Journeyman Warsmith

by Chris Hollaway

  The darkened Water rune loomed large in Kevon’s mind, pulsing larger and hungrier as the waves lapped against his waist. It was as if the waiting magic was daring him to brave its depths once again. Shivering, Kevon spoke up. “We need to leave here, now…”

  The dimmed Water rune slammed into Kevon’s consciousness as the Mage swept his gaze across the room. “Wait,” he gasped, fixing his eyes on one of the points toward the middle of the chamber where the sensation seemed strongest. Kevon sloshed out into the center of the room, until he could feel the presence of the shadowed rune close to his feet.

  Drawing focus from one of the orbs near his companions, Kevon directed a cone of light downward toward the source of his apprehension.

  A fragment of the shattered stone arch lay less than a pace from where Kevon stood. Leaning closer, the Mage half-saw, half-felt the runes carved and empowered in the smooth rock. Elemental runes linked with Concealment, and another rune that Kevon did not recognize curved along the face of the broken portal stone. The dark, devouring images that swam through his mind seemed to be coming from the broken edges, where some of the runes were incomplete. Kevon focused on the unfamiliar rune, fixed it in his mind without giving it any power, and returned to his friends.

  “I have a few questions about magic to ask you later,” Kevon said as he passed by Mirsa, taking the lead as he waded out of the chamber. “For now, I just want to leave this place.”

  “What of the Orclord?” Mirsa cried after him.

  “It is not here, nor is it as far as this water reaches,” Kevon replied over his shoulder. “Let us hope it has not escaped.”

  Chapter 18

  The aura of Light that diffused up the stairwell wavered, and Kevon shifted his attention to stabilize it, focusing on the orb down the hallway that he was filtering the power through. The ensconced crystal flickered, lighting of its own accord from the barest leakage of magic.

  His companions lay arrayed on the stone landing below him, shaded from the majority of his Light spell, which he had been maintaining for the last two hours. The Mage watched Mirsa slumbering peacefully, and wondered if his strength would hold until dawn, if he should wake her for her shift maintaining a light bright enough to discourage the creatures of darkness. His concentration flagged again, the exertions of the afternoon weighing down, pressing him into weariness.

  Half an hour later, Kevon gently shook Mirsa awake, unable to keep the spell steady enough to feel comfortable that the light would deter unwanted visitors. Dark circles under the Master Mage’s eyes, and an unfamiliar crease in her forehead spoke the volumes her cheerful response did not.

  The remaining hours before the outside world brightened were strewn with horrific memories of the things he had witnessed in the years since leaving home. Kevon’s fragile snatches of sleep were punctuated with twisted visions of events that had never even happened. Sometimes it was Waine dying at the hands of the Orclord, sometimes himself or Mirsa. Variations of the battle that took place just outside ended with the Mage Pholos stabbing Kevon in the back with a knife, instead of Kevon slaying Gurlin in the same fashion. Marelle lay bound in the hideout far to the north where Kevon had rescued Carlo, brigands looming over with filthy, reaching hands. The darkness between the fragments of dreams swam with warped faces and chitinous limbs.

  “Kevon.”

  The Seeker found himself shook to wakefulness, a small share of stale bread and cold dry fish thrust into his hands.

  “We need to leave,” Mirsa said, lowering the light levels once she saw everyone had finished with their provisions and secured their belongings. “There is nothing here for us, we can hope the Orclord has perished below, but I will convince the Prince to build a garrison here nevertheless.”

  “It would strike at the heart of this blight of darkness, even a small force of competent men,” Carlo agreed, turning and starting up the stairway.

  Chaos erupted as the party neared the surface. Carlo rounded the last corner into the faint natural light of the morning, the rasp of his blade winning free of its sheath in the cramped passage mingling with his strangled battle cry.

  Kevon leapt into the corner as the Blademaster charged forward, Light magic gathered, and a Movement rune readied as he strained to ignore the corrupted Earth sigil that threatened to overwhelm him as he worked other magic.

  Kevon made out the figures of an orcish female and at least two of the smaller child scouts scrambling back toward the entrance, shrieking with panic. He dropped his concentration so that he could follow Carlo up the litter-strewn stairs at best possible speed. He burst out into the full light of morning, nearly colliding with the Blademaster before stopping to squint.

