Zophie was petite, but her ass was fine. Well formed. Sculpted. And I’d have to be the male lead in a rom-com to not notice that she’d been checking me out at the cabin like a hungry she-wolf.
“Pleasure later, work time now,” I said to myself, just as my hands came into contact with wood.
A support pillar? No. This had to be the door. I tested it with a push and saw that it gave a little way before a metallic clank halted the progress.
Locked. But not for long.
I drew my standard issue wand and poured as much magic into it as I had available. A violet blade of hard arcana spilled forth from the tip. I jammed the thin blade into the crack between where the door met the wall, then slashed it down. The lock mechanism snapped, the door came ajar.
“Jailbreak,” I said, and got to stepping.
Making my way through the light-less corridors, I had to use a hand to steady myself against the wall. I could have used Cho to light things up, but I had a sneaking suspicion that drawing attention to myself was the last thing I wanted to do right now.
An ominous stench of ash wafted from up ahead. As my hand came into contact with a burnt out torch still jutting from the wall, I came to a swift and sudden realization. The torch was still warm to the touch.
“Ah, I get it. It’s not that this place is some forgotten sub basement,” I said. “Someone took out all the lights. And recently.”
My suspicions were confirmed. Up ahead, a glimmer of light flickered, but the closer I drew to it, the harder it became to breathe. The halls were filled with smoke. Reaching the source of the light, I saw it to be less a beacon and more a bonfire.
Blazing books. Parchment. Priceless antiques and mementos. The outline of stiff, charred human remains were bathed in the eerie glow of burning knowledge. My heart skipped a beat.
A slaughter. Was this the work of the Rusalka?
“Damn it,” I whispered. The shadows rustled. Rubble and stray sheets crumpled under unseen feet.
“Another one?” whispered a voice.
I turned around expecting an ambush, but none came. Another voice spoke up. Behind me, again.
“Where did he come from? Disgusting.”
“Murderer,” said another.
“Thief. Give it back,” and another.
Not good. I was surrounded. And whoever had surrounded me didn’t sound like they had any intention of playing nice.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw a fireball spark to life, launched at me from out of a corridor. Barely avoiding it, I threw myself to the ground as the deadly spell soared just over me and splashed against the wall. Sparks and embers cascaded down onto a pile of scrolls, setting them ablaze.
Another spell shot through air, cast moments after the fireball had been flung. I braced myself to take a hit, only to find that it hadn’t been aimed at me, but at the fireball that missed. With a whoosh, the flames were snuffed out instantly. The room once more was painted black.
I licked my lips and tried to visualize my surroundings. This wasn’t the Rusalka. No way. This was a completely different can of worms playing a totally different game.
“Give me back my mother,” said one.
“And my home,” and another.
“Beg beg beg for mercy,” another chanted.
Another fireball sparked to life. Good thing I anticipated it. The second I heard the telltale whistle of onrushing incineration I bolted left as hard and fast as I could. A hall trailed off from there, and I needed to buy time.
Halfway down the hall I collided with something small and fleshy. The impact sent me careening into the wall, my shoulder painfully clanging against another torch holder.
At that moment a light bulb lit up in my head. Figuratively, unfortunately. I scrambled for the iron sconce and grinned when my free hand got a solid grasp of the torch the sconce had been holding.
Perfect. Just one more thing to do and I can turn the tables.
A blast of fire glanced my forearm, searing pain made me clench my teeth as I ran on heedlessly. Baleful, demonic faces flashed before my eyes as balls of fire flew and arced around me, snuffed out as soon as they missed. By the time I’d reached a nice wide chamber at a dead end, I already had a bit of an idea as to what I was facing.
They were short. They were hideous. They could see perfectly in the dark. They were likely physically weak. Despite their use of pyromancy, they hated being seen so much that they developed magic to limit the light their own fires produced. And most importantly of all?
They were all probably clamoring to get to me through the narrow corridor I just took. No exit.
