The Spirit Well

by Charles E Yallowitz

  “Thirty, but none of them go to the floors that are ground level and higher,” the guildmaster replies with her head cocked to the side. Noticing that Luke is watching her, the black-clothed thief rolls off the table and leans into his face. “You don’t trust me. Smart boy, but I’m really on your side. Pazel sees all of you as a means to an end. So do I, but I’m up front about it. That and he’ll probably try to kill you after he succeeds while I simply want you gone once our business is done. I say that with the greatest amount of respect and politeness that I can muster.”

  “All of that is fine, but I don’t like how you tricked Sari and Timoran,” Luke says, baring his teeth at the thief. A dog-like growl rolls from his throat and he snaps at her, earning himself a startling caw in return. “It puts them in danger for no reason. Couldn’t you have given her another challenge or accepted that she is on a different path?”

  “Sari good thief,” Fizzle chimes in, the drite landing on the forest tracker’s head. The dragon darts away to snatch an apple from an unsuspecting juggler and returns to enjoy his snack on the table. “Sneaky and dangerous. No need stealth for while. Fizzle no think Sari rusty. Not lose edge or get soft. Sari good.”

  “I agree with my friends. Although, I can see some truth to what you’re saying,” Nyx claims as she takes a seat. The channeler puts her feet on the table, which are accidentally knocked away by Delvin moving to the other side of the schematic. “All of us have our skills for a reason and we should nurture each one instead of mimicking others. Sari hasn’t been able to do much as a thief beyond some pickpocketing and sneaking around. On the other hand, Timoran’s impressive disguise proves that she hasn’t forgotten her skills. Let’s be honest about my little sister. She has so many tricks up her sleeves that it would be impossible for her to use all of them equally. If she did then the rest of us might not have much to do and we’d go soft. So some abilities will dull for a bit until she has to use them again. It would be like me going several years without doing research and having to get back into old habits.”

  “Research isn’t really a-” Luke begins, stopping when he senses that Nyx is not in the mood for an argument. Holding up his hands, the forest tracker turns back to their host. “This planning might work better with Sari and Timoran here. Delvin is smart and knows how to utilize all of us on the battlefield, but those two tend to have some interesting insight. When should we expect them to return?”

  “The hardest part is getting into the vault. Your friends should be able to handle the inner defenses pretty easily considering their enchanted . . . gear,” Natalie says, her eyes falling on the pile of equipment next to the guildmaster throne. Timoran’s great axe and Sari’s enchanted boots remind her of the challenge that cost the champions most of their gear. “I just remembered that I have something to take care of. Help yourself to the food and drink, don’t leave the lair, and no fighting. Be back probably at the same time as your friends, which I assure you will be entirely by coincidence.”

  Before the champions can stop her, Natalie transforms into a crow and calls the other birds to hide her escape.

  *****

  Sari sprints around a shelving unit and jumps back, the gypsy ducking to avoid the deadly horns that smash through the furniture. Another minotaur charges down the aisle, but is stopped by tiny, salt-covered ice needles to its eyes. Thankful for the bodysuit making her sweat in the hot vault, the champion runs and leaps onto the falling creature’s head. The beast throws back its head with enough force to send Sari into the rafters where she can look for Timoran. A primal roar causes her to turn around and spot a spinning axe that forces her to drop onto the top of the shelves. The entire unit shakes as one of the minotaurs slams into it and tries to climb to where the intruder is limping away. The injured gypsy stops when the horns of another enemy come into view at the end of the row. She is prepared to leap across the wide aisle when Timoran barrels through the shelves, his hands gripping the horns of the largest minotaur. Feeling her perch start to topple, Sari rolls to the floor and divers behind the barbarian. The large warrior’s brawl cuts off her pursuers, but the young woman still has a pair of burly guardians standing in her path.

  “Opening to your right,” Timoran growls, his body covered in orange energy that seeps from his dark red ring.