  “Where did they go?” Kevon asked, peering around for a few moments before following Carlo’s gaze toward the west, to where the rubble of the broken tower was piled deepest.

  The ground quivered, a nearby puddle scattering waves of light as the rings on the surface crisscrossed and interlaced.

  The female orc and three scouts broke from the rubble pile, the younger ones squealing in terror, ushered forward to the north by the older, agitated female.

  Kevon started after them, but Carlo held out a restraining arm as the Mage tried to rush past.

  “No,” Carlo growled, eyes locked on the still-shimmering puddle. “Back down the stairs!”

  Kevon turned and rushed to the stairwell, motioning for Bertus to turn back. As he closed the distance on his return to the downward passage, the Seeker saw movement looming above the broken walls to the west.

  Carlo charged down after Kevon, nearly crashing into him and Bertus. Mirsa stood further down the stairs, ready to descend if needed.

  “We found it,” the Blademaster commented wryly, “Now how do we kill it?”

  Kevon shook his head, edging closer to the entrance to peer out. “It was going to be difficult enough with the beast trapped underground, behind a magical shield. With it roaming free…”

  “We have to kill it before it moves on,” Bertus said, checking his crossbow over, counting his ammunition. “North to Kron, endangers the food supply. East to the Inner Cities, it would eventually be stopped, but after how many more were killed? And if it turns south…”

  Carlo nodded slowly. “If it were allowed to break through the southern frontier, rally the orcs in the Barrens… It would take all the force we could gather to bring them down.”

  The Blademaster sighed. “And I don’t know that the peace treaties are sturdy enough to survive the full commitment of our forces to the southern border.”

  “Are we going to stand here discussing politics,” Mirsa snapped, “Or are we going to act?”

  Carlo crept back up to where Kevon was still scanning in the direction the Orclord had gone.

  “Has it…”

  Grotesque laughter warbled through the ruins, and the Warriors turned and saw the beast through the broken remains of the tower. Not too distant from the boundary of the debris-filled moat, the gigantic Orc hoisted its prize, one of the scouts that had fled from the stairway moments earlier. Shrill cries rang out above the deep laughter, but both silenced as the bull stuffed the younger orc into his mouth and began chewing.

  “Left?” Kevon finished Carlo’s question. “Not yet.” The Warrior-Mage craned his neck higher, trying to get a better angle to survey the ground around the Orclord. “I don’t know if he’s finished, or just getting started, though.”

  “We need to move.” Mirsa whispered, creeping past them, circling wide around Carlo and his weaponry. “We are at a grave disadvantage here. If we could only lure it far enough away to where our magic is not constrained…”

  Kevon stood upright, eyes gleaming. “Run,” he said calmly, pointing to the southeast, away from the Orclord, back the direction they had come from. “I’ll bring him along after you.”

  Chapter 19

  “Illusion may not fool it this time,” Mirsa whispered as she passed Kevon, hurrying to follow Carlo away from the Or
clord.

  Kevon nodded, and winked at Bertus as the boy passed him, never taking his eyes off the behemoth in the distance. “I have a few ideas,” he chuckled.

  The Seeker watched as the Orc devoured two more of its smaller brethren, then chanced a backward glance to see how far his friends had retreated.

  They’re not moving as quickly as I’d hoped, he thought, turning his gaze back to his giant foe. Perhaps it will take a nap.

  As if in response, the Orclord yawned, scratched itself, and glanced about slowly. It’s sleepy gaze locked on Kevon.

  Kevon threw up an obscuring haze, drawing the Illusion Enchanted rod from inside his tunic. The spell, focused through the short staff, was nearly effortless, and would buy the Mage precious time to think.

  The orc swiveled his field of vision about, searching for where Kevon could have gone.

  He’s going to spot them.

  Kevon sprinted off toward his friends, maintaining the wrap of illusory waves around him, while sending a crude representation of himself running down the stairs to disappear.

  The Orclord roared, and began running, its frantic pace shaking the ground more violently than before. It crashed through part of the dilapidated outer wall, sending large chunks of stone debris flying, some landing yards ahead of Kevon.