A spark of light came from behind me. I drew in a deep breath, waited as the fireball hurtled towards me, and at the last minute flung my body left holding the torch in the way of the fireball.
Fwoosh. The torch caught the fireball and blazed to life.
Throwing the now blazing torch back the way the fireball came, it landed on a trail of papers and lighting up stacks of records into a nice revealing blaze.
Squat leering faces. Hoofed feet and horned heads. All revealed. My tormentors squinted, hands struggling to shield their eyes from the torchlight.
I grinned wickedly, fire dancing all around.
“Game on, assholes.”
Chapter 42
The nearest horned prowler got an amateur heart transplant as my sword pierced his chest. A cry resounded from his buddies as I closed in for a quick and messy melee. They panicked, a salvo of fire blasting over top of the front rank of goatish Fairies. Too bad I saw it coming. Hand already tracing a circle in the air, I’d tapped the center of the spell circle to summon a violet shield just in time.
It might look like the ghost of a glass fruit bowl, but this particular spell was very spooky if you had brains plus anticipation. Lesser reflect.
High pitched howls pierced the air, and were swiftly silenced as my reflect spell bounced the salvo of fireballs right back at their casters. Some stumbled back feebly, others writhed and then went still, joining the bodies of the Order members on the tunnel floors.
Fire licked at the cavernous passages as I surveyed my grim work. A wheeze caught my attention. I turned to investigate.
“Get yours. You’ll get yours. Filth. Human,” a fairly intact Fairy spoke.
It was even uglier than I expected. It looked a little bit like what you’d imagine a Devil would really look like. Not Lis. Not at all. It was short, with goat hooves and thick black fur mercifully rising up to about its waist. Scrawny emaciated ribs and bare flesh could almost pass for Human from the chest up. Gangly, crooked arms, a face that looked old mixed with a voice that sounded young. Creepy. The tail twitched clumsily too.
“What the hell are you?” I asked.
Whatever he was, he was beyond posing much of a threat to me.
“You don’t even know the names of those you’ve so wronged? Disgusting monster.”
“Humor me,” I insisted, taking an intimidating step towards the squat creature.
“Chort. I am a Chort. A noble Fairy. And as long as I live I will see you suffer for what you’ve done to us,” it muttered.
‘Noble’, he says.
“You attacked me first,” I informed him mildly. “Don’t make me sound like the villain here.”
“First?” the Chort asked incredulously. The word was enough to draw a hysterical laugh from the Fairy.
“How many of my kin have yours slaughtered? How many tortured? Ridiculed? Our tails cut. Our flesh burned. Why? Because we look like your Devils? Because we wanted to be left alone? Curse you, Human. By the bald mountaintops and the lightless woods curse you!”
The Chort’s words failed him. He screamed in hatred and wept in impotent rage all at the same time.
He’s right you know, whispered a voice in the back of my brain. You’re no hero, Charles. Helping others? Erasing sins? What nonsense. Your sins will never be washed from you.
Accept it.
I shook my head hard.
“Is the Familiar Lord here with you? Are you his servants?” I asked.
“Servants? We are his willing soldiers. The Familiar Lord will bring peace to our land. At last. At long last he will cast out the villainous Humans. He will return the wild places to us. Avenge the fallen. Return the exiled. Do what you want to me Human scum. It will not stop him.”
If there was something I was familiar with, it was Human folly. There wasn’t a moment of doubt in my mind that the rage and hatred churning inside this Fairy was well deserved.
What could I do about it all though? Why did the Lord Illusionist flee Nine Towers and raise the flag of rebellion? Why now of all times? What changed? I’d been sent to kill him and crush the rebellion, but if I did what would become of the Fairies? Save the Order, doom the Fairies. Doom the Order, save the Fairies. Was there even a ‘right’ choice?
My breath caught. My body shuddered. No. There’s always a right choice. I just had to find it.
“Get out of here. Don’t come back.”
