I winced as I released the magic, with the Iron Butcher now just a step away from landing a death blow, but this time there was no recoil which could break my arm like on the Middle Wall. There was actually no physical sign of any kind, which meant that every last shred of energy I had supplied would be utilized efficiently by the spell, rather than causing wild, unpredictable peripheral effects. I felt great satisfaction that at that moment; I had just struck the best blow I had ever dealt.
The spell exploded into a bolt of pure white energy which impacted squarely on the Iron Butcher’s chest, causing its entire body to be wreathed in a soft, white glow. The sheer force of the impact caused its cleaver to fly through the air and clatter against the locomotive’s hull, while the Iron Butcher itself staggered back a few steps before finally falling to a knee.
The spell’s energy cascaded across its iron armor in a violent display of raw magical energy, and then that energy seemed to flow into the huge gash caused by Aemir/Co’Zar’I’Us’ flurry of strikes. My satisfaction turned to horror as the longer the energy flowed into the wound, the smaller the wound became, until finally the white glow dissipated entirely! Afterward, the Iron Butcher’s torso was almost unmarked with barely a visible scratch where the previously gaping wound had been.
The living nightmare stood slowly from its bent knee posture and held its right hand out from its side with the palm up. The brutal cleaver flew from the ground near the locomotive back into the Iron Butcher’s hand, and if I was any good at reading body language—which I usually am—I would have sworn that the monstrosity was mocking me.
Then Aemir reappeared in a literal whirlwind, his body surrounded by a cyclonic tornado which rapidly grew until it was nearly forty feet tall, effectively filling the chamber. He began raining down blows on the Iron Butcher, darting in and out from every angle in a seemingly random pattern. A few of the ancient, rusty weapons the skeletons had used even got caught in the whirlwind and hammered themselves into shards against the nightmare’s seemingly impervious armor. However, the Iron Butcher’s movements appeared even faster than before, and it blocked every incoming blow from the possessed Desert Knight with its own weapons and heavily armored forearms. Small gashes opened in its iron hide, but they looked to be insignificant.
Aemir/Co’Zar’I’Us fought furiously and still had a decisive speed advantage, but I could see that they were gravely wounded. The entire left side of the Desert Knight’s face was covered in blood and the same side arm hung limp, swinging this way and that as he darted around like a hummingbird on a meth binge.
Co’Zar’I’Us was probably going for one final high-speed burn intended to clear the way for my (and Dancer’s) escape, but I wouldn’t have it. I had learned a long time before, on streets I used to think were pretty mean, that you didn’t survive long by running from a murderous pit bull: the best way out of that type of problem is to turn around, plant your feet and bring a baseball bat down between its ears.
I rotated the small section in the center of the Spell Key affixed to my hand a hundred eighty degrees and felt it click. Arch Magos Rekir had warned me that this particular manifestation of the device was less than reliable, even for a practiced Magos. But he had promised that it would deliver enough power to bring a dragon down—or even something worse than a dragon.
I had no idea how powerful dragons were in this world, but I did know that none of us would survive this encounter without a game-changer. So I focused with all the concentration I could muster and carefully activated the key.
The spell’s structure began to form in my mind’s eye and I was alarmed at just how few legible or recognizable symbols I saw. This was an alien form of magic compared to anything I had used or seen, but I couldn’t back out. I didn’t even know if I had enough energy to properly manifest the spell—still, I had to try.
The spell seemed to wriggle and thrash around in my mind with a mind of its own, and it seemed for all intents and purposes to be trying to test my boundaries and focus. It was a battle I wasn’t ready for but I managed to keep it corralled as it finished forming. I had never cast a spell that required so much force of will.
Eventually I forced it to stand straight in my mind’s eye, and since I had no idea how much power it needed I decided to give it everything I had. As I prepared to breathe life into the distinctly serpentine structure, I once again got the impression that there was some sort of intelligence working in tandem the spell—or perhaps within the Spell Key itself.
