by Edwin McRae
You have learned the spell “Mind over Matter”.
You have gained 30 XP for succeeding in a difficult Mind Test.
You have two spell slots remaining.
Mark nodded with satisfaction, then felt some trepidation as he turned his attention to the second book. His mouth felt suddenly dry, his throat tight.
Ivara’s Ignited Exhalation
Enables the warlock to exhale a powerful flare of flame.
Base casting cost = 13 EP
Tier 1: The exhaled flame has a range of 1 meter and the equivalent heat of a small furnace.
“It is pointless to lose one’s temper. Instead, I simply smile and sigh.”
- Ivara of the Dancing Flame
“Sid?” he croaked.
“Yes, Mark?”
“This is basically Dragon Breath, right?”
There was a moment of puzzled silence. “I’m afraid I don’t know what a dragon is.”
“Sorry. Mythical creature where I’m from. Basically a flying lizard that breathes fire.”
“Sounds terrifying.”
“They are.”
“Mark?”
“Yes?”
“Why haven’t you started learning the spell?”
Mark swallowed and the feeling in his parched throat made him think of a camel in the Egyptian desert trying to squeeze between some sandstone ruins in search of a bit of shade.
“Because it’s going to hurt.”
“A rather small amount of hurting compared to what’ll happen once those up top get down here.”
Chastened, Mark took Ivara’s spellbook in his hands and girded his loins. The pain was about as bad as he expected, which at least meant that he could wrap his brain around it, control the blaze with cool thoughts rather than fanning it with panic. In fact, it took him back to a grungy kitchen in a Dunedin flat where he and a couple of university mates had played a ridiculous game. Three glasses of milk placed on the bench. Three teaspoons laid beside three packets of Cayenne Pepper. Each round demanded the eating of a spoonful of powdered fire, and the loser was the man who dashed for their glass of milk first.
Mark had been the runner up that day. Today he stayed the course.
As Mark returned the book to the shelf with a sweating, trembling hand, a cockroach arrived in with a wooden tray balanced on its back. On the tray was a clay jug of water and a silver goblet. Mark didn’t bother with the goblet. He took the jug in two hands and glugged it almost dry. The cockroach waited patiently until he was done and then scuttled back towards the kitchen.
You have gained the spell “Ivara’s Ignited Exhalation”.
You have gained 40 XP for a very difficult Mind Test
You have one spell slot remaining.
Mark slumped down into the armchair and wiped his brow with the back of his hand.
“Ready for battle?” asked Citadel.
“I guess so.” Mark was genuinely surprised to find that his tongue still worked. “Now I just need to know where the reiver captain is.”
“The invaders go barefoot. Calder and his crew are confined to the stables. The four surviving rangers appear to be doing the captain’s bidding, as are a trio of villagers. Their footwear is of a softer, Garland make and therefore quite easy to discern. So there are two pairs of boots remaining. One pair is somewhat quieter due to their own favoring weight around the balls of the feet. The other has a more clomping, heel-toe style of perambulation.”
“I’m guessing the former will be the blond woman who ran me through last time. Accomplished warrior. Light on her feet. The latter will be the captain.”
“Sounds logical.”
“So where’s Mister Clompy right now.”
“North wall.”
“And Twinkle Toes?”
“Descending into the courtyard as we speak.”
“Are there any fires up top?”
“Whilst I’m mercifully free of inflammation currently, I am picking up a strong heat signature in the north-east corner of the courtyard.”
“Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.”
“Indeed, although I’m not sure what that has to do with anything.”
Mark offered a knowing smile which he knew Citadel couldn’t see. It felt good, nonetheless. “Can you get us all into the north-east tower?”
“Most certainly.”
“Any barefoots in there?”
There was a long silence as Citadel “listened” for movement through the stones.
“Five. No, six.”
It was going to be tough to take out six headhunters without causing a ruckus, but they had to try. And if the worse came to worst, he would simply charge the captain as quickly as Ethereal Flesh would allow him.
“Alright. Assemble the landing party and set phasers to kill.”
“I have no idea what that means.”
