Path of the Traitors

by Charles E Yallowitz

  “No, I’m not going to let her die,” Trinity says, seeing the question in Quail’s eyes. Hitting herself with an energizing spell, the channeler coats her hands in acid and levitates off the ground. “You four head for the tower as fast as you can. Stay outside because I don’t want to get locked out while saving our guide. Just stand by the doorway and get ready to dive in once I come flying over.”

  “Thank you,” the mapper says before following Nimby.

  Before the harpies can kill Altia, Trinity launches herself at the flock and spins to strike the creatures with her deadly fists. As she passes through the mass of bodies, her magical acid eats at wings and flesh and sends several of the creatures plummeting into the ocean. Creating a cushion of force, the channeler flips and punctures the spell in order to rocket back at the flock. Lightning bursts from her eyes to clear a path to Altia, the bolts weaving around the elf and exploding in front of the beast she is hanging from. As she grabs the young woman by the waist, Trinity hurls her acid spell in the shape of a blade and cuts the harpy in half. With the added weight, the channeler arches toward the water until she ricochets off a series of swiftly conjured clouds. The screeching harpies follow and quickly close the distance, their prey repeatedly blinded by sonic bursts creating geysers in their path. Coming in below the walkway, Trinity turns her legs into small tornados and uses the sudden force to sail into the sky.

  Too late she realizes that half of the flock is above them and diving with their talons stretching far ahead of their bodies. Unable to change their direction, Trinity transforms the vapor surrounding them into a watery battering ram. Seven of the harpies are knocked away by the projectile, but the rest continue their attack. They are nearly upon the women when a loud crack rings out and is followed by a screeching blast of force. Having tightened their formation, all of the creatures are struck by the barely visible disturbance. Stunned and disoriented, the predators fall into the waves and are carried to the shore. The strange attack repeats itself to scare off the rest of the flock, but the harpies avoid the blast and fly even faster than before. With a desperate wind spell, Trinity soars towards the pathway and covers her body in a glistening shield.

  “This is really going to hurt,” the chaos elf mutters as she watches the others rush into the building.

  Trinity hits the ground hard enough to crack the bridge and bounces toward the tower. She can barely make out that the large doors are closing, a green energy around them from the Lich trying to slow their movements. Hugging Altia tightly, the channeler rolls to put her back to the approaching harpies and uses a burst of flames to rocket herself along the floor. Sharp talons tear at the magic shield, two of the attacks piercing the bubble to stab Trinity in the shoulder and thigh. With a final scream of defiance, the chaos elf unleashes a storm to drive away the predators and give her the final push to safety. The pair curl up to pull their legs away from the doors that slam shut behind them, the thick slabs of stone shuddering from the impact of the thwarted harpies.

  *****

  “After all of that, we reach a dead end,” the Lich complains while he wanders around the empty chamber. The sound of Trinity groaning and heaving draws his attention to the injured chaos elf, who is curled on the floor. “Stop being so dramatic, your highness. The wounds are minor and harpy poison isn’t lethal. As long as you aren’t already sick, old, or a child. It will make you pray for death, but not actually finish the job.”

  “She’s vomiting blood, you cold-hearted bastard!” Quail shouts while he tries his best to bind the puncture wounds. Not having any medical supplies, he uses binding glue and a shredded shirt to make bandages. “There’s probably a secret door in here. The tower is too big to be empty space and nothing else.”

  “I don’t have a heart and she has plenty of blood left in her,” the necrocaster retorts, unwilling to let the mapper get the last word. He groans when Nimby punches the rough wall with enough force to jostle the spirit. “Fine, you can tend to Trinity while the rest of us figure out where the diary is hidden. Unless our guide has information that could make this easier. Any surprises left, little girl?”

  Busy searching the room, Altia ignores the others while running a finger along the pitted wall. She freezes at the sound of Trinity gasping for air, the channeler releasing a small wind spell that fills the building with a toxic odor. Covering her mouth, the elf continues carefully examining the stone with pushes and knocks on every suspicious space. It is not until Vile leaps onto her shoulder and breaks her concentration that Altia stops her search. Unable to look at Trinity, she returns to the group and stands with her arms crossed to hide the multiple scratches left by the harpies. She can feel the poison in her system, but a built-up resistance helps her shrug off the effects that have crippled the powerful channeler.

