“Whoa!” said Mazik as he snatched his head back, the air above him boiling with mana, some of it even reaching as far as the thick barriers surrounding Gavi. Mazik swore and scrambled out of the way as the cargo area erupted with indigo light. He hissed as one of the spells struck him on the shoulder, burning down to the skin. “We’ve got friends!” he said as he threw up barriers.
“I did warn you,” said Raedren.
“Details, details,” said Mazik. “I heard you, I just didn’t expect—oh. Hello there.”
As the mana dissipated, Mazik’s magickal sight revealed three cultists clambering onto the back of the wagon, weapons in hand.
“Should we jump off?” asked Raedren.
“No, this is perfect,” said Mazik as he pulled himself into a crouch. He grabbed one of Raedren’s hands and guided it until his friend was gripping his collar. “I thought we were going to have to wait for later, but this’ll work. Just be ready to yank me backwards if this works. When they charge.”
“All right,” said Raedren.
“Don’t hesitate,” said Mazik. “As soon as they charge.”
Before Raedren could respond, Mazik hopped forward in a crouch, one hand against the floor of the wagon. With the other hand he reached into his robes and pulled out a knife. The knife.
The three cultists’ eyes widened as they locked onto the black-bladed weapon.
“Oh, you want this, don’t you?” said Mazik, waving the knife around. He pulled it back to his chest. “Well, come and get it.”
Mazik’s plan couldn’t have worked better if it had been choreographed, though it probably would have been prettier. Two of the cultists lunged simultaneously, and as soon as they were airborne Raedren yanked Mazik backward. The cultists landed on Mazik’s boots, and as he kicked his feet away he brought his free hand around—and with it, the spell he had been gathering. They were so close he couldn’t miss.
“Uh, Cone of Mazik!” said Mazik, and mana shot out in a ninety-degree arc in front of him, incinerating clothing, flesh, and an uncomfortable amount of the wagon.
“That one was lame!” Gavi called over her shoulder.
“Yes, but shut up!” said Mazik. He turned back and watched as the three newly created corpses teetered, threatening to fall backward.
“Shi—catch them catch them catch them!” yelled Mazik, flailing as he lunged. He managed to pull the nearest two cultists down into the wagon, but he didn’t even come close to reaching the third; the corpse tumbled out of the cart and dove headfirst into the pavement with a sickening splat.
Mazik dropped the corpses and sat down heavily.
“Here, let me Dull Pain on that,” said Raedren, pointing at his shoulder.
“What? Oh, I’ll be fine,” said Mazik, who had already forgotten about the burns. He ripped a length of cloth off one of the corpses and wrapped the dagger in it, and then began searching the bodies.
With their brethren dead, their pursuers opened up again. The sky filled with indigo light as Raedren’s barriers took a beating, and the other three mounted cultists drew closer.
“We’re getting close to the river!” called Gavi.
They didn’t make it. Gavi managed to get them two more blocks before Raedren realized what was going on. He didn’t even have time to vocalize it. As he looked away from what Mazik was doing and searched for any place he needed to strengthen his barriers, which was when he realized the obvious. They’re casting at the wheels—!
Mazik and Gavi swore as the world fell out from beneath them. As the back left wheel shattered, the wagon slewed to the side, the reins ripping out of Gavi’s hands. The horses panicked as the vehicle turned toward the building, the cultists pounding it with spells the whole way. It came to a roaring, crashing stop after running through a lamppost, a mailbox, a produce stand, and up to the front of a liquor store.
The wreckage shifted, and then Mazik popped out. “Fuck my life,” he said as the horses stampeded away and the nearest cultists leapt off their horses to pursue them.
“We need to get out of here,” said Raedren shakily.
“A-alley, come on,” said Gavi as she fell out of the tilted driver’s seat, wincing as her hip hit the ground. She staggered to her feet, the knife Mazik lent her earlier still buried somewhere in the wreckage.
“Right,” said Mazik.
The three of them got only a few meters into the alley before the cultists joined them. Mazik dropped back to defend, but Gavi grabbed him by the wrist and yanked him forward.
