Journeyman Warsmith

by Chris Hollaway

  Kevon felt the heat wash over him as though he was standing before his Master’s forge in the badlands. He raised his hand to shield his face, and shifted his grip on his sword.

  Tarska shrieked as he turned toward Mirsa, now aware of his mistake. The column of fire that rushed toward him was too tightly controlled by the Master Wizard he had thought weaker, and without the ambient heat Mirsa had used to help fuel her magic, the older Wizard had no chance.

  Kevon realized that after the blade left his hand, spinning toward the distracted Magi in a wobbly arc.

  The hilt of the sword slammed into Tarska’s head two heartbeats after Mirsa’s rage-fueled inferno, putting a swift end to the Wizard’s shrieking agony, and dousing the magical fire in one stroke.

  No longer buffeted by her magic or her anger, Mirsa whimpered and slumped to the floor.

  Forgetting everything else but her safety, Kevon rushed past the smoldering carcass to her side. He could see no visible burns, and the Master Wizard reached out to grasp him by the collar to pull him close.

  “Heroes,” she whispered. “He said Heroes…”

  “Carlo and Bertus!” Kevon cried out, tearing free of her shaky grasp as he stood. “Guard her with your lives!”

  Alacrit and his retinue moved to surround and support Mirsa, but Kevon was already in the north hallway, sprinting out into the Great Hall. Stopping only long enough to slash strips from a tablecloth to bind his burned hands, the enraged Warsmith sheathed his recovered sword, wrapped his wounds with practiced efficiency, and snatched up a broken table leg. As he reached the far end of the banquet chamber, he pressed outward with his senses. Two others were doing the same, from the direction he had just come, but he felt runes of Fire and Movement flickering further to the North. He squeezed the end of the makeshift club until he wanted to scream from the pain the burns continued to inflict, then eased back, confident in his grip even with his wounds.

  Kevon stalked through the hallways, pulsing his awareness outward, guessing at where the spell casters were when he could not feel any magic in use for any length of time.

  After passing through two long hallways, Kevon had felt enough to surmise that the battle was taking place in the barracks adjoining Carlo’s office. Confident that the attacking Magi had not waded through the ranks of sleeping guardsmen to get to the Commander, Kevon changed direction and headed to the alternate entrance to Carlo’s office, rather than the barracks.

  The nearer Kevon came, the more convinced he was that the struggle was actually taking place in Carlo’s office. When he came around the last corner before the doorway, he was somewhat relieved that the door was closed. Opening it quietly, he surveyed the ongoing fracas.

  Bertus was lying faceup between Kevon and Carlo’s desk, clothes charred and streaked with blood. Carlo appeared better off only in that he remained upright. The Commander leaned against the wall near the doorway into the barracks, sword at the ready, markedly unimpressed by two blasts of flame that angled through the narrow portal.

  Spotting Kevon, Carlo motioned for the Warsmith to enter quickly, move to the sheltered area of the room, and attend to Bertus.

  The Warsmith slipped into the room and dove behind the desk without seeing anyone through the barracks entrance. After making sure that Bertus was merely unconscious, and his bleeding was superficial, he moved the youth further behind the obscuring desk before joining Carlo by the door.

  “Took care of yours already, I see,” Carlo grumbled as Kevon slid in beside him.

  “A Master Wizard and three students,” he replied. “I had help…” he added, noting Carlo’s dubious glance.

  “Mirsa?” the Blademaster asked, shifting position as the bursts of flame coming through the door straightened visibly in angle.

  “Yes, we were both targeted, as well as Prince Alacrit.” Kevon motioned for Carlo to retreat, and switched places with his mentor, sidling up to the door, club in hand.

  A tongue of flame spewed into the room, nearly straight on. Feeling the spell release, Kevon shifted his weight, swinging the club in a wide arc, focusing on the motion, pairing it with the Movement rune newly formed in his mind. He released it, at the edge of the doorway, spinning end over end, propelled by a surge of power, to where he felt the Fire spell end. A sickening crunch and a smattering of cheers and whoops from the far end of the next chamber let Kevon know his ploy had worked.

  Another barrage of Fire magic poured through the doorway, and Kevon backed away, urging Carlo further along the shielding wall.

