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Trestan made his way through the confusing passageways of the keep. He didn’t attempt to backtrack to the stairway that brought him to this level. Instead, he tried to find a different way back towards the center of the keep. The young smith remembered the second floor balcony that ran along the throne room, and thought it would be a good destination.
He’d suffered numerous hard hits, resulting in a good deal of pain. Even breathing brought a stabbing sting, but the young man would not relent. His love for his friends and his determination to finish the quest fueled his weary muscles. The Sword of the Spirit, retrieved from the demolished kitchen, led his path. In the other hand he carried a different magical item. Trestan wasn’t even sure that he should carry the magical gnomish lift, but the young man figured he might put it to more good use. As long as he wasn’t speaking, and there was no one else with whom to talk, the device should be safe. The young man’s armor displayed the dents from the minotaur scuffle. Since Trestan had not backtracked, his helmet remained on the first floor.
The hall shook from the avalanche of stone somewhere ahead. The young man thought the sound was similar to when the balcony crashed down with Cat. He was scared of what the noise pertained, but at the same time hopeful that his friends still lived and fought. The proximity of the rumblings suggested that he was closing in on the battle. Trestan flexed the fingers of his sword hand a bit, shifting his grip. Any action he took would have to be quick and decisive. Any enemies wouldn’t be expecting his arrival.
Trestan Karok rounded a corner amidst air swirling with dust. He faced a short hallway, ending in an open arch to a larger room beyond. The second floor balcony was hardly recognizable, missing the guardrail. The dust in the air suggested the collapse had come from this area.
The elf wizard, Revwar, overlooked the room below. His torn robe whipped around his lean frame. At Trestan’s approach, the keen senses of the elf alerted him to danger. Trestan barely had time to react recognizing his opponent as the wizard realized his own presence. Revwar turned holding aloft the staff in one hand and the relic in the other. Trestan had the chance to act before the wizard could incant a spell. Trestan charged, but several steps separated them. In order to gain an advantage, and catch the wizard off guard, Trestan made a rash move. He tossed the magical gnomish lift at the wizard.
There was no time to dwell on whether this was the wisest action he could take in light of its magic. The metal disk spun through the air. The act and the strange item surprised Revwar, leaving him no time to dodge. The flying disk clipped the hand bearing the holy relic. Both the gnomish lift and the mysterious stone from Troutbrook sailed over the edge of the balcony, out of reach.
To Trestan, it seemed to work to his advantage. The young man had both hands on his sword as he closed the distance. Revwar had his staff and was still protected by spells of which Trestan was unaware. The young smith charged through the opening, meeting Revwar on that narrow stretch of damaged balcony. The wizard’s spells aided his reflexes. The wizard’s staff blocked the swing, suffering only a scratch in the process. Trestan went wide-eyed, but spun the blade in another attack.
The second hit never landed. Revwar’s staff spun around and hit Trestan with jarring force. The human’s body was swept away from the entryway, leaving him to fear a fall into the throne room below. By luck or fortune, Trestan landed on a section of the balcony that still retained a guardrail.
Trestan immediately tried getting back to his feet. The elvish sword lay several feet away, in the direction of the elf wizard. Trestan succeeded in getting as far as a sitting position, with his back against the chamber walls, as Revwar launched another surprise. The elf traced a pattern in the air until a gooey, bubbly object appeared, floating around his hand. The wizard finished his spell with a shout, and the object flew through the air like an arrow. Trestan yelled something unintelligible. The object struck him with a wet splatter, as if someone had hit him with a thrown tomato. The substance spread of its own accord over his body. Trestan tried brushing it off, but the spell somehow coated his chest and arms.
He felt the effects right away. A tingling sensation enveloped his limbs. Soon, Trestan’s arms and legs felt heavy. Any movement required every ounce of strength that he could muster. The smith felt tired enough when he charged Revwar, but now he couldn’t get to his feet. He doubted he could grip his sword, which lay beyond his reach. Revwar sagged against the nearby entryway, drained from the effort put into casting this newest attack. The fighting had taxed him well into the last reserves of mental energy available for spells. The elf’s moment of weakness passed, while Trestan remained a prisoner of sabotaged muscles. Revwar took a step towards Trestan, eyes promising death.
