Melody chewed her lower lip. She thrust her chin up and said, “Well I’m going. You can come or not.” With that said, she jabbed her staff on the ground, spun around in a flurry of dark blue wizard robes, and strutted off.
Silurian stared as her cloaked head disappeared from view down the embankment. He threw his arms in the air. There was no feeling quite like the one that filled a person when they planned to pay a surprise visit on a killer spook.
He didn’t catch up to her until she was well down the bluff. Grimward Island lay a short swim from the shore. With winter upon them, he didn’t relish the thought of the ice-cold water.
They walked in silence until they were directly across from the closest point on the island.
“And just how do you expect to get over there?” Silurian said, and pointed at her staff. “I don’t suppose that thing will carry us.”
Melody rolled her eyes. “No, probably not. How ‘bout I turn you into a frog?”
“Ha-ha. No. What about transporting us over with a spell? Like you did to bring me here.”
She shook her head. “It doesn’t work that way. For one thing, I need to be at the receiving end.”
Silurian grimaced and bent down to touch the water with his fingers. “Brr. If the lake gets any colder, we’ll be able to walk across.” He looked at the ripples lapping the shoreline where the lake bottom quickly dropped out of sight. They couldn’t wade across the channel.
“That’s it!”
“What’s it?”
“You’re a genius. We’ll walk across. On ice.”
Silurian looked at her as if she had gone mad. He glanced skyward and then all around them. “Do you know how long we’ll have to wait until that lake freezes over?”
“Not if I freeze it first.”
“You? Freeze the lake?”
“Not the whole lake, silly. Just a section. Right here at the shore. Big enough to carry us.”
“Really? You’ve done this before?”
She avoided eye contact. “Yes…and no. Well, not really. I mean, I haven’t made an iceberg before, but I have made ice. Many times. Phazarus used to like his ale cold. Especially in the summer months. Before he became too old to hold his liquor well.”
Silurian listened to her rattling on. Some things never changed. He raised skeptical eyebrows and gestured to the shoreline with an outstretched palm. “I’ve got to see this. Have at it.”
She feigned an indignant glare and stepped to the water’s edge, dipping the top of her staff into the lake.
Silurian walked up and stood quietly beside her. A slight breeze rustled the fallen leaves behind them, causing him to shiver. A crow’s call reached him from the direction of Grimward Island.
He stifled a cough, not wanting to disturb her concentration. He wasn’t unfamiliar with magic use. For years he had wielded an enchanted blade. The sword had infused within him the uncanny instincts of a cat, providing him lightning-fast reaction time, but he had never needed to recite words or perform a rite—the sword had simply reacted.
While in the Under Realm, an inner presence had surfaced from within him, totally unexpected. Even now, he wasn’t sure where the ability had come from. If he had to guess, he would attribute it to a latent energy trapped within the sword strapped across his back, but he harboured a suspicion that the magic might have come from within. He had no way of knowing so he pushed aside the assumption as a fanciful delusion.
He speculated absently, not for the first time, what had made the magic in his sword re-emerge? He hadn’t been able to sense the latent power since the Battle of Lugubrius and yet, at certain times, it was as if the blade had held onto its magic, hiding deep within its core. There had to be a residual magic lying dormant within the cold steel, but as to what triggered it, he had no idea. He wondered if the presence of magical danger activated it. He shook his head. How could he depend on that?
An unnerving sensation gave him goosebumps and pulled him out of his thoughts. Almost imperceptibly, Melody’s voice escaped her lips, an eerie litany of foreign phrases all strung together as if she lovingly sang a sad song. The hidden runes of her staff glowed a subtle, light blue.
The sun had barely moved across the sky, but a lot of time seemed to pass before there were any visible signs of her spell.
Silurian wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, but the water around the staff appeared less transparent. A little less fluid. As he stared, enrapt with the procedure, a thin rim of clear ice formed around the tip of her staff where the gentle roll of the water wet the wood. It began to thicken and spread to the water around it—gradually at first, but before long he watched the edges expand; abutting the shore at their feet and extending in a circle outward into the channel.
