“I’ll surrender if you let the others go,” Luke replies from his perch. He drops from the hook when a blast of paralytic goo is fired at him, the half-elf landing on the vat’s rim. “Careful, Lord Fortune. Don’t want to knock me into this. The Baron won’t be happy if you kill a champion, especially one that he’s already softened up.”
“You may have a point, but I have an alternative plan,” the inventor declares before hitting a button underneath a table. Nothing happens, so he curses and takes out his tools to fix the faulty switch. “I knew I should have tested the older traps. Don’t even remember when the last time I used this was. Can’t believe the idiot is just standing there. How in all of Windemere did you beat Tyler and survive even one encounter with Stephen?”
An echoing crack of electricity erupts from the table and Nyder is thrown against the railing, a curtain of smoke rising from his body. The entire factory shakes and the roof opens, revealing the churning storm high above the continent. Lightning strikes the building and is absorbed by the tall beams that are found on each of the four corners. The energy combines to form a net that gently lowers over the hole, preventing anything larger than a bat from escaping. Being so focused on the looming spell and moving platforms, Luke does not notice that the vat is draining until he feels a cool breeze on his back. The base rapidly spins and randomly changes direction in order to shake the surprised half-elf into the container, the heated walls burning his skin and clothes. With the grinding of gears, the vat is flipped over and used to trap the injured forest tracker.
“That wasn’t what was supposed to happen. Must have crossed the wrong wire,” Nyder mutters while massaging his head. He is about to fiddle with the button again when his mind goes blank and he is forced to drop his tools. “Eh, good enough. Bring them to the top floor and give the Callindor a healing potion for those burns. Please make sure to put each one in the right container. Last thing I want is an accident.”
*****
The steel and glass container rattles whenever Nyx tries to blast her way free, every attempt resulting in her nearly drowning in foam. Repeatedly drained of her power, the channeler eventually sits against the wall and glares at any demon who looks in her direction. To her right, Sari gasps and groans in a cage that has heat gems attached to the ceiling. Her naiad powers sputter and fail if she attempts anything more complicated than preventing her body from dehydrating. The naked gypsy tries to turn her sweat into lock picks, but her head is swimming too much for her to focus on the details. Slumping to the ground, Sari waves to Timoran, who is wrapped in strength-sapping cloth and held upside down. His bizarre prison is constantly spinning and changing direction to keep him off balance. On the far side of the platform, Luke and Dariana have been connected to each other by runic manacles. Whenever one starts to struggle, their friend is struck by a psychic pain that eventually jumps to the other prisoner. To their credit, neither of the champions have screamed or cried whenever they set off the sensitive bonds.
“I’ll work on the other three here,” Nyder says as he returns with Delvin. His demonic assistant tosses the drooling warrior into an empty container, which uses the champion’s own powers to form a barrier. “Fascinating that his aura is trying to protect him from danger, but it doesn’t realize that it’s also preventing him from escaping. Too bad I couldn’t get him to do anything more than heal his injuries. Fount powers are extremely rare, so one can only imagine the uses they would have in my field. Most remarkable is that my magic probe never found the bottom of his aura, which means the possibilities could be endless. Perhaps some kind of living battery for a war machine or mass healing machine? I will have to come back to him. Now, let’s see who is next.”
“How about me?” Nyx asks as she punches the glass. Holding her aching hand against her chest, the half-elf sits back down in the dissolving puddle of muck. “Channelers are just as rare as founts. Those that you would normally find are nowhere near as powerful as I am. Promise I’ll behave if you let me out.”
“You aren’t very good at this,” the gnome replies while he clears a table. Picking up a wand, he aims it Sari and then Timoran before going back to the gypsy. “Trinity was here long enough for me to get plenty of information on your kind. I didn’t even have to cut into her or do anything painful. She was a very helpful subject in return for some luxuries that I’m sure went to her people. So, you’re going to stay in there until I give you to the Baron. Same goes for Dariana and the Callindor since I’ve done all I can with them in the past. I think I’ll finish my notes on half-breeds, which I now know are called Feykin.”