But those were pontifications for another time, and I flooded every last scrap of energy I had into the spell’s form, knowing full well that failure to cut off the stream of energy would result in my own life force being consumed. And with a spell of this size, it was a mortal certainty that it would be the last mistake I ever made.
I poured all of my magical reserves into the coiled form of the incantation and cut off the connection just before it began to drink my own life force. This spell didn’t erupt like the other one imprinted on the Spell Key. Instead, it paused and seemed to consider its next course of action before turning slowly, while its form solidified into that of a giant ethereal snake.
It slithered into existence as it navigated the air between me and the two combatants. The ghostly spell’s manifestation move at what looked to be a sluggish pace, but I knew it was a mirage caused by the incredible speed of the possessed Desert Knight and the Iron Butcher.
The incorporeal spell-beast coiled itself just outside of the maelstrom of blades and bodies and then waited. It waited for several maddening second until, without warning, it struck with blinding speed and its meter-wide head snapped around the Iron Butcher’s torso. Its coiled, serpentine body seemed to stretch briefly before winding around the juggernaut’s body.
Aemir ceased his attacks, floated away a few feet and slumped visibly, and only now did I see that the blue aura surrounding him was dimmer than it had been at the outset of the battle.
The spell-serpent wrapped itself like a constrictor around the Iron Butcher’s body, trapping our nightmarish foe’s arms against its armored sides. The razor-wire which ran incessantly across the Butcher’s body scored long, thin gashes into the spell’s ethereal, white body, but the spell persisted. After a few seconds, the Butcher was bound completely by the twenty meter long spell, and the pair toppled ponderously onto the ground with a crash of stone and iron.
I collapsed suddenly to the stone floor, gasping for breath as blood poured from my nose and mouth. This damned body! was all I could think as I spasmed helplessly on the stone floor at the edge of consciousness.
The snake continued to constrict, bringing its coils tighter and tighter until I could hear armor plates of iron literally crack, which would have brought a smile to my lips if I could control any part of my body voluntarily.
The spell began to pulsate, visibly weakening as its coils began to slacken slightly. With one great, peristaltic motion, the snake’s body imploded and every bit of energy which comprised its form flowed toward its own head, which was still biting the Iron Butcher’s torso in a death clutch. The remaining energy poured rapidly into the iron armor, and with a flash of white light and an accompanying shockwave, the spell-serpent disappeared and the Iron Butcher was left motionless on the floor with four holes in its torso where the spell’s teeth had been.
The razor wire had ceased its chainsaw motion, and the Butcher’s iron armor no longer pulsed or throbbed rhythmically. With any luck it was dead, or at the very least deactivated.
Aemir’s aura flickered and died, sending his limp body crashing to the ground. I still couldn’t move, but at least I had stopped my spasms and was no longer spitting up blood, which was good. I closed my eyes and took a breath, feeling my entire body tremble uncontrollably—trembling, I could handle.
When I opened my eyes, I looked back to the Iron Butcher’s form and felt absolute horror as the razor wire once again began running across its armor. An instant later its entire body seized with what m
ight have been a sucking gasp of breath if it had come from a living creature and not some ancient, alien monstrosity.
I still couldn’t move, but even if I had been able to do so I had no more energy to cast a spell. Then I remembered that I still had Master Antolin’s staff and while I had absolutely no idea how to use it, I would be damned if I died without a weapon in my hand!
I concentrated as hard as I had ever concentrated on moving my arm, but it stubbornly refused to comply. The Iron Butcher slowly sat up and began to get to its feet, which only increased my determination. No one else was in the fight, and what sliver of a chance we had lay in my activating Master Antolin’s most prized possession.
I scrunched my eyes closed and focused on my arm again, this time picturing its movement in my mind’s eye. It responded slowly at first, but then I opened my eyes and confirmed that it was in fact doing as I bade it. Now it was a race.
The Butcher’s weapons flew back to his hands from the ground near where it had fallen, and it began to trudge toward me as though its feet were mired in a foot of mud.
