|
|
| |
|
| ||
|
|
The right of Brett Martin to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted. All rights reserved. No part of these documents may be used, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical including photocopying, scanning and recording, for any purpose, without the express written consent of Brett Martin.
All characters in this short story are fictious and any resemblance to real persons, living
|
|
The storm crow crashed into the shield.
For the briefest of moments, Amroff glimpsed its glittering eyes and the pale white feathers of its underbelly, then it was gone, searching for altitude once more.
Close, he thought before frantically reciting another rapture.
The air crackled with energy.
Dust swirled up from the ground, catching in the cold sunlight before a darkness of sculpted shadow swelled into being.
Amroff caught his breath. It was another craw wurm all right. He could see the flared fins sweeping behind its head, the regal cruelty of its profile.
The summoning seemed to take an age.
Then the wurm flickered into existence, and this creature at least was safe. He checked his opponent. The blue mage was cursing in frustration at his lack of mana. Even when it was restored he could do nothing.
Before Amroff, the wurm was ready. He didn't have to tell it to attack. The great serpent surged straight at the mage with a vicious eagerness. Green scales rushed past; a battering ram with fangs.
The blue mage momentarily froze, then made a series of frantic hand signals.
In response, the crow winged downwards and flew into the great wurm's path.
Although compelled by sorcery, Amroff had to admire its courage. It flew around the wurm's head, distracting it. But such tactics could only last so long.
Enraged, the craw wurm reared up, grey eyes narrowed. It waited for the pest to draw closer, snapped its jaws and the storm crow was obliterated in a spray of feathers.
Amroff saw the encounter for what it was. A sacrifice to buy time. The battle was turning. Time to drive home the advantage.
He was able to access the final mana he needed and began to concentrate. Now was the time to spring the final surprise. A creature that he'd read of only in a grimoire that told of a time when dragons ruled Dominia.
He heard the echo of a distant snarl. Mentally demanded its service.
It was a giant creature. So large in fact that it used up all his mana and left him giddy with the effort. The beast took shape off to his left; a dark tower that blotted out the sun.
If some mad god had given fury life this is what it might have looked like.
The blue mage went still. Amroff could only guess what he was thinking. Then the beast roared. A thunderous bellow from ages past and Amroff could have sworn he saw the stricken desperation in the man's eyes. They locked with his own, in them a plea for mercy.
The gorilla shrugged off its summoning sickness, swung its gargantuan head in Amroff's direction, its gaze blazing down at him.
Amroff pointed at the blue mage. "Take him," he commanded.
The gorilla turned back, flexed its simian fists and crunched towards the mage with earth-shuddering strides.
The blue mage closed his eyes and began desperately mouthing some litany as judgment drew closer.
There was a spark of blue as he accessed more mana. Before him materialised a creature of a kind Amroff had never seen before.
A glittering fog laced with teeth and shark eyes.
Amroff felt a brief stutter of fear. The gorilla though was unmoved. Sinister this new being may have been, but the ape simply tore it apart. Its hand raked straight through it and slammed against the mage's shield, tearing stripes of darkness in the glowing wall.
Too late, the mage remembered the craw wurm.
He whirled around, saw the wurm looming over him, then shrieked as fangs screeed against the buffer in a dazzle of sparks.
The mage reeled, fell to the ground, his shield almost down to half-strength. He was panicking, Amroff knew. Not so confident in his own ability after all. Desperate for mana by the looks of things. Amroff didn't want to find out what sort of spells would require such heavy casting costs.
The gorilla shuddered and Amroff mentally wrestled with the creature. Felt more of his mana sucked in and consumed to keep it in this dimension. It was as if he were holding the reins of a dozen invisible horses. Not for much longer, he thought.
The craw wurm struck again. There was a ringing sound like a god's fist striking iron. Amroff saw the shield shatter, leaving the blue mage vulnerable.
Watched as he raised his hands above his head and screamed. Then a shadow consumed him and he was swept up in the unforgiving grasp of the gorilla. Lifted towards its crimson maw in a huge fist.
At the last instant, the beast hesitated and glanced at Amroff.
Amroff stood there, eyes alight, the wind in his hair.
One signal and this man would be devoured. It was a glorious, intoxicating feeling.
For this moment he was at the centre of the universe. His will would decide life or death. He watched the man's robe stain black. His face contorting into a cadaverous rictus of anger, and Amroff knew instantly who it was: Lim-Dûl. The most feared lord of the night.
He almost signaled the demonist's death there and then, before he noticed something.
The Pit worshipper was frantically waving both palms at the sky. It was a sign, Amroff knew, but the gears in his brain took a moment to click into place.
Then he had it. It was a sign of submission. He had yielded.
Amroff blinked. This was not Lim-Dûl. Nor any man of the dark. Never had been. Just some terrified sorcerer held at his mercy. To slay him would to act like the black mages he so despised.
Running his hand shakily across his brow, Amroff gestured for the mage to be released.
With the duel ended, the gorilla faded back into the mists of time. Amroff crouched with his hands on his knees, getting his breath back. His throat was parched and it took him a few seconds to get his thoughts in order.
He became aware of some commotion, and saw Traskor running towards him shouting with excitement. Klas loping close behind.
Taking a deep breath he straightened himself with a weary grin.
Reaching him, Traskor laughed with delight and clapped Amroff on the shoulders. "Well fought, sire. If not for your witch robes I would hug you as tight as a bear."
"Just let me get my breath back," Amroff held a hand to ward him off. Crusader bear hugs were the last thing he needed just at the moment. "You too, Klas," he told the bear quickly, in case he got any ideas.
