by John L. Monk
“Okay, here we go,” I said. “Magic Carpet: raise us into the air.”
On cue, the carpet rose about five feet, causing me to readjust my footing. The sensation was that of a particularly fast elevator.
“Think I’ll sit down,” Rita said and did so.
“Magic Carpet,” I said. “Take us to … um … twenty feet up. Slowly. Please.”
Slower this time, we rose into the air.
“Try walking around,” Rita said from the safety of her chair.
“It’s easy,” I said after a few cautious steps. “A little bouncy, like a trampoline, but we’ll get used to it.”
She craned for a look over the side. “Hard to see the view from the middle like this. I think I’ll move my chair to the edge.”
“In a minute,” I said. “Magic Carpet … uh … fly northeast … uh … ten miles an hour.”
The carpet responded wonderfully. The acceleration from zero to ten was incredibly smooth. Unless you were standing on the back edge, not paying attention, you’d be in no danger of falling off.
“Like a flitter!” Rita said, clapping excitedly. “Go faster!”
I felt an automatic dampening of spirit at the mention of flitters, but pushed it away. After all, Melody was alive.
I nodded. “Magic Carpet—forward twenty miles an hour!”
The press of wind—though pleasant at ten—became hard, cold, and uncomfortable at twenty, such that I found myself twisting sideways to avoid it.
“May want to sit down now,” Rita said.
I nodded and sat in the camp chair next to hers. They were fairly low in profile.
“Magic Carpet,” I said. “Full speed ahead!”
The trader said it could fly thirty miles an hour. Though I didn’t have a speedometer, it did seem to be going about that quickly.
The wind, I realized, would be a problem, as it still seemed to be midwinter. The farther north we went, the more wintery it should get.
“I need to cover my face,” I said.
Rita giggled. “You’re not that ugly.”
“Magic Carpet: raise us to five hundred feet!”
Our ascent halted a minute later, though we were still flying at full speed.
“I’m loving this thing,” Rita said.
“It is fun,” I said. “Just wish it wasn’t so cold out. Carpet: decrease speed to … um … fifteen miles an hour.”
The carpet slowed, and I huddled in my clothes next to Rita. Once again, I cast Ice Guard on both of us, but it only helped a little.
“Is it me, or is it warming up?” I said four hours into our chilly journey.
I stood and looked over the side. “Hey, we’re over a desert!”
At some point, we’d missed passing from snowy hills and forests to sandy desert.
“It is warmer,” she said.
I noticed she’d removed her blanket.
“We can go faster now,” I said.
“And higher.” She pointed at something down below. “Look.”
I followed her finger to a cluster of dark forms zipping along the sand below in pursuit. They looked like miniature tornados, and I recognized them as air elementals. We’d fought them in the Swaze Pit, though those had been smaller.
“Think they’re dangerous?” I said, then immediately felt stupid. Of course they were dangerous.
“Of course they’re dangerous,” she said. “Everything’s dangerous, especially in Ward 2. Magic Carpet: take us up a thousand feet!”
We’d never been so high up. The air was thinner here, and a little colder, but warmer than the coldest parts of the journey.
“Mind the clouds,” I said.
“What clouds?”
The sky was clear.
“I’m just saying if we see any clouds.”
Rita shook her head and muttered something.
A half-hour later, the temperature had progressed from chilly, to cool, and then to warm.
After deactivating Ice Guard, I said, “Magic Carpet: full speed ahead.”
Chapter Twenty
We didn’t camp in the desert or stop after the eight-hour mark as previously agreed to. We kept going late into the evening.
Occasionally, when we spotted a binding stone, we’d hover over it and bind ourselves in the air by spinning six times on the carpet. We were too excited to stop, which was a strange feeling for me, though not for Rita. She was always excited about things.
“Oh, look at that—someone’s camping!” she said at one point.
Excitedly.
I got up and peeked over the side at a tree-covered valley with a moonlit river snaking down the middle of it. On one of the banks flickered the orange light of a campfire.