Then the haunting whistle of the locomotive blew. I couldn’t hear it, but I could feel it in my chest and teeth like an overpowered subwoofer.
The Iron Butcher immediately stopped its march toward me. It hesitated before turning and trudging back to its vehicle without any wasted motion. It was moving slowly, which meant I had a chance to hit it with something if I could get my damned arm to move!
But I couldn’t do it. My physical form, yet again, had failed me when I needed it. This same frail, pathetic excuse of a body that would wake me in the middle of the night with bouts of emesis, or spasms of coughing fits which could go on for an hour. If I ever found the person responsible for this particular state of affairs, I was going to have a man-to-man conversation on the subject.
The Iron Butcher trudged back up the steps to the car, and I saw a multitude of hooked chains hanging inside the car at various heights. I thought for a moment that I could see shapes hanging from those chains, but it was too dark inside to be sure.
The door lifted as soon as the hulking iron figure was back inside the car, and the great whistle blasted again before the locomotive from the mouth of hell reversed back into the tunnel it had come out of. A great blast of dark, purple smoke issuing from its fang-shaped smokestack hung momentarily in the air before dissipating in a multitude of tiny, swirling vortices.
In short order, it had reversed all the way out of the chamber and reality seemed to rebound back into its previous dimensions, with the tunnel shrinking back into its original size and the surrounding alcoves straightened themselves into their original positions.
I wanted desperately to stand, or even crawl to help my companions, but my body was wracked with another fit of spasms and I lost consciousness.
Chapter XIII: Surveying the Damage
I awoke to the sound of Pi’Vari’s voice, and it took me a few seconds to realize that we were no longer in the obelisk chamber.
My eyes refused to focus at first, so I closed them and tried to clear my head. After a few seconds of concentration, I re-opened my eyes and saw Pi’Vari’s bluish hair ringing his blurry face.
“At least we have that,” said Pi’Vari sardonically, “I barely had time to get you all out of there before the entire chamber collapsed.”
My mind seemed to snap to attention as I recalled the final moments of the battle. “What happened to Dancer?” I asked anxiously as I tried to sit up. My vision disappeared almost instantly and I felt Pi’Vari’s cold hands cradle my head, saving my skull from a confrontation with hard stone that it had little chance of winning.
“I believe he is stable,” replied Pi’Vari with a distinct lack of concern in his voice. “I used the emergency healing seeds, which seems to have controlled the bleeding. His breaths are shallow, but he has remained stable for at least an hour.”
I sat back up slowly with Pi’Vari’s assistance, and once I had propped myself up awkwardly on a nearby stalagmite I drew a few deep breaths. My lungs burned, my heart felt like it was about to burst as it beat far too quickly for my liking, and I was fairly certain that at least three of my ribs were broken.
“What about Aemir?” I asked a bit more evenly since I couldn’t see the Desert Knight’s form anywhere nearby. I reached up to wipe my mouth and was completely unsurprised to find my hand covered in dark blood afterwards.
“He is alive for now,” replied Pi’Vari, “but whatever happened took its toll, and I doubt he will recover.”
That gave me a start, but I tried to remain calm; I was certain to have a heart attack if I couldn’t keep my nerves under control. I’ve never actually had cardiac trouble, but all the descriptions I had heard on television and read on the internet were starting to hit really close to home. I had to consciously keep my hands from clutching at my chest in some ridiculous attempt to relieve the growing pressure I felt there.
“What do you mean ‘for now’?” I asked slowly, keeping my breathing deep and steady.
Pi’Vari shrugged, and only now was I able to make out his expressions through the blurry haze. “I used one of the seeds on him before putting the others into Dancer, but I doubt his wounds will be his greatest trouble even if he should awaken,” he replied in an attempt at nonchalance, but I knew he was hiding some sort of trepidation.
“Where is he?” I asked as I signaled for Pi’Vari to help me stand. If there was anything I could do to help my champion, I owed it to him to try. Even completely drained of magic, there was a small chance I could help in some other way.