“I thought you said you had a plan!” said Gavi. “Is this far enough?”
“Yeah, you’re right,” said Mazik. He tossed a nuke behind him and grabbed Gavi’s hand. “A little farther still. Let’s go!”
As they ran, Gavi looked down at her hand, wrapped in Mazik’s scratched and bloodied palm. She shook her head and concentrated on not dying.
Weaving through the last few side streets and alleys, a group of cultists hot on their tail, the trio burst onto the road that ran parallel to the Houk River. Less than half a block away was a bridge. Mazik sprinted toward it. With cultists a dozen or fewer steps behind them, the trio stopped in the middle of the bridge and turned around.
“Stop, we give up! We’ll give you the knife!” said Mazik as he raised his hands.
Gavi and Raedren looked at Mazik incredulously.
Once the cultists had them surrounded and they had all caught their breath, a sandy-haired man in plain clothes stepped out of the crowd and pointed a sword at Mazik.
“Give us the Edge right now!” said the lead cultist, with more vitriol than Mazik had ever heard, and he sold weapons for a living. City guard bells could be heard ringing in the near distance, signaling that the cavalry was well and truly on its way. The cultists didn’t have much time, and they knew it.
Mazik yanked the sheath out of his robes and held it aloft. The cultists around them stiffened. Mazik could tell they wanted to lunge for it, but they weren’t sure what he was going to do. They waited.
“Well, you can’t blame us for trying. It was a good run,” said Mazik. His voice dropped to a whisper. “You ready?”
“No,” said Raedren.
“Still confused,” said Gavi.
“Great,” said Mazik. He held out the knife. “Here you go.”
The plainclothes cultist stepped forward cautiously, watching for any sudden movements. Mazik made none. He reached out to take the weapon—
“If you want it, go and get it!” said Mazik, and then he hurled the knife over the cultists’ heads—and out over the river beyond.
For a split second, every single cultist turned and watched as the weapon sailed through the air, each one tracking where in the water it would land. Some rushed to the side of the bridge, getting ready to leap into the water.
None were looking at the trio.
“Now jump!” said Mazik as he grabbed Raedren and Gavi’s hands, jumped onto the parapet, and all at once he and his two best friends leapt into the sky and plunged into the dirty waters below.
“No!” yelled the plainclothes cultist. He started to jump after them, but stopped when he remembered the knife that had been thrown the other way—
—and that’s when the spell that Mazik tossed50 into the air landed among the cultists, and exploded.
*
A few minutes later, the now badly singed cultist with the sandy hair had his sword trained on three sailors. “Just be nice and quiet and we’ll be gone soon,” he said. The three sailors stood perfectly still while all around them other cultists rummaged through the barge’s cargo.
As luck would have it, Mazik’s throw didn’t deposit the knife in the river as planned, but on a long, flat barge sailing past. The cultists couldn’t believe their luck, nor could the owners of the fishing boat they commandeered to get to the barge, though in their case the luck was of the negative sort.
“Hurry up,” said the lead cultist to his fellows. He glanced around, his eyes scanning the dark w
alls that loomed above the river around them.
“We’re going as”—a crash as more cargo was shoved aside—“as fast as we can.” A tarp was split open, and a cultist in overalls began digging through the items beneath.
The lead cultist twitched, nearly growling in his impatience. “One of you have it, don’t you?” he said, turning on the sailors. “Or maybe you hid it?”
“We don’t know what you’re talking about, ya crazy sack of shit,” said the captain, his weather-wracked skin radiating disdain.
“Crazy would be talking like that to a man holding a sword to your throat,” said the lead cultist, a mad glint appearing in his eye. The captain stiffened as the blade rested against his throat, but said nothing.
The madness receded, and the lead cultist stepped back. He went back to scanning the walls.
“Found it!” came a voice.
“Bring it here.” The bells grew louder. The city guard was getting close.
A fully robed cultist rushed over and laid the weapon in the lead cultist’s hand. The sandy haired cultist felt no elation. Instantly, he knew something was wrong.