“Tell the others to meet me under the north-east tower. It’s time we did this thing.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
34
The thing’s needle teeth snapped at her face as the fingers of her right hand dug into its throat. Vari strained to reach her dagger with her left hand and it was with abject relief that she felt the softness of the leatherbound handle. The weapon’s weight was comforting as she drew it from its sheath and stabbed it into the headhunter’s naked belly; once, twice, thrice.
The creature squealed and thrashed, struggling to get away, creating just enough space between it and Vari for the figurist to raise her dagger and plunge it into the thing’s heart. The headhunter’s body went rigid for a moment, then utterly slack, smothering her with its dead weight. Through gritted teeth, Vari pushed the corpse off and surveyed the carnage around her.
Nearby, Mark yanked his sword from the two headhunters he’d pinioned to the wall like cubes of meat on a barbeque skewer. Braemar was pulverising a headhunter skull with a piece of masonry, and Dayna was holding a thrashing headhunter woman by the hair whilst drawing her hunting knife across the thing’s throat.
Vari swallowed hard as she willed the contents of her stomach to stay where it was. Mark looked over at her, his red face twisted with concern. “You okay, Vari?”
Vari nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and focused instead on wiping her dagger clean on the corpse.
You have slain six Level 2 Headhunters.
Your XP reward per party member = 30 XP
She took a deep breath and made a point of studying each of the six fresh corpses in turn. With its head completely smashed in, Braemar’s victim would be no good as a puppet, but the other five would serve well enough. She pointed at the corpse at her feet.
“Shall I send some of these out ahead of us? They could be a good distraction.”
Mark shook his head. “Not while the captain is in charge. He wasn’t that fazed last time he saw his own dead soldiers walking about. I doubt he’ll concern himself with some zombie headhunters.”
“Good point. I might just focus on keeping you all alive then.”
Mark’s attempt at a wry smile was clearly forced. “On that note, prioritize Dayna and Braemar. I’ve set the library as my resurrection point. Can’t keep a good warlock down, you know?”
Vari managed a fraction of a smile in return. Her lover being effectively immortal was still quite a hard thing to fathom.
“Sorry to interrupt your fun, everyone,“ Citadel’s voice filled the chamber, soft yet compelling, “but your current locale is going to grow rather crowded. I suggest you move your behinds.”
“Shit. I thought we did that all pretty quietly,” said Dayna.
“It felt more like one of Ivara’s more raucous shindigs, if you ask me. She wasn’t called the Dancing Flame just for her propensity to burn people alive. Then again, I am a rather sensitive soul.”
Mark curled his lip in frustration. “Might have something to do with the link the captain has with his minions. I don’t know, maybe one of them just had to think a warning to their master.”
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“Well, let’s not fuck about then,” said Dayna as she unslung her bow and nocked an arrow. “Vari, Braemar, you’re with me. Let’s go after that reiver bitch like we mean it.”
Vari crossed the room and wrapped Mark in the fiercest hug she could muster. Though his armor was hard against her touch, she could feel the soft, warm give of his body underneath and his arms enclose her.
“You sure you want to fight the captain alone?” she murmured.
She felt him nod. “No other way that I can think of, Vari.”
She looked up into his eyes and found them pleading. “I’ll see you when all this is done, okay?”
“Definitely.”
“Come on, you two. Break it up before we get our asses trapped in here,” ordered Dayna.
Vari gently extricated herself from Mark’s embrace and followed Dayna and Braemar down the spiral steps that would lead them to the courtyard. They came to the base of the tower, and true to form, Dayna didn’t bother to ask if her companions were ready before wrenching the door open.
Wild-eyed headhunters charged at them, stone-headed axes raised, needle-teeth bared, blood-curdling howls shrieking from their throats. Behind them, a lump of glistening, human-shaped meat turned over a bed of fierce embers. Vari had spent much of her training working with cadavers, but to see one in this condition was enough to turn her stomach.
“Quagmire!” shouted Braemar beside her. The four leading headhunters plunged into the liquified earth, a death sentence of suffocation. At the same time, Dayna fired two arrows in quick succession, felling a couple of spear-bearing headhunters in mid-throw.
Making the most of this brief reprieve in the onslaught, Vari scanned the courtyard and walls