Revwar looked beyond Trestan, spotting Cat and Mel charging at him from that end of the walkway. The two combatants looked dirty and hurt, but they retained an appetite for battle. Trestan’s heart soared at the sight. Mel wielded some item in his hand as he ran. The gnome slowed, but only to begin casting a spell aimed at Revwar. Cat, who did not appear to be armed, dropped her pace to stay well behind the sorcerer’s spell. The young smith expected Revwar to ready another magical trick, but the exhausted wizard began to turn and flee. Revwar tried to duck into the side hallway to escape Mel’s sight.
It looked like Revwar could escape, but then another surprise arrival changed things once again. Petrow ran out of the same hallway Revwar intended. It boosted the companions’ morale, seeing so many of their friends had survived and were rejoined at a critical moment. Revwar and Petrow skidded to a halt right on top of each other. Trestan could only watch as events unfolded. The gooey substance still formed a strength-draining coating about his arms and a good portion of the rest of his body, preventing him from taking any useful action.
Petrow stepped back as he readied his axe for a swing. Revwar moved quicker, aided by magical means. The elf stepped closer, delivering a punch to the face. Bolstered by his enhanced strength, Petrow almost dropped to the ground. Revwar dropped his staff as he grabbed the human with both hands. With Mel’s spell nearing completion, the elf turned his attacks in a new direction. The empowered wizard picked up Petrow rather easily, and then tossed him down the balcony at his friends. It looked odd that such a slim being could launch a man with the power of a much larger creature, but such was the potency of the elf’s spells.
Mel finally completed his rather difficult spell, hurling all its energy at the elf wizard. Multi-colored bands of light and magic unraveled from the elf’s form. Petrow’s flight took him over Trestan, landing the human right on top of the short sorcerer. Trestan had his eyes on Revwar, hoping the spell would finish off their opponent. Instead, Revwar seemed unhurt, though there was worry in those yellow eyes.
Mel remembered well when his first wand blast had reflected harmlessly off an arcane shield during the opening shot of the battle. Instead of trying to harm the wizard, the gnome cast a spell to destroy any protections left on him. The layers of spells woven around Revwar were stripped away in a single, powerful magical attack. The elf lost his strength, his speed, the ability to fly, and other spells which made him more resilient to physical damage. It left him very vulnerable.
Sadly, Mel could not follow up with another spell. Trestan looked over to see Petrow and Mel lying in a heap on the balcony. The young handyman from Troutbrook looked dizzy and acted slow to get up. Partly trapped under him was a now unconscious Mel Bellringer. The companions’ best hope of stopping Revwar was now in a state of dreams until he could be awakened.
Trestan tried struggling again to stand, but his muscles could not get past his sitting position. Looking back at the pile of Mel and Petrow, Trestan saw Cat make her attack. She seemed to be their last hope of stopping Revwar. The half-elf pulled free her hidden dagger as she charged, one well balanced for throwing as well as melee combat. The dagger was Cat’s last weapon, but too much distance separated her from the elf wizard, and a thrown dagger could take him out. If
it came to it, Trestan’s sword rested between her and the wizard, offering another opportunity for a weapon.
Cat hopped over the tangled bodies of Petrow and Mel as she ran. Her arm came up and flipped the dagger at her opponent. Trestan turned to follow its flight. The blade tumbled point over hilt as it soared over him. Trestan also saw a beam of deadly energy cut through the air, originating from the wizard. The same beam once injured Trestan on the bluff and was used to kill Sir Wilhelm. Revwar was still firing away with his deadly beam when the dagger pierced him. The blade sunk into one shoulder, ending the elf’s spell and drawing blood. The wound did not seem mortal, but it nevertheless bought Cat time.
Then Trestan felt the impact as Cat fell face-down across his lower limbs. The strength-draining spell left Trestan helpless and frightened as he looked over Cat, lying stricken across his legs. Her long, dark hair obscured his view, but the half-elf’s hands reached for a spot somewhere between her face and her upper chest. The young smith watched, horrified, as her blood proceeded to run down his legs.
