Cat got to her hands and knees, listening only distantly to the Tariykan’s words. She had to come up with a plan to defeat him, or a distraction by which she might plunge her hidden dagger into a critical spot. He stood just out of easy range for any physical attack, but well within range to deal a good hit from his staff.
Loung continued speaking, “Among his many teachings, the wise man talked about fate. In his opinion, fate and destiny could be avoided by chance once or twice. Despite the initial avoidance of these two powerful paths, all of us are drawn into the way of our calling sooner or later.”
The hard bamboo staff slammed across her back, stealing her breath. Teeth gritted, anger filled her thoughts. Her muscles shook from the strain of the fight, but also with nervous energy to fight or flee.
The martial artist chatted casually, pacing around the woman at a safe distance. His once-loose silk outfit clung, wet from sweat and spots of blood. “I believe you had more chances than life usually allows. You should have died on that village rooftop, or by the hands of mercenaries at that camp. You persistently taunt fate. In the end, the result is the same. Fate will take your life, and those of the children you foolishly led here.”
Cat struggled back to her hands and knees. Her green eyes glared through loose, sweaty strands of her dark hair. Directly in front of her, the male warrior stopped with the end of his quarterstaff pointed at her face. Loung proclaimed his words fearlessly, as he stared down into her eyes. “I will take your life, and kill the two boys if the others haven’t already done so. You’ve avoided that long enough.”
Cat wanted to pounce, but her thoughts wandered irrational paths. Her eyes focused on the end of that bamboo, aware Loung was prepared to beat her to death with it. She surprised herself with her first gut reaction. Cat gave a short jump forwards, landing on all fours. Her teeth snapped over the end of the quarterstaff before Loung could move it away. The Tariykan seemed just as surprised as the half-elf. Before Loung could withdraw it her left hand fastened hard on the staff as well. Katressa Bilil swept a foot around into Loung’s knee.
The Tariykan warrior went down; the staff now in Cat’s hands. She adjusted her grip as she bounced to her feet. Loung rolled and sprang into a combat stance as the agile woman attacked. Both slender female hands twirled the man’s own staff against him. Cat thrust and spun around in slashing motions. Loung Chao backed up as a flurry of strikes began. The martial artist proved his mastery of such fighting, as he avoided each of the first few attacks. The bamboo smacked across planks, and even toppled an aged weapons rack. The half-elf let her fury show. She put a lot of energy into each swing in a desperate attempt to get in one decisive hit.
Loung was still handicapped in the darkness. His feet tripped against some object, and Cat came in harder than before. The staff cut through the air to leave a red welt on Loung’s shoulder. Moments later she rapped him on the side of the head with another blow.
Loung Chao turned and started to run. Cat was quick to pursue, but it almost cost her dearly. The Tariykan hooked one hand on a wine rack and jerked it off balance. The bottles crashed down, and Cat had to avoid the flying glass. She barely avoided getting pinned under the rack as it fell. She went around the mess only to find that the human had simply retreated to better ground. He stood within the light coming from the grate above.
He stood in a sort of trance, going through exercises and motions that seemed out of place considering he was in combat. Cat went cautiously closer, holding quarterstaff ready to execute a fast strike. She expected him to attack her, but his eyes were almost fully squinted shut. Foreign words rolled out of his mouth, droning a fighting mantra from his homeland. Seeing no obvious threat, and wanting to end this while she still had strength, Cat thrust the end of the staff at his face. The man’s reaction was skilled and swift. Both hands crossed under the staff to deflect it high. He then grabbed the staff and pulled it down. At the same time, he let out his breath forcefully as his foot snapped upwards. As strong as the bamboo had been, his kick sent splinters flying. The staff snapped in two, with many smaller bits showering the two opponents.
Cat dropped her half even as the Tariykan dropped his. The half-elf attacked in frenzy, using her hands like claws. She raked scars across one side of his face as he retaliated by lifting his knee into her stomach. She had no time to react to the wind being knocked out of her as he slammed a fist into her leather vest, painfully bruising one breast. Cat still tried to go forward in her attack, but all she succeeded in doing was falling against the force of his punches.