He was dumbstruck. He had witnessed Melody blow up a cave, watched her summon magical fire, and was the beneficiary of her use of her staff as she blasted the shadowy serpents in Wizard’s Gibbet. His miraculous sister had even called forth an image in last night’s campfire, but for some reason, watching her transform the lake water into ice left him gaping in awe as the revelation sunk in. His sister was a wizard. A real-life conjurer.
A dark thought tempered his wonder. As a woman, most people would refer to her as a witch or an enchantress, but regardless of the label she received when she emerged into the real world, she would be shunned by most, if not outright resented. Watching her perform an act most people deemed impossible filled him with wonder and a dire foreboding. Her life was about to irrevocably change. If he was right about his assessment of the superstitious population who worshipped all sorts of deities, her life wouldn’t be changing for the better. Magic users were rare, and because of their scarcity, most people didn’t trust them. He should’ve left her back on Dragon’s Tooth.
Melody’s voice rose in volume and pitch and then fell off. Half the channel between the shore and the island had iced over. She turned her head to look at him, but her eyes didn’t appear focused. She wavered on her feet. Grasping the embedded staff with both hands she staggered.
Silurian wrapped his arms around her as she became dead weight. Her head lolled backward and she giggled.
“Mel?” Silurian worried she was on the verge of fainting, and yet she smiled. “What’s happening? What did you do?”
Her head rolled away from him and back again. She said with a giddy smile, “Master Mintaka, I give to you a bridge.”
Silurian looked to the expanse of ice jutting halfway across the channel to Grimward. “Um, I hate to tell you this, but we’re still going to have to swim, unless you mean to evaporate the rest of the lake.”
Her shifting eyes slowly became still. The dazed look seeped out of her stare, and her body assumed some control of its own. She blinked rapidly a few times, the smile dropping from her face. Still in his arms, she looked at him as if they had just met.
She stiffened and pushed herself free, able to stand on her own again, albeit, with the assistance of her rigid staff. “Oh, did I pass out?”
“I’m not sure what just happened, but you never lost consciousness. At least I don’t think you did. You feel okay?”
She tried to pull the gnarled tip of her staff free, but the ice refused to release its grip. “Yes, I’m fine. A bit woozy, but that’s to be expected. Here, help me get this out.”
Silurian grasped the length of dark wood and yanked, reefing it one way and then the other.
Melody gasped as she watched the staff bend. “Don’t break it. Use your knife. Hurry, the ice won’t last long.”
Silurian pulled Soulbiter free and knelt on the edge of the shore. He reached out and chipped furiously at the ice imprisoning the staff. As he worked away, careful not to mar the staff—the gods only knew what would happen if he cut the bewitched pole—he grunted and looked up at her. “Did you hear me. The ice doesn’t extend all the way to the island.”
She gave him an incredulous look. “What? You think I can freeze the entire lake? You’re lucky I froze that much.
”
The ice suddenly released the staff, its gnarled tip almost striking Silurian in the head as she wrested it free.
At once she stepped onto the sheet of ice and carefully made her way out toward its edge. “Hurry. I need to invoke the spell again before we lose this section.”
Silurian secured his dagger and followed. The ice itself wasn’t too slippery, but the farther out they walked, the less stable it appeared. As they neared its far edge the entire shelf seemed to dip into the water. Small waves pushed water onto the floe, making their last few steps treacherous.
Without pausing to consider her tenuous position, Melody lowered the head of her staff into the layer of water on top of the ice sheet and focused on her task.
Silurian stopped well back from the edge, worrying about what would happen if she did pass out. Swallowing his better judgment, he slid one foot ahead of the other until he was within arm’s reach—the layer of ice felt like it tilted a considerable bit more beneath his weight. He reached out to grasp a fold of her cloak and the robes beneath, curling the fabric in his fingers. If she fell in, he planned to go with her.
