by Duncan Pile
Another pair of sentries walked past. It was clear the Foreman had the town on alert, not taking it for granted that they’d seen the last of Voltan and his party. As soon as the Foreman’s house came into view, he knew he’d chosen the right place. A pair of guards stood in front of the door and two more covered the rear, their stances alert and ready for action. Gaspi moved as close as he could by going from shadow to shadow, but the only way to the Foreman’s door was across open ground, illuminated by two large lamps hanging from poles outside the house.
Tapping the belt with a forefinger, Gaspi lamented the lack of a back-up plan. The belt had to get him past the guards, help him persuade the Foreman to let the girls go, and its magic had to hold until he, Emmy and Lydia could get back to Rimulth and the air spirit. Or maybe just until he found the amulet and transported them out. Well, there was nothing for it. Summoning his courage, Gaspi threaded more power into the belt and stepped out into the open. That’s when it all started going wrong.
The guards saw him when he was still thirty yards distant – too far away for the belt to influence them, and instantly raised a hue and cry.
Gaspi cursed under his breath and summoned power – two fistfuls of force that he flicked at the guards, even as they sprinted towards him with weapons drawn. They went down in a heap, unconscious, but the other two guards were sprinting from round the back of the house, and sentries were running towards him out of the darkness. Gaspi drew a shield around himself immediately, protecting himself from physical attack. The door to the Foreman’s house flew open and the stocky man walked out in just an undershirt and a pair of trews. Seemingly unconcerned by the cold, he folded his knotted arms over his chest and looked at Gaspi in irritation.
“Well, well, well. Look what we have here then,” he said. “The young’un’s come to rescue his girlfriend! How very touching.” The sentries had gathered around them, encircling Gaspi and the Foreman in a broad ring. Their weapons were out, ready to thrust into him at a moment’s notice.
Gaspi’s mind was working so hard he could almost hear it. He could flatten the lot of them with an earth strike, but who was to say the girls were definitely in the hut, or even if they were, there could be someone with a knife to their throats at that very moment, in which case an earth strike might kill them outright. No, he had to be cautious, if just for a little while longer.
“No, I’ve come to save you!” he said, threading a significant amount of power into the Belt of Truth. He could feel its enchantment flooding out in all directions, washing over the Foreman and the other men all at once.
The Foreman blinked, his brow furrowing. “You what?”
“They’re the daughters of a powerful necromancer,” Gaspi said, spouting anything that sprang to mind. “We saved them from his lair, but he is pursuing us through the mountains. If they stay with you, he will find them and destroy you.”
“A necromancer?” the Foreman repeated stupidly, the furrows on his brow deepening. Gaspi almost crossed his fingers, desperately hoping the magic of the belt would work on him. Neuromancy was dependant on the susceptibility of the person you were using it on. A strong-minded individual could shake off the effects of the spell.
“Yes, and before he kills you, he will make you suffer in ways you never imagined,” Gaspi said. “And after you’re dead, he will summon your corpse to serve him forever.”
The stocky man’s arms dropped to his sides. Fear was written broadly across his face. “We don’t want any trouble with no necromancer,” he said with a worried expression.
“I’d better taken them with me then,” Gaspi said. “No harm done.”
“Ere boss,” a voice complained from behind Gaspi. “This necromancer ain’t ’ere yet. Let’s ’ave a bit o’ fun first and send’em on their way afters.”
Gaspi felt a dangerous surge of anger at the thought of what these men were planning to do to Emmy and Lydia, but he had to control himself. “He’ll know!” Gaspi said, spinning round to address the speaker – a short, skinny man with an oversized beak of a nose and straggly hair. He reeked of something sour and unpleasant. “The moment he finds his daughters, he’ll discover what you’ve done,” he continued. “He’ll track you down, and he won’t stop until he’s made you pay with more than your life.”
“Alright, alright,” the skinny man muttered defensively. “No need ter get all worked up about it! Boss, maybe you should giv’im the girls.”