  “Just one left now, lads!” came a reassuring bellow from one of the veteran guardsmen. “We three can hold him for now, someone run and fetch a crossbow!”

  Kevon groaned. A good strategy, to be assured, but announcing it gave the cornered Mage nothing to lose, and precious minutes to act. Assuming the Mage would act sooner than later, Kevon directed Carlo to retake his position at the door. He scrambled over to where Bertus lay behind the desk, and pulled the boy’s feet out from behind the sheltering object until they would be plainly visible from the doorway. Crouching low behind the desk himself, Kevon waited and hoped that the enemy Mage would only be expecting two people in the office, and try to break for the open door that was only a few panicked strides away.

  Kevon pointed to the door over the desk as he felt the Fire spell forming, giving Carlo a few seconds of preparation, and drawing his hand back down before he could be spotted.

  Flames played along the edge of the doorway, then sloshed in as the Mage wielding them wheeled into the room. The strength of the Fire rune Kevon sensed from the spell guttered and flared as Carlo broke the magic with rapid sword swings.

  “No!” Carlo cried, and Kevon saw flames splash across Bertus’s outstretched feet. The youth moaned, awakened from his torpor by the fresh pain.

  Turning his attention to the stream of flames directed at Bertus, Carlo let a blast intended for him slip though his guard.

  Pleased with the damage he had inflicted, the Mage nevertheless had to turn to run as the guardsmen from the barracks crowded the doorway behind him.

  Seeing his chance, Kevon leapt from behind the desk, sword flashing as he drew it free from its scabbard. He cleft a bolt of flame that spewed raggedly from the tiring Magi’s outstretched hand, and shifted to launch a sidelong kick that caught his foe under the jaw. The impact lifted the lighter man, sending him crashing headfirst into the stone wall.

  “Wait!” Kevon cried as the guards rushed in from the next room, swords drawn. “He’s unconscious!”

  The guardsmen slowed and looked to Carlo. The Commander’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Kevon.

  “I have an idea,” the Warsmith said, turning back to study the limp form on the ground.

  Chapter 24

  Carlo’s desk was exactly the right size. The single living Magi from the attack was bound atop it, leather straps tethering his wrists and ankles down to the sturdy wooden legs below. A leather helmet affixed with ropes served to immobilize the captive’s head, to keep it from inadvertently swaying into the daggers buried in the polished desktop less than an inch to either side at eye level.

  “You’re sure this will hold him?” Carlo asked.

  “It won’t prevent him from using magic, I would imagine,” Kevon answered, “but it’ll make him think. There’s nowhere for him to go, Even if he could use magic to free himself, he’d die as soon as he tried to get up.” The Seeker motioned to the three guardsmen that still hung close, watching the sleeping Mage’s every breath. “Besides, there’s three swords that will be ready to fall at the first hint of trouble.”

  Carlo nodded. “He’s not going to kill anyone else, that’s for sure. But do you think you’ll be able to get anything out of him?”

  “Honestly, no.” Kevon confessed. “One of his friends practically impaled himself on my sword earlier. But he’s all we have left. We have to try.”

  Carlo opened his mouth to respond, but the prisoner began moaning.

  Not
three, but five blades sang free of sheaths, and the Warriors jostled for position around the captive before Carlo hollered at the three guardsmen to make way for Kevon.

  “Have you made your peace with whatever gods you worship?” Kevon asked, moving into the Mage’s field of view. He could see the man’s eyes flitting back and forth from the daggers near his face to Kevon and one of the other nearby guardsmen.

  The Mage slowly tested each limb’s restraints, evened his breathing out and closed his eyes. “I have indeed made my peace, and have all that I need. It is you that will soon have to reconcile your own beliefs with the way the world really is, where the future lies.”

  “We have futures,” Kevon said, smiling at the Mage. “Yours is forfeit.”

  Beads of sweat formed on the prisoner’s forehead, a smile formed as he began trembling.

  Kevon’s eyes narrowed as he noticed the flames from the torches in the room were dancing higher than normal, without putting out any more light. “What…”

  The door from the hallway slammed open, wood cracking around the hinges.

  “No!” shouted Mirsa, sweeping into the room, brandishing her blazing staff.

