He moved to the trees, taking them away from Nerdraaage. They followed him methodically and grunted in Orcish back and forth. Their pursuit was measured, which was bad for Icil. They would not take their wounded opponent lightly. He heard one of the orc words for “blood” and knew that they could smell his as it pooled in his boot.
Icil would not make the trees. He stopped and prepared for a fight. He had killed every Legion assassin sent to close his book and even escaped the Witchfinder General. He would survive this. After all, I know I cannot be killed and therefore I cannot be killed. (Though he had to admit his present situation was certainly testing the limits of this philosophy.)
Icil’s only regret was that in his hubris he had brought along Nerdraaage and his friends into a situation that they were as of yet unfit. He had hoped to protect them from serious harm, but he had not taken into account a flight of wyvern riders descending upon them. There were only a hundred wyvern riders in the entire world.
The wyvern riders slowed as they approached where he lay in wait. They would not be surprised by him, and working together they would kill him. The fact that Icil knew he could not be killed did not matter to them. They were too careful now to stumble into Icil, so he leapt forth to meet them. He drove both of his daggers up and under the chest armor of the first orc, driving and twisting furiously toward his black heart. His back was exposed to the other orc, who immediately placed his giant axe between Icil’s shoulder blades. It was a ferocious blow that seemed to Icil to almost split him in half. But he endured the pain as he continued grinding his blades into the first orc. And still he knew he could not be killed. He desperately wanted to hear the orc’s death rattle before the axe chopped into his back a second time.
And then Icil felt himself whole again, filled with a lightness and strength that he had felt only a few times before and always on the battlefield. Flesh and bone knitted itself back together. He was being healed by druid magic. He did not stop to look for the source or consider it further, but his strength renewed, he plunged his daggers further into the orc until his fists entered the wounds created by his daggers. He felt the leathery heart through his blades and penetrated it. He watched the life leave the orc’s red eyes as he pulled his fists and daggers out of the orc’s belly.
The remaining orc also saw that Icil was healed. He paused only a second to consider abandoning his attack on the human to kill the druid, but he knew that he would never reach her before the assassin killed him. His only option was to cause more damage to Icil than the druid could heal, and he stepped up the intensity of his attacks. But Icil, having dispatched the other orc, now turned to the final orc and faced him with full strength and speed. The orc’s desperate attack was sloppy, and Icil was able to avoid the massive blows before he stepped in close to the orc and killed him with a dagger to the eye. Icil had allowed himself while in the heat of battle to imagine that the druid was his beloved she-elf blackguard reborn as a guardian spirit, but he could see now that she was not his lost love reincarnated as valkyria. Before the orc had even dropped to the ground, Icil shouted for Ciar to heal Nerdraaage.
Nerdraaage, true to blackguard mythology, had believed he could not die but was dying nonetheless. He saw a tunnel with a light at the end, and he was speeding toward its fatal conclusion. But at the end of the tunnel was bliss: Morna holding a child that he knew was his son. His grandfather, the only father figure he knew, who had died only a few years ago and left Nerdraaage all alone in the other world. Not alone. He had three friends whom he had only known briefly but who had been his best friends over the last six months and between two different universes. He saw them as they looked in this universe. Doppelganger, Dangalf, and Elftrap. No, it was Ashlyn now. And she was his friend too. And Icil was there. Icil, who would not even train him at first, was now his friend. The visions were clearer than any dream or memory, as if he could reach out and touch them. He reached out and touched a she-elf. “Relax,” Ciar told Nerdraaage as she cast waves of healing upon him.
Nerdraaage felt himself becoming whole again. His sight returned to him just in time to see Ciar removing the axe from his chest. She whisper-sang more Elvish words and laid her hands upon him. And he could hear and feel the crunch of bones and the squish of organs as they knitted themselves back together. He felt the energy of the earth pulsing through his body. In a great circle around his body, plants withered and died as Ciar stole their protoplasm to make Nerdraaage whole again. Great tentacles of brown grass stretched out in every direction to trees that shed their leaves as they gave up their lives to the dwarf. Ciar was sworn to protect the Hierarchy of Life, and it was necessary to sacrifice even beneficial flora to preserve dwarves and other righteous sapiens. For righteous sapiens were the protectors of this world and all the flora and fauna.