The creature’s face contorted with surprise. “You’re tricking me.”
“No trick. Tell your friends. I don’t want to kill you if I don’t have to. Now get lost,” I said, leaving the grotesque Fairy in my dust.
I couldn’t kill it. Why?
My head spun as I made my way through the dizzied tunnels. I took a torch from another holder and lit it up in a nearby blaze. Too many questions unanswered. Would I make it out of this mess with my soul in tact? Would I make it out at all?
I don’t have time to think on that now. Closing my eyes, I imagined the homing spell that had been cast on Nuhl. She should be close. But where exactly?
Chapter 43
The distinct sound of a woman’s cries stopped me in my tracks. I cocked my ear for a second before taking a hard right. Definitely Nuhl. I’d better hurry.
Rounding a dank corner I caught a trio of Chorts crowding around a cell much like the one I had been in. Zophie was trapped within by the rabble of Chorts. Her antimagic was a double edged sword. It made her infinitely valuable in a fight against a magician, but made her utterly unable to manifest magic herself.
It’d be like evoking fire magic while neck deep in a swimming pool.
This meant that against things that are unaffected by antimagic, or that are simply physically stronger than the tiny woman, she was totally useless. Take the current situation for example.
Zophie, hands stretched out, pants and abdomen singed, desperately tried to fend off the Chorts as they shot darts of fire at her just fast enough for her to be unable to keep up.
The horned not-Devils were too engrossed in their cruel game to notice me coming. Big mistake. Their only hint of a problem was when Zophie glanced past them a second after I pounced.
My wand-sword dug through nearest Chort’s back. Just as the life left the stabbed Fairy, I slashed wide, downing another without argument. In the space of three seconds a single grotesque Fairy remained, his right arm cut all the way down to the bone.
“Zophie, are you--”
“Watch out,” she cried.
The wounded Chort babbled balefully, his body glowing brighter and brighter. I didn’t need to understand the spell to know exactly what he was getting at. I threw myself over Zophie and pinned her to the ground just as the spell reached completion.
A deafening explosion was followed by a brief shower of furry bits and and seared bone. My back felt like it had sunburns all over it.
I need a vacation damn it.
“Zophie,” I said, gasping for breath.
She was gasping too.
“Charles. I couldn’t do a damn thing. They took my gun in the dark and--”
“It’s fine. If you want to see someone really suck you should see my aptitude tests,” I replied. I tried to rise, but Zophie’s hands tightened around my neck. My face was crammed against her breasts.
“Thank you. You saved my life.”
“If I knew getting you to play nice was as easy as letting you peek at my abs, I should have just flashed you back at HQ,” I replied.
“Shut up and give me another second.”
I did. She smelled of sweat, smoke and fading deodorant, but it all came together to make her endearing. I’d had more than my fair share of weak moments too. Gently, I pulled myself off of Nuhl. She was singed, but otherwise she seemed well enough.
“Can you walk?” I asked.
Nuhl nodded.
“Good. We need to find Popov and get out of this death trap. The Order’s people are all dead.”
“Charles,” Zophie said.
“What?”
“I think I know why the archive fort got hit.”
Never had much of a chance to consider the whys, but the moment Zophie mentioned it, warning bells started ringing in my head. A horde of fiery fairies eager to kill with extreme prejudice? Hitting a no name fort in the middle of nowhere that even Popov had barely heard of? That specialized in archiving information?
“The Lord Illusionist. There’s something here that’ll lead us to him,” I said.
Zophie nodded. “That’s what I’m thinking too.”
“I thought you were thinking about my abs.”
“Both.”
“She admits it,” I muttered.
“But we’re too late,” Zophie said.
She was right. The archives burned. The Order’s people were dead. The Lord Illusionist erased the whole fort without a hitch.
No, not quite without any hitches. I chuckled, softly at first, before growing into a full cackle. Lis would have been proud.
Nuhl looked worried. “Locke?”