  The captive Mage managed a wheezing giggle. “His will be done!”

  “Kill him,” Carlo said to the nearest Guardsman, stepping around the desk toward the doorway into the cleared barracks.

  Kevon whirled around to see what Mirsa was fixated on in the next room. A mixture of shock and relief struck him as he saw the Dark portal swirling in the next room. His sword had shielded him from feeling its twisted presence, but had concealed it from him at the same time.

  The bound Mage gurgled as two blades pierced his chest. The flames from the torches dropped to natural levels, and the room grew suddenly darker. Unsupported, the portal began to close.

  Kevon’s sigh of relief caught in his throat as two Leapers bounded through the far side of the distortion into the barracks. The room brightened for a moment as the tear in the world collapsed upon itself, but bunks rattled and cracked on the other side of the threshold as the torches in the next room were quickly snuffed.

  “You! Around through the hallway! Secure the Barracks door!” Carlo shouted, pointing to the only guard who hadn’t buried his sword in the Mage. “You two, torches! Flank this door! You! Extra light only! There are only two of them!”

  Mirsa scowled at the familiarity of Carlo’s order, but extinguished her staff and pulled a crystalline orb from a robe pocket, activating it and holding the piercing brilliance aloft.

  “Shall we?” Kevon asked, edging toward the darkened doorway.

  Carlo led the way into the barracks, Kevon close on his heels. The torch-bearing guardsmen entered and slid along the walls to the side, clearing the way for Mirsa to follow.

  The Adept kept his back to the light, knowing that Carlo was watching the other half of the room. As Mirsa stretched the glowing orb upward, the beams of light threw eerie shadows amongst the broken bunks, giving the impression of movement where there was none.

  One of the shadows moved of its own accord beyond a pile of splintered planks.

  “There,” Kevon pointed with the tip of his blade, and began circling around the edge of the room, alert for any sign of the other Leaper.

  Drawing close to where he should have a look at his target, Kevon slowed, unsure of what he saw. Torn blankets lay wrapped about the other wreckage, but Kevon saw no sign of the Leaper he had spotted before, nor had he seen it move since he’d spotted it.

  One of the blankets near the mound of destroyed bunks twitched, and Kevon moved closer, and extended his sword to lift a corner to expose the beast beneath.

  The blanket launched itself at Kevon, the beast’s color returning to a sickly-white sheen as it moved. The leaper was larger and faster than the ones the companions had seen before, and its aerial rush caught the Warsmith off guard. The tip of Kevon’s outstretched blade clacked against the beast’s hide and clattered to the floor as he jumped back.

  The leaper lashed out with one of its spindly-looking forelegs and struck at Kevon with a glancing blow that felt like a war-hammer strike. It landed near a wall, crouched down, and appeared to vanish.

  The Warsmith recovered his weapon and turned to where the leaper had disappeared. It looked as though there had been an impact against the wall, and the mortar joining the bricks had been smudged over.

  Then the patch Kevon was observing shifted.

  “It’s changing its skin!” Carlo cried, ducking under an attack from the other leaper. “It’s not perfect! Pay attention!”

  Kevon focused, and discerned the outline of the creature in front of him, tensing for another attack.

  The leaper’s appearance shifted just before it launched itself at Kevon. The Warsmith dodged to the left, and aimed a slashing counterstrike at the beast’s throat.

  Instead of lashing out to strike Kevon as it had before, the leaper swung its arm up to protect itself. The blade bit deep into the creature’s arm and stuck, wrenching free from Kevon’s grasp as the leaper sailed by.

  He grabbed a splintered plank that lay nearby, and turned to give chase. A Movement rune formed in his mind, but he had no magic to fuel it with. He brandished the makeshift weapon, glared in Mirsa’s direction, and advanced, hoping she would get the message.

  The injured leaper was unable to hide with the sword lodged in its unreasonably tough hide, and hissed at Kevon and the torch-bearing guardsman that was also closing in on it.

  The Journeyman Mage felt the Aid rune form in Mirsa’s mind, and he latched onto it. He wrapped himself in the barest amount of magic, siphoning only enough to keep the link open, and his movements controlled. As soon as the leaper crouched, Kevon pulled more Aid from Mirsa, and swung the broken timber with everything he had.