Nerdraaage raised himself up on his elbows to the sight of Icil, Doppelganger, and Dangalf watching him anxiously. They sighed and smiled and laughed and cried each in his own way at the sight of a reborn Nerdraaage. “You are lucky, Master Dwarf, to belong to the sturdiest of the races,” said Ciar. “That axe pierced all three of your hearts.”
“Three hearts?” asked Nerdraaage, surprised as much as the rest of the Keepers. Because the world itself sets upon three pillars.
Ciar rose from kneeling and turned to Icil with a reproachful smile. “You must take your charges from this place now. I have not the magic to heal even a water sprite. I will be slumbering for two days now because of your folly.”
“The wyvern riders were unanticipated,” explained Icil. “Before that, my charges attacked and destroyed an entire Legion camp. Before you leave see for yourself what is left of it. Smoldering ruins and orc corpses. All done without a healer or healing potion.”
“You’re welcome,” said Ciar.
“Forgive me,” said Icil bowing. “I owe you my life.”
“So do I,” said Nerdraaage.
“And I,” said Doppelganger.
“We all do,” said Dangalf.
“And I thank you,” said Ciar. “We are grateful for your efforts. Each attack on the Legion occupiers helps hasten the return of our lands. Who knows? Maybe someday even Master Icil may salvage his reputation with the elves.”
Nerdraaage was astonished. “Why wouldn’t you have a good reputation with the elves?” he asked.
“Long story,” said Icil. “Just remember, reputations can be lost as well as earned.”
“I did not think it possible for one blackguard to kill four wyvern riders,” marveled Ciar.
“I could not have done it without you.”
“I was only there as you battled the last two. I will tell my people of this battle today.” Icil nodded. The purple-and-blue tyger walked into the middle of the group and sat down. Nerdraaage eyed it suspiciously, but otherwise its extraordinary presence went unmentioned. They all assumed it was with the druid.
Clay returned to Dangalf, and he understood. “Ashlyn got my message. You’re her trainer, Ciar!” he said.
“Yes, Dangalf. She was concerned about your well-being.”
“We really need to thank her when we get back.”
“Thank her now,” said Ciar, nodding to the tyger, which stopped panting and took on a more dignified look.
“Ashlyn!” said Dangalf in pleasant surprise. “You’ve morphed!” Metamorphosis was the foundation talent of the druid. And Ashlyn had already learned it.
“I liked the bipedal version better,” said Icil.
“This is wonderful,” said Dangalf. “Can you turn back?”
“She has not mastered the reverse transformation,” said Ciar.
“You mean she’s stuck like that!” shouted Nerdraaage gleefully.
“Metamorphosis is never permanent, but she will need to increase her own pool of electroplasm before change is easy for her,” explained Ciar. “I taught her advanced techniques out of order so that we could move quickly to find you.”
“Why is she purple?” asked Doppelganger.
“Isn’t she beautiful?” said Ciar. “Tyger colors are unique to the individual druid, determined by aura, environment, even emotional state.”
“Like a hairy mood ring!” said Nerdraaage.
It was agreed they needed to depart these lands quickly, and they followed Icil to the tied-off wyverns. It was believed that no human, dwarf, or elf could sit peacefully upon these imports from Oceania (just as no gryphon would allow orc, troll, or goblin upon his back) so it was customary to kill them and deny their use to the enemy. But Ciar forbade their murder as Sirona had not yet placed wyverns in the Hierarchy of Life, and to kill them might be a crime. And so Icil clipped their wings instead. He said this would allow them to fly but never again allow them to bear the weight of armored orc warriors. As proof, he spurred the wyverns to flight, and they each flew off. One made an angry and threatening swoop at the party before realizing he was alone in his attack and flew after his fleeing mates.