Gaspi turned back around to face the Foreman, who still looked like he was wrestling with the decision. “Right now!” he said, in as urgent and commanding a tone as he could muster, threading extra power into the belt.
The Foreman literally sprang into action. “Okay, follow me,” he said, turning and walking back into his house. Gaspi followed on his heels, not wanting him to gain any distance from the belt. The Foreman clumped across the beams of a large living room and pushed open a plain oaken door, leading to a bedroom. Gaspi could see the end of a single bed from where he stood, along with a double-shuttered window and a covered bedpan. The Foreman stepped into the room, leaving room for Gaspi to follow. He turned to the left and gestured towards the bed. Gaspi stepped inside and stopped in his tracks. Emmy and Lydia lay next to each other, trussed up with ropes and gagged with dirty cloths. Lydia’s clothing was still in place, but Emmy’s shirt had been ripped open to the waist, exposing her undergarments.
When they saw Gaspi they both tried to speak at once, but it just came out as a string of muffled sound.
“Take off their gags,” he said, his voice taut with fury. The Foreman stepped across the room, leant over and pulled Lydia’s gag off. Before he could remove Emmy’s as well, Lydia was already speaking:
“He’s got Taurnil,” she said. Emmy’s gag fell to the floor as well.
“Untie them!” Gaspi said, and the Foreman complied.
“He says he’ll hurt him if we don’t do what he says.”
“Taurnil is with Voltan, outside the gates of Ironhall,” Gaspi said, fuming at the Foreman’s deception. So that’s how he got them to comply. Either girl could have used their power if they’d wanted to. By telling them he had Taurnil, he’d held them captive with the bonds of their own care. Perhaps that’s why he’d eaten with them – to work out whose affections he could manipulate. Gaspi pushed his anger aside for the moment. Until he got Emmy and Lydia safe, he had to retain control over the situation. Concentrating hard, he kept a steady trickle of power flowing into the belt.
“You lied to us!” Lydia said, glaring at the Foreman as he finished untying her and bent over Emmy.
The Foreman looked at her as if she was crazy. “Who cares?” he said, sounding nervous. “Just get out of here. I don’t want no necromancer after me.”
“Necromancer?” Emmy asked as he freed her wrists.
“Don’t act dumb,” he said, angry and afraid. “I know who you are. It’s time for you to go!” Gaspi mimed frantic shushing motions with his hands, and both girls caught on immediately, clamping their mouths shut. The Foreman loosed the last of the bonds tying Emmy in place and stood back.
“Up!” he said. The two girls rose from the bed, rubbing sore wrists and ankles. The Foreman turned to Gaspi, fixing him with a furious stare. “Take your women and go!”
Gaspi weighed up his options. They needed to get their stuff too, but he didn’t want to expose the girls to any more danger than he had to. “Lead us out,” he said stiffly. The Foreman trudged back through his house with bad grace. He’d clearly been cowed by the threat of a foul death at the hands of a vengeful necromancer, but now that he had to give up the prize he’d so cleverly won for himself, he clearly hated having to do so. They walked on out through the front door, right into the ring of henchmen. It was then that Gaspi realised the flaw in his plan. In the minutes he’d been inside the house, they’d had a chance to throw off the enchantment that bound them, and now, to a man, they were looking at him with accusing eyes. Every man held a weapon, and every one of them loo
ked ready to strike.
“E’s had us all fooled, boss,” one man said.
“Fooled?” the Foreman said, frowning in confusion.
“There’s no necromancer,” the scrawny man said, leering at the girls with hungry eyes. “’E’s bewitched us!”
“What dya mean?” the Foreman asked, but his confusion was fading. His eyes narrowed suspiciously as he looked at Gaspi.
“Of course there’s a necromancer,” Gaspi insisted, pouring magic into the belt, but this entire group of men had their minds hardened against the suggestion he was trying to impose on them. The Foreman too was slipping from magic’s grip, his face stiffening by the moment.