  The barbarian kicks back to bust a hole in the shelving unit, which lets the minotaur gain leverage on him. He goes down to one knee and growls when his enemy snorts, globs of mucus getting stuck in his fake arm hair. Sari scrambles through the hole while the other beasts cautiously advance and redirect their attack on the bigger threat. With a roar that echoes for several seconds, Timoran twists his body and slams his opponent into the other guardians. He whirls around to burst forward and ram his head into the face of a fourth minotaur, which collapses to the ground and remains groaning at the champion’s feet.

  Knowing that there are several more of the guardians wandering around the vault, Timoran decides to face the ones he can see. Having seen what the barbarian can do, one of them puts its head low enough to grind its horns against the floor and protect its vulnerable forehead. The position means it is running blind, so the creature never sees a metal bar jut out of the broken shelving unit. Sari’s grunt can be heard when the minotaur strikes the makeshift staff that she has braced against her body, which is covered in bruises. When the creature’s momentum and power vaults it upside down and over the bar, Timoran hurries to catch it on his back. Refusing to kill the mooing beast, he settles for slamming it headfirst into the floor. Legs kicking in the air and arms grasping at the lower shelves, the confused minotaur finds itself stuck with its horns embedded in the stone.

  Sari rolls back into the row and pops the gold-rimmed cork off a bottle that she hopes is full of water. She throws the clear liquid across the floor to create a sheet of ice beneath the remaining minotaurs’ hooves. Her naiad powers only work on some of the foul-smelling puddle, the concoction separating when exposed to the air. The creatures have become leery of the intruders and move forward with their axes in hand, the beasts realizing that throwing the weapons would be a mistake. All the ice does is crunch beneath their weight, which gives them the confidence to walk faster. Sari waits for them to hit the largest patch and she turns the frozen water into edged spikes that curve around the hooves to strike the ankles. Screaming in agony, the two guardians crash to the floor and remain sprawled across the liquid that turns back into watered down ale.

  “Should we hunt the other four?” Timoran asks while he tries to figure out where the remaining guardians are located. He hears a loud clunk and several small clicks, which are followed by a series of grunts. “Hold your ground, my friend, because I sense someone has entered the vault. I hope it is to free us and not add more dangers.”

  “Maybe it’s someone dropping a project off and they don’t even know about us,” Sari suggests, not wanting to get her hopes up. One of the fallen minotaurs tries to stand, so she kicks it in the snout and winces at the smudge of mucus on her foot. “These guys must be trained to remain at rest while the door is open. That’s why they never escape or cause trouble for the gnomes.”

  “We should take this chance to reach the far wall and escape.”

  “Lead the way, King Wrath.”

  Wrapped in the orange energy of his ring, Timoran barrels down the aisle and raises his fist with the intention of shattering the wall. He knows that he need only intend to break whatever he is about to hit, most non-magical and inanimate objects standing little chance against his destructive power. A living creature would be severely injured by such a blow, which is why he skids and trips over his own foot at the sight of a crow in his path. Sari vaults over her friend to clamber up the shelves to pursue the bird. She stops at the top when Natalie takes her human form and bows at the gypsy’s feet.

  “I’m sorry for tricking you into coming here and remaining in the lair to work on an attack plan with your friends,” the guildmaster humbly says since none of her fello
w members are around to see her grovel. She stands and faces the gypsy, whose blue hair is starting to peek out from under the wig. “I thought I was doing you a favor by giving you a chance to reuse your skills, but I forgot about the minotaurs. Honestly, I have deals with the gnomes and get brought down here to test toys from time to time. So the guardians tend to be resting out of sight whenever I’m here. That’s still no excuse. On the other hand, you two seem to have had some fun and neither of you are injured.”

  “Not injured? I’m bruised, bleeding, and I think several of my organs are in the wrong place,” Sari bluntly states while she climbs back down to Timoran. Several gnomes are standing between them and the guardians, which are receiving medical attention. “Never do me any favors again. As far as I’m concerned, you owe me now. Don’t think I’ll be easy on you either because my people can be very petty and vengeful.”