Dangalf and Doppelganger affectionately stroked tyger Ashlyn. Even Nerdraaage found himself touching her beautiful coat. Ashlyn enjoyed the affection like an oversized housecat. Ciar bid the humans and dwarf farewell and morphed into her white-and-gold tyger form. She ran back toward free elven lands with tyger Ashlyn following.
Icil led the males back the way they had come. He was effusive with his praise and told them how he would write his report to the sages. Icil credited them all with the razing of the camp. He signed off on Nerdraaage’s pilfering of the troll intelligence and his killing of the troll captain. He additionally credited Dangalf and Nerdraaage with four orc kills each and Doppelganger with eight. No one disputed Icil’s accounting—ascribing kills was subjective work after all, and Dangalf and Nerdraaage did not resent the advantage being given to Doppelganger. His class required the highest enemy body count before he could train further. Dangalf was required only once to kill an enemy sapien in honorable combat. (Honorable in this case being defined as combat in which he himself faced a reasonable chance of death or serious injury.)
Icil reported Doppelganger and Nerdraaage for the additional honor of sustaining grave injury during combat. Doppelganger told Nerdraaage there was a badge awarded for that. Nerdraaage was quite excited about the thought of getting a badge until Icil told him that blackguards don’t wear badges.
“Let’s not forget Dangalf,” said Doppelganger.
“What did I do?”
“You pulled a muscle in your ass running away.” And they all laughed at Dangalf.
“It was a muscle in my leg,” he said flatly.
They spent one last night together in the woods after crossing back through the Crimson Wall to the safety of elven lands. By the fire they drank and smoked, and Icil regaled them with stories of assassination and assignation. He had fucked she-dwarves and she-elves and mermaids! More than one thousand females of various stripes (including striped ones). Even a she-troll! Nerdraaage had nerd-lusted for she-trolls ever since he had lain eyes on their wickedly sexy avatars in the game. Many lonely nights he had spent in front of his computer looking at explicit fan art of the blue devils. “A she-troll!” he said excitedly.
“Dangerous but a good lay,” answered Icil. “You must hold her tail tightly so its passionate swishing does not dismember your member.”
“Angus said she-trolls have teeth in their minges,” said Nerdraaage.
“I can not say for certain,” said Icil. “I have been with only one, and she was all gums down there.” The Keepers laughed, and Icil found himself unable to resist joining in. And with that, their relationship changed forever. It was a bonding experience second only to that bonding that takes place in combat. And they had already undergone that. The Keepers knew that they could now call Icil a friend and he felt the same of the three.
There was something eminently irresistible about Icil. This supreme life-taker was also an unrepentant life-liver. Dangalf imagined Icil in their old world, before his disfigurement. He supposed that Icil would slip right into his new world without missing a beat. He would be a war hero or a rock star or a billionaire or perhaps the first to be all three. And of course a lady-killer. But even these imagined versions of an ubersuccessful Icil in a world that Dangalf despised (and that had despised him first) could not diminish the fondness that he had for the rakish rogue. Icil would not be an NPC in any world.
They went to bed, and Icil slept while unappeared. Nerdraaage marveled at the discipline that allowed Icil to remain unappeared while he slept. Dangalf picked up a rolled aspect that Icil had held in his hand all night as he had regaled them. It was of a beautiful, innocent-looking she-elf. Dangalf suspected correctly that she was Icil’s lost love. And now it was the avenging of her death that was his sole driving purpose.
LXVIII
Icil woke the three Keepers at first light the next morning. “I would like to show you something before I take my leave,” he said. He stepped out into a clearing and looked up into the bright morning sky. He put a small metal tube to his mouth and blew into it. He shielded his lens-covered eyes from the sun as he looked expectantly to the sky.
A great shadow appeared first and a moment later a great bird. But it was not bird as it had the body of a cat. The Keepers looked on with amazement as they recognized the massive creature as it settled on the ground near Icil. It was a griffin. They stepped hesitantly toward the beast until Icil took it by its muzzle and waved them over. “This is Siobahn.”
