Tarah Woodblade

by Trevor H. Cooley

  Mel laughed and reached down to grasp the hilt of Tarah’s father’s sword. He drew the long blade out of an invisible sheath. “I wanna cut him in two.”

  “Naw, Mel, you wait,” Leroy said. “I got this.”

  Djeri concentrated on breaking the spell. Leroy was right. He had been stupid. Instead of announcing his intentions, he should have ran straight in. He cursed his love of theatrics.

  Leroy approached him, his paralyzing rod in one hand, his thick cudgel in the other. The cudgel seemed like a crude weapon to be in the hands of a smuggler as experienced as Leroy, but Djeri had seen the runes carved into its haft. They were air runes. Whatever they did, Djeri knew he didn’t want to be hit by that thing.

  He shoved at the paralyzing spell as hard as he could. Then, as if by some unknown trigger, he felt that place behind his eyes flex. The spell dissolved.

  Leroy’s eyes went wide as Djeri suddenly surged forward, extending the staff in a savage swing. The smuggler brought up his cudgel just in time to block. When the two weapons met, there was an explosive flash of energy from the cudgel, but that wasn’t enough to stop Djeri’s attack. The staff knocked the cudgel aside and struck Leroy in the chest, sending him stumbling backwards.

  Another pop rang out, this one from Mel’s rod. Djeri was frozen again, but he focused on that spot between his eyes and flexed again. He burst through the spell and walked towards Mel.

  “Hah! You don’t scare me, academy boy,” Mel said, hefting the Ramsetter and giving him a gap-toothed grin. “Yer tough, but that ain’t yer weapon and I been fightin’ with greatswords fer a hunnerd years.”

  “You don’t know me very well,” Djeri replied, twirling the staff.

  Mel came at him, swinging the sword. Djeri knocked the blow aside and sent the staff down low. Mel had to jump backwards to avoid being tripped up and Djeri thrust the staff forward like a spear, jabbing the dwarf in the sternum and knocking him back further.

  Leroy chose that moment to charge in at Djeri’s back, but Djeri sensed the attack coming. He spun, his hands in the middle of the staff. One end collided with the cudgel, igniting another explosion, and the other end shot up, cracking Leroy in the jaw. The dwarf stumbled back again, this time falling on his rear.

  “I might not be as good as Tarah Woodblade, but I’m more than good enough to drop you two,” Djeri said.

  Djeri had a large collection of weapons back home and he’d had an even bigger one back at the academy. A defensive specialist, he was well-versed in the use of polearms, especially in the pike and halberd. The quarterstaff was much easier to use than any of those.

  “We’ll hit him together, Leroy,” Mel said, wincing as he rubbed his chest. “C’mon, Leroy, get up!” The blond-mustached dwarf tried to get to his feet, blood streaming from his lips.

  Djeri glanced down at Tarah. Her body was mostly invisible, just blurring at the edges, but where the dwarf had opened her armor, he saw her chest rise and fall with each breath. He also saw blood staining the side of her undershirt. His hands tightened on the staff.

  Djeri didn’t wait for the smugglers to regroup. He charged at Mel and knocked the dwarf’s hasty attack to the side. Djeri struck him once in the chin, knocking his head back, than struck him twice in the hand, causing him to drop the sword.

  One more crack to the side of the skull and Mel went down. Djeri bent and picked up the sword, then turned to see Leroy coming up behind him, pointing his paralyzing rod. Djeri dropped Tarah’s staff and raised the sword over his head.

  Pop! Djeri was frozen just long enough for Leroy to bring his cudgel to bear. The magic weapon struck Djeri’s weakened breastplate. The explosion of air that accompanied the strike tore his breastplate open, pieces of metal scattering into the snow.

  Djeri felt like he had been punched in the chest. His mind flexed and as the spell broke, he launched his body forward and kicked Leroy in the chest, sending the dwarf reeling.

  Leroy recovered quickly, but Djeri didn’t give him time to fire the rod again. With a growl, Djeri rushed ahead and slashed the Ramsetter diagonally across the smuggler’s body. The blade cut deep, opening Leroy’s torso from collar to hip.

  The dwarf’s bloody jaw dropped open and he gave Djeri a look of shock. Then he fell face first, blood pooling beneath him.