  Natalie drops between the two champions and takes their hands, stopping a gnome with a clipboard from approaching. “Perfectly understandable. For now, we have a mutual enemy that needs to go away. Pazel has your friend and he’s a threat to the guild. One could say that both of our families are in danger. Though I’m not that poetic. How about we go back to the hideout, have some food, and plan an assass . . . I mean, heist. Definitely don’t want to use the other word within earshot of law-abiding, totally trustworthy citizens.”

  Not waiting for a reply, the were-crow leads the champions through the aisles in a path that makes them wonder if there are pressure plates in the floor. They free their hands from the thief and remain a few steps behind to follow her exact movements, Timoran having a very difficult time when she skirts a suspicious square. A snort greets them as they come around a corner and come face to face with an uninjured minotaur. Under orders not to attack, the creature can only glare at the trio and stomp its hoof in frustration. Territorial and adrenaline pumping through its veins, the beast continues staring at what it thinks is an ogre even when Natalie leads them out of the vault. She is about to whisper to Sari when a purple streak slams into her stomach and bangs the guildmaster into the side of the door. With a muttered curse, she slides a vial out of her sleeve and takes a pill that numbs the pain.

  “Delvin have plan. We need go now,” Fizzle announces while he jumps up and down on Natalie’s lap. He squeaks when she shoves him away and flutters over to perch between Timoran’s fake horns. “Fizzle come get you. Delvin say need Linny to stay. Explain when get to place. Says it good plan. No risk to thieves. Only you and us be in real danger. Earn you repu . . . reput . . . good story.”

  “Do I have time to clean off and get my axe?” Timoran asks with a hopeful twinkle in his eye. Rubbing the fake nose, the warrior notices that it is crooked and removes the piece from his face. “This loincloth does help with mobility since I have less fabric restraining my actions. Yet I do not enjoy being this exposed during battle.”

  Fizzle pouts and pats his friend’s back with his tail. “Ogre Timoran part of plan. Delvin say trust him.”

  “This is going to be interesting,” Sari says as she pulls a tube of glue out her boot. The gypsy reattaches the fake nose and gives the barbarian a small kiss on the cheek. “Let’s be honest, King Wrath. You really want to see what happens when you rampage as a primal beast of destruction.”

  “I am a barbarian. My people wrote books on rampaging.”

  6

  Returning to her body, Dariana yawns and does her best to hide the fact that she only has a vague idea of what has happened in her absence. The taste of food is in her mouth and her lap is covered in crumbs, signs that a servant recently force fed her. Pazel’s voice can be heard on the other side of a nearby door, which is repeatedly opened a crack and closed when the gnome goes back to whatever conversation he is having. Alone in the room, Dariana takes the opportunity to slip her hand into her waistband and make sure the vial of ghost blood has appeared. Moving the container to a shirt pocket, the telepath takes a peek into Pazel’s mind and assumes the position that he remembers her last being in. She uses a nearby mirror to make sure everything is perfect, including masking a collection of bruises on her knuckles. She is unsure if they are reminders of her small fight with Tydis or caused by her captor, but there is no time to investigate. Dariana takes a deep breath and pretends to fight against the paralysis spell that has long since faded away.

  “I hope you enjoyed your rest because today is the day we either control or wipe out the thieves,” Pazel announces as he enters. Taking a seat across from his prisoner, the ambitious man steeples his fingers and tries to ignore the dull headache caused by his crown. “I’ve been thinking about a few things. Our conversation last night about my ambition and your future has me wondering if I’m aiming too low. Yes, I know you said that you’re not as powerful as many believe, but you are versatile. Turning off minds, blocking pain, reading thoughts, and everything else you can do with telepathy is awe-inspiring and terrifying.”

  “That is why I ask again that you free me,” Dariana requests, her facial muscles twitching as if trying to smile. Feeling the mayor poke at her brain, she lets him step into a false memory of her accidentally destroying a village. “As you can see, it is very different from magic. Casters have training and work from nothing to gain strength. Telepaths of my caliber start with power and must learn restraint, which is different for everyone. You don’t understand this because my presence helps to temper the effects on you. I’m a dam for the power that you’ve stolen and it’s only a matter of time before I burst.”

