he let out a sigh. “I knew I wasn’t the typical hero when we began this quest, but I always thought that conflict was the crucible of destiny. That once I was baptized in the fires of battle, something deep inside me would awaken.”
“And it wasn’t there.”
Niln winced as though the words stung. “Maybe. The prophecy says an ancient power lies dormant within me, but it seems to be in a deeper sleep than I imagined. Instead of becoming the hero I’m meant to be, I was saved by a squire.”
“Aye,” said Gorm, giving an appreciative glance to where Gleebek lay. The Goblin had saved the other six heroes from the gallows when he pushed Niln out of the Stone Drake’s path, and as a reward, Gorm had granted him all of the edible spoils from the tower. Unfortunately, the spoils lived up to their name, and worse still, Gleebek had a much more liberal definition of “edible” than Gorm had imagined possible. The squire’s feast had been such a disgusting spectacle that the heroes had all made polite excuses and left the room. Now, however, Gleebek had finished his rotten reward, and he was dozing comfortably by a pile of dirty dishes and discarded bones.
“I wanted to fight. I wanted to rise up and lead us to glory. But … we came so close to death, and we sent so many Lizardmen to Mordo Ogg’s gate …” Niln stared into space, watching the memory of flaming Lizardmen fall. “It was horrible.”
“That’s the job,” said Gorm with a shrug. “Find foes, kill ’em, try not to die. Professional heroics in a nutshell. Take it or leave it, ’cause the guild ain’t changin’.”
The high scribe shook his head. “I cannot leave it, though the idea holds more appeal than I care to admit. What it will take to turn me into a hero? How many more horrors will I face before that finally happens?”
“I’d wager ye’ll be seeing a lot more, and a lot worse than ye saw here today,” said Gorm.
“R-really?”
“Aye. Because the Elven Marbles clearly ain’t here.” Gorm looked around the dank, cluttered cellar that was the ruined remains of the Temple of the Stone Drake. “We’re headed to the Myrewood.”
Chapter 10
The head landed in the dust in front of Kaitha, azure light fading from its eyes, it’s clockwork jaw hanging limp in an expression of shock and awe. “Well … fought!” it said.
“Good, Gleebek,” Kaitha said. She took a swig from her flask, grimaced, and kicked the head back to the Goblin.
“Good!” said the Goblin. He pulled his old dagger from the target point on the training golem’s throat, one of several large red spheres sprouting from strategically vulnerable points on the automaton, like crimson fruit on a tree of iron and polished wood.
“You’re almost done with your knife drills,” she said, which meant she was another step closer to not having to play trainer. She took a celebratory drink from her flask.
“Good! Knaf!”
She watched the Goblin set the golem’s head back in its socket and lock it into place. The golem’s gemstone eyes lit up once more. “Hail … mighty warrior!” it said in an ethereal, jilted stammer. “Shall … we duel?”
Kaitha looked across the horizon. Stars lit up, one by one, in the deep blue sky above the orange horizon. Last light would fade soon. “No, we’re done for the night,” she told the golem. Another celebratory drink. “Let’s pack up.”
“Until … next we … meet!” declared the Golem. The automaton bent over, tucked its arms up behind its back, and neatly folded itself into a small box.
Kaitha instructed Gleebek to shove the compact golem into a large satchel. “Where’s Niln?” she asked.
“Kappo bop,” said Gleebek, pointing back toward the campsite.
Kaitha looked. Niln cowered behind his tent, glancing around nervously. “What are you doing?” she hollered to him.
“No, don’t—” the high scribe said, but it was too late.
Niln’s training golem lunged from the other side of the tent, wooden blade in hand. “A-ha … knave! I have … you now,” it intoned, and charged at Niln.
The high scribe raised his staff in feeble defense, but one blow from the golem’s sword knocked the weapon from Niln’s hands. The automaton thrust forward again, and while attempting a desperate dodge, Niln reached out and slapped the training golem across the face.