  Djeri stood there for a moment, breathing heavily. Then he bent down and picked up Leroy’s cudgel.

  “Stop!” said Mel behind him and Djeri turned to see that the dwarf was kneeling over Tarah. The dwarf’s bandages were blood-soaked, but his eyes were clear. He was holding his belt knife over her chest, its sharpened point aimed at her ribs. “Put yer weapons down or I’ll kill her!”

  In one quick motion, Djeri twisted his body and threw the cudgel. Mel raised his hands defensively, but he didn’t react in time. The weighted end struck him right in the nose. An explosion of air sent blood and flesh flying and Mel fell to his back.

  Djeri grunted and pulled at the leather straps holding his breastplate in place. With a creak, it fell from his body. He looked down and saw a piece of metal sticking out of his chest. Gasping, he pulled it out to find that it was a jagged shard almost two inches long.

  Djeri tossed the metal to the ground and knelt at Tarah’s side. He reached out and touched her invisible face to find that something sticky was covering her skin. Concerned, he pulled back her armor and found the shoulder wound. A sigh escaped his lips. He didn’t know how long she’d been laying there, but the wound was no longer bleeding and it didn’t look to be infected.

  “It’s okay, Tarah. I’m here,” he said. He gently patted her face, but she didn’t wake. “Hey, I brought your staff.” He reached for her translucent hand and placed the staff in her palm. “See, it’s right here. It’s . . .”

  Djeri’s eyes widened. He could see her hand. The runes on her staff glowed briefly and the strange invisibility that covered her began to flow into the red wood. In moments, all of the translucence was absorbed and Tarah was completely visible again.

  “Tarah,” he said. “Can you hear me?”

  There was no response. Her eyes were closed and her face peaceful as she continued to breath slowly. He touched her face gently and felt her neck. Her heartbeat was steady and strong. What to do now? His fingers trembled as he laced the front of her armor back up.

  He called for Neddy and the mule walked up to them. He sniffed at Tarah and looked up to Djeri with concerned eyes.

  “I know, boy,” Djeri said. “We’ve got to get her out of here, but I hate to move her with a wound like that. Do you think you can carry her without being too rough?”

  A cough rang out behind them and Djeri turned to see Mel stirring. The dwarf let out a pained moan. Djeri picked up the Ramsetter and strode over to the dwarf, placing the blade against his neck.

  “Mercy . . .” said Mel weakly.

  Djeri glared. “Tell me what happened and I’ll spare you.”

  “B-Blayne . . . Blayne came to meet us at F-Filgren, but only three of us was alive,” he said with a gurgle. “We . . . saw yer girl she was pettin’ a . . .” His eyes became unfocused. “We . . . They . . .”

  Mel drifted into unconsciousness and Djeri stood over him for a moment, his eyes searching the dwarf’s ruined face. Mel’s nose was gone, his skull likely fractured. Still, Djeri knew if he left him there, the dwarf would probably survive, even though he’d be scarred for life.

  Djeri sighed. He had always believed in giving quarter to defeated foes. Enemies that were shown mercy rarely came back looking for revenge. But as he looked into Mel’s unstaring eyes, that new place in Djeri’s head flexed. He saw deeper into the dwarf. For a moment he saw into Mel’s soul.

  Djeri flinched, taking a step back. He’d seen a small glimpse of the future. Mel wouldn’t let them go. He was too proud and too vicious. The scars on his face would drive him to chase after them again and again. Djeri thought of Tarah and the humiliations Mel had already forced her to endure. He thought of the further cr
uelties the dwarf had planned.

  Mel stirred and groaned. He blinked his eyes and saw Djeri swinging back the sword. He saw the disgust in Djeri’s face. He extended his arm, pleading, “Wait! I said mercy!”

  “Not for you,” Djeri said and brought the Ramsetter down, lopping off the dwarf’s head.

  Chapter Twenty One

  It was monsoon season in Alberri. Torrential rains pounded the normally arid hills and desert dunes that surrounded the capitol city. The small rivers and dry beds quickly overflowed, turning the area surrounding Mallad into a huge floodplain.