  “That only means I have to work quickly,” the gnome replies while pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket. He wipes up a small nosebleed, which he realizes is the third one since breakfast an hour ago. “I hope you realize that nothing you say can stop me. As long as I don’t see a void, I’m safe. No warning about taking your power or my decision to conquer all of the towns and farms to the north. Rodillen will remain under Duke Solomon’s rule, but we’ll have more resources and land to bargain with. Maybe this place will become a new Sister City. After all, Everthorne is one and that place is a festering dump.”

  “Has it occurred to you that the void is being blocked by my powers?” Dariana inquires, enjoying the wave of fear that pulses off the gnome. Deciding to toy with the nervous man, she causes him to sweat and gives him the idea that her powers randomly affect his mood. “I’m not a mere telepath, Mayor Laufeia. My psychic abilities should not be tampered with and can cause harm to those who try. One could say that they have a mind of their own, which means they take offense to being stolen.”

  Tapping his foot on the underside of the table, Pazel considers the warning and wipes at his brow. He curses when his nose bleeds again, but he makes no move to clean the dribble that runs along his upper lip. Closing his eyes, the gnome uses the natural mental abilities of his people to divide the stolen powers. Half of his brain focuses on accessing and using Dariana’s telepathy while the rest handles the psychic strain. It leaves him feeling slightly woozy and he senses that his intelligence is dulled, but Pazel is sure he is smart enough to handle a small reduction. He releases a sigh of relief when the nosebleed stops and the constant pressure behind his eyes fades away for the first time since he woke up.

  “I have everything under control,” the mayor declares with a crooked smile. Feeling thirsty and giddy, the well-dressed politician reaches for a glass decanter that is filled with his favorite brandy. “Then again, I believe you have a point. Not about the void or me being unable to handle this. Your presence is required for me to retain my newfound strength. Killing you or letting you leave would put me back to where I was or even worse. Now I fear that your friends have sided with the guild and plan to free you, which means losing these powers while either group exists is a death sentence.”

  “You also have the problem of fighting a battle on too many fronts,” Dariana adds when she senses an opening to reduce his aspirations. The angry scowl from the gnome makes her quiver, but it is out of wanting to hit him mo
re than fear. “What I mean is that you don’t want to take on too many challenges at once. Otherwise, you will burn out. Never forget that the mortal mind is not without its limits.”

  Nodding his head in agreement, Pazel takes a sip of his drink and notices that the alcohol is sweeter than ever. “Your wisdom is another reason I wish to keep you here. Without a true army, I will be the one doing most of the work at the beginning of my campaign. Being a politician, I hate getting my hands dirty. By committing the acts myself, I can’t feign ignorance or throw anyone else to the angry mobs. Step by step is the safest path here.”

  “My friends won’t leave without me.”

  “And they refuse to die easily.”

  “Let me go, Pazel, because your plan is destined for disaster.”

  “Then I will defy the God of Destiny.”

  Dariana tries to lunge out of the chair, but all she does is violently twitch and curse against the nonexistent paralysis spell. The smarmy expression on the gnome’s face erases the telepath’s fear that she is overacting and revealing that she is not really trapped. A familiar whisper tickles her ear, so she lets her head droop as if exhaustion has set in. Only after she moves does Dariana realize the spell would have prevented the motion. She is relieved when Pazel kneels under her face and casually pushes her back into place, the gnome appearing to enjoy her moments of defiance.

  “I will need a new chair because you’re too strong for this one to last much longer,” he states, reclaiming his seat and searching his pockets for his pipe. Happily puffing on the end, the mayor churns out a note written in smoke and sends it under the door to his secretary. “Please believe me when I say that I wish things weren’t like this. My life would be much easier if you simply agreed to join me. I’d even let you return to your friends after the guild was taken care of. After all, you using your power on my behalf means no chair for you and no stress for me. Sadly, you made it very clear last night that you weren’t interested.”