  The Mage chanced a backward glance, in time to see the gigantic orc sprawl, one foot kicking out and almost hitting him, raising a cloud of dust as the Orclord jammed its arm down the stairwell.

  The dust cloud enveloped Kevon, complicating his Illusion, sending brown sparkles across his concentration, as well as his vision. Distracted, he choked on a dust-laden breath, and coughed.

  The Orclord’s frustrated rumblings quieted, and its meaty arm rasped free of the stairwell.

  Kevon wrapped himself in an envelope of silence, frustrated that he had not done so sooner. He then duplicated the veil and the aura of silence around his friends for a few moments, then dropped it. After repeating it once more, Mirsa understood, and raised wards of her own. Less organized, Kevon thought, but serviceable.

  The Orclord knew something was happening, and the general direction. It advanced haltingly, but its size allowed it to catch up while stopping every few steps to look, listen, and smell.

  If this continues, we lose. Kevon realized. He was not tired from his brief sprint, but Mirsa could not maintain the pace they would need to keep eluding the beast, and without access to Wind magic to mask their scents, the Orclord would surely find them before long. Might as well try something different.

  Kevon whirled around to face the gargantuan Orc, drawing forth the Movement rod that he’d had stored with the Illusion rod he was focusing his spells through now. The Warrior-Mage backpedaled, allowing his Illusions to fragment enough to draw the Orclord more his direction.

  Satisfied with his positioning, Kevon stopped, and dropped his concealing spells. He summoned all his focus, and drew it through the Movement rod.

  The orc, fixated on his newly visible prey, did not see the man-sized shard of stone that lifted to stand on end in its path. It lunged forward, nearly in range to grasp Kevon, and put all its weight down on the jagged spike that Kevon was struggling to keep hoisted upright with his Art. The stone sank a yard into the leathery foot, then shattered under the pressure as it struck bone. Fragments of rock pelted Kevon, and the Orclord howled in pain and rage.

  Kevon shifted focus from the Orc and the stone to himself, and renewed the veils he had dropped. Using both rods to full capacity, he sprinted with unnatural speed to reach where his friends were retreating east at a hasty, if measured, pace. He widened the scope of his Illusion spell to encompass the entire party.

  Mirsa relaxed as she released the magic that was no longer needed. “Do you think you’ve slowed it down enough…”

  Carlo snorted, and Kevon was grateful he’d kept the sound dampening portion of the Illusion active.

  “No,” the Mage said, stretching muscles ill-used from his brief run. “It’s hurt, angry, and half starved. We can’t possibly outrun it at this pace. Our magic can barely deceive it as it is, and there’s precious little of it left.” Kevon handed the Movement rod to Mirsa. “I’m going to ask for a bit more of yours, and hope it gets us out of this.”

  Mirsa nodded, and Kevon felt the Aid rune form in her mind. Kevon formed a Movement rune, and began jogging in circles around his friends, drawing power from Mirsa to augment his speed.

  “Easy enough?” Kevon asked, returning to the group. “Carlo and Bertus can keep up a quicker pace if you can. Stay with them, run to where you can use Elemental magic safely, and burrow to safety if I haven’t returned.”

  “Trade me,” Mirsa suggested, holding the rod Kevon had given her out at arm’s length. “I’m more skilled at Movement than Illusion.”

  The Warsmith took the offered focal rod, and gave Mirsa the other in return. He smiled. “With this one, I won’t even need to use Illusion.” He stopped, and began releasing the Illusion spell that maintained the concealing cloak about them. As the magical shield passed over him, Mirsa took control. “See you in a few miles,” Kevon called, his voice ringing clearly without magical interference.

  Kevon closed his eyes and allowed himself one moment of pure relaxation; no magic, no worries, just the feel of the cool breeze and warm sun wrestling good-naturedly on his skin.

  The Orclord roared at the sight of its prey, so exposed and immobile, bringing Kevon back to the situation at hand.