He tugged the knife out of its sheath. The blade was made of gray steel.
“Fuck,” said the lead cultist. The true Edge had a black blade, not gray. It was one of a kind, not one of the shallow imitations many of his brethren carried. It was irreplaceable.
“Fuck!” repeated the lead cultist, the blade quivering. He pulled his arm back and hurled it at a nearby boat, nearly taking off one of his fellow’s heads.
“FUCK!” shouted the lead cultist, louder than he intended. He whirled around angrily on the others. “Well, what are you waiting for? They still have the Edge! Back to the boat, now!”
As they scrambled off the barge, the lead cultist dragged one of his fellows to the side. “Contact those pursuing them. Have they reclaimed the Edge?”
The other cultist shook her head. “I already tried. I can’t get a hold of them. I…” She swallowed. “I think they’re dead.”
The lead cultist gaped for a time, his mouth flapping wordlessly, before anger took over again. “This fucking—” He shoved the other cultist toward the boat. “Come on, go! You five are with me, the rest of you split up and search the docks. Find them!”
*
Upriver, three exhausted figures pulled themselves out of the water and collapsed onto a pier. Their muscles aching and their lungs screaming, they sat there for a time, hiding behind a moored boat as water drained off their bodies and soaked the planks beneath. They stared blankly into the sky as afternoon gave way completely to evening’s embrace.
But not for long. After a minute Mazik pushed himself to his knees, the mana humming through his body rejuvenating him just enough to get him up and moving, mostly. He stayed in that position for another minute.
“Wohooo…” said Mazik. He let out a deep breath. “That. That was nuts.”
“You’re telling me,” said Gavi listlessly.
“I’m tired,” said Raedren. He lifted his head, and then let it fall back against the wall. “Are we still alive? I can’t tell. Too tired.”
“Drama king,” said Mazik. He grabbed onto the wall and pulled himself up, suddenly resenting gravity. He patted his side, where the black dagger was awkwardly shoved through his belt, the scrap of torn cultist robes wrapped around it so he didn’t get cut.
“Am I the only one who saw people following us?” asked Raedren.
Muttered words, and then Gavi’s eyes flashed green. “I don’t see anyone.” She struggled to stand.
“Ah yeah. Those guys,” said Mazik. “I think I killed them.”
A sigh from the still unmoving Raedren, and then suddenly he was rising, his skill with rejuvenation and enhancement magick showing. Gavi did likewise, albeit more sluggishly.
Mazik looked for a way to the street above, and found a ladder farther down the pier. “Come on,” he said. Then he did a double take.
“What?” said Gavi as she wrung water out of her hair. It was only after she finished retying her ponytail that she looked down to where Mazik was staring. “Oh, for the gods sakes!” she said, her arms flying to her chest.
“Sure is cold out here…” said Mazik.
“Don’t you have a girlfriend?” asked Gavi as she punched him in the uninjured shoulder with her free hand. She pushed him toward the ladder, blushing profusely.
“That doesn’t mean I can’t look!” said Mazik. “Especially if you are going to, ehrm, put yourself out there like that,” he added with a shameless wink.
“Dick!” said Gavi with another punch, her cheeks ablaze.
“Flirt later, find someplace to hide now,” said Raedren, mounting the ladder ahead of them.
“We’re not—! Oh, shut up you,” said Gavi. Raedren smiled wanly.
“Would you like me to go next?” asked Mazik, bowing to the ladder like a valet holding open a door. “It just seems like, for you…” he said, and his gaze drifted downwards.
Gavi’s free hand flew to her skirt, which she found was still in acceptable shape. She glared at Mazik anyway. “Why yes, thank you.” Then she punched him one more time. “You ass!”
That only made Mazik grin wider.
*
“The most important lesson I’ve ever learned?” said Gavi.
“The single most important one,” said Mazik. “An early lesson. I don’t want to hear about something that happened recently.”
“What if it was important?” asked Raedren.
