Stealing Sorcery

by Andrew Rowe

  Taelien nodded. “I can only control five of the runes.”

  Tarren blinked. “Control? What do you mean?”

  Taelien took a step back, drawing the sword and concentrating. One by one, the first five runes ignited, bathing the blade in an azure glow.

  “Oh, dear. I do believe you’ve been wielding that incorrectly.”

  Taelien sheathed the blade. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s not meant to – hrm, this may be difficult to explain. All seven runes should be lit by default. It should require no effort on your part.”

  Taelien folded his arms. “I can assure you that has not been the case.”

  “That is truly fascinating – when Aendaryn had the weapon, it shined brightly within his grasp. He never spoke of it taxing his strength. In fact, it still glowed even when he put it down.”

  The swordsman frowned, redrawing the sword and repeating the process. He noted that Asphodel was watching with undisguised interest – she was the only one of his companions that had not seen him training with the weapon extensively.

  Once the runes began to glow, he laid the sword on the dirt – and the instant he released his grip, the runes faded. The distortion field around the blade widened dangerously, the newly-manifested edges annihilating nearby rocks and grass.

  “Now,” Erik mumbled, “That is fascinating.”

  Taelien retrieved the weapon and sheathed it a second time. “Any theories, at least?”

  “No time to formulate a theory, but for a mere hypothesis – the sword does not appear to be working as it did before. Thus, the simplest explanation is that it is damaged.”

  “Damaged? How would that be possible?”

  Tarren seemed to consider that, scratching at his neck. “An artifact can often be damaged by an equally powerful artifact. It could be that your weapon is leaking the essence that normally powers it – and thus it needs external essence to make it function properly. But I can think of no artifact powerful enough to deal damage to that blade. There is no weapon comparable in the known world.”

  Velas quirked an eyebrow. “What about the Heartlance?” After a moment, she added, “Or Cessius? Or the Vae’lien – that should be the Tae’lien’s direct counterpart, yes?”

  “Vae’lien’s weapon was never a match for the Sae’kes. It was his skill that made him Aendaryn’s match – or more than his match in the end.”

  Taelien’s eyes narrowed. “Is that who –”

  Erik shrugged. “I don’t know. I only have my suspicions. But in regards to your sword, I can only say this much – you have earned my curiosity, and I will examine it if you bring it to my home.”

  Taelien nodded. “All right. I’ve taken enough of your time. Let’s be on our way.”

  Landen breathed a sigh of relief. “Good.” He had unfurled the map on the road, and he pointed to a spot directly adjacent to the first shrine they had decided to visit.

  Tarren nodded. “Ah, the shrines. Of course. Yes, I can manage that. You will want to join hands. Do you have all your things?”

  After making certain everyone had retrieved the last of their belongings, the four paladins joined hands and formed a circle.

  Erik Tarren stepped into the center of the circle, raising his arms to the sky. “Makers of the Sky and Stone, hear my call. Carry these four on your wings to the next marker on their path.”

  The world shifted and blurred around Taelien for a disorienting instant – and then his surroundings had changed.

  They were still within a forested area, but the chill in the thin air told him that they were at a higher altitude. The cavern nearby was no doubt the first shrine – but that was not the first thing he noticed.

  The first thing Taelien noticed was the smell – the smell of vomit carried by the wind. It was a moment later that he saw the gleam of steel on the floor of the cave.

  Velas moved first, bringing up her quarterstaff in a defensive stance and spinning around to search for attackers.

  Steel leapt from sheathes as the paladins shifted from their inward-facing circle into a back-to-back formation, but they saw no sign of any impending attack.

  There was only a voice – a quiet voice coming from within the cave.

  “Please…help me.”

  The cracking words were punctuated by a hacking cough – and Taelien broke from their formation to rush toward the entrance.

  “Taelien, stop!”

  Taelien paused, his few seconds of movement having taken him close enough to see the fallen bodies – unmistakably wearing paladin armor – within the cave. One figure remained in a seated position, his back against the wall, holding a hand to his throat, his blonde hair caked with sweat. There was a puddle of vomit at his feet.