She went down hard, wracked by a coughing fit. New pains and bruises were throbbing. Before her vision cleared, she was aware of the feeling of something cold and wiry underneath her right arm. Cat glanced over, and was pleasantly surprised to see that her hand had fallen against the hilt of her missing rapier. Loung was about to close in for a deadly strike, when he also noticed that the half-elf had another weapon at hand. For the moment, he stayed back and awaited her first move.
But Cat despaired anew. As much as having her weapon in hand should have brought back hope, it only reminded her of her ineffectiveness in using it against this man. Every weapon she wielded had been knocked from her grasp. Despite her rapier, she knew Loung seemed to have too many tricks up his sleeve to allow her to get in a hit. Even worse, she was on her back while he was upright in a combat stance. Despite the silver-edged weapon, Cat was still at a disadvantage.
Unless…
From where she lay, Cat saw something above Loung’s head. A rusted metal grate, which allowed in some light, looked old and worn by time. A chain, running through a ceiling loophole and down a beam next to Cat, seemed to be the only thing holding it in place. If the chain released, then the heavy, wide grate would swing down and possibly crush Loung. The half-elf could not cut the chain with her rapier, but she looked to where it connected. The chain wrapped around a peg extending through the narrow pillar. The peg fit rather loose, but tension on the chain kept it in place. In a pinch, someone could knock the peg free of the pillar, thus dropping the metal grate.
Loung looked up briefly, to see what had drawn her attention. Cat rolled over with her rapier. The half-elf punched out with the basket hilt of the weapon, slamming the peg loose from the wooden pillar. The chain went slack, allowing the grate to drop. The rust around its edges stubbornly held it in place despite the loss of its support chain.
Loung saw he was in no real danger. Cat’s ploy had failed, and the man reveled his moment of victory. But he had turned away before seeing something which drew Cat’s attention back to the grate. In the room above, someone’s boot stepped out onto the grate.
* * * * *
Savannah’s heart leaped again as she realized that she stepped on the same loose grate as before. It was the last thing she wanted to do while carrying a corrosive mix of hot liquid back from for Revwar’s needs. The abbess had stepped on the same loose grate no less than four times, and not once had it ever given away. Something had kept the grate from dropping her into the room below.
What she could not know, was that the ‘something’ had been a chain wrapped around a peg…which Cat had just knocked loose in an attempt to get the grate to drop on Loung.
This time the weight of the abbess was more than the rusty grate could bear. Savannah felt it give away and started to scream as she fell through the floor. One thought stabbed through her brain in a flash, warning her to get rid of the boiling liquid in her hands. As she began to fall, she tried throwing the pot away from her body. The grate swung downward, clipping Loung painfully in the shoulder. Cat rolled from the spot as fast as she could. Savannah landed hard on the cold stone floor. The abbess heard the splashing fluid, followed by a wail of pain.
Savannah struggled to her feet with a pained groan. She was glad to have avoided the splashing mixture, but it had apparently harmed someone. In the dim light of the cellar, she saw Loung writhing. The descending grate had smacked him hard, but the liquid splashed a bu
rning path across a good part of his torso. The corrosive fluid had melted the flesh off of parts of his body.
Even as Savannah gasped at the sight, a rapier-wielding figure took shape in the darkness. The abbess of the Death Goddess did not question her appearance, or hesitate in how to act. The cleric went into a rage. She chanted a quick prayer, and motioned her hands to throw the effects of the spell outward. A fan of electrical charges crackled through the air. Black tendrils tinged with a golden flame marked crooked paths in covering the distance between the two women. Cat tried to dodge behind another wine rack, but was not quick enough. Painful bolts shocked her right arm, causing it to twitch and spasm. Her arm quickly went numb, losing its grip on her sword. A black orb flew from the hands of the abbess. Cat dove behind some crates as the energies of the orb exploded before her. Interposing crates and barrels shielded her, but the effect on them was obvious. The miracle withered the once-living things it touched. The wood of the crates and barrels decomposed within a few seconds.