  “I don’t have any secrets that can help us here, but I have guesses,” Altia admits, stepping away from a pool of bile. With her whip draped over her shoulders, the elf mindlessly spins the thin end that is dripping with harpy blood. “There were multiple towers, but no access to the others. That wouldn’t make sense, except that the request plate spoke specifically about the Baron. Perhaps each of the forbidden tombs has its own tower and you only get the path to the one you’re looking for. I assume anyone can get this far through luck and fighting, so there’s a final trick that only the council knows about.”

  “At least there aren’t any traps unless we can only leave with the tome,” Quail says while rolling Trinity onto her side. Checking her pupils, he is happy to see that they are not as dilated as before. “Sorry that I’m no help here. The crest map is coming up blank again, so there might be some magical shielding. If Queen Trinity was healthy then maybe she could find the diary, which I’m sure is enchanted. Can anybody else sense auras? You’re a necrocaster, so isn’t there a spell you can cast?”

  “Magic sight won’t work in this body and our senses are still not tuned enough to consistently pierce illusions,” the Lich answers, taking over Nimby’s eyes. A shimmer on the ceiling catches his attention, but it is too small for him to identify. “There’s something up there and it’s not an illusion. There are no stairs or ladders, so we need to find another way. Wind magic isn’t my specialty, but I can try with something light.”

  Snatching Vile off the floor, the Lich chants to create a compressed ball of wind beneath the figurine. When he believes he has enough power, the necrocaster launches his companion toward the smooth ceiling. With a string of curses, Vile sails straight up and disappears within the thick shadows. He comes back a few seconds later and is swiftly caught by Altia, who immediately loses him to the Lich’s quick grab. Stopping the angry figurine’s struggling with a paralysis spell, the necrocaster recreates the cushion while taking a few steps toward the middle of the chamber. Aiming for the center of the suspicious shimmer, he rockets the warrior back into the air and gestures to put a small force field around the toy. Unlike the previous attempt, they are able to follow Vile’s progress thanks to the glowing bubble that absorbs the shadows to become stronger.

  To everyone’s surprise the ceiling shatters like glass and opens to the sky, which is filled with more harpies than before. As Vile falls back into the chamber, the creatures dive at the travelers, but they are quickly deflected by a series of shrieking force blasts. Altia continues cracking her whip to unleash an attack similar to the one that struck her on the bridge. Within seconds, her face is covered in sweat from straining to aim at every target and receiving a humid backlash from her own blows. Hearing a rapid chanting behind her, the elf releases one final bolt to divide the flock and drive them away from the hole. She falls to her knees at the sight of a green barrier that covers the broken ceiling and punishes any brave harpy with a flesh-devouring spout of gas.

  “The shield won’t last more than ten minutes, so find that diary,” the Lich growls while he hunts around for a clue. The screams and flapping wings of the harpies echo throughout the chamber, the noise shaking dust from the walls. �
��This is ridiculous. How can anybody concentrate in this place? I’m starting to think the forbidden tomes were never meant to be seen again, so nobody in the library remembers how to get around the defenses. Maybe the book is sealed away forever, which means we need Trinity to break the spells. Will she be ready before my barrier disappears?”

  “It doesn’t look that way,” Quail replies even though the channeler has stopped shaking. He is about to check her pulse when he notices one of the pools of blood is shrinking. “Unless we are looking in the wrong direction. I think the middle of the floor is hollow. There are grooves here that have to lead somewhere. Give me a minute to figure out how to open this. I should have a thin piece of metal to use as a crowbar.”

  “Move aside and find a way to be more useful than a nursemaid,” Vile snaps as he hurries over to the chaos elves. Without hesitation, the figurine puts his stiff-jointed hands into the pool of blood and feels around for the crease. “For once, I’m thankful for this small body. There is something here that is suspicious. Reminds me of how one would make weapon caches in abandoned buildings. Anyone can use it, so you need to hide the opening while making it fairly easy to get inside. Just a little clasp that you undo with a flick . . . of the . . . finger.”