Pi’Vari didn’t even try to dissuade me from standing as he helped me to my feet. I leaned on him as we slowly walked around a large column to find Aemir lying next to the giant natural pillar.
My heart would have sunk to the pit of my stomach at the sight of my Champion, if it wasn’t already engaged in a mortal struggle just to keep beating.
His wounds were even worse than I remembered them; the flesh was almost entirely gone from the left side of his face all the way down to the cheekbone, and his eye was missing as well. That wound must have been caused by the Butcher’s iron gauntlet when it had backhanded him. His left arm, which had hung limply as he had engaged in his final struggle with the Iron Butcher, had apparently been crushed by the impact with the stone wall.
It looked like a heroic effort would allow him to keep the arm, but such an effort was beyond my own abilities to even attempt. My healing spell only allowed me to heal soft tissue damage; reconstructing bones, muscles, or more sensitive organ tissue was far beyond the scope of my own simple healing skill.
Alarmingly, the damage the Iron Butcher had caused might not have been the worst part, as I saw that Aemir’s skin was ashen and horribly wrinkled. His previously impressive physique was now little more than a skeleton wrapped in loose skin, as all of his muscles appeared to have atrophied down to scraps of their former selves. For all intents and purposes, he appeared to be a ninety year old man with mortal wounds that would claim his life in a matter of hours, or at the most a day.
I stood there surveying the damage to my most trusted companion and I felt oddly cold. I expected tears, or to suffer another lapse of consciousness, or at least something which would indicate an overwhelming emotional response. The truth was that I felt sorrow, and lots of it. There was also sympathy for his plight…but mostly I felt a hard knot of fury form somewhere in the back of my mind.
I had asked Co’Zar’I’Us to help, and he had done so. He had even been fairly clear about his disregard for Aemir’s well-being, and while it would have been easy to direct all of my anger at the Cloud King the truth was that without his assistance there was little doubt in my mind that the Iron Butcher would have killed every last one of us. Without Co’Zar’I’Us’ help, we would have all died. I found a small measure of solace in that realization, but I knew that Aemir’s life had been ruined as a result.
I turned to Pi’Vari, looked him in the eye and asked
, “Do we have any healing seeds left?”
He hesitated momentarily, but he reluctantly reached into his pocket for another small pouch. I had given him two such pouches; the first had the aforementioned healing seeds, of which we had six remaining before leaving Coldetz. The second pouch held a pair of single-use grenades, each of which held a powerfully explosive spell. I had detonated one such weapon before, and in close-quarters it was truly devastating, which was why I had warned him off of using it in the obelisk chamber.
“Your instructions,” Pi’Vari recited as he handed me the pouch containing what I assumed to be the last healing seed, “were to ‘use these to stabilize anyone wounded critically if I am unable to attend to them myself.’ I was merely providing for the possibility that you, yourself, did not eventually require one.”
I sneered at his thinly-veiled display of self-preservation as I opened the pouch. Sure enough, there was one seed left. It was the size of a pumpkin seed and I picked it out of the pouch carefully with my thumb and forefinger.
“Aemir sacrificed everything he has, and he did it for us,” I growled as I knelt down next to the Desert Knight’s ruined body. “He deserves our support for placing himself in harm’s way; he doesn’t deserve for us to turn our backs on him when he’s at his worst.”
Pi’Vari shrugged again, and I found myself growing incredibly tired of his act. “I believe,” my herald said with a defiant edge to his voice, “that he sacrificed everything he has for you, Jezran. He is, after all, your Champion.” He paused for a moment before folding his arms across his chest, highlighting his defiance blatantly before continuing, “Yes, I was acting in self-interest,” he admitted with relish, “I know that my best chance of survival lay in your company, not his. Why would I throw away my last potential chance to revive you, especially when there is little chance Aemir will survive more than a few hours?”
Revelation (Seeds of Humanity: The Cobalt Heresy) Page 14