Cat wasn’t about to see what other tricks the cleric held. She glanced at her rapier, several feet away, but her arm remained numb and useless. Looking ahead, there was an outline of an exit. Without thought, Cat sprang to the doorway and took off running away from the cellar storeroom.
Savannah did not chase the half-elf. The abbess looked over Loung Chao, squirming in agony on the hard floor. He had been seriously burned. Savannah looked over his injuries with a cool expression. Her anger faded into the background, as she focused on matters more familiar to her. She extended her hands over Loung’s form, chanting prayers of healing to her goddess. Savannah’s main focus was as a healer, and it was time to get Loung back on his feet.
* * * * *
The great axe chipped away at the stone wall, a half-second behind Trestan as he dived into the next room. The young man scrambled to get back to his feet as the minotaur emerged from the entry. A few hearths lined one wall, while rows of counters and tables crossed the room’s interior. Some of the furnishings had collapsed from old age. Various cooking implements hung from hooks, or lay cluttered on the floor. Pottery items were in abundance, with a few being shattered remnants. Trestan had already seen a few kitchens throughout the structure, and it did not surprise him to find yet another one. Whoever had presided over this large structure had bought many luxuries, and not the least of which was an abundance of cooking facilities.
Trestan had little time to appraise the qualities of the room. Bortun came through the door swinging, the axe dislodging several items that had been hanging from the ceiling. Corroded metal pots clanged to the ground. The young man tried a few thrusts of his sword, but once again he was afraid to step too close to the minotaur. The aisle behind Trestan was dangerously cluttered with debris, slowing any retreat. Bortun had just enough headroom that he readied a swing over his shoulder. Trestan saw the danger and had to evade in the only way available. The young smith rolled his body on top of a table surface to one side. The axe swept down, hacking into some of the debris. Bortun followed with a horizontal cut. Even as Trestan rolled over the edge of the table, he heard the passage of the axe blade cut the air behind him.
The youth ran at a crouch to the end of the aisle. When he dared look up, Bortun was not far behind. The minotaur had been straining to see over the tops of the furnishings, listening to the running noises of his prey. Bortun spotted Trestan, let out a roar, and slashed with his axe again. The deadly blade shattered a collection of old pottery jars, showering Trestan in a hail of clay pieces.
Trestan ran again, down another open row between tables. Bortun charged after him, though one row to the side. The minotaur grabbed an old pan as it ran. Trestan looked back to see the beast hurtling it through the air. Elvish blade sliced across, separating the handle from the rest of the pan. By this time Bortun was very close, so Trestan tried another strategy. The young man rolled under a table, heading towards the minotaur’s aisle. He had no sooner gotten to his knees when he hacked away with all his fury. The attack failed as Bortun got his axe head down to deflect the blows.
The minotaur towered over Trestan’s kneeling form. The young man rolled once more, continuing his momentum under another table. The minotaur brought his axe down hard where he expected the young man to be. The table shattered, with portions of it bowing downward and other parts splintering into the air. Trestan was caught in another storm of falling debris as he moved. Dust and powder created a small cloud where the table had been hacked apart.
Trestan did not stop rolling until several rows over. By the time he stood up, he figured he would have a few precious moments to come up with a new plan of attack. Bortun spotted his head as Trestan popped up, and made a charge straight for him. It no longer mattered to the muscular beast that several hanging pots and numerous tables separated the two combatants. Bortun charged through it all, axe swinging continuously to bust apart obstacles and overturn furniture. Wood splinters cascaded into the far corners of the room, along with bits of clay and at least one rat unfortunate enough to be hiding in a drawer. The minotaur’s horn stubs knocked loose several hanging utensils, although one metal whisk fell only to dangle precariously from one broken horn during the charge. Muscle and bulk carried the beast through a storm of broken obstacles.
Trestan gawked wide-eyed with fright before defending himself. The human stabbed forwards with his blade, but the minotaur did not charge blindly into that. Bortun, an experienced fighter, stepped aside and brought his axe down hard. The heavy blade came down on the tip of the elvish blade. A table edge acted as the fulcrum which popped the sword from Trestan’s fingers. The magical elvish blade, Trestan’s only real hope of harming the creature, flipped end over end somewhere into the rows of debris.