  Jonathan Sterling, Taelien recognized. The man continued to cough, his eyes fluttering.

  “There’s someone alive in there!” Taelien called back to the group, turning his head back to see the others rapidly approaching.

  Velas shook her head. “You need to slow the fuck down right now, Taelien. This has trap written all over it.”

  Taelien nodded, stepping back toward the group and falling back into formation. She’s right. That was reckless. This is probably still part of the test…it has to be.

  Sterling turned his head toward them. “Velas – that you? Shit, help me out here.” He broke into another fit of coughing.

  Velas reached into her pack. “Eyes open, watch around me for a sec.”

  Taelien scanned the area as she instructed, keeping his blade at the ready, but he saw no other sign of attackers. “Sterling, is it clear in there?”

  The man nodded. “Poisoned. Fuck, can’t believe I’m…” More coughing.

  Taelien glanced back to Velas, finding her retrieving the rune-marked stick from her pouch.

  “This might be part of the test, but I’m not taking that risk.”

  Taelien nodded. “Agreed.”

  Velas cracked the stick in the center and stabbed the broken pieces into the dirt. Taelien hadn’t been with her when Torrent had discussed the activation method, but that method seemed logical.

  “Okay,” Velas began, “We can’t count on help getting here any time soon, especially since we just took another teleport – that could have disrupted this thing. I’m going in the cave to talk to Sterling and check his injuries. Landen, get out your bow. Anything suspicious moves, shoot it. Taelien, you cover the cave entrance. Asphodel, you’re Landen’s melee support.”

  The candidates moved quickly, with Taelien following behind Velas as she approached Sterling as Landen unfastened his bow from his backpack and began to string it.

  “Fucking poison.” Sterling looked pale and his face was covered with sweat. “Coward’s weapon.”

  As Velas knelt down by Sterling’s side, Taelien recognized one of the fallen as Eridus, his emaciated body encased in a tomb of mail.

  Fuck.

  Taelien’s hand tightened into a fist. He turned to watch Velas and Sterling, noting that Velas had strategically put her boot on top Sterling’s fallen scabbard. She’s not taking any risks. Good.

  “What happened?” Velas put her hand on Sterling’s forehead and grimaced.

  “Got here just a half hour or so ago. Couple people from platoon one were just leaving when we arrived, cheered us on. Thought we were making great time.” He coughed again, smirking. “Took our drinks from the ‘sacred spring’. Turns out ‘sacred’ takes poison just like anything else. Turns out the others hadn’t quite left, either.”

  He raised a hand weakly, pointing to Eridus. “He was trying to treat me when Crimson put an arrow in him. Right at the neck. Fucking never thought we’d actually wish we were wearing gorgets – they’re always such a pain in the ass.”

  Eridus. Shit – a water sorcerer might have had a chance to save them. But without him…

  Velas nodded. “He was brave.”

  “Brave? Doesn’t mean shit when you’re choking on your own blood.” Sterling lower
ed his head. “You ain’t got a healer with you, do you?”

  “I have a medical kit. No sorcery to help, though. I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Better with that than not, I guess. But my odds don’t look great – might be better that you go catch the fuckers that did this.”

  Velas nodded. “We’ll talk about it, but I’m going to see what I can do for you first. Do you think anyone else might be alive?”

  “I…I don’t think so. I’m sorry. I wish I…”

  “You did what you could. One more question. How many of them were there?”

  “Just two.” Sterling closed his eyes. “Just two of them, and they completely overwhelmed us. Crimson and the Wandering War.”

  Velas nodded, looking as if a suspicion had been confirmed in her mind.

  Taelien swept the area nearby with another glance. There was a lot of tree cover, but no signs of anyone still lying in wait. Landen and Asphodel were slowly approaching the cave entrance, and Landen now had a bow in hand. His arrows were in a quiver on his right hip. The pennant was resting against a tree nearby.