A blood-curdling screech rent the relative serenity of the desolate region.
Silurian jerked, his feet sliding beneath him. In his struggle to keep from falling, he yanked hard on Melody’s robes.
“Hey! Are you crazy? What’re you doing?” she cried out, trying to maintain her own balance. Her arms flailed in the air. The staff whirled about and thumped him in the thigh, making him scramble harder for purchase on the ice.
The screech sounded again.
Still flailing about, Silurian pointed to their right, to where the lake opened up on the northern tip of the island. “There! Did you see it?”
“See what?”
“I don’t know. It was big. There’s something in the water.”
They both stared at the spot he indicated, but there was nothing to see.
“It’s probably a turtle or something.”
Silurian gave her a nervous laugh. “Um, I don’t think turtles scream like that.”
“Well whatever it was, it’s gone now. I need to finish this spell, or we’re in big trouble.”
Silurian was about to tell her they were already in trouble—that they needed to go back, but as he looked to the mainland he gulped. The ice floe had separated itself from the land. They were effectively afloat upon a thin sheet of Melody’s magical ice with a screeching lake creature lurking nearby. He wanted to inform her about their newest predicament, but she had set herself into her spell.
Sliding his feet uncertainly toward her, he kept his eyes on the northern edge of the flow. He spared her a quick glimpse. The runes on her staff pulsed light blue—the water at its tip noticeably congealed and spread outward. He reached out to grab her robes as he contemplated their precarious situation.
By the time Melody’s peril dawned on him, it was too late. She stood ankle deep in the layer of water upon the ice. Water that she compelled to harden. There was nothing he could do but watch as it froze around her feet.
Icy fingers of magical freezing crept his way. He lifted his feet clear of the layer of water in rapid succession. Several times he felt resistance as he raised a foot clear of the rapidly forming ice, but soon the ice’s advancing edge spread beyond him and continued outward.
The expanding edge of the floating berg had reduced the open water by half when the grating screech sounded a third time, so close Silurian yelled out in fright.
Along the northern edge of the floe, a massive serpent’s head broke the water’s surface, its beady, black eyes looking right at him. It screeched again, a forked tongue licking at the ice. Its giant maw, spacious enough to accommodate a full-grown man, was lined with a double row of jagged teeth longer than his sword. It rose higher into the air and then disappeared beneath the ice. Long, serpentine segments, ridged with dinnerplate-sized scales, lined the top of its snakelike body—its coils undulated in great arcs as its body flowed below the sheet of ice.
Melody, still deep in her trance, was oblivious to everything around her. The leading edge of the ice closed in on Grimward.
The sheet of ice lurched. Silurian lost his grip on her robes and fell onto his back. Before he could stand, the floe bucked again. Giant cracks jagged toward them from the mainland’s edge.
He crawled back to Melody, looking in horror at her feet. They had to get off the ice at once. He doubted the precarious ice bridge could withstand any more blows from the serpent. He tried to pull her from her boots, but the ice was tight against her lower shins.
Her voice rose in pitch. The leading edge crunched as it grated along Grimward’s shoreline.
He desperately needed to free her feet, but as he looked up he saw her swoon. Releasing the hold on her staff, she fell over like a tree.
Silurian wrapped his arms around her legs to prevent her weight from snapping her shins where they disappeared into the ice. He laid her down as gently as possible, all the while scanning the top of the ice flow behind them, wondering where the serpent would break through.
He pulled out his dagger and feverishly chipped at the ice imprisoning her feet. The ice was so hard, his heart sank. He didn’t have time to free her.
The ice lurched once, then twice. A great section heaved into the air less than twenty feet away. The serpent’s head breached the ice’s surface and looked about. Spotting them, it emitted a deafening screech. With a huge splash, it disappeared from view.
Dungeon Keepers
Tarl descended the curving flight of steps into the dungeons below Gritian, with a torch in hand. What’s that slag doing down there? “Jer. Answer me when I call you.” He hated breaking in new guards. It always meant more work.