Only moments ago everything seemed to be coming together miraculously for the group, but now it seemed they would be at his whim. Petrow still knelt, shaking his head to clear the jarring effects of his landing. Mel sprawled unconscious. Trestan’s muscles wouldn’t cooperate. Cat suffered from a serious injury. There was no sign of the dwarf. The companions could not know that it had only been a short time since Revwar sent the dwarven warrior falling under an avalanche of stone.
Revwar, breathing heavily, reached up and pulled the dagger from his shoulder, wincing at the motion. The fight had loosened some of his silvery hair from its braids, his torn black robe was stained with blood, and his stamina had been taxed by the casting of so many spells. He worried over the absence of so many of his comrades in arms. Savannah was not around to heal his injuries, and the two fighters were not there to provide him with a wall of muscle. Without his protective incantations in place, even a nonmagical dagger could threaten him. The elf wizard still retained the upper hand, and he wasn’t about to give the others the opportunity to harm him again. He took a deep breath to steady his shaking hands. Flames danced at the edges of his fingertips another incantation took shape. The beginnings of a fiery spell formed, one that would encompass all of his opponents.
Trestan wanted to deny what he saw; after all they endured. Every step of the way they had stood their ground through some tough spots. Only one opponent still stood in their way, and yet he was about to put a final end to them all. The flames danced a reflection across the elvish blade’s cold surface; a “souvenir” the elf would claim. Trestan’s father would be mourning a son that never returned. His new friends would lose their lives together. One of the smith’s hands rested on Cat’s shoulder, and that simple touch brought some peace to his heart. The half-elf did not see the flames forming, too occupied in stemming the flow of blood. Trestan wished to spend more time with all of them: sharing a drink with the dwarf, listening to Mel’s stories, joking with Petrow, and telling Cat she was the most beautiful thing that ever happened to him.
Trestan remembered Sir Wilhelm’s words, and he couldn’t help but remember the courage with which they had been spoken. Trestan whispered, “Thank you, goddess, for the life you have given me.”
As Revwar’s spell approached a crescendo, another voice boomed in the gruff manner akin to many dwarves, with the ferocity of a follower of Daerkfyre.
“Six!”
The gnomish contraption, lost to the cellar, launched it’s most tenacious critic.
If he had only requested ‘two’, it would have been enough to lift him to his abandoned weapons on the throne room floor. That would not have saved his friends on the balcony. Fortunately, the dwarf happened to find a silver rapier, adorned with the sculpture of a hunting cat on its pommel, among the cellar debris.
‘Four’ would have been enough to bring the dwarf level with the balcony with the broken guardrail. The tip of the rapier led the way as Salgor flew higher. Revwar, deep in concentration, lost his focus as the rapier punched through his abdomen, then burst forth from his back. Thus skewered by the catapulted dwarf, the spell flames died away in a puff of smoke. Revwar grunted in pain as the impact of the dwarf and rapier spirited him upwards.
The dwarf had requested ‘six’, which left enough momentum even after the collision to send both combatants soaring higher. With all the force behind the dwarf’s launch, the elf wizard was crushed between the immobile ceiling and the tough dwarf.
Both fell back to the balcony. This time Salgor landed on the bottom. Revwar, impaled on the blade of the rapier, lay draped over the dwarf’s back. Salgor rose up with a roar of anger. He used his arm muscles to throw the elf up and away from him, though keeping his grip on the silver weapon. Revwar slid off the end of the piercing blade, trailing a stream of blood as his body flew over the edge of the balcony. The elf crashed into the cellar, two floors down.
Salgor limped to the edge of the balcony. The wizard’s body lay sprawled atop a pile of broken stone. The dwarf, (dirty, wearing torn clothes, sporting numerous cuts and bruises), worked up a wad of bloody spit and let it fly at the unmoving wizard.
He bellowed with his gruff attitude, “You should have brought a few dwarves with you instead o’ a minotaur! I would have enjoyed having more o’ a challenge!”