Nyder yawns when Nyx covers her body in lightning and sets off the foam trap, leaving only her hand exposed. He waits to make sure she can get her head above the muck before continuing to Sari’s cell. Carefully aiming his metal wand, the gnome injects the gypsy with a potion that confuses her brain and muscles. When she tries to stand, her arms flail out and bang against the bars. Her attempt to regain control causes her to vomit, which makes her weak enough for one of the demons to effortlessly pull her out of the superheated cage. Waiting for Sari to be placed on the work table, Nyder quickly hands her a cold drink and puts a blanket over her shoulders. The thin garment wraps around her body to create an ankle-length gown of white that keeps her warm and covered. Thinking she has a chance to escape, the gypsy attempts to use her powers, but the potion coursing through her veins only lets her dribble a few pathetic droplets of ice from her mouth.
Flipping through an old notebook, Nyder picks up a small hammer to test the gypsy’s reflexes. He frowns at how perfectly she reacts, his intention to set off her immovability failing due to her weakened condition. With a frustrated curse, he puts his hand against Sari’s belly and turns his fingers to make the gown fade away. Instead of exposing her skin, the enchanted garment shows her bones and organs, which causes her to flop off the table. Assuming that she intended to move away, the gnome kneels next to the gypsy and takes some of her hair in his hands. Using an eyeglass, he inspects the strands and jots down two pages of notes before waving for the demons to put her back.
“Your skin isn’t really missing, so try to relax,” Nyder explains, his distaste for talking to subjects evident in his voice. Poking Sari around her chest and stomach, he continues scribbling whatever comes to mind. “I’ll sort through this later. There’s not much difference between your organs and that of a pure human. Probably caused by you being a later generation or perhaps it depends on how the combining bloodlines mix. Could be something in the rote system, but I haven’t worked with that theory in years. Your bones and organs have a slightly above average density and resilience, which I believe connects to your immovability. Betting it takes a little more than one would expect to break part of you, but you wouldn’t notice because you’ve been getting hit by some powerful things since becoming a champion. I feel like I should apologize because you are much more fascinating than I expected. Where does all of the water stay within you?”
“I can only use what’s around me. I can’t create water,” Sari replies, nodding her head at a nearby pitcher. She abruptly grabs a nearby cup, her focus more on moving a leg instead of the arm. “I think I’m figuring this thing out. The potion reverses whatever I’m trying to do or simply disrupts it. Never underestimate a thief when it comes to traps and poisons.”
Filling the prisoner’s glass, the inventor nods his head and puts his notebook away. “I wouldn’t dream of it. When the Lich held you prisoner, I managed to get a brief inspection through a portal while nobody was looking. My estimate is that I need six layers of defenses to keep you even remotely contained. This covers your naiad powers, illusions, thief abilities, immovability, combat skills, and emotion magic. As you can see, I haven’t bothered with all that work. I find it much simpler to point out that resistance will result in at least one of your friends dying. Two if I boost those psychic manacles to their true power.”
“That would certainly do it.”
“So, wher
e are you hiding the Compass Key?”
“You stripped me completely naked, so I’m obviously not the one you want.”
“And it wasn’t in your skirt pockets.”
“Like you would see it anyway.”
“Exactly, which is why I am asking.”
With a wide frown, Sari focuses on finishing her drink and lets the gnome go back to inspecting her. Unknown to Nyder, the gypsy is subtly using her power to have the intrusive potion seep out of her tongue. When she can twitch the finger she intended to move, she flips backwards and knocks the inventor into a chair. Tearing off her gown, Sari throws the scraps into the nearest demon’s face and leaps over the creature to sprint for the table that holds all of her gear. As soon as she grabs her skirt, a blast of magic explodes throughout her body and sends her slamming into her cage. Still holding onto her clothes, she gets dressed and stands defiantly under the hottest of the heat gems. Having gathered all of the potion into her mouth, she spits the liquid onto the ground and grins.