Whatever spells animated the golem had not prepared it for a slap to the face, and its assault halted in the confusion.
“Did I break it?” asked Niln.
The golem reached out and slapped him across the face as its mimicry enchantments activated.
Niln slapped it in return. Scribe and golem traded another round of smacks, gave each other an incredulous gasp, and launched into a vigorous slap-fight.
“By the gods,” said Kaitha, holding her face in her palm.
“If I could … ack. If I might have some … arg … some assistance?” pleaded Niln, trying to land blows on the golem’s head while craning his own face away from the automaton’s relentless assault.
“Niln, what are you doing?” Kaitha strode into the melee and casually administered a couple of punches to the golem’s weak points. Its left arm and head went sailing across the plains in a rush of steam and wind.
“I was defending myself,” said Niln.
“You don’t defend against training golems,” said Kaitha. “They can’t actually hurt you. They’re for learning to kill.”
The golem’s head finally landed a few yards away. “Ha! A blow … well struck!” it said.
“I-I’ve heard it said that the best offense is a good defense,” said Niln.
“You don’t have a good defense,” said Kaitha. “You can’t use a shield. You can’t deflect a blow. I’d swear you were trying to dodge into your opponent’s strikes. And now you’ve lost a slap-fight to a training golem.”
Niln retrieved the golem’s arm. “I acknowledge that there’s room for improvement,” he said.
“There’s just no foundation for it,” said Kaitha. Gleebek handed her the construct’s erstwhile head. “No training, no martial experience, no combat drills, and we’re only days from the Myrewood. If you think you’re going to be ready for that, then you really have been touched by the All Mother. I mean, not to be insensitive … my family used to say it about me all the time, when I was acting rebellious or … or …”
“Or crazy. Yes, I know,” said Niln, sticking the arm back in its socket. He took the golem’s head from Kaitha and set it in place.
“Hail … mighty warrior,” it said.
“Pack yourself up, please,” said Niln.
The golem cheerfully tucked itself away.
Kaitha couldn’t find words, and given where she’d steered the conversation thus far, she surmised that was for the best. She caught herself scratching at her bracers. She always did that when she needed a potion or two. It’d been days since her last hit
.
Niln hoisted the golem onto his shoulder, and would have fallen over backward had Kaitha not caught him. Together, they returned to their makeshift training circle and started packing the gear away for the night.
“People wonder why we follow a goddess who is so … eccentric,” said Niln.
Kaitha maintained a diplomatic silence.
“The All Mother is lost,” said the high scribe, looking up at the stars. “She yearns for something she cannot name, like a hunger for a food untasted, like a love for someone you’ve never met. She’s been searching for so long that there’s nothing to her but the want and the emptiness. That’s what drove her mad.”
Kaitha could identify with a deep and resonant longing, although she knew that five minutes alone with a knife and a vial of elixir would fix hers.
“We follow her because we feel the same hollowness, the need for something that we cannot name, the call of something we cannot hear. We see that the world is wrong, but we don’t know the solution.”
“And you think Al’Matra will find it?” Kaitha asked.
“She’s the only god who’s searching.”
Kaitha nodded. “Fair enough.”
“You do not seem so different from the All Mother. Not to me.”
Kaitha interrupted him. “Look, a lesson on Al’Matran philosophy is well and good, but don’t go passing judgment on me. You don’t know me.”
“I know you drink until you cannot walk, even when we are to leave early in the morning. I know that this isn’t the first job like that.”
“That’s not … that’s different!”
“Is it?” Niln asked. “Are you sure you don’t miss what you never had, or search for something you cannot name?”
“I know exactly what I want,” snapped Kaitha. “I want my career back.”
“Then why did you take up drink when you had it?” said Niln, pointing at the flask in Kaitha’s hand. “When you were at the pinnacle of the heroics industry, what did you hope to find at the bottom of a bottle?”
Orconomics: A Satire (The Dark Profit Saga Book 1) Page 18