“Sure looks like it,” I said, and went back to my seat.
And waited.
Still by the edge looking down, Rita said, “Carpet: stop.”
I held on tightly as the carpet decelerated from thirty to zero.
“Hey,” she said. “Ethan. What do you say we go down and say hi? See what’s up? We need to stop anyway. It’d be fun to go camping with other people for once. Whatcha think?”
“Cloud giants,” I said.
Rita made a sound of disgust. “Oh come on. That was a mistake. This is planned.”
“What do we do with the carpet?” I said. “We can’t leave it here. It needs at least one person.”
“So let’s land.”
I shook my head. “We can’t go flying directly over them or they’ll wonder why the sky has suddenly blacked out. If we land farther away and march in, they’ll think we’re monsters.”
“Well, what if I flew down first? Said hi for both of us?”
“If I say no and won’t budge, are you gonna pout for two days?”
Rita nodded. “Tonight and most of tomorrow.”
“Fine, I’ll go.”
“It’s my idea.”
“You only have thirty lives,” I said.
“Thirty-four. And quit holding that over my head.”
“Just tonight,” I said, “and most of tomorrow. Watch the carpet!”
I leaped into the air, forcing her to stay seated or risk having it tumble from the sky.
“Jerk!” she shouted.
Laughing—feeling good—I began my descent.
As the twinkling fire grew larger, I could smell wood smoke. This comforted me. Surely if someone had a cheery fire going, they had to be cheery people, right?
Thinking about Rita’s almost giddy enthusiasm had me wondering about myself. In all my time in Mythian, never had I actively sought out human companionship with anyone other than my wife. In a way, my existence here had become a mirror of my pre-Mythian life with slightly less drinking. Still, I was happy to have Rita for a friend, and not just because of all she’d done for me. It was good to talk to someone different sometimes. Maybe talking to those people below would also be good.
I was close enough to see what looked like tents. Also, there were shapes around the fire that could have been people, though they didn’t move. Farther out were large poles stuck in the ground. For laundry, I figured.
Hovering maybe a hundred feet above the camp, I was about to shout Hello when a mass of purple light flew into me. This shattered both my Major Shield and Group Shield before stealing away 352 health points—20% of my maximum life, thanks to Aspect of the Swami. This was followed immediately afterward by snake-charmer music playing in my ears.
The attack was painful, but not terribly so. Rather, it was weakening. Some sort of life-draining magic, I’d later see in the logs. But that wasn’t the worst part. It also nullified the magic of my flight robes.
Helplessly, I plummeted into the middle of the camp with a sickening whump, bashing away another 352 points and triggering more “swami” music.
Groaning in agony, trying to breathe, I found myself surrounded by several beetle-faced insect creatures in robes. In their pincer hands were gnarled staffs topped with animal skulls.
“MLB!” I yelled at the nearest, blasting it with a Mighty Lightning Bolt through the air and into one of the poles, though not killing it.
The poles, I learned, weren’t for drying clothes. Hanging from them by their ankles were eviscerated humans, their faces locked forever in expressions of stunned horror.
In a panic, I blasted another of the creatures with a Sphere of Darkness. It didn’t die, either. I was about to hit it with Mighty Solar Strike when something slammed me in the head, knocking me out cold.
I came to hanging upside down from one of the poles. My mouth was covered in a resinous goo, and my hands were hanging below me lashed together. My mana pool was full, but grayed out. Nullified.
Off a ways, the beetle things clustered around a campfire, twittering at each other while waving a disturbing number of arms and antennae. One of them was chewing the lower half of a human leg as if it were a mutton chop.
I craned for a look at my feet, then sighed through my nose in relief when both were there. An instant later, I stiffened. There was something behind me!
“Shh,” Rita said, mouth close to my ear. Again, I craned my neck.
“Stop doing that,” she whispered. “I’m invisible. Listen: those things are real badasses. I’ve heard about them. Hruuk magi. Way tougher than young dragons. But six of them? You really stepped in it, Ethan.”