  “This happens twice a year here,” Steward Molly recited as she led Arcon down the corridors of the king’s palace, following behind Scholar Aloysius. “The farmers count on the rains. The country would starve without them, but as a whole, the scholars abhor this time of year. The air becomes humid, making the care of ancient documents difficult. Their robes get wet and heavy. For years, the scholars searched for a way to stop the rains.”

  “A difficult problem,” Arcon said, though her lesson bored him. He followed behind the steward at a respectful distance, his shoulders hunched and head bowed.

  That’s how life as a steward in training had been over the last month. His mornings were full of listening to Molly’s inane prattle regarding stewardly duties. Hardly any of it was interesting. The only positive development had been her reluctance to summon him to her rooms at night now that he was her student.

  “No kidding,” Mellinda said. “It’s the first time in hundreds of years that I’ve found propriety an advantage.”

  Then again, without the green and white striped sash he wore over his robes, he wouldn’t have been allowed anywhere near the palace. Scholar Aloysius had been right about the advantages of his position. As a steward-in-training, no one looked at him twice. He had access to most areas of the Homeland and he was able to read in the libraries at whatever hours he wished. If he had been a full steward, his duties would have kept him away from studying most of the day.

  Scholar Aloysius paused and looked back at him, causing the entourage of stewards to stumble to a halt. “Indeed, Student Arcon? Do you find the rains a difficult problem?”

  “No, scholar,” Arcon said. “The solution is a simple one. I was merely saying what I thought Steward Molly wanted me to say.”

  Molly shot him a withering glare.

  “Oh?” Aloysius said. “Then what is your simple solution?”

  “Careful,” Mellinda warned. “With him there’s a fine line between humor and blasphemy.”

  “Perhaps it is just simple to me because my parents were farmers,” Arcon replied. “Rain is a necessity. It’s not something you stop. You simply find ways to work around the moisture.”

  Fortunately, the scholar laughed. He turned and continued down the wide hallway, his retinue following at his heels. “Precisely. This is a fine example of the ridiculousness of our culture, Arcon. Carry on, Molly.”

  The steward cleared her throat and continued on, red faced. “As stewards it is our duty to keep the scholars comfortable in these seasonal times. We cover them with parasols and make sure that they wear water resistant boots.

  “Of course it is much easier to deal with now than it used to be. The streets of the homeland used to flood each monsoon season. Water depths of six feet or more were not uncommon. Twice a year, the stewards had the responsibility of sealing the scholar’s basements and bringing all their texts to the upper levels of their residences.”

  Arcon nodded. He knew this part of the history. It was still built into the architecture of the homeland. Every residence had high stairways leading to their front doors and many of the older residences didn’t even have a ground level. They were just built atop high columns.

  “Indeed,” Scholar Aloysius said. “Twice a year the stewards would shoo us up to our attics to huddle over candles, waiting out the storms, doing all they could to make sure we didn’t walk outside and drown ourselves.”

  Mellinda laughed. “I love it when he does that. Look at Molly. She has no idea how to react.”

  She was right. Molly and most of the other stewards looked vaguely offended at having their efforts belittled. The only stewards that didn’t were Evan and Madison. The red-sashed stewards wore green sashes in public and walked at the Scholar’s side, their weapons hidden.

  The scholar turned down a hallway and headed towards a heavy steel door. Four bulky palace guards were standing watch in front of it. A black-sashed steward ran ahead and presented a note to the guards signed by the king himself. By the time Aloysius arrived at the door, the guards had already pulled it open.

  The scholar paused at the doorway. “Evan, Madison, and Student Arcon, come with me. The rest of you wait for my return.”

  “But-,” Steward Molly said.

  “Thank you for your history lesson, Molly,” Aloysius said. “I shall take it from here.”

  Her face colored again and she gave him a short bow. “Yes scholar.”

  The gnome entered the doorway and began climbing the stairwell within. Evan and Madison followed closely behind while Arcon took the rear.

  “Aloysius continues to surprise me,” Mellinda said with excitement. “I’ve never seen a scholar be able to order his stewards around like that. Usually they treat the gnomes like children.”

  As you’ve said countless times, he’s different, Arcon replied. The longer they were stuck together, the more the dead witch talked. He understood that there was nothing else for her to do, but at times it really grated on his nerves.