I’m such an idiot. Why didn’t I think of him sooner? I dug into my back pocket, and retrieved a small key chain with a tiny plastic Japanese lantern attached at the end.
“Zophie, I’d like to introduce you to Cho. Not only can he reveal weaknesses but he also happens to have photographic memory.”
“Master Charles?” the lantern of weakness mumbled. He gasped with joy the second he got his first look at his surroundings.
“Oh. Oh! I like the amount of fire we’ve got down here!”
Chapter 44
“I can’t believe it,” Zophie Nuhl said.
“Can’t believe that I’ve been holding on to an exceedingly dangerous and sapient magical item that should have been surrendered to the Nine Towers armory a very long time ago? That I have a worryingly amoral creature hanging out in my back pocket and who has a really good handle on all my weaknesses?” I suggested.
I shouldn’t have. The glare Nuhl shot me was strong enough to peel paint.
“I can’t believe we’ve pulled this out of our asses,” she said at last.
We took the scenic route, passing through every room of half burned scrolls and books we could find. I held Cho the same way the Statue of Liberty held up the torch as we made the rounds, the lantern’s ghost light spilling greedily over the flaming carnage around us. Just a glimpse was enough for him to see all that hadn’t been burnt up.
That being said, time was against us. I picked up speed. While Cho did his work, we were searching for something completely different.
Popov was too old and unmagical to get out of his cell. Therefore we’d have to break him out ourselves. That is, unless the Chorts burnt him to a crisp already. Sometimes delightfully vanilla Humans were a pain to look after.
At the end of a long corridor I found a thick wooden door. Bingo.
I raised my free hand and knocked. “Pizza delivery.”
A clamor from the other side. “Locke? You made it out?” Popov asked.
“Correct. Hang on a second and I’ll set you free.”
“You don’t have time,” the priest spoke, “I’ve heard fighting. You two need to get out of here before--”
“It was Chorts. I took care of them all,” I said.
A pause. “Chorts? How many?”
“About a baker’s dozen. If there’s any left they’re hiding. Or re
treating,” I said.
I sliced open the hinges, and the door yawned open with a morbid creak. Popov stepped out looking none the worse for wear.
“The archives?” he asked.
“Nothing but ashes now,” Zophie said, her voice solemn.
“That’s fine. We can always rebuild. How many survivors?”
Zophie and I turned to look at each other, “None.”
The priest’s face fell. He smiled sadly, and nodded in understanding. He suddenly looked older and more tired.
“I was hoping perhaps some were. We’ve lost then, I take it?”
Zophie shook her head. “No. We figured out why the Lord Illusionist attacked it.”
“Can we be sure the Fairies were his subordinates?” Popov asked.
“I can confirm. I interrogated one,” I said.
“Good thinking. But what could Nikita Gogol have to gain by destroying Archive Fort Krasny?”
“Gogol is aware of our pursuit. He knows we’re hunting him. He’s set up ambushes, traps, sicced Leshys and Rusalkas on us. He must be getting nervous. That’s why he hit these archives,” Zophie said.
“I don’t understand,” Popov said.
“The Illusionist must think there’s something in here that would be a big help to us. Locations, names, habits? History? A list of fears? Who knows,” I said.
Popov wiped sweat from his brow, his faces scrunching up into a thoughtful grimace. “I should have known. I should have warned them. Now everyone and everything in here is gone.”
“Not exactly,” I said, and held up Cho.
“Weakness detected: Rodents,” Cho cheerfully said to the old man.
Afraid of rats, old man?
Popov nearly jumped out of his skin. “What is that?”
“Slightly illegal magical paraphernalia. Cho, meet Popov. Old man, Lantern of Weakness.”
“What does that thing have to do with anything?” Popov demanded.
“Well, you see, Cho is capable of noticing weaknesses at little more than a glance. Never been wrong. How is he capable of uncovering weaknesses in such a timely matter, I hear you ask?”
Live and Let Lie Page 14