Klas moaned and sat on his haunches.
Amroff paused a moment. He felt as though he'd just run five times around Rillandon.
"Are you well?" Traskor inquired.
"Fine," said Amroff. He remembered something from the battle. "What was that beast?" he asked, gesturing to where the many-eyed flying beast had briefly appeared. "With all the teeth."
"Air spirits," Traskor informed him, simply. "Also known as phantom monsters. Tough to kill. But not as tough as those wurms of yours. By the sweet fires of Balduvia that was magnificent to watch! And as for that gorilla. There was a sight I could appreciate. You truly have some fine powers in you, sire."
"My thanks, Traskor. You wait here with Klas. I think it's time I went and collected my due."
As was usual in such mediated contests, Amroff had the right to claim any one item he chose. In Rillandon such a claim could include a mage's personal property, or even members of his or her family.
As it was, there was little to claim. Amroff's suspicions that the blue mage was an ambitious novice of little wealth proved true. Yet he was pleased with his prize.
"What?" The mage looked up, a beaten soul. He didn't look well. The battle had really taken it out of him. All that gorilla breath probably hadn't helped him any either.
"You heard me," Amroff said, and repeated his demand.
For a moment, he thought they might begin dueling anew. Thankfully though, the Kjeldoran official insisted on the claim being enforced. In any case, recommencing hostilities would have brought the full weight of the Mage's Guild against them.
So it was that the blue mage handed over the prize and Amroff almost snatched it in his eagerness.
"What's that, sire? Traskor asked when Amroff rejoined his companions. "Some sort of plunder perhaps? With any luck more gold for your coffers."
"Better than that, my friend," Amroff pulled from the bag a leather book.
Traskor restrained a groan. "You could have asked if he had a fetching sister, first," he muttered, clearly unimpressed with this choice of prize.
"I'll keep it in mind for future occasions," Amroff studied the tome more closely. It was a weighty edition. Possibly a family heirloom. No wonder his opponent had been so downcast at its loss. Still, what was one's loss was another's gain and he intended to make full use of any knowledge he could garner.
In his mind, he replayed the craw wurm disintegrating in a spray of light. He'd never really respected what a counterspell could do before. There was an undeniable appeal in such an approach. To be an artful counterpuncher. That would require subtlety and fine judgement, he suspected.
Perhaps it was just the secondary level of expertise he needed. The jade fist and the sapphire shield. But would it be enough to surpass a demonic sorceror? That would be the real test.
"A fine read is it?" Traskor was watching him closely.
"I suspect it will be, Trask," Amroff said, getting his mind back to the day in hand. "I suspect it will be."
He looked around. Joseph had the horses ready for departure. On the horizon, the Kjeldoran mountains sat majestically in the last golden rays of the afternoon. There was the scent of Fate on the wind; sharp and demanding for those who dared grasp it. He could almost sense the forgotten voices of dead warlocks urging him on.
Amroff smiled. It had been a very good day.
That evening they celebrated at The Singing Monkey - one of the finer taverns in Rillandon. It was first full night of winter and the windows glowed with merriment as snow drifted in flurries onto the thatched roof.
Inside, at a corner table was the small band of companions.
Amroff held the seat of honour at one end, his serious demeanor replaced with casual satisfaction. Traskor commanded the other end, sword at his side, amusing war stories told to one and all. Between them, sat a group of townspeople Amroff had befriended, including an alchemist called Winnipeg who had cheeks as red and shiny as apples. It was in part a celebration for their forthcoming departure, for Amroff had announced he would be traveling to the Eastern city of Uond in time for its great festival.
The proprietor, a woman by the name of Elisabeth, had made a fine meal and they feasted on mead, fine Kjeldoran beer, fruit from the finest Balduvian orchards, chicken swimming in steaming gravy, clumps of roast potatoes and greasy hog's heads stuffed with apples. She had even made space for Klas to sit nearby, his broad paws clamped around a wedge of steak he chewed contentedly on.
At some point, a band of gypsy minstrels dressed in silk the colour of dragon fire played folk music and asked for volunteers.
Urged up on stage by Amroff and Traskor, Joseph lived up to his reputation as a master of the mandolin; playing it in a frenetic display of string-skipping that had the dwarven warriors at the bar tapping their feet. Some of the more enthusiastic souls began dancing, and the air was hot with sweat and laughter.
One of the tavern girls even got Amroff off his chair to dance, much to the cheers and applause of his comrades.
Late in the night, Traskor studied Amroff at the end of the table, thinking of the day's events. He'd witnessed his friend's face when he'd bested the blue sorceror and what he saw was a concern, at least to Traskor.
There'd been a glint of some twisted joy there. Maybe even madness. He certainly hoped not. For madness was a fire that could run amok if left untended. Yet he was not one for brooding too much on the future. He'd never been much of a soothsayer in any case, and could not hope to judge what events might lie down time's dark and nebulous tunnel. Of some things though he was certain.
There would be the journey to Uond with its roving mages and mischief makers.
Conflict and duels, probably death.
And of course, the eventual meeting with the champions of the night.
Traskor swallowed the last of chicken he'd been eating. The time ahead would be a testing one. But for this moment at least, he was with friends, and the future could take care of itself.
He glanced over at Joseph, still beaming from his impromptu display, and Klas the grizzly groaning at the minstrels' tunes. They were fine companions.
"To Uond?" Amroff called to him, his goblet raised unsteadily from the night's drinking.
Traskor smiled and returned the toast. "To Uond." he said.