The griffin kept her wings partially outstretched as if prepared for flight as the Keepers approached. Though she was not as menacing looking as the wyverns, it was clear that the large beak and claws and muscular body could do great damage to a sapien if the griffin was so inclined. But this one just watched them carefully as Icil stroked her feathered head. Dangalf could smell her, but it was not foul like an orc. It was natural and musky, not unlike the family dog he remembered as a child.
They reached out and touched her body. Her hair was shorter than a tyger, more like a textured skin. The feathers were soft in one direction but razor sharp against the grain. It was a magical moment as the sun shone down sporadically between fast-moving clouds. “Can I ride it?” asked Nerdraaage.
“I have almost killed you once these last twenty-four hours,” answered Icil. “But when you are an expert rider, I will give you your first griffin lesson. All of you.” Icil mounted the griffin, and the others stepped clear.
“I’ll write you,” said Nerdraaage.
“Write me care of the sages,” said Icil. “I’m afraid that even the most skilled and persistent bird would find it difficult to track me.” They all felt melancholy about the parting. They were blood brothers now after all. Icil reached into an inside chest pocket and pulled out two attached silver tubes. “I want you to have this,” he said, presenting it to Nerdraaage. “Open it.”
Nerdraaage pulled apart the tubes revealing a parchment. “A map,” he said. “Of elven lands.”
“Not quite,” said Icil. “It is a map of wherever you are. The work of a goblin artisan.”
Dangalf knew the term artisan. As much prestige as there was being a member of the Red, White, or Blue Schools, there were certain hyphenates of this world with the special accomplishment of being recognized in two schools. There were the Purples, like Angus the Young, recognized by the Red and Blue Schools; the Templars, recognized by both Red and White Schools; and the Artisans, recognized by both White and Blue. But for the Artisans, it was not a matter of being an expert craftsman and magician independently as a Purple could be independently talented as a warrior and a craftsman. Artisan instead was a title reserved only for those creators that could imbue their crafted items with magic. “Won’t you need this?” protested Nerdraaage.
“It might save me some aimless wandering,” said Icil. “But for you, it might save your lives.” Doppelganger and Dangalf also marveled at the gift. They recognized its game counterpart: an onscreen minimap that showed the area surrounding a player. Where the player had not yet journeyed,
the map would appear blank until discovered. It was another amazing realization of a game concept. But since this map was owned by Icil, lands well beyond their experience already appeared. “You will forgive me,” said Icil to Dangalf and Doppelganger. “For presenting my gift to just one, but knowing what brothers you are, I know this gift will be of benefit to all including my fair she-elf. Farewell to you, Keepers of the Broken Blade!” And with that Icil trotted off toward an opening in the trees and spurred Siobahn into the air. Icil made one pass over them and saluted. The griffin made a thunderous squawk. The Keepers saluted back until Icil disappeared into the clouds.
LXIX
Their magical map led the three Keepers back to Templa Taur an hour quicker than their original journey. Dangalf let Doppelganger and Nerdraaage argue over who would bathe first and slumbered on his bed. Nerdraaage took second bath while Doppelganger rested on his bed.
They all owed a great deal to Icil, for in one afternoon they made significant steps in completing their journeymen levels—steps that would have taken them months without his guidance and help and conceivably years if they had been cast into this world alone. Successful completion of the next step of training meant going from a per diem pay to a monthly salary. Future training would also be paid for, and they would receive gear allowances. Each would become an associate member of their respective schools when they were only sponsored members now. School facilities at larger cities were complexes with dormitories, dining halls, libraries, training areas, and social clubs. Access was based on membership status, and associate members had access to all but the most inner sanctums of their campuses. The most extravagant example of each school was found in that school’s racial capital: Red in Vinland, White in Oira Nomo, and Blue in Bran Keep.
Dangalf warned that with their next promotions came the increased possibility of “orders from Vinland.” One or more of them could be sidetracked from their own ambitions for a special mission or even to go to war. Missions may not hinder them much, and they could even offer significant rewards, but war would put all their plans on hold indefinitely. Hopefully they would all have advanced rank before open war began so that they were not treated as mere catapult fodder. “Tub’s all yours,” said Nerdraaage.
Cronica Acadia Page 25