by C. M. Carney
“Hi,” the man said waving his hand back and forth in an unwitting caricature of the Queen of England.
22
The odd man continued to wave and his eyes went from one to the other, each time his goony smile growing more absurd.
“Did he just say hi?” Wick asked out of the side of his mouth while returning the odd man’s strange wave.
The man turned to Wick and smiled again. “Yes, hi small blue head man.”
“Um great, another Xeg,” Wick grumbled noting the newcomer’s odd manner of speaking.
The man looked from Wick to Xeg, a puzzled look crossing his face. “Errat is not a Xeg. Errat is just Errat.”
“Errat means wrong in ancient Thalmiir,” Myrthendir said, cocking his head at the strange man.
“Yes. Correct. I am wrong. A funny joke. You are …” Errat said, mimicking the Prince Regent’s cocked head. “… Myrthendir, the elf lord,”
Myrthendir’s eyes grew to slits, and he gripped his staff tighter. “How?”
Errat held his hand up and dull gray energy flowed around his hand. “Things come to me through the aether,” Errat said, as if that simple explanation for the impossible made perfect sense.
Ovyrm drew his saber faster than the eye could follow and Gryph saw mana flow along the blade’s edge before it flickered and blinked out, like an exploding light bulb. Gryph did not know what perk or spell the adjudicator had just tried to activate, but its failure stunned Ovyrm so deeply that the xydai seemed to have forgotten all about the unlikeness of discovering a second aetherial mage in such a short time.
“Errat is sorry. Magic will not work in there.”
The odd man waved his hand around, drawing Gryph’s eyes to the walls and ceiling. What had looked to be bare rock was, upon closer inspection, filled with tiny filaments of red, a web of thin red wire woven into the rock. Gryph tried to summon mana to his own hand but got no further in the process than Ovyrm. The mana sparked, jolting Gryph as if he’d touched an exposed wire.
“A magical Faraday cage,” Gryph said in wonder as he traced his hands along the thin lattice of wire embedded in the walls of the chamber. To Gryph’s eye it looked the same as the bleed metal the xydai’s katana was forged from. And it shares the same magic nullifying powers.
Errat smiled at Tifala and pointed at Xeg. “Is the Xeg your pet?”
Xeg hissed at the window. “Xeg no pet, stupid man thing.” A slight stench of sulfur built in the air and the imp tried to fold space with his crimson chthonic energy. A small rift began to bend reality but instantly collapsed in on itself. Xeg flew back as if fired from a cannon. He smacked against the far wall, jumped to his feet unsteadily and howled at Errat.
The imp’s eyes raged with actual flames. Gryph had never seen the demon so livid and as he pulled more mana into his tiny body. Another puff of sulfur rose as the imp tried to port again. The second, third and fourth times went no better for the tiny hell beast. Each time he slammed against the wall or the ceiling or the floor. Finally, the exhausted imp climbed back onto Tifala’s shoulder and collapsed into a deep slumber.
“So guess that’s that, we’re trapped,” Wick said in a matter-of-fact tone that almost hid the gnome’s fear. He gave a sideways glance of concern at the exhausted imp before turning his gaze back to Errat.
“What do you want?” Gryph asked.
Errat turned his gaze to Gryph and smiled. “Gryph who is also Finn Caldwell, a player from Earth and a seeker of Brynn.”
Errat smiled oddly again as the shock punched Gryph in the stomach. How does he know so much? Does he know about the Godhead? Who Brynn is in the Realms? Gryph knew that he had to stop this odd man from revealing any more of his secrets and panic took him as he realized he’d brought his worst fears to the surface of his mind. What if this Errat is a thought mage, did I just give him all my secrets?
“Why did you hurt my friends?”
“Friends?” Gryph asked in confusion, and Errat stroked the arachnid perched on his shoulder again.
“Father built them for me. Nobody wanted to be friends with Errat, so Father made me some. You broke many of my friends.” Several of the arachnids moved closer to the glass, responding to Errat’s commands.
The tension in the room rose. “We are sorry. We did not know they were your friends.”
Errat seemed to consider for a moment before nodding like an excited child. “Okay. Father said I should forgive when people say they are sorry.”
“That is a good philosophy,” Gryph said in a slow, bewildered voice. “Where is your father? Can we speak with him?”
Errat’s oddly blank face somehow showed sadness and Gryph felt sympathy for this odd creature. “Father went to sleep. Long ago.”
“You are alone here?” Gryph asked.
Errat stared at him for a moment and Gryph noted that the man’s chest did not move. He seemed alive, but he did not breath. “I am not alone. I have my friends and you are here.” Errat stared for a few more seconds and Gryph felt as if the essence of his being were being exposed one layer at a time. “Did Father build you too?”