“Who cares! This is about telling stories,” said Mazik. “Come on. The most important one.”
Gavi scratched her neck. “The most important lesson I’ve ever learned. That was probably…”
Gavi stood in the yard behind her house, holding a blunt practice sword. Her father stood opposite her. He touched his hand to Gavi’s sword, and a red barrier pushed the blade away.
“Fight mana with mana,” said her father. “Magick is more effective at penetrating barriers than anything else. Use your aura.”
Gavi nodded, and concentrated on her sword. Nothing happened.
Gavi’s shoulders slumped. “This is hard.”
Her father nodded. “Where are you having trouble?”
“I understand how to control mana in my aura, and I can choose whether my aura weakens others’ or not”—Gavi touched her father’s forearm, and mana crackled between them—“but I can’t get it to stretch around my sword. I can’t get it to move that much.”
Her father nodded, and exchanged her sword for a knife. “Try this.”
Gavi ran her fingers along the dull blade, and closed her eyes. She felt her aura, defining the boundaries of her control over mana. She began tugging on it where her hand gripped the knife, pulling it over the cool metal.
There was a crackle, and Gavi opened her eyes. Mana clashed where her father was touching the knife a third of a way up its blade. Gavi’s eyes lit up.
“Good. Your aura is what will allow you to fight more powerful casters, if you have to.” Gavi’s father moved his hand to the tip of the blade. The hissing stopped. “Once you’ve mastered this, if you can get close you’ll hit as hard as a more powerful caster from range.”
“But I still have to get in close. Any suggestions on that?” asked Gavi. She could almost feel her mother’s worry from inside the house.
Her father nodded. “But you’ll be trained on that during boot camp. Master this first. I’ll help you with tactics if there’s time.”
Gavi nodded and squared her feet.
“Just be sure to remember the most important lesson,” said a voice from the side of the house. The gate opened, and Gavi’s uncle entered.
“What lesson?” asked Gavi.
Her uncle set a case of beer on the table, and turned to her. He smiled a rascal’s grin, though it was underscored with concern.
“Just because other damage isn’t as effective doesn’t mean it doesn’t work. Enough damage can kill anything. It’s an
unwise caster who forgets that.”
*
They found one on the third try. When Mazik pulled at the door, it came open, the bolt tearing through rotten wood.
The three of them peered into the building, looking for signs of life. They found none. They gingerly stepped inside and pulled the door shut behind them.
Mannequins loomed over Mazik and the others as they padded through the darkened store. “Anyone see an office or anything?” asked Gavi. She shivered. She half expected one of the mannequins to come alive and reveal itself to be a cultist—or worse yet, a guard with questions. Neither happened.
“Over here,” said Raedren, pointing at two doors. One was locked, while the other…
Creak…
“A wine cellar?” said Gavi, her eyes glowing like flaming emeralds.
Mazik descended the short steps, his teeth chattering as the night cold seeped into his wet clothes. He peeked into one of the crates behind the wine racks. It was filled with merchandise. “Among other things. Mainly other things. It looks like whoever owns this place just needed a place to store their collection.”
“I guess so,” said Gavi. She rubbed her arms as she followed Raedren into the basement.
Mazik rapped his knuckles on the back wall, and received the dull tuh tuh tuh of a solid concrete wall in return. “Good,” he said, and then sank to the floor with a relieved sigh. Gavi and Raedren joined him.
“Ahh…” said Gavi, her voice suddenly small and quiet. “Tired.”
“Yeah,” said Mazik. He peeled off his damp robes and tossed them at the wine rack across from them. They missed and pooled limply on the ground.
They sat there for a while, doing nothing. They just existed, enjoying a moment of peace and quiet while no one was actively trying to kill them.
Some minutes later, Raedren was the first to speak. “What are we going to do now?”
Mazik patted the cultists’ knife, which was still shoved into his belt. By dint of great effort he forced his weary body to shift enough to pry it out. “We’ve still got this, so they haven’t won. We just need to figure out what to do with it.”
Firesign 1 - Wage Slave Rebellion Page 22