  With the hiss of escaping air, a square section of the floor pops open and sends Vile rolling back a few feet. Quail hurries to remove the panel from the last two hinges and finds that a rope has been attached to the underside. When he hears the barrier start to crack, the mapper quickly hoists up a box that holds a leather-bound book and a rusty key that leaves brown marks on his skin. Unsure if the simple-looking tome is the one they are looking for, Quail opens it and searches for a name, but there is nothing more than gibberish on the page. Only the dates are legible and show that the entries were made centuries before the Great Cataclysm. A loud groan from above forces the chaos elf to toss the book to Altia and pick up Trinity, who is sleeping off the last of the poison. With the diary in their possession, the travelers rush to the front door and find that it will not open. Pushing and pounding on the stone does nothing while the barrier grows weaker by the second.

  “Even if we did get out, the harpies will be waiting,” Nimby points out, the halfling’s consciousness coming to the surface. He tries to give more energy to the Lich, but the multiple castings have driven the necrocaster into a slumber. “The council members must have something to keep the harpies away. If not that then there’s another way out. We should look for another hollow part of the floor.”

  “No . . . time,” Trinity mutters in her sleep.

  The channeler waves her hand to blast the door open with a beam of violet energy that drowns out the shrieking predators. Backing away with weapons drawn, the travelers are ready to be overrun once the smoke clears. Instead, they see the chamber of holes and the gong invitingly sitting only a few steps away. The harpies are still bashing against the faint barrier above their heads as the tired group rushes through the entrance. As soon as all of them are clear, the portal collapses and the request plate clatters to the floor at Altia’s feet. With a shuddering breath, the elf gingerly picks the piece of wood up and heads for the gong. She jumps when Nimby hits it and disappears in a beam of light that is sucked into the ceiling.

  “She probably didn’t even realize what was going on,” Quail says with a smirk. Tenderly stroking his ruler’s face, he nods his head for Altia to go first. “Thanks for helping us out. I know you’re going to get into a lot of trouble for helping us. We’ll do our best to defend you. This is for the fate of Windemere after all.”

  Putting a hand on the chaos elf’s arm, Altia grabs the club for the gong and smiles. “You continue to be sweet and adorable. Don’t worry about me. I always find a way to survive and the Garians are really understanding. They’ll probably have me clean stuff or some other tedious chore that has to get done. We’re like a big family that way. So, I’ll be fine.”

  7

  Surrounded by pine trees and with the tall grass of Yagervan in sight, Trinity trudges away from the quiet camp. As usual, the night is full of whispering and stares from the warriors who do not fully trust the chaos elf. She remains thankful that Sir Harbiss keeps them under control and promotes her redemption, but she cannot wait to be rid of the army. At the very least, she will be able to sleep without a spell that wakes her every time a living creature gets close. The enchantment proved useful on the Frost Barrens, but the animals of Pynofita Forest have caused her to regret her security measures. Shifting the large duffle bag to her other shoulder, Trinity yawns and looks back to make sure there is enough space between herself and the camp. Tossing the pack onto the ground, she gets comfortable on a rock and thumbs through the diary even though she has it memorized. Stopping on the only page that mentions crests, the channeler licks her lips and gazes at the cloudy sky.

  “Do I just say your name, Dariana, or do I have to think it?” Trinity asks, unsure of how the telepath’s powers work. The distant voice of the champion comes out of the shadows, but it is more of a sensation than actual words. “We’re moving as fast as we can, but these crests are at the end of a confusing road. The map is taking us through Yagervan and back into Serab, which is frustrating. Nimby and Tyler are behaving themselves, but I get sense that Vile is feeling restless. He’s been quieter than usual and the few times he has talked have been to insult or threaten somebody. I’d like to say we’ll get the crests within five days and deliver them to wherever they need to go before your battle, but I don’t want to give you false hope. So, why are you delayed? For the love of Ambrosine, I was hoping he wouldn’t be that bad. Look, Dariana, I know all of you mean well, but you shouldn’t push him too hard. As someone who has been on both sides of torture, you need to be patient and keep him comfortable for him to heal. Your father isn’t going anywhere until you . . . I know he can still attack your loved ones. Just be careful because a broken ally will get you killed. What do you mean more than one? He did what? I’m going to get back to my problems because that’s not something I want to get involved in. Call me cold-hearted, but that shouldn’t have been allowed in the first place. I’ll let you know when we get the crests. Good luck getting to Shayd.”