CHAPTER 28
A moment of silence followed the dwarf’s bellow. A moment of indecision and uncertainty, of victory tainted with pain, in which the separate companions took note of the results of their struggle. Mel started to stir. The small gnome moved his hands and groaned as he raised his head. Petrow shakily got back to his feet. Salgor stretched out his sore muscles, popping joints and cracking knuckles. The dwarf picked up the elvish blade as he approached. Trestan felt Revwar’s gooey spell flake away. Strength returned to his limbs.
Immediately, he worried for Cat, still draped over his legs. Trestan used his reinvigorated strength to help Cat roll over. What he saw next struck a blow to his heart. Katressa held her hands to a wound near the base of her throat. The wizard’s ray left a smoking gash that marred the half-elf’s soft skin. Blood soaked through her fingers despite her best attempts to hold it back. Her lips moved, as she struggled to get a message into words, but no sound other than a strained wheeze came from her mouth. They stared eye to eye. Trestan saw the depth of seriousness behind her glance that told him how precariously her life hung in the balance. The young man saw many emotions going through those emerald eyes. That she was fearful was not in doubt, but he also saw regrets mixed with tears.
Petrow helped rouse Mel from slumber. The human was profusely apologizing to the bewildered gnome. Both heard the young smith talk to Cat. “Can you breathe at all? Can you say anything?”
Those few words got everyone’s attention on their companion’s plight. All of them saw Cat’s response as she shook her head, wincing in pain. A moment of shock passed through all of her comrades. Their brief moment of victory was shattered as death loomed over one of their friends.
The half-elf continued applying pressure over her wound. Trestan held Cat and tried to comfort her, but his eyes darted about wildly as he tried to think of anything that would help them. “Healing draughts! Anyone have a healing draught on them?”
The question met a chorus of shaking heads. Their group had been in Troutbrook long enough to enjoy a party, but had left early in the morning when the group spontaneously decided to use Dovewing to pursue the relic thieves. No one had taken the time to secure healing supplies of any kind. Trestan’s hopes and Cat’s chances of survival diminished. The young smith jumped to the next logical course of action. “Well, find some! There has to be some around here somewhere! Check those tables and containers they have set up down there.”
Petrow jumped up and ran back to the passage from which he had entered earlier. He knew a stairway that would take him down to the throne room. The young handyman raced in the hopes of getting his hands on anythin
g that might save Cat’s life. Salgor took a more direct course. He dropped the rapier and the elvish blade beside Trestan and Cat. The bruised dwarf jumped off of the balcony, landing in a roll on the ground floor. Mel frantically searched through his bandolier of pouches. The gnome sorcerer tried to find anything helpful, but his frown revealed his lack of progress.
Trestan Karok was anxious to find a remedy for Cat as well, yet at the same time she needed someone close to her. He placed one hand to cover hers, both trying to slow the bleeding at her throat. His other arm cradled her back, and Cat still rest on his legs. He cradled her close, holding her to his body, their eyes intimately near as they tried to get control of her loss of blood. Their attempts seemed futile in the face of the greater problem. She continued to struggle for air, drawing in meager amounts. When their grip tightened, she couldn’t breathe, when loosened, she bled. Trestan saw the hurt in her eyes as she tried to draw breath after breath. The feeble wheezing noises indicated that she was not getting enough. The young man whispered soft words of encouragement into her ears. He didn’t remember all that he said, but it seemed to lend her strength. Cat closed her eyes and leaned into him. The hand against her back moved in comforting ways as he caressed her long hair during that sad embrace. For the short time he had known Cat, he had always admired her inner strength. Now she seemed so small and weak as she leaned to him for support.
Noises came from the throne room as Petrow and Salgor searched for a vial containing any healing miracle. Jars were read and then thrown aside, bags emptied out on the floor and tables cleared from end to end. Petrow and Salgor searched as fast as they could despite many containers of powders and herbs.
Trestan began to worry about another threat. The last thing they wanted at this moment was for one of their other enemies to emerge. The young smith turned his attention to the gnome. Mel Bellringer had given up looking for anything useful in his pouches. The sorcerer crawled closer to Cat and patted her leg to offer up whatever comfort he could bring to her. Only minutes ago Cat rescued him from chains, and the gnome wished he could save her in return.
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