I made a noise of protest, then hushed when one of the things glanced over. There was a tense moment as it peered at me, then around me. Its attention alerted the others, who also looked. A few moments more and the first one emitted a series of clicks vaguely reminiscent of chuckling, and they all turned back to the fire.
Rita whispered, “I’m gonna get you free, but don’t try to fight. Fly up the river a mile and hover higher than the treetops. Keep going if they follow and stop when you lose them. I’ll come when I can. If you die, stay at the last binding stone and I’ll meet you there.”
Again, one of the hruuk looked over. This time it got up and approached. Though the firelight was behind it, I could see enough to wish I hadn’t: gore spattered mandibles and a swarm of feeder hooks for stuffing food into its maw like a crab. Also, its body was swathed not in robes, but in a chitinous black sheath that vaguely resembled a cloak.
The creature leaned down uncomfortably close, causing me to flinch away. When it spoke, its voice was alien, though comprehensible.
“Heee-rooo,” it chirruped in a vibrato tone. “Wee will let yooo heeel. Then we will eeeeet youuu, pieeece by pieeece until youuu give up. Liiiike them!”
It motioned at one of the meat things on the poles, and suddenly I knew these had been other players. The hruuk had trapped them, just like me. My guess was they’d chosen to give up—return to level 0—rather than be eaten alive.
The hruuk laughed. “Noooow youuu seee!”
As if punctuating the point, it reached for my leg with a wickedly sharp pincer. It was slowly applying pressure—the better to drag out the pain and add to my feeling of helplessness—when a terrific whoosh of flame sprang up from the campfire.
The hruuk issued a shriek, let go, and sprang into the air. Its cloak-sheath had converted to wings. They flared out and carried it deeper into the camp with the other riled hruuk, who were buzzing around the fire like wasps. They fired more of that purple magic, nearly hitting me in my helpless state.
I didn’t see Rita, but suddenly, my hands were free. Then my legs were free, and I crashed to the ground.
“HAAAAI-YAAAA!” Rita screamed from a few feet away, bringing forth a loud snapping sound from a nearby creature.
Rita’s next scream was one I’d heard many times during our fights with the young dragons. Fast as she was, she’d been hit.
I struggled to my knees, searching for her, but all I saw were blurred black bodies zipping around. The hruuk couldn’t have seen her either because they were blasting sporadically in every direction. Curiously, they’d switched from the purple stuff to red and green gouts of fire that lit up the surrounding trees.
Even if I wanted to help, I couldn’t have. The resin still sealed my mouth, blocking my mana. Which meant I couldn’t fly because my robes were trickle charged.
Fresh out of options, I did the only thing I could.
Chapter Twenty-One
My experience in the woods tracking the snow angel had paid off unexpectedly. Having grown accustomed to the ways of roots, sticks, and hidden pits, I fled the hruuk camp quickly without stumbling.
As I ran, I picked at the resin sealing my mouth, chipping and peeling it away. It clung painfully to the light stubble that grew every day and disappeared in the morning.
Everything in Mythian hurts.
When at last I freed my mouth, my mana returned, but I couldn’t pause for revelry. Back a ways, a hruuk was snapping branches I’d managed to avoid.
Now that I could fly again, I considered lifting through the trees and heading to the river, but the foliage overhead was sparse and the trees thin. Some sort of pine, tall and slender. The insect creatures were fast fliers—almost as fast as Rita. In my slower robes, I’d be a sitting duck.
I felt for my bag and came up empty. They must have taken everything after knocking me out. It would have been nice to call up my best demons, but without gems, I’d have to rely on sorcerer spells. Word of Death came to mind. But what if the hruuk had more than 85,000 health? For a whole minute following the cast, I’d be defenseless.
You could always discern it.
I’d need to get close enough to see it, and for it to see me. My first spell had to be an attack, not a query.
At some point, I knew I’d need to make a stand. Maybe I’d win. Worst case I’d lose, and reunite with Rita at the last stone.
Increasing my stride, I began looking for a good place to have a showdown. A minute later the decision was made for me when my foot came down with a crack on a large branch.
