Journeyman Warsmith

by Chris Hollaway

  After arranging his unconscious companion to his satisfaction, and watching her breathe for long enough to ease his mind, Kevon returned to the main room to sit across the table from Carlo.

  “Thank you for seeing to the room,” Kevon commented

  “Well, we need her, right?” Carlo responded, scowling. “I don’t have to like her to know that.” The Blademaster cracked a smile. “Besides, you…”

  “The stables are amazing!” Bertus blurted, rushing in. “Or pastures, or whatever. I think I even heard a stream running in there.”

  The other two warriors stared blankly at their young friend.

  “Oh. How’s Mirsa?” he asked.

  “Resting comfortably,” Kevon answered. “We’ll see how she’s doing in the morning, we can stay here for an extra day or two if we need, until we’re all ready for this.”

  “No chance the three of us could handle it?” Carlo asked, sheathing his sword.

  Kevon frowned. “Even if we could, I’m not comfortable leaving Mirsa here, where she would need to use Earth magic again to leave.” He turned the iron ring around on his finger. “The lessened elemental magic seems to require more control, and I have an… advantage that she does not.”

  “We’re stronger together,” Bertus affirmed. “We always have been.”

  “So we are,” Carlo agreed. “So we are.”

  Chapter 17

  The Journeyman Mage gritted his teeth and expended a substantial amount of magic to force open the exit to the sanctuary where they had spent the last three days. Glad to see even pinpoints of light, as long as they did not come through magically bored shafts, Kevon stared a moment at the yet-dark sky until Bertus shoved him from behind.

  “We’re hurrying today, remember?” the youth chided.

  The days previous had been anything but hurried. Kevon had spent hours wandering the sunken pasture, using earth magic to open slender tunnels to the surface at different angles, so that any daylight above would brighten at least some area of the buried field. Using only his own magic, while keeping the unstable forces surrounding him at bay, had drained him, so he napped frequently, staying near Mirsa’s bed when not walking among the horses. At times he wondered if that was how he had been watched over when he’d had his own extended magically induced sleep.

  Bertus might have, Mirsa still hated me. And Waine would never have let himself be seen that worried…

  Memories of the young Adept Warrior swirled, tracing a path from their meeting at Kevon’s Novice trial in Eastport, back and forth across the Realm, and down the road that lie just ahead, to where Waine’s killer still drew breath. Not for long, he promised himself, taking another look at the sky before continuing up the narrow walkway to the surface.

  He stood near the top of the exit, waiting as Bertus, Carlo, and Mirsa followed into the chilly pre-dawn gloom. After they were all clear, Kevon forced the passageway closed with a combination of Earth, Movement, and Enhancing runes. While not as quiet or artful as a singular Earth rune under better conditions would have been, it was effective, and less taxing than opening the passage had been.

  “Now, we’re sure of the direction?” Kevon asked.

  “Even in the dark, I know the valley,” answered Mirsa. “Four hours brisk walk, that way,” she said, guiding Kevon’s hand in the direction she meant.

  “Carlo,” Kevon began, “If you were set on the proper heading, could you maintain it without seeing even the stars?”

  “Boy, do you mean to ask me if I can march in a straight line?” Carlo complained. “If the Prince’s advisor wasn’t so fond of you…” he harrumphed. “Of course I can.”

  Kevon shook his head, the gesture lost in the night. “I’ve been thinking of something, something that might keep us safe in the darkness, from imps and orcs. I’d like to try it.”

  “More magic,” Carlo muttered. “All right,” the Blademaster signaled after a few moments under Mirsa’s guidance. “Let’s go.”

  Kevon began his spell, reaching for the darkness, and letting the twisted rune form in his mind. When the Dark rune was fully formed, Kevon envisioned a rune of Light, drawing what little help he could from the approaching dawn. After both runes were joined and stabilized, Kevon gave the mental shove that forced the energy into the world to do his bidding.