Trestan almost froze still reaching for the sword, as if sheer willpower would bring it back to his hands. He barely ducked the swinging axe once more. The young man winced as he heard more objects shatter.
Trestan resorted to running again. He could not get past the minotaur’s frame to retrieve his sword. His lungs burned as he aimed for the exit to the room. The thunderous steps landed right behind him. The frame of the doorway loomed ahead as a temporary shot at safety. Trestan ran through the entry, but even as he breached that barrier the minotaur caught up to him.
Trestan’s body jerked to a halt as the minotaur reached forward and grabbed his neck.
* * * * *
As much as the dwarf tried to inhale fresh air, very little was to be earned. He had lost track of how long he had been slowly smothered under the earth elementals. Both of his hands still tightly gripped the axe and mace, but the rocks kept his arms pinned to his sides. The dwarf growled and grunted as he continued to fight against his entrapment, but the rocks shifted to put pressure wherever he tried to gain freedom. Sweat dripped from his brow.
The rocks shifted to reveal a soft green glow hovering inches in front of Salgor’s eyes. Salgor watched, awed, as he realized that the softly shining stone resembled the holy relic. The dwarf figured this was the magical heart of the creatures, since they had been created by the relic’s magic. It was likely a weak spot, in a creation composed of rocks and sand. If Salgor had been able to attempt it, he would have tried to destroy the thing with his weapons.
As it was, his arms remained pinned to his sides. The dwarf slowly suffocated.
* * * * *
Petrow sat in silence for some time after the abbess had walked past his room. He waited until the numbness wore off, and yet when he recovered from the miracle he still sat in silence. Physically, he had recovered, but emotionally he feared to continue. He couldn’t erase the memories from that night on the bluff when the minotaur and abbess participated in his torture. When Savannah had made him helpless out in the hall, the memories and feelings from that bitter night came back. Petrow grew up with a high opinion of himself. He’d walked confidently through his teen years. The humiliation and pain faced during this adventure brought him fears he had never known.
> Eventually, Petrow forced away his bad thoughts. He feared to go out there, but he knew he couldn’t stay here. He got up and glanced into the hallway, but all was quiet. He turned back to the room, thinking to explore it. He spotted crates, barrels, and stands of rusty weapons in the dim light. One particular wooden box caught his eye.
Despite the age, it still seemed to keep an effective seal in protecting whatever was inside. Petrow worked at the box, breaking the seal and opening the top lid. He noted several items kept inside, but one set in particular grabbed his attention. There were several candles, as well as the resources to light them. Soon Petrow had two of them lit. It wasn’t enough to adequately bathe the room in light, but it helped to see the items stored there. The light cast by the candles illuminated another special object.
Several stands of armor stood against one wall. Much of the collection deteriorated over the passage of time. Amidst all the worn pieces stood one set of armor that sparkled as if fresh from the crafter. It was mostly made out of leather, but it included a metal breastplate and other metal pieces at the shoulders and thighs. The suit had obviously been touched by magic or a cleric’s blessing. When Petrow looked down at his own battered leather outfit, he decided that a new, magical set of armor would do a lot to bolster his confidence once again.
Petrow changed armor quickly. He would have preferred a clean, dry set of leggings as well, but that would have been too much to ask of the gods. He admired the outfit in the candlelight. The suit felt every bit as light as the armor Petrow had just abandoned. The new look distracted his mind from the dangers of the current location.
Then he heard footsteps in the hall.
Petrow shuffled over to the door, peeking around the edges. The door had been left cracked open, offering a limited view of the hall. A dark figure came into view. Savannah was in the hallway, coming up from the basement. It brought a chill to Petrow to be silently observing his opponent again. He was puzzled that she came from the basement after he had heard her walk upstairs, but he didn’t dwell on it. At the moment she was unarmed, (her flail had been set aside in the throne room when carrying the pot). She held only the empty pot. As Petrow watched, he recalled the candlelight burning in this storeroom. If he tried to shut the door, she would probably notice; yet if he left it open, she might see the flickering light.
The Earthrin Stones 1 of 3: Inheritance of a Sword and a Path Page 52
