He waited.
“I’ll agree to your proposal Fenix, and I will speak with the Outsiders so that they keep out of it. I’ll also tell you everything I know about the Warlock and Page. Beyond that, I will stay out of it, let you do your thing and see how events play out.”
Exactly as he wanted it, in the depths of his mind where she couldn’t reach he hid the secret of why the Warden would have an interest in his escape. Why he needed Page.
The way he was going to escape would never work for Quelina, not unless she could find another being like Page that is.
She stroked a hand down one thigh sensually.
“So do we shake hands on our deal? Or would you like to seal the agreement in a more, shall we say, deeper way?”
Fenix’s answer was vigorous, and satisfying for them both.
**
From the Warrens, it was a long walk to the stronghold of the Warlock.
A dusty and dry road, wide with an easy view from the walls.
Prisoners subjugated into working in the mines traveled along the other route, straight into where they worked to death. Fenix had to admit that it was smart on the part of the Warlock.
Old man Page probably did not care about the subtlety, but Quelina certainly knew to profit from it. She must have come along after the Warlock, who itself would have come in after Fenix’s last visit.
The Prison was for the worst of the worst, so far in his travels, he had seen anything from the pathetic to the truly dangerous. From the outside, this would make any being wonder as to why the place had such a reputation.
It came down to a combination of things starting with the amnesia on arrival.
Fenix himself was powerful, at least as powerful as some of the most dangerous Beings incarcerated inside. He knew he could go toe to toe with any of the three great leaders, their allies or thugs included.
One at a time, but altogether they would be a serious challenge.
He had arrived with no idea as to his potential, everyone did.
So every prisoner could have immense power locked away within their blank minds. Some could probably transform into other states of immense destruction. Others might have been able to summon or control beings which would aid them.
It all came to mean that without a way to bring out their memories, they were all as dangerous as any other sentenced to the Prison. Just held back enough to truly feel the judgment of their actions.
He had to wonder though, if a much more powerful being, a godlike or higher power were to break enough laws. Would they even be considered in a split second for the Prison?
Probably.
Then came the more considerable powers, the Warlock in particular.
Take a Prisoner from arrival, and immediately push them into service, keep them low on Vitae so that they had to serve or die. It was not a conflict, no fighting to relearn or remember, nothing critical or s life-threatening as to get the equivalent of adrenaline pumping.
The mediocre mind blasted criminals had little chance to truly fight back, as dangerous as they may have been to be sentenced here.
How had it happened Fenix wondered? That Quelina and the Warlock had come to regain their memories.
Something they had likely kept from common knowledge with lethal efficiency. Old man Page probably lashed out, even its basic personality driving it into conflict with anything it came across. That thing had to feed and grow, an instinct which should have seen it destroyed early on in its weakness.
Somehow it had survived, perhaps it had arrived before the Warlock, uninterested in getting organized in the power vacuum left by Fenix. The Warlock then took control and allowed Page to be a different threat, something like being protected from the monster if you worked for the Warlock.
Anything to survive, Fenix could understand that.
Guards on top of the crude battlements were lazy, but even a lazy guard wouldn’t be able to miss someone moving up the road to the gates. Fenix had tapped into the power of fire to create illusions, heat haze, a mirage in the desert when appropriately shaped all sort of images were possible.
In this case, moving along the road among the rest of the haze and dust was child’s play, footprints kept indivisible by his light steps.
The Warlock wasn’t so trusting in his open view and guards though, spaced along the sides were stones with carved runes. Magical senses and alarms, clever and challenging to get around or past without something giving a warning.
Fenix didn’t bother to counter the arcane with spells of his own, his illusions took on all of the aspects of the empty road and cloaked him in it. The spells on the stones detected only the same open space as they usually did such was his skill.
Once he was in range the first guard died, a perfect shot of a broadhead arrow through the Being’s throat. Out of nowhere, the second arrow shot with precise aim from the side of the road, a second guard down with the white and black mist of death wafting away.
Fenix was using a standard bow, although one he had made from materials scavenged on his travels back here. His newest weapon wasn’t one he wanted to reveal just yet, he needed the right opportunity, and if he were right, that opportunity would be soon.
Some of the guards must have been allowed to recover some memories because of the ten left on the wall several took up their own bows and aimed along the road. Three of them raised their hands, and in their individual languages, or what they used to make sound, cast spells down at the road.
One was a strong effect to reveal anything hidden, it spent itself without taking effect on Fenix, his own spell much more complex than the feeble attempt.
The other two, however, were more useful for the simple fact that they assumed someone was on the road somewhere. A sudden wind lifted the dust from the front gates of the stronghold, up in a wave higher than twice as Fenix was tall.
The second Being’s spell struck at the static caused by the sand and arcs of electricity shot through the oncoming wave. It was a blasting sandstorm design to flay skin from an attacker and strike them with killer bolts at the same time.
An attack against flesh and armor, a well thought out attack.