  A dome of not quite perfect darkness surrounded them. Kevon shifted his focus, and split his concentration enough to call a small globe of light to brighten the interior of the dark shield. He could see the looks of confusion on Carlo and Bertus’s faces, and feel Mirsa probing his work with her Art.

  “Dark enough to ward off orcs,” Mirsa commented, “But light enough to frighten Imps. Impressive.”

  “And not the easiest to maintain,” Kevon griped, rubbing his hands together and drawing his cloak tighter around his shoulders. “Are you going to move?”

  They advanced, following Carlo’s steady gait.

  The Dark rune was not as vile as Kevon remembered it, and Kevon wondered if it was practice, or the fact that the magic was not being used to open a portal to the Dark realm. Nevertheless, after about a dozen minutes, he would gesture, and Mirsa would weave her own energy into the spell, letting Kevon extricate his will from the veil, and regain his composure.

  After about an hour, the forces Kevon drew upon for his spell felt evenly balanced. As tired as he was from maintaining control over the two opposing runes, the wearied Mage was loath to maintain the magic any longer.

  “Dropping the shield,” Kevon cautioned, moments before he let the runes slip from his mind.

  The valley snapped into crisp detail, a welcome change from the flat grayness that had surrounded them for what seemed like hours.

  The half-light of dawn breaking over the twisted vale to the east betrayed no enemies for as far as any of the company could see. And in the distance, shrouded in the still swirling mists of the morning, the tips of the remains of the tower hid to the west, showing their stony horns for an instant before vanishing again.

  The company slowed enough to take full stock of their surroundings before pressing ahead. Their pace quickened, now that their destination was somewhat visible in the distance.

  Before long, the foursome reached what had been the edge of the marshes on the previous trip. Instead, a wide expanse of brittle, sun-bleached refuse clustered around the occasional small, dank puddle.

  An hour of crunchy footfalls later, the sun was well above the horizon, and had burned most of the fog from the ruins of the tower, which had grown sharper and more menacing in the distance.

  “Another hour,” Carlo commented, breaking the quasi-silence as he skirted around another miniature bog. “Any other preparations we may have forgotten?”

  Kevon glanced down at the cinched hood that covered his sword-hilt, keeping him from accidentally draining away all his magic at this extremely important stage of the expedition. “We take it slow and sure,” he answered. “It’s not going anywhere.” The Mage pushed his awareness outward, feeling the numbing loss of the elemental spectrum of magic, probing at it experimentally with his mind. He pictured a Wind rune, but it twisted about, fading and frazzling, and would not take form no matter how he tried.

  He sensed Mirsa forming Enhancement and Aid runes, and then the flickering chaos that his Wind rune had been moments ago. He focused again, and the sigil flared to blurry brilliance as power flowed from both Magi to stabilize it. Wind whipped around the party as the spell, given no particular direction, sputtered and went dark.

  Carlo turned to glare at the Mages as they stared at each other.

  “Did you just!?” Mirsa asked, wide-eyed.

  “I think we can!” Kevon almost shouted. “If we have great enough need for it, we could push through whatever it is that’s blocking our magic. We just needed to try harder, to work together.”

  “A lot of bluster for such a little breeze,” Carlo chuckled. “I’d rather we pushed ahead. I’m anxious to see this Orclord of yours.”

/>   The Warsmith nodded, and struck out again for the tower, the others following as he took the lead from Carlo.

  The party returned to the road as soon as their path crossed it, the general condition of the path was marred only by the occasional washed-out section.

  The sun was an hour or more from its apex by the time the four reached the foot of the broken tower, the still-pristine drawbridge that lay across the moat, now only half-full of debris and fetid water.

  Carlo approached, weapon drawn, as they neared the crumbled walls, the only obstacles large enough to conceal enemies they had approached during their trek. Kevon readied Light and Movement runes, and felt Mirsa do the same. Bertus fitted a bolt into his crossbow, and without words, they advanced into the ruins.