Back a ways, the hruuk chirruped in triumph.
I hid behind a tree and waited. When it stumbled into view carrying a long black staff, the spell I silent-cast was neither a query nor an attack.
Light Rune!
A glowing rune appeared on a tree about twenty feet away. The sudden light in the blackness half blinded me, but I’d spotted the hruuk. Hoping it was also blinded, or at least startled, I took a chance.
Discern!
The results flooded in as a purple blast shattered the rune-lit tree.
NAME: HRUUK MAGI
CLASS: WIZARD / WARLOCK / SORCERER
LEVEL: 489
BASE DAMAGE: 30,000 - 60,000
HEALTH POINTS: 94,000
I silent-cast Light Rune at a tree behind it, taking special care not to stare this time.
The creature spun around, but didn’t cast its purple blast again. It fired a white-hot beam of energy from its staff, burning the tree through the middle.
“Vrrrrrrroooooo!” the hruuk screamed in frustration.
Light Rune! I cast again.
This time, when the rune appeared on another tree, the hruuk didn’t cast anything. It searched the area. As its gaze swept toward me, I cast again, this time on my tree.
With a mere 1-second cooldown, Light Rune was designed primarily to light dungeons that didn’t have conveniently glowing moss, ancient runes, or pools of glowing lava. The utilitarian description hadn’t even hinted at a tactical usage, and I briefly wondered if I’d incur a karma hit.
The wary hruuk’s gaze swept back to the previous tree. It blasted it with a bolt of red lightning. Suddenly, I knew why it hadn’t cast that purple spell again—because it was on cooldown. For how long, I couldn’t know.
I thought quickly.
Mighty Lightning Bolt was a real cracker of a spell, hitting for 11,000 points. The math was clear: by casting Lightning Bolt followed by Word of Death, the creature should die.
My next spell was one I couldn’t simply think to cast, as it was a demon’s name, and diabolism names required vocalization. Though I didn’t have g
ems, this particular demon didn’t need any.
“Ghanut!” I yelled.
The hruuk spun around and blasted my tree to smithereens with what looked like an Invisible Fist. Though I hadn’t been hit, the blowback knocked me over and had me briefly disoriented.
After that, the screaming began. No, not from me. This was the demon—Ghanut—whose only purpose was to fly from place to place and scream when it stopped. Sort of spectacular-looking—a ten-foot-tall creature of white-hot flame with a voice like a steam whistle.
Dashing to the next tree, I cast Mighty Lightning Bolt. The bolt absorbed into a bright blue nimbus and I swore. The damned thing was shielded!
The hruuk’s next spell destroyed the demon, and not me.
YOUR MINION HAS DIED: Ghanut
“Mighty Bane Strike!” I shouted, forgetting to use the spell’s shorter alias.
The hruuk’s shield flared again and popped. I didn’t need to check my combat log to know most of the spell had hit the hruuk.
“Vrrrrrrroooooo!” it screamed in rage, but also pain.
I reached the next tree and it shattered like the last, knocking me back a good ten feet. Again, I ran. Hopefully the thing was too hurt to follow.
Light Rune! I silent-cast at a tree way off to my right.
Light Rune! I silent-cast high into the treetops.
I zigged. I zagged. I cast Light Rune where I thought it made sense.
All for naught. The sonofabitch dropped through the trees twenty feet ahead, cutting me off. Just barely, I had time to duck as the purple spell it loved so much crackled above me.
Light Rune! I cast again, this time aiming for the thing’s face before rolling to my left.
“Vrrrrrrroooooo!”
It stumbled and fell. When it got up, the rune was gone—how, I didn’t know and wasn’t about to go digging into the spell description to find out. Issuing another vibrato roar, it shot through the air with astonishing speed.
Desperately I shouted, “Word of Death!” but that’s not how it sounded. What emerged was an alien sound no human throat could utter without at least five more sets of vocal chords. The feeling as the spell completed was like vomiting razor blades dipped in acid.