Fenix wasn’t impressed, he could have avoided it, let it flow over him harmlessly or send it back upon the walls. But his plan needed to show strength without showing too much power.
Sand and dust crackled around him in a small dome, a minor shield protecting him from harm but impressive enough for the guards on the wall to call for help. He drew, nocked and fired another two arrows through the throat of the one spell caster and the eye of the other, its only eye.
The smell of actinic air from electrified sand surrounded him with the charred circle where his shield had protected him. Fenix stepped over that rim, not wanting a clever arcanist to use the circle burned into the ground for something else sneaky.
Sneakier than him, however unlikely.
The scream of the one-eyed being echoed inside the courtyard when it fell down behind the wall. Arrows then shot back at Fenix through the settling dust, each one ricochet from his shield, small orange flares consuming each arrow in fire. Molten arrowheads dropping into malformed lumps of metal on the brushed road surface.
He fired, not as fast as he could but fast enough to be deadly.
Two, then three, then five of the remaining defenders were down, all while Fenix walked calmly closer to the gates. Return fire became sporadic and then stopped altogether as the guards realized that they were going to die without making any effect on the intruder.
Ducking down behind the walls their hope at that point was that the spell-warded gate would keep out the intruder long enough for reinforcements to arrive.
It would, but only because Fenix wanted events to play out like this.
He was enjoying himself.
Placing the bow over his shoulder with the string in front lying across his chest so that it settled comfortably where he could reach it Fenix prepared himself. Fire swirled to burning life in e
ach of his grey palms, the color deepening to a dull red surrounded by brighter yellows.
The first fireball hit the air just before the gate, shimmering across spell wards and glyphs of protection. The energy of the strike dispersed into the surrounding stone which glowed briefly from small cracks where trapped air consumed itself in a rush.
His second fireball lit up the wards for a second longer, the third hit and then the fourth before the glyphs had entirely disappeared. The stone around the gate was glowing by the sixth fireball, the energy unleashed along the spell pathways becoming more than they could handle.
Fenix gauged their remaining strength and slowed down his attack a little, he didn’t want to seem overly powerful.
Another ten fireballs spaced over another three minutes or so and the wards broke down in sparks. The eleventh fireball tore into the wooden and iron gates, cracking the metal and setting them on fire.
For dramatic effect, Fenix threw another fireball to quicken the flames and then stood in front of the gates as they burned away. Iron melted aside as the wood burned, a portal opening before this new attacker.
The prisoners coerced into being guards watched from the inside while Fenix became first a silhouette and then a stalker coming through the flaming mess, untouched.
It had the desired effect, on the guards it was an ominous sign of Fenix’s power, for Torn it was arrogance to match his own.
The cloven-hoofed horned monster stalked slowly among the guards in the Warlock’s courtyard, his mulish face split in a fierce grin. He looked at Fenix, obviously improved from their last encounter, and felt a familiar joy that perhaps he could enjoy beating submission into the shorter white-haired man thing.
For his part, Fenix saw the creature coming closer and felt elated; it wasn’t as if Torn was hard to read. His plan was working perfectly, now he needed to complete the next step convincingly, and with style.
“Torn the invulnerable, huh? I wonder what kind of act gave you the name Torn and still made you invulnerable. Thing is a lot of people hear the word and think that they can’t stop you, hurt you, certainly never kill you.” Fenix called out.
Torn was a lot closer now, stalking forward in sheer rage, his temper clearly boiling out of his every movement, his hooves leaving deep imprints in the ground.
“But you know Torn, invulnerable only means you have no specific vulnerability, no specific weakness. It doesn’t mean you are immortal or incapable of being harmed. I proved that already, didn’t I?”
“Let’s see how confident you are after my master is done with you,” Torn growled.
He threw a fireball at Torn as a distraction and then broke into a run to the left, hauling his bow over his should and setting an arrow to the string as he went. The fire hit Torn squarely in the head, the impact on his thick skull a dull thud while the fire burned into the goat’s beard and fuzz.
With a roar Torn shook his horns side to side, the fire burning out, the hair growing back just as quickly as they had been consumed. Not a mark or blemish showed from the attack, and Torn cried out a wordless challenge.
The first arrow bounced off his chest as Torn started a solid lope that he turned into a charge at the intruder.
Fenix adjusted, as he should in battle, and enchanted his next arrow with fire, wreathing it in red fire. This one fired into Torn’s left shoulder and blew a hole into him as it penetrated the thick outer hide.
Torn stumbled in stride while his wound closed, the pain bringing another fierce cry from the taller creature.
Fenix fired again, this arrow hotter, an orange flame, it stuck in Torn’s ribs for a second before he healed. The next was yellow and burned up and down the hair on Torn’s left leg from his hip. His next few were a yellow so bright they shimmered from the sand where excess energy created tiny flecks of glass that fell to the ground as the arrow flew by.
Torn chased after Fenix as the arrows flew, prisoners getting out of the way while Fenix circled the much larger champion of the Warlock. The arrows struck, and Torn relished the pain, steadily getting closer and closer to Fenix, the end was inevitable.