  Little had changed in the time since Kevon and the others had left. More refuse had accumulated, and the unchecked growth of weeds and grasses framed overgrown paths through the rubble. None of the tracks that Kevon could make out from his position behind Carlo looked fresh enough for much concern. It appeared the tower had been largely abandoned.

  “Which way?” Carlo asked, eyes sweeping the compound, neck craning at every rustling of the wind

  The Seeker pointed down a branching path toward the center of the tower, and the group followed the Blademaster through the brush to the head of the sunken stairwell.

  The entrance to the stone staircase had been narrowed by at least half, caked mud and detritus filled the depression that had surrounded the opening, and mounded over it. Some of the formation appeared to have been pushed out from below, as if creatures seeking shelter had needed to force their way back out to the surface.

  The Blademaster shot Kevon a look of disgust, and sheathed his sword. The Warrior drew his dagger, clenched it in his teeth, and climbed into the tunnel, bracing himself with all four limbs.

  Kevon focused energy into his Light rune, and gave the spell a mental shove, forcing a sphere of light into reality. He began following Carlo down the awkward descent, and sent the sphere whizzing past his mentor, to light the way ahead. Mirsa followed, guiding a light of her own, and Bertus followed, more slowly, crossbow still at the ready.

  After a short distance, the passage opened up appreciably, but the stairwell was thick with muck and refuse until the very bottom. From there, the sludge turned to soup, the long hallway was knee-deep in foul-smelling water.

  “Something’s not right…” Mirsa said, stepping tentatively into the lukewarm slurry. “This shouldn’t be…”

  The Mage shifted her Light spell from the free-floating orb before her to the ensconced crystalline orbs lining the hallway. As the light before her went out, the entire length of the passage burst into brilliant clarity.

  “No surprises here, are there?” Carlo half-asked, sloshing forward without waiting for an answer.

  Mirsa concentrated for a moment. “The barrier is still in place…” She frowned, and shook her head. “I don’t know what could have happened.”

  Carlo picked up his pace, and the others scrambled to keep up, the loud splashing of their passage reverberating down the hall precluding further conversation. The commander emerged into the main chamber, and approached the muted glow of the magical shield.

  “Well, looks like he’s drowned, or gone,” Carlo concluded, squinting to look through the veil of light.

  Mirsa shifted her focus from the orbs in the hallway to the ones on the front edge of the chamber, throwing more illumination into the flooded room. Along the right wall, two-thirds of the way to the back of the chamber, strange shadows fell.

  “Part of the side wall…” Kevon began.

  “Is missing.” Mirsa breathed, barely audible over the gentle sloshing. “The Orclord has escaped the cavern, and I cannot sense where this underground stream or tunnels lead. It may have perished, escaped to the surface, or could still be lurking nearby.”

  “Should we check the break in the wall?” Bertus asked. “It may be close enough to see, or get an idea of what may have happened to it,”

  Mirsa nodded. “We should check while we’re here, but be cautious. I don’t remember how the floor slopes in there, it may be deeper, there may be strong currents.”

  The Mage put her hand on the barrier, and the crystalline orbs behind her shone brighter as the magical shield dissolved.

  Kevon’s ears popped as the last scrap of light flickered out before them. A shallow wave from the higher water in the main part of the chamber slapped against his knees, but the breeze that now whistled in from behind them freshened somewhat, bringing only a hint of the foul water that now mixed with the slowly rising currents.

  “Carefully,” Mirsa cautioned again, siphoning light energy from the spheres to call forth a free-floating globe of her own to direct toward the broken wall.

  The four waded slowly toward the gaping fracture, in a staggered line to maintain the best possible view of the area in question. As Carlo neared the opening, he stopped, and motioned for the others to do the same.

  “The currents are getting worse,” the Blademaster rasped a loud whisper over the gurgling of the surrounding waters. “We should turn back.”

  “No!” Mirsa shouted, surging past the others, buoyed by a hastily crafted Movement rune. The Master Mage grasped an outcropping of broken rock where the new tunnel opened. Holding herself aloft with one hand, she screamed in frustration, sending spears of coherent light lancing down the passage into darkness.