“Like I didn’t plan for that,” Nyder groans while massaging his jaw. Hitting a button on Nyx’s container, he replaces the red orbs with blue crystals that entomb Sari in ice. “You won’t shatter and your naiad powers will allow you to breathe. Figured that much out from watching you over the years. Too bad you never gave yourself much credit because you had so much more potential than you realized. Now, who should I experiment on next? That is unless somebody wants to tell me where the Compass Key is. That information would end my fun and your suffering very quickly.”
“You will continue no matter what,” Timoran answers in a quivering voice. Two demons stop the barbarian from spinning, their clawed hands threatening to tear his bindings. “There are too many questions that you want answers to. Even Dariana and Luke hold mys . . . myst . . . secrets that you have yet to unlock. There is no reason for us to give you what you want. It is wiser for us to wait until the Baron calls for you to del . . deli . . . bring us to him.”
“Of course, the one with the least amount of magic would have it!” the gnome exclaims with glee. Dragging a stool over to Timoran, he makes himself comfortable and pokes at the large man’s nose with a sharpened pencil. “I should have expected this. Your pitiful aura and fear of magic means that we wouldn’t consider you as an option. I always imagined Delvin would hold the Compass Key or Sari had it without the rest of you knowing. This is a sign that I have spent far too much time in the shadows. Never been a fan of other people, but it does seem like my insight to mortal behavior is slipping.”
Timoran struggles against his bonds, but stops after he is violently spun for a minute. “I am sorry to disa . . . di . . . make you upset. The Compass Key is not here. We had plenty of time to hide it during your attack. You will have to tear apart your own home to find it. Unless you release us and let us leave. There is no reason for you to be involved in the prophecy any longer than you already have.”
“That is very kind and benevolent of you,” Nyder retorts while he rubs his red nose. Tapping a finger against his temple, the gnome looks around the platform to see if anything is out of place. “Something isn’t right here. I’m almost certain that you have the Compass Key, but you’re acting strange. The only other one who might have it is the drite. Not sure where that creature could hide such an item. It would be ridiculous to have your pet wear the relic as a necklace since there’s a substantial risk of losing it. Bring me the drite for an inspection.”
“What drite?” the nearest demon asks.
“The one that was in the same box as-” the gnome begins to say before cursing. He grabs a hammer and runs to the railing in order to hurl the tool at a bell dangling from the ceiling. “We have an escapee! Hunt every corner of the factory for a purple drite. If you don’t know what that is then just look for something that doesn’t belong here. I don’t have the time to explain things to you. Damn thing must have turned invisible and then slipped out when Timoran was being bound. Should have seen that coming.”
A loud sneeze sends a burst of rainbow mist across the platform, the fog missing Nyder by inches. Scooping up a nearby net, the gnome whirls around and prepares to face the drite once the breath attack has cleared. Fizzle is nowhere to be seen, so he cautiously moves around the area. It takes him a moment to realize that Timoran has grown considerably smaller and his face is covered in patches of purple scales. Moving closer, Nyder takes a vial from a cabinet and throws the dispelling potion at the barbarian. The bonds tighten to adjust for the change in size as the powerful warrior transforms into Fizzle. With a wave of his tail, the drite chuckles and happily spins himself in a circle.
“It was that blasted creature the whole time,” Nyder mutters in disbelief before tearing the net. His face turning a dark red, the gnome is unable to stop his frustration and anger from erupting. “How in all of Windemere and the stars beyond do you misplace a large, red-haired, heavily scarred barbarian? You band of summoned idiots!”
*****
Having lost Fizzle’s invisibility spell an hour ago, Timoran does his best to move carefully among the factory support beams. The maze-like building and wandering demons have driven the barbarian beneath the ground floor gratings. Small pieces of inventions and lost tools are scattered about the rocky earth that is dotted with crevices that can snap an ankle with one misstep. Rivers of molten ore allow him to see approximately where he is going, but there are no true pathways to follow. Many times, Timoran becomes trapped in a place that he cannot cross and is forced to go back in search of another way. He has found no stairs besides the ones he has already used, which are blocked by a fat demon that is fast asleep. Knowing that killing it would make too much noise and draw in more enemies, the champion continues to make his way around the foundation. Whenever he hears footsteps on the gratings above, he freezes and waits for the demon to move along.