Fenix’s arrows ran out.
He could craft many but carry only so much and still be able to maneuver, as planned the apparent weakness brought a gleam of knowing cunning to Torn’s eyes. Fenix discarded the bow and unstrapped his quiver before drawing the short sword from the sheath upside down on his back.
With quick, deft slices, he threw off all of the other leather bindings, leaving him in the black moth armor, light and durable. The prisoners watching the fight evaluated the intruder now as a quicker and small attacker.
It wasn’t wrong, not being able to match Torn in strength without considerable magical aid, Fenix went for speed and agility. Using the semblance of arrogance again, he turned towards the champion and attacked at close range. The silvery metal of the sword was spelled to stay sharp, looted from the armory of Joan.
Slices appeared out of nowhere across the legs, hips, and stomach of Torn, only to heal back across almost immediately. Torn took the stings in stride and swiped around at Fenix who dodged aside from every blow, even ducking between his legs at times.
Dust flew from their feet as they engaged in a battle with only one outcome.
Torn hadn’t landed a blow on Fenix who wreathed his sword in flame in an attempt to cause even more damage to the Warlock’s servant. But the wounds still healed, if a little slower, with endless stamina and capacity to endure Torn was going to outlast Fenix, it was just a matter of time.
Fenix stumbled, one small stone underfoot and what seemed to be his exhaustion creating just that single opening.
Torn lashed out, faster than a creature his size could have done without magical aid. The blurred forearm caught Fenix across the side of his chest and threw him from his feet. The sword tumbling through the air to one side as Fenix was thrown right across the courtyard and slammed into a stone wall.
Wrapping flame into a complex spell form Fenix splashed blood onto the stone, his own slightly pinkish gore burned as an image that would last for days. His own acting skills showed him sway on his feet with his hands pushing himself back off the wall.
The immense weight of Torn smashed into him, the monster had broken into a dead sprint the moment he had seen which direction Fenix had been smacked. Two fists of unbendable bone and muscle slammed Fenix so hard into the wall that it cracked and rumbled.
Another illusion splattered blood, Fenix made the sounds of bones snapping and colored his hair in gore and ichor. Even as he slid slowly to the floor, the illusion covering his face with a paleness to indicate loss of blood, he carefully watched Torn from behind the shaping of closed eyes.
The champion of the Warlock stood over him, breathing hard, with triumph written over every line of his body. Then his head tilted slightly, his ears quivered where the tufts grew on their tips, and he listened to a far off voice.
He looked back down at Fenix who pretended to be beaten unconscious and injured beyond any ability to fight back.
“Now I pity you man thing. For my Master wants you.”
Torn wrapped one hand around both of Fenix’s calves and turned, dragging him across the courtyard and down stone steps into the stronghold.
Underneath his impenetrable illusion, Fenix had a menacing smile of his own. Then he pushed himself unconscious so that it would be real, one spark left alert to any danger before the right time.
**
Consciousness returned with the disgusting feeling of something slimy wriggling its way down his throat.
His jaw was wedged open, and something hard was shoved in all the way to the back of his mouth where it rubbed against what felt like his larynx. With his head tilted up awkwardly and his nose pressed to something that smelled like boiled leather he assumed that, while he was still alive.
He was at the torture part of his expectations for how this would go down.
They hadn’t tried to kill him outright while he was u
nconscious, that was a good sign at least if they had then his spell of recall would have activated before his body consumed Vitae to heal him. It was very hard to actually kill him these days, with all the backup spells he had already cast on himself.
Something very powerful could circumvent them, but in general, they were enough for him to pursue this plan.
He only hoped that he had played the part off well and gotten what he wanted.
“He is awake.” A voice spoke, with a slight hiss and enunciating a language he knew, but was also not in everyday use that he recalled.
It was Torn who replied, “Yes, master.”
The forced removal of the thing in his mouth was preceded by the sound of Torn’s hooves striking stone; he caught a quick glimpse of some sort of super-sized grub dangling from the end of a funnel as it was removed out of sight.
His head was still held rigidly in place by a set of wooden braces bolted into a metal frame that also kept him upright. Whatever that grub thing was, it had friends who were already slithering around inside his stomach and intestines.
“Release him.” The sibilant voice spoke again; if the language was different, it would have elongated the s sounds and hissed with the more extended consonants.
There was a chuckle from the goat man, and then the manacles holding him to the metal frame came undone, cracking open around burns where they must have melted shut. Obviously, they expected he would have gone through a lot of pain even while unconscious, and they wanted him secured.
He waited, relaxed until Torn broke the catches holding his head in place and then he was finally able to look around. Without the funnel pressed into his mouth and up against his nose, he could smell the damp stone and slight spores of moss. They were indeed in a room carved from stone, the metal frame and its wooden braces set off to one side now with a detritus of broken clamps and manacles around it.
Convict Fenix Page 45