  The impact rocked Kevon back on his feet. The plank crashed through the leaper’s uninjured arm into the side of its face, and heaved it sidelong into a nearby pile of debris. The end of the improvised club shattered, sending splinters flying.

  The Warsmith rushed toward the fallen creature, hefting his shortened weapon, maintaining the Movement spell at half-strength. The leaper twitched, one leg convulsing to full extension, its neck twisted oddly to one side. Spider-web fractures radiated from the two points Kevon’s attack had impacted, marring the beast’s oddly glossed outer skin. One eye swiveled to fix on Kevon, and the Seeker swung again with overwhelming force, striking the leaper at the same spot in the neck. The stricken creature’s hide buckled, the cracks of the previous wound more than doubling. A gruesome POP sounded, and the downed leaper lay still.

  Kevon turned, and unable to see where the other enemy was, relinquished control of Mirsa’s magic. One of the torchbearers was whirling about, sword at the ready. Kevon could not see the other guardsman. The light from Mirsa’s spell increased as she assumed full control of her magic, but was still only just brighter than a torch. Carlo stood at alert, sword held as though an afterthought, unable to discern his prey in the lowered light.

  Advancing toward the far corner of the room, Kevon kicked at debris as he worked down the possible area that the leaper could be hiding. Carlo began moving toward the same corner, prodding at obstacles as he walked past them.

  The guardsman checked his fallen comrade, laid down his weapon, and picked up the extinguished torch that lay nearby. After lighting the spare torch, he held both high and wide, throwing fitful illumination into even the furthest corners.

  Mirsa made her way to his side, and with a gesture of her staff, doubled the brightness of the lit torches before placing herself between the guard and the most probable location of the remaining creature.

  The perimeter of the search narrowed, until Mirsa called a halt.

  “It’s here,” she warned. “It’s beaten. I could open a portal and let it escape.”

  “After it killed one of us, you would let it live?” the remaining guardsman spat.

  Mirsa turned to regard the man, “I said let
it escape, not let it live.”

  Kevon felt the Master Mage begin her spell, and weaken. The energy he had drawn from her to fuel his Movement rune had taken its toll. He used his minimal reserves to snuff the torches the guardsman held, and pressed his attention outward to the darkness surrounding him before drawing it in and adding his energy to Mirsa’s spell. As his mind contacted the rune, and the portal began to open, Kevon staggered, more dizzied than nauseated at the touch of the twisted symbol. There was a flurry of movement, a whistling of wind, and Kevon felt the portal ripple as the leaper soared through it. The spell collapsed, and the tip of Mirsa’s staff shone, bringing light back where moments before, darkness had clotted the air.

  Carlo glared at the Master Mage. “Did you kill it?”

  “The portal I opened back to its realm was far above where even imps can be summoned.” Mirsa smiled. “It’s probably still falling.”

  The Blademaster nodded, and turned his attention to the fallen guard. After checking for any sign of life, he shook his head. “Form two details. One to clean up the barracks, one to bury Rophel.” He patted the other guard on the back. “We’ll see justice done. See that he is honored properly.”

  “You two, with me.” The commander continued, pointing to Kevon and Mirsa. “We’re not resting until we’ve been over every inch of the palace grounds.”

  Chapter 25

  Kevon grumbled, and pulled the blanket up over his head. The knocking at his chamber door resumed, louder this time. Resigned to the fact the rapping was not going to stop, the Warsmith sat up and rubbed at his eyes. “What!?” he yelled, hoping his attitude might win him a brief respite.

  “Pardon my intrusion,” Prince Alacrit declared as he opened the door and stepped in. “I have come to apprise you of the changes in our plans.”

  The Warsmith took a deep breath and tried to open his eyes. He, Mirsa, and Carlo had not slept until well after the sun had risen. A dozen more palace residents had been slain in the incursion, but nearly twice as many of the intruders met the same fate. The fighting was all finished by the time the trio, flanked by half a dozen crossbowmen, began their final sweep. The grisly images were not lessened by their stillness. Soldiers Kevon had served with on the first foray to Gurlin’s tower, Guild brothers he had trained with since then, lay lifeless, some burned almost beyond recognition.