“Um… no, we were born, not built.”
“Born,” Errat mouthed the unfamiliar word. “Okay, but you will still help Errat with his mission.”
“What mission is that?”
“Father gave me control of the swarm to help keep the city clean. The others are very messy. You are not like the others,” Errat said, another one of those disturbing smiles turning his mouth upward.
“What others?” Myrthendir asked.
“Those called the Dwellers in the Dark. They broke many of my friends.” He reached up and stroked the arachnid which cooed in appreciation. “They are wrong, up here.” Errat tapped the side of his head.
“Wrong how?” Ovyrm asked.
“They were many, and they were one. They cry out for help.”
“I don’t understand.” Gryph said.
“That sounds like the method used by the illurryth to control xydai,” Ovrym said, a chill in his voice.
“Yes, Ovyrm the adjudicator, it is very similar,” Errat said with an odd smile and looked down, interlacing the three stubby fingers of each hand with those of the other, like the movements of a shy child.
Gryph glanced at Ovyrm. “Is it possible?”
Ovyrm shrugged. “Even a week ago I would have said no, but after encountering you, the arboleth and…” he glanced at Gryph’s satchel. “I do not know. But if the Dark Ascendancy has returned, then I fear for all of Korynn.”
Errat knocked on the glass, drawing everyone’s attention. “Can we be friends now?”
Gryph could have made a hundred guesses at what Errat wanted and he would have guessed wrong with all of them. “You want to be friends … with us?”
“Yes, very much want to be friends. But ….” Errat looked from one to the next, the same odd half-smile painted to his face as if he didn’t understand how to put people at ease. His gaze came to Xeg and back at Gryph. “… Errat is not sure if he can be friends with all of you.”
Xeg, Gryph thought with a frown. “We’re a package deal,” Gryph said firmly.
The smile fell from Errat’s face and behind the veneer of odd calm was something else. The half smile returned and Errat spoke. “Okay, we are all friends now.” He turned and pulled a large lever set into the wall. A low rumble rose and the left wall of their cell slid open.
Wick led the way giving the slumbering imp a cross look. “I knew the damn imp would get me into trouble,” he muttered and Xeg bared his teeth in his sleep. The others filed from the room. Gryph gave one last glance through the window at Errat who cocked his head, turned his half smile to a three quarter smile and waved once again. “See you soon friend.”
Gryph cast a final look at the red mesh embedded in the walls and walked from the room. The moment he was outside he pushed mana into his spear’s reservoir, thrilled at the thrum of magical energy. He turned the corner to find his friends stood tense,
ready, if need be, to fight.
“I see you again friend,” Errat said staring at Gryph.
Gryph felt like a man meeting his girlfriend’s needy kid for the first time. It was oddly complimentary if unnerving considering the kid in question was nearly seven feet tall and controlled an army of mechanical spiders.
“Good to see you Errat,” Gryph said.
“Yes, good,” the massive man smiled. “I will help you now.”
“Help us?”
“Find those who hurt my friends, those who are wrong.”
“Thank you. That will be very helpful,” Gryph said.
“Um, you know what else would be very helpful?” Wick asked. “If you could put on some pants?” In the cramped confines of the room, Wick’s face was uncomfortably close to Errat’s crotch.
Gryph stifled a laugh.
“Why?” Errat asked, his head cocked curiously.
Wick opened his mouth, but words must have escaped him because he shut his mouth without commenting further.
“It is the custom of our people,” Tifala said.
“But pants make Errat feel itchy; down here.” Errat moved his hand in a circular motion that encompassed his blank groin.
“How can you be itchy when you don’t have any…? You know, I don’t want to know, but I would really feel better if we all followed the … um, custom.”
“Okay, friend Dinkwick.” Errat then turned and bent over to rummage through a chest. Everyone in the group, except Wick, turned their eyes away, not wanting to discover if the backside was as lacking as the front.
A few minutes later the group, followed by the swarm, walked through the large entrance chamber. At its far end, a long passage led deeper into the city. The group eased into the tunnel. The ground was no longer the smooth stone of the rest of the city. Here individual slabs made up the floor, reminding Gryph of paving stones. An eerie silence hung in the air and the unease of his fellows built around him.
Wick crept forward on light feet. He took exaggerated steps, like a man walking on thin ice. It was comical for a few seconds until his foot came down onto one of the paving stones with a small click.
“Stop,” Gryph hissed, as an image of roadside bombs flashed through his head. “I think you’ve stepped on a trap.”
“Yes, many traps this way,” Errat said. “Exploding traps. Fire traps. Traps that shoot lightning. Traps that shoot darts filled with poisons. Traps that fall open and drop into pit with spike bottoms. All clean and neat."