  The orbs behind dimmed in pulses, until they darkened completely. One of the crystal structures shattered, releasing the pent-up focal Enchantment, the aura of Light magic a glimmering haze that relit the nearest two intact orbs.

  “Mirsa!” Bertus cried out as the exhausted sorceress slipped into the dusky churn.

  Kevon cleared his mind and focused on his own rune of Movement. He avoided the dull, shadowy Water rune that lurked at the fringes of his mind’s eye, knowing that what little magic he had left would be wasted if his concentration wavered in that direction. Instead, he used three points of force to lift Mirsa to the surface, keeping her low enough to limit the magic he needed to expend, but high enough to remain clear of the currents below.

  The Mage’s limp form skimmed through the gloom, against the outgoing current, until she was close enough for Carlo to grasp by the nape of her cloak

  Kevon refocused his magic to relight the nearest orbs.

  “She’s not breathing!” Carlo called, lifting Mirsa’s unconscious form at an awkward angle to keep her well clear of his weapons.

  “Bring her back to the shallows!” Kevon yelled back, and turned to make his own way back to the flooded entrance.

  Bertus helped the Blademaster tow Mirsa over to where the water was merely waist-deep, to a waiting Kevon.

  “Hold her still,” Kevon cautioned, taking a breath and lowering himself into the tepid gloom.

  The Journeyman Mage closed his eyes and opened his mind as he submerged, gathering power from deep within himself before turning his attention to the darkened Water rune that pried at his awareness. Forcing the mass of accumulated power into the shadowy form, he pushed his consciousness after it as well. His senses occluded as he shepherded the magic across the mental threshold of the rune.

  Time stretched. Within the runic construct, and beyond the barriers that siphoned off the bulk of the stored energy, Kevon was free to guide the remaining Water magic unimpeded. He expanded his awareness, taking care to avoid the shards of hungering darkness that lay submerged nearby. A moment’s examination yielded no trace of the Orclord in the nearby waterways.

  Kevon returned to the situation at hand. He sensed the water choking Mirsa, and drew in magic from nearby to channel the fluids away and out of her throat and lungs. With the force already in motion, Kevon relaxed and drifted up and out of the Water rune.

  Ending the spell was not as simple as Kevon thought. As his focus drifted to the boundary of the rune in his mind’s eye, the darkness surrounding it leeched away the magic th
at he had drawn in from the surrounding water. He drifted closer, and was suddenly afraid of what would happen if he made contact without a protective wrap of energy.

  Kevon reached back down toward the center of the Water rune, grasping for a trickle, a droplet of power to reawaken the magic. Finally, he grasped a small bead of magic, and used it to reach out once more to the surrounding stream, to wrap himself in borrowed magic, and swim back away from the horrific boundary. The frantic Mage pulled layer after layer of energy from his surroundings and cocooned his will until he felt as though he would drown in it. He flicked a tendril of awareness through his defenses to reassess his physical surroundings.

  Mirsa’s lungs had not yet cleared, but a small geyser of water billowed from her mouth in slow-motion. Large bubbles were bursting in the water just in front of her.

  Right where…

  Kevon whisked his focus to his own body, where a jaw that had been tightly clenched when he began sinking now hung slack, agape. Panicking, he rushed magic to force water out of his own body as he had Mirsa’s, wrapped a few more layers of Water magic around himself, and sped at the barrier of the construct as fast as he could manage.

  The Mage lunged out of the water, sputtering the vile water and coughing deeply before daring to take a breath. Mirsa stood nearby, supported by Bertus and Carlo, doing much the same.

  “How…?” she asked, as her breathing steadied. “I felt Water magic, for just a moment…”

  “It’s not something I would recommend,” Kevon answered. “I’d rather not even discuss it until we’re far away from here.”

  Mirsa peered at him for a moment, then nodded. “I’m sorry that I behaved… so rashly,”