  Trinity waits until she is sure the telepath’s communication is done, the eerie presence from before vanishing like a dissipating fog. Putting the diary down, the chaos elf grows one of her nails and turns it into a thin blade. With a swing of her arm, she slices the duffle bag open and leaves a thin cut on Altia’s chin. The guide is frozen by a paralysis spell, her mouth open and eyes narrowed from when she was about to protest the casting. Grabbing the young woman by her chainmail shirt, Trinity roughly places her against the stickiest pine she can find. After checking for signs of dehydration, she drapes a waterskin around her companion’s neck and holds out a bowl of berries that she assumes are edible because three dwarves told her they were fine. The spell is removed with a snap of the chaos elf’s fingers, which sends a jolt of energy through Altia’s body.

  “Drink, eat, and remain silent,” Trinity demands while she circles the tree. She cracks the plain whip that once belonged to the other woman, the noise driving all of the animals out of the area. “Where to even start with you? First of all, you’re only with us because Quail refused to leave you behind. You better thank him when we get back to camp unless I’m forced to paralyze you again. That decision depends on your explanation of who or what you are. I sense some magic coming from you, but not enough to make an entire order of priests believe you’re one of them or to make them forget about you. The first option seems more likely considering they have a log and your name was never written down.”

  “Those Garians and their pranks. You’d never think they had such a sense of humor,” Altia answers with a laugh. Her eyes close when she feels her whip wrap around her neck and the tree, the tightness preventing her from eating the sour berries. “I’ll tell you the truth, but I want my weapon back. My magic is weak and I need that to cast spells.”

>   “You’re using a ventriloquism spell right now!” the chaos elf shouts as she drops the weapon. Infuriated by the gasping woman, she walks away to angrily kick the duffle bag into a patch of thorn bushes. “It’s amazing that you can spout so many lies without blinking. They’re easily undone by a healthy amount of suspicion or your own excitement, but you truly have a gift for manipulation. It would be very impressive if you could use it more effectively. I’m going to regret saying this, but you would have made an excellent chaos elf if you were born into my people.”

  “Ambrosine said the same thing.”

  “What was that?”

  “She said I’d make a good chaos elf, which is why she recruited me as an outside agent.”

  “You work for Ambrosine the Chaos Elf Goddess.”

  “In a manner of speaking since I don’t get paid or granted any holy powers.”

  “But you’re a normal elf.”

  Altia gargles some water in the hopes of ridding her mouth of the berries’ strong taste before sighing. “Am I really the normal one here? You’re people still have some of the demon taint that made the Hejinn, so you’re closer to the original lineage than my people. I’d say chaos elves are the normal ones while those who are simply called elves are the freaks. At least if you go by our origins. The bloodlines of all the pointy-eared people is confusing and each one swears it’s the truest depiction of our kind, except for the ones who have the strongest claim to the title. This is why Ambrosine has specially chosen agents working within the other races. We know that you should be allowed to join the rest of Windemere because . . . Sorry, but that’s a little too personal. I’ll tell you another time when I feel you’ve earned it.”

  “Why should I believe this after all the lies?” Trinity asks with a smirk. Clouds swiftly block the starlight and only Altia’s eyes can be seen due to an ethereal glow. “Oh, this is just making my day even worse. The sign of Ambrosine on a non-chaos elf. Well, if she vouches for you then I have to play nice. You could have told me the truth and saved us some trouble. Lugging you around in that duffle bag was tiring and now I feel a little bad about it.”