Shouts from the higher platforms drift to Timoran’s keen ears and he grips his great axe at the mention of his name. Crouching in the shadows, he waits to see if any of his enemies know his location. All he hears is Nyder screaming at the demons, the gnome’s voice gradually getting closer to the lower level. Sensitive noses sniff the air in search of the champion’s scent, but his winding path and forced backtracking has them running in circles. Even with the confusion above, Timoran refuses to move and keeps his legs braced for a powerful leaping attack. After a while, his muscles start to burn, so he relaxes enough to release some of the tension. Loud bangs and the dragging of chains trickle from high in the factory, but he cannot locate the source of the suspicious noise.
Not wanting to wait any longer and risk getting captured, the barbarian leaves his hiding place and heads for the stairs. Timoran nearly stops at the sight of the fat demon searching the underground, the blubbery creature yawning at every step. Coming at it from behind, the barbarian rushes forward to lop its head off and catches the severed part by the mouth. The demon tries to scream and yell, but the champion’s tight grip muffles its attempts. With a thanks to Cessia, Timoran kicks the body into a pool of molten ore and drops the head in once it stops making noise. He gets the sense that Kerr the Barbarian God is voicing complaints from afar, the influence threatening to set off his rage until he takes a deep breath.
“This is the time for caution and stealth,” Timoran whispers into his hand. Hearing a faint shuffling behind him, he whirls around and watches the shadows. “Then again, there might be more danger down here than I realized. Come on out, whatever you are. Demons, undead, or something worse. I am ready for you all.”
Orange-veined bodies of stone rise out of the rivers and step onto solid ground, their feet creating burning prints in their wake. The awakened golems shuffle toward Timoran, but stop when they come upon a piece of debris that they can absorb. With the demons running around upstairs, he is unsure if he should attempt to escape or fight the slower creatures. Once he hears the thudding footstep of something large above his head, he decides to take his chances with the golems. Choking back the
urge to unleash a battle cry, the barbarian rushes the nearest enemy and slices it at the waist. He jumps back immediately to avoid a spray of molten metal, which hardens into a projection of black spikes within seconds. The golem’s parts crawl toward the nearby river and dive in before coming out a second later with everything intact. Nearly surrounded, Timoran barrels through the crowd and does his best to leap over a narrow stream without hitting his head. The barbarian’s skin is blistered and steaming from making even the briefest contact with the creatures, but his Ifrit vest helps reduce the damage.
“You should have tried to make a run for your friends,” Nyder announces as the demons remove the floor grates. The gnome drops into the basement, his body covered in an ugly green suit that is dripping slime. “Genius way to escape and trick me. Not sure if you or the drite came up with it, but I’m very impressed. You two were the last ones I expected to outwit me. Not that it did much good since you’re still in my factory. Don’t you know that it’s a bad strategy to fight an inventor in his own home?”
“I was hoping to avoid a fight,” Timoran admits while charging the golems. No longer needing to hide, he unleashes his full strength to shatter the creatures that continue to regenerate in the rivers. “I assume one of my friends has already told you to let us go. There is nothing to be gained by keeping us here. Your master wants his fight and you risk killing a champion if you continue whatever it is you are doing.”
Walking over a puddle of molten rock, Nyder sighs and gestures for his creations to return to their slumber. “All I want is knowledge and I recently realized that this is my last chance. There will be no more champions after this battle. Imagine if I can uncover the secret to those chosen by Gabriel. The Law of Influence prevents him from stopping me and any heroes created to kill me will be easily stopped by whatever I build with this knowledge. I could hold the key to one of the most powerful forces in all of Windemere. Forget designing Weapon Dragons and mindless constructs. I could forge beings with destinies that I determine. My master will have an elite force of warriors who can never lose unless we get bored with them. Perhaps I can even create a machine that will change existing destinies. The possibilities are endless, but only if I can find the source of destiny within one of you.”
Warlord of the Forgotten Age Page 16