“Take him!” the Foreman said. Gaspi diverted power from the belt as swiftly as possible, lancing out with it in all directions. Some of the men flew backwards, impacted by the force of his strike, but a sudden pain lanced into his inner thigh, sharp and hot, and then agony shot through his lower back. He felt like he’d been kicked by a mule!
…
Rimulth waited by the rocky wall of the mountain, anxiously counting the minutes while Gaspi was away. If the girls were hurt, he’d never forgive himself for falling asleep on his watch! Suddenly he sat up straight. He thought he heard a commotion from within the town, the sound of voices certainly, but then it was quiet again. He breathed out carefully, the tension draining from his shoulders. It must have been a false alarm.
He continued to sit there, the air spirit clinging to his shoulder with sharp claws. There was a strong enough wind that night that it could adopt its natural, spiritual body if it wanted to without causing itself any damage, but its glimmering form would alert anyone who saw it, so it stayed as it was. Long, silent minutes passed, filled with self-recrimination. Emmy and Lydia had better be okay! They just had to be! He started to shake from the cold. Having grown up in the mountains, he was pretty hardy, but sitting still with a highland wind knifing through your clothing was enough to make anyone feel cold. He rubbed at his arms beneath his cloak, trying to warm himself up, but he daren’t move around or make any noise.
Voices sounded again from within the enclosure, but louder this time, and followed by a magical detonation that could only be Gaspi defending himself. Rimulth lurched to his feet, unsure what to do. Should he intervene or should he go get Voltan? He instinctively tuned into the air spirit’s thoughts, but the elemental’s attention was fixed elsewhere. It must be communicating with Loreill and Lilly. Together, the spirits would know what was going on. The voices continued but there were no more magical concussions. Gaspi must still be in control. He stood there, poised uncertainly for another few minutes, and then the sound of voices rose again, quietly at first, and then angrily.
All of a sudden, the air spirit’s mind seized him, filling him with urgency. Gaspi had been wounded! There was no time to wait. He flashed a thought at the elemental, and it took spirit form in a heartbeat. Crying out to the skies, he let the spirit’s power infuse him, giving him power over the wind. He brought it down from the skies and formed another whirlwind, mightier by far than the one he’d used to carry him and Gaspi into Ironhall. He drew the wind around him and soared up into the air, the freezing currents numbing his limbs. He flew upwards until all of Ironhall was laid out below him, and quickly saw the commotion outside the Foreman’s hut. There was no sign of Gaspi, but there was blood on the ground, and guards milling about outside the door. He needed to get them out, and he needed to do it quickly. Dropping towards the hut, Rimulth summoned a mighty blast of wind and sent it rushing under the eaves of the house. With an ear-splitting groan, the roof began to lift off at the corner, and with another surge of wind it flew off, cast away over the town and smashing against the mountainside with an almighty crash. Rimulth drew more power and prepared to rip the Foreman’s house right out of the ground.
…
Heath sat with the rest of the group, watching Loreill intently. The earth spirit would know what was happening to Gaspi at all times, and if things went bad, they’d find out quickly enough. He glanced around at the group of warriors, feeling increasingly aware of his inner discomfort. That feeling had been growing for the last few days, and he’d been trying to work out what it was all about. At first, he’d thought it was the expectation of violence - an unpleasant prospect to a man who spent their days healing rather than harming – but he’d already accepted that violence was exactly what would be requested of him. When he found that hard to stomach, he just reminded himself of the fire spirit – a being whose energy was entirely destructive, and yet was part of nature. Heath was more accustomed to the healing energies of earth and water spirits, but he was a druid first and foremost, and it wasn’t his place to question the wisdom of nature. If Loreill gave any indication Gaspi was in danger, he would willingly take up his staff and deal out violence and even death to anyone in his way.