  Crimson did seem suspicious from the start – and Wandering War seemed almost too suspicious. Gods, I really hope this is still a test. Please make it be a test.

  A growing feeling of nausea was building in Taelien’s stomach. He raised a hand to rub his head in a feeble effort to stave off the sensation. Shit, must be teleportation sickness. I didn’t even think about that.

  “I…don’t…” Sterling coughed again. “I don’t think you’re going to do much to help me if you don’t have a sorcerer with you.”

  “We’ll get you help.” Velas frowned, slipping off her backpack and retrieving her medical kit. “You’re a Haven Knight, right? Don’t close your eyes.”

  Sterling nodded. “Yeah, I was. Why?”

  “I’m from House Jaldin – you know what that means. We’re the best healers.”

  “The best healers…yeah, I guess that’s true.”

  Sterling’s gaze began to falter. Velas slapped him, jolting the man awake.

  “You need to keep your eyes open. I’m going to need a few more minutes to prepare something. You need – ” Velas coughed into her hand, shaking her head. “You’ll need to drink this when I’m finished with it. It’s going to make you throw up.”

  “Lovely.” He smirked. “Just like a bad night of drinking, eh?”

  She nodded. “Yeah, except last time we went drinking, you didn’t throw up at all. It was the ring, yeah?”

  He raised his right hand, displaying a ring. “Probably the only reason I’m alive.” He chuckled. “It was just a trinket. Not made for handling real tough poisons – just a trinket for winning drinking contests. I never thought…”

  “You’re very lucky you had it.” Velas turned her head toward Taelien, who was shuffling his feet uneasily. “You want to go catch those fuckers?”

  Taelien nodded furiously.

  “Sterling, how long ago did the other two leave, and which way did they go?”

  He shook his head. “Couldn’t have been long. I mean, I don’t think… Maybe ten minutes? Seemed like they were in a hurry.” He frowned. “They looked like they were headed on the path downhill, back toward where you came from. You shouldn’t split up, though. Gotta leave me here if you want to go after them.”

  “They can handle it. Only two of them – I’ll send two of us.”

  Velas turned back to Taelien. “Take Asphodel and head down the road. Hopefully she can use her oracle powers to find them or something. Don’t take any risks. If you have to kill them to save yourselves, do it.”

  This…this is bad. This is the wrong move, isn’t it?

  But – what do I – what should we do?

  Taelien nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Velas and Landen will be fine, won’t they? They can handle themselves, even if Susan and Wandering War wrap back around.

  He shook his head, which swam for an instant as he moved. Shit, I need to be careful. This travel sorcery sickness might be a problem. I’ll need to walk it off.

  The swordsman jerked a thumb toward the road while facing Asphodel. “You good to go?”

  She nodded. “We will catch them.”

  Well, at least someone is confident.

  ***

  The sick feeling in Taelien’s stomach did not improve as he raced with Asphodel down the trail – it only worsened. Still, he pressed on, the pain from his side fading into the back of his mind as he focused on a single goal – smashing Susan Crimson and the Wandering War with overwhelming force.

  Minutes passed, the forest around them thickening into walls. Though the path appeared to be well-traveled, he could see the fragmented ruins of abandoned stone structures among the trees. The forest had retaken the majority of its territory long ago.

  Asphodel froze in her tracks, her eyes narrowing. Taelien turned, breathing heavily from a combination of exertion and the growing tension in his muscles.

  “Continue down the path. We part ways here.”

  Asphodel turned to the right, stalking off the road into the forest.

  “That doesn’t seem wise –”

  “I am following Crimson. Her path broke from his here. She has laid several traps. You will only slow me down.” She spoke in a tone that brooked no argument, but Taelien was tempted to follow her regardless.

  She trusts in her visions, even knowing that they only represent a possibility – but I suppose that’s still more information than I have at my disposal.