A metal hinge squealed. It didn’t sound like a food slot. More like a cell door. Tarl picked up his pace. That slag better not be forcing himself on the women. They were told to wait until High Warlord Uzziah had formally condemned the old man’s group.
Tarl stepped off the bottom step and looked down the long, dimly lit corridor lined with iron doors. How he loved the dank smell of the dungeons, the sweetness of rusting steel mixed with the heady aroma of stale dirt.
Other than the fact that there was no sign of Jer, nothing looked out of place. The cellblock was quiet. It generally remained that way. Once in a while they would house a lunatic, but they had ways of dealing with their ilk. A loss of one’s teeth, and even their tongue if they persisted with their nonsense, saw to that.
He couldn’t wait until they were given the nod to deal with that deranged giant the Enervator had brought in a few days ago. As much as he looked forward to that confrontation, he knew it wouldn’t go off without collateral damage. If it was up to him, he would fill the sack of shit full of crossbow quarrels and be done with it.
“Jer. For the love of your sweet mother’s teats, stop messing about. Where are you?” He grabbed the handle on the cell door to his left and gave it a cursory push. It was locked tight. He turned to check the door on his right, but stopped. In the shadows clinging to the bottom of the walls farther down the corridor, he spotted something odd. He squinted but couldn’t tell what it was from this distance.
“What the…” he mumbled and slowly strode toward the object.
He bent down to inspect it. It was a leather glove. What is that slacker up to? He has a lot of nerve pulling something like this on my watch, ‘cuz sure as hell it’ll come back on me.
Tarl stood up and checked the two doors on either side of the glove. Both locked. He remained still and listened. Nothing. He looked back toward the distant stairwell—the corridor was empty. The slag must be at the well. If he has one of those women with him, I’ll feed him his manhood.
Fuming, Tarl stormed down the passageway toward the door at its far end. The storeroom where the well was located, rank with iron tasting water.
He made a point of checking each door as he went. Most of them gave way, but he already knew them to be empty.
He double checked the door where the auburn-haired archer was held, fully expecting to find it unlocked. It wasn’t.
He put his hands on his hips. He couldn’t remember checking the other archer’s cell door at the bottom of the steps. He ran his tongue between the few teeth he had left and his upper lip, debating whether to walk all the way back and make sure. He smiled to himself. If he was to get it on with one of the prisoners, she’d be the one he chose—all tall and lanky like. Ach, I’ll check it on me way out.
He continued down the hallway, checking each cell. The cell containing the giant was a few more down on his left. His hackles rose for no reason. The cells leading to the big man’s were all empty, but he waved his torch inside each one anyway.
Outside the giant’s cell, he paused and listened. All was quiet. A cross corridor lay beyond. His breathing was heavy, his anxiety rising in conjunction with his anger. There were so many cells to check down the side corridors. Wait until I gets me hands on him. I’ll strangle the bastard.
He looked back up the passageway. He could barely make out the stairwell. He reconsidered his decision not to go back and ensure that he had checked the brunette’s cell. He might be doing all this extra work for nothing. He fumed. If that slag is doing her, I’ll sodomize him with me torch.
He gritted his teeth and absently pushed on the giant’s door, fully expecting it to resist his touch. It didn’t.
The door squealed on its hinges. It took his mind a second to fathom the revelation of that action. The pretty face of the brunette archer stared back at him, confusing him even further. Before he had time to do more than gape, terror froze him as an enraged giant stepped forth from the cell’s shadows and grabbed him by the neck.
He left his feet as he was pulled into the cell. He flailed out with his torch but he had no idea whether he hit anything or not. Cartilage popped in his neck as it collapsed and broke in the giant’s hands. The last thing he saw as his dying body jolted upon the dank cell floor was Jer’s vacant eyes staring back at him.
Soul Forge Saga Box Set Page 54