“What?” Wick sputtered as he tried not to move. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
“Errat know path through. Thought new friends know too,” Errat said with simple innocence.
“How … could … we … know?” Wick growled each word slowly so as not to set off the trap.
“Errat feels traps in aether. Wick cannot feel?”
“No!” Wick yelled and his knee shook with the effort. Another small click popped from beneath the floor. His eyes widened, and he turned his pleading gaze at Gryph. “Help,” he mouthed.
“Everyone move back,” Gryph said. He pulled his locksmithing kit from his satchel and got onto his stomach, easing himself forward. As he got closer his Perception skill came into play and he could see a faint red outline along the edge of the paving stone. He took a moment to inspect the edge, seeking a pinhole where he could insert the fine tools. This was the first time he’d made use of his Traps skill since he’d face planted on arrival in the Barrow. It had been one of the imported skills assimilated from his real-world experiences. Let’s hope this thing works the same as a claymore.
Gryph inserted the thin tool into the slot and searched. His finger’s tactile sense expanded along the thin tool to a tightly drawn wire attached to a triggering mechanism. “Wick. Stand very still. This thing is live.”
“What do you think I’m doing?” the gnome grumbled.
Gryph knew standing as still as Wick needed to right now was much harder than it seemed. Muscles twitched and unconscious motions were the norm. Add in the stress of imminent death and standing still was nearly impossible. Gryph hoped that whatever mechanism controlled this trap was not as sensitive as modern armaments back on Earth. If they were, this would likely end very suddenly; for both of them.
Sweat trickled down Gryph’s brow as he worked. He eased the tool in further, trying to find a latch holding the wire tight. If he was right, the pressure Wick was applying downward had released a pin designed to stop the wire from pulling a triggering mechanism. Now the only thing stopping the trap from going off was the gnome’s weight, and if he lifted his foot, the trap would go off. Gryph tried to ease the tension off the wire, but could not get his second tool into the small hole to hold the trigger long enough to release the wire’s tension.
“You cannot disarm the trap,” Errat said in a casual tone.
Wick scowled but did not move. Gryph glanced up and locked eyes with the gnome. “He’s right. I cannot disarm it. I’m sorry.”
Tifala gasped in fear and from the corner of his eye Gryph saw Ovyrm stop her from rushing forward.
“Great, escape the Barrow to end up murdered by a death floor. This place sucks,” Wick said, and his fear turned to resignation. He looked down on Gryph. “Move back, I will not take you with me.” Gryph began to argue but then nodded. He could hear Tifala weeping behind him as he slowly eased back, careful not to buffet Wick’s legs.
“Maybe I can use Animate Rope to drag you off the pressure plate.”
“I have encountered these devices before,” Myrthendir said. “They are too fast.”
“You know what Prince, I don’t like you all that much,” Wick said. The gnome’s shoulders slumped, and he whispered. “Tif, my heart and stars, I love you and I never deserved you.”
“Shut up you idiot, we’re getting you out of this,” Tifala said, trying to sound strong through her terror. Gryph walked up to her and pulled her into an embrace.
“You take care of her Gryph. Promise me.”
“I promise,” Gryph said.
Errat walked up and eased one of his thick fingers under Tifala’s eye, catching a tear. He pulled his finger close to his face, examining the small drop of liquid as it flowed down to his palm. He closed his hand around the tear and closed his eyes. A low hum came from inside him and his eyes opened.
He turned towards Wick and two of the arachnids moved slowly up to each side of the gnome. Wick’s leg started shaking. Soon the motion would set off the trap. The automatons slowly lowered their forelegs onto the edges of the pressure plate. With all the care of a surgeon they slowly pressed down.
“You can move now,” Errat said.
For a moment Wick did not, or perhaps could not, move. A tense pause built until he forced himself to ease his foot off the pressure plate. Five hearts pounded as his weight came off the trap, fearing an imminent explosion. Wick’s legs gave way, and he fell backwards onto his ass. Ovyrm and Gryph dragged him to safety.
The two arachnids did not move. Errat bent down and stroked each one lightly, making sure not to add too much pressure to his farewell. The odd man stood and walked past Gryph and the others. “You should stand back.” They rushed back down the passageway and an odd expression that may have been sadness crossed Errat’s face. “Goodbye.”
The two arachnids released the pressure, and the world exploded with a blinding flash.
23
Thunderous bolts of lightning exploded from the walls zapping the spot where Wick had just vacated. Electricity surged in ragged arcs, cracking into the stone floor and tearing apart the bodies of the two arachnid automatons. The group threw arms in front of their eyes desperate to shield their vision from the blinding light.