No, it wasn’t the imminence of violence that was causing his discomfort. It was something much more simple. What made him uncomfortable was being forced into the company of others, day in and day out. There was barely a moment when he could get some privacy and his meditations were frequently interrupted by other early risers. He missed his clearing, he missed the simple routines of his life, and most of all he missed the spirit he was bonded to. The bond he shared with the water spirit was different to the one Gaspi, Rimulth and Emea shared with their spirits – less intimate perhaps – but it was still important to him. When Loreill and the other spirits had arrived at his home a couple of months previously, they had expressed their will very clearly; Heath was to accompany them as they sought to be reunited with their bond-mates, but the water elemental he was bound to was not. And so Heath had left his bond-mate behind, and he missed the connection he had with the spirit every day.
It wasn’t that he had a problem with the people around him. He particularly liked Talmo, Rimulth and Sabu – self-contained men of substance who thought much and spoke little. Others like the twins were less his sort of people, but he didn’t have anything against them. He just wished he could have some time to himself, and be able to enjoy his companions from more of a distance.
Loreill still hadn’t given any indication that Gaspi was in danger. As the minutes passed, he started to think that Gaspi’s mission might be going well, and there would be no need to intervene. His illusions were shattered moments later however, when Lilly transformed in a flash of blue light and shot off towards Ironhall. All the spirits started beaming messages of urgency at once, their frantic thoughts reverberating around his head.
“Gaspi’s been hurt!” he said, leaping to his feet. “Come on!” The others leapt up and joined him, and they sprinted towards the gates of Ironhall. The fire spirit rose into the air with three loud flaps of its leathery wings and shot off ahead of them. Heath’s strides were lengthened by fear. He could feel Loreill’s desperation – Gaspi must be in mortal danger! Suddenly, Loreill’s frantic worry was replaced by relief, flooding Heath’s awareness. Lilly had found Gaspi and was tending to his injuries in that very moment.
“Gaspi’s okay,” he said.
“We’re going in anyway,” Voltan said. “We have no weapons, so Baard, Heath, Sabu, come with me. The rest of you follow behind once we’re through.” Without waiting for acknowledgement, Voltan summoned power, blinding white globes of force that swelled around his fists. Whipping his arms over his head, Voltan launched the double strike at the gates. Heath watched as the sizzling bolts of power zipped through the air and collided with the gates with an enormous detonation that shook the very ground. Dust filled the air, but from the loud screeching and thudding sounds that followed, Heath was pretty sure the gates had been rent from their fastenings. He felt the fire spirit’s call, drawing him to channel its destructive energies. Surrendering himself to it in obedience, Heath let its power flood him – waves of pure, merciless strength flowing through every part of him, ready to strike. The spirit itself flapped above his head, screeching its violent intent into the night.
Voltan urged them forward, and together they stalked through the ruined gates of Ironhall.
…
I’ve been stabbed! Gaspi thought to himself as he collapsed to the ground. As his cheek hit the dirt he could hear Emmy screaming his name, but it sounded a thousand miles away. Loreill too was screaming at him, but that felt even further away. Darkness started to cloud his vision, eating inwards from the edges until all he could see was a grey patch of ground in front of him.
“Take them inside,” he heard the Foreman say. Cruel hands grasped him and hoisted him into the air. He cried out then, unimaginable agony running through his body. Somehow he knew he was dying. He could feel unconsciousness pulling at him with insistent hands, dragging him downwards, but he fought against it, knowing beyond knowledge that if he let it happen he would never wake up again. He was cast none-too-gently onto a bed, his agonies erupting into full blown torture, but still he held on.
“He’s a goner,” someone said.
“Leave him to die,” another voice said. “There’s fun to be had in the other room.”
Gaspi heard the door slam – a noise that seemed to echo over and over in his mind. When the pain in his body started to fade, dimming along with his waning vision, he knew it was all over. A last flicker of anger rose in him – anger that Emmy was at the mercy of these cruel men, anger that the whole quest had been for nothing, anger that Shirukai Sestin would stand unopposed, but even that anger faded as his vision all but winked out.