  Shaking his head, Taelien whispered an old saying, “Lissari, keep her healthy,” and continued on his own path. The tree cover grew thicker, blotting out much of the dawnfire’s light. He passed a stream, tempting him to stop and drink, but he pressed on – he knew that his enemy could choose to abandon the road – or meet with allies – at any time.

  His heart was pounding when he came upon a marker in the trail – three paladin practice blades embedded in the dirt on the side of the road.

  Like unmarked graves.

  The three-inch blade that flashed out from the tree-line grazed the left side of his face.

  Taelien drew his practice blade, not bothering to assess the wound. The pain was insubstantial, distant.

  Sharpen. The blade’s edges shifted into a closer facsimile of a standard weapon, though he could feel that the metal itself was a lighter grade of iron.

  A cloaked figure emerged from the woods, moving to the center of the road.

  “I am disappointed,” the Wandering War intoned, his voice rich and full. “I did not even wait to flank you – and yet you still missed the thrown knife. Are you unwell?”

  More than a bit, but I’m not going to show him that.

  “That trinket wasn’t even worth deflecting.” Taelien smirked. “I hope you’ve brought something a little bit more substantial.”

  The cloaked figure made a sweeping bow. “But of course.”

  The three paladin blades tore free from the dirt, hovering to float behind the Wandering War and reorienting themselves to point toward Taelien.

  Well, that’s one time I really shouldn’t have said anything.

  The Wandering War flicked his arm toward Taelien – the swords followed his command.

  Taelien’s sword smashed the first blade to the side, but it simply floated nearby, beginning to reorient itself as he struck at the second blade.

  Shatter, he commanded the metal of the opposing blade as the swords met, but the meeting of weapons was too brief – his command incomplete. The third sword’s blade struck the left side of his breastplate, scrapping harmlessly across the plate as it flew past him.

  He was already rushing off the road when the blades came again, giving him no time to pause for thought. He deflected one with his left bracer while sweeping the second’s blade into a nearby tree, pinning it in place. Even as he brought his blade back to parry the third, he noted the entombed sword wiggling in place, as if struggling to free itself of its own accord
.

  The third blade swept at Taelien’s upper legs, which were covered only by a thin layer of mail. He raised his right greave to block the attack, successfully deflecting it, but fell backward from the force of the impact and landed in a sitting position on the dirt.

  The Wandering War had not noticeably moved.

  Frustrated, Taelien awaited the first blade’s next swing, snatching it out of the air with a gloved hand. The practice blade’s blunted edges did his hand no harm, though it remained in motion, pushing with unseen force toward his throat.

  Ball, he commanded the blade. This time it responded – although with hesitation – and the iron blade separated from the hilt, shifting into a sphere. The hilt fell harmlessly to the dirt as Taelien reached back to throw the ball, but the third sword swept down too quickly, interrupting his attempt. He was forced to raise his bracer again to block the swing, and then swung his own sword in an awkward arc, missing the floating blade entirely.

  The Wandering War laughed, beginning to walk closer.

  Taelien stood, stumbling backward as the last floating blade swished in front of him, deflecting it and hurling the iron ball at the Wandering War.

  The cloaked figure raised his hand again – and the ball paused in mid-air, and then fell harmlessly to the ground.

  That’s… not even fair. What kind of reshing sorcery is he using?

  The last floating sword swung again, but Taelien was more than ready this time. He locked his blade against it in a push, giving him more than enough time to issue a command to the metal.

  Shatter.

  The blade fractured like glass, spilling across the dirt.

  Taelien didn’t advance directly on his opponent – instead, he stepped back off the path to grasp the blade of the second of the floating swords, which was still working its way free from the tree. He was tempted to try to use it as a secondary weapon, but the Wandering War had clearly exerted some kind of sorcerous control over the weapons, making the sword too much of a risk.

  Separate.

  The blade split into pieces – large enough that Taelien could easily reassemble them into a weapon, but too small to be individually dangerous. This would give him an option for a fallback weapon if the Wandering War seized control over his current sword.