  The scholar climbed the long series of stone steps without pause, his breath never laboring even after the red-sashes had begun to tire. Arcon would have tired as well, had he not used a new trick Mellinda had taught him. Muted shafts of air magic lifted his body in multiple places, greatly reducing his weight.

  “So, Student Arcon,” said the scholar as he climbed. “Now that Molly is no longer with us to give you her rather slanted official view of history, why don‘t you tell me what you know about the events that happened two-hundred-and-twenty-seven years ago?”

  “I believe you’re referring to the day when High Scholar Abernathy created the Abernathy Barrier?” Arcon said.

  “That is the event,” said the scholar, raising a finger. “Do you know how the barrier was created?”

  “No, Scholar,” Arcon replied. “The texts describe the artifact in great description, but they don’t say how it was made.”

  “I have my suspicions,” Mellinda mused.

  The gnome stopped at the top of the stairwell, standing in front of another steel door. “Don’t you find that strange, Student Arcon?” he asked. “After all, is not the purpose of scholarly pursuit to bring knowledge to light? Why hide the means of creating such a powerful item? Would the world not be better served if such artifacts could be created and used all over the known lands?”

  Arcon hesitated. What did the scholar want him to say? “I follow your logic, scholar. Though I understand why he would want to keep it a secret.”

  “Do you?” he asked.

  “Well, I was just thinking that once an artifact becomes common place it’s no longer special. As long as it was unique he could ride high on his fame for centuries while people waited on him and asked him how he did it,” Arcon said.

  “But isn’t a scholar’s life’s work to build a legacy?” Scholar Aloysius said. “To leave something behind that would benefit the known lands in the future?”

  Arcon paused. “That’s true, but Scholar Abernathy was a gnome. He was expecting to live over a thousand years, why let the secret out while he was still young? He could wait until his old age, then release his memoirs and still have his legacy.”

  “Ah, now you see the right of it,” said Aloysius. “Another of the failings of my people. We are too patient. That’s why most of the innovations in the world these days come from humans. Their shorter life span makes them eager. Now come, see Abernathy’s miracle.”

  St
eward Madison opened the door. Arcon could hear the pounding of the rain and saw a flash of lightning. The smell of ozone filled the air. Steward Evan went out first, Aloysius next. Hesitantly, Arcon followed them. He walked through the door and stepped out onto the highest point in the capitol city, the Barrier Tower.

  Just outside the door was a wide balcony that overlooked the city below. The contrast between the Mallad half of the city and the Gnome Homeland was obvious here. The streets and buildings of Mallad were sort of dingy, while the residences and libraries in the homeland were brighter and well-maintained.

  Arcon walked to the center of the balcony. The air was thick and humid here but no moisture fell. He looked up at the roiling clouds, his jaw dropping in awe. It had been an impressive view from the streets below, but here it was even more so.

  Water fell in torrents above him, but it didn’t touch the city. A massive dome of energy held back the rain. From Arcon’s perspective, it was like being inside a glass orb and watching water being poured over it. The barrier began just above the tower and covered the entire city, encompassing both Mallad and the Gnome Homeland.

  “Amazing!” said Mellinda.

  Arcon had to agree. The barrier’s construction truly was a miracle. Air was let in, as was sound and the occasional lightning bolt, but the water stayed out. The land around the city was immersed in water, but the raging floods parted around the city, keeping everyone inside dry.

  “The sheer power of the barrier is stunning, isn’t it?” Aloysius said, looking up at the dome. He had to speak loudly to be heard over the rain. “Are you ready to see the source?”

  “Yes, Scholar,” Arcon said.

  He followed the scholar around to the back of the tower where a fifteen-foot statue stood. It was shaped like a hill giant and was carved out of solid onyx. Its mouth carved in a defiant roar, it held one arm into the air. Something was clasped in its fist.

  Aloysius climbed the stone staircase that curved around the statue, ending at its fist. Arcon joined him to stand in front of the artifact that generated the barrier. Clutched by the statue’s fingers was a polished brass scepter. It was about three feet in length and covered in intricate runes. The head of the scepter was shaped into the likeness of a joyful gnome with an open mouth.