  He gripped the Movement rod easily, like a baton in a Feastday relay, and let the focal Enchantment sharpen the rune in his mind to crystal clarity. With the barest outlay of magical energy, the Mage sprinted back toward the Orclord, swerving to avoid a predictable lunge by his pursuer turned plaything. He turned and struck out in a Northeasterly direction, leading the beast away, but not too far away, from his friends that were headed almost due East.

  The chase went on for the better part of an hour. Kevon would speed ahead, then stop to catch his breath. Not truly winded, nor low on magic, Kevon did need the frequent stops to rub the aches out of his muscles. The breaks also ensured that his magic would replenish enough to draw the pursuit far enough away from the source of the mystical corruption that Kevon and Mirsa would eventually have the upper hand in the inevitable confrontation.

  The Orclord stopped, as it had several times before, and seemed again like it was ready to give up. Kevon sped around his giant foe, in a tightening spiral, waiting for the response that signaled a renewed interest in the chase.

  Minding the terrain and trying to gauge where the Orc’s attention had been diverted, Kevon nearly smashed into a striding foot as the Orclord began walking. The Mage ducked and skidded to a shaky halt yards away from the newly motivated giant. Once he was positive which direction the Orc was headed, he looped wide around the Orclord with great haste, speeding, he assumed, to where his friends had been spotted.

  A five minute sprint left Kevon nearly drained, both physically and mentally. His muscles burned, and he wobbled shakily on his overtaxed legs. A backward glance over his shoulder saw his pursuer in the distance, perhaps ten minutes away.

  “Kevon!” Mirsa called as she dropped the Illusion that nearly concealed the rest of the party. “Why are you…” Her voice trailed off as she saw the horror bearing down on them from the North.

  “You’re both spent, then?” Carlo smiled grimly, drawing his broadsword.

  “All but,” Kevon admitted. “And I imagine Mirsa feels much the same, else she would not have let the Illusion falter.” The Mage sighed. “The corruption is less here, but it feels too great to overcome with the strength I have left.”

  “Let us continue,” Mirsa suggested. “By the time it draws near, we may have gathered enough power between us to give a suitable accounting.”

  The four continued eastward at an easy pace, each quietly preparing for the coming battle in the best way they knew. Carlo stretched out, shaking muscles numbed by the long run. Bertus
drew and loaded his crossbow, jogging to catch back up. Kevon held Mirsa’s hand as they walked, twining his fingers with hers and squeezing gently. “We’re going to be all right,” he promised, but he wasn’t sure who he was trying to reassure.

  Shortly, Kevon could hear the orc’s frenzied howling, and feel the earth tremble at its footfalls. He stopped, and turned toward the oncoming Orclord. “It’s time.”

  His companions stopped and faced the oncoming threat. Bertus raised his crossbow, and Carlo rested his hand on his sword hilt.

  Mirsa stretched a palm forward, and Kevon could feel her magic lancing through the latent elemental corruption. A slight upward trickle of Earth magic twined with the Master Mage’s own stored energies before flowing outward. Kevon fought the urge to add his own magic to the spell, still wary of what had happened in the cavern below the tower.

  The orc stumbled, and went down. The earth before it had given way in just the right spot, causing the fall.

  Lacking the reserves to press the attack further, Mirsa marshaled the energies around her, trying to attract enough sympathetic magic to make a difference. The corruption leeched energy as fast as she could gather it, and she directed her attention downward, to delve deeper, gather more power that she could use to overcome the chaos that taxed her magic as well as her concentration.

  Seeing her intent, and hoping that they could work greater magic, or even simply escape once they were deeper in the earth, Kevon lent Mirsa his strength.

  The ground Mirsa stood upon sank until the Mage was waist-deep in the circular depression. Kevon could feel the energy swirling around her, gathering until she focused and lashed out with it again.

  The earth beneath the Orclord groaned, and gave way. The beast cried out, then dropped from sight.

  Mirsa slumped forward as the last of the magic left her. “It wasn’t enough…” she whispered as Kevon whirled to catch her. “Run.”

  Kevon threw the exhausted Mage over his shoulder, easily lifting Mirsa with unfatigued arms that were used to a Blacksmith’s work. His legs protested, but he set out at a trot, turning ever eastward, Bertus and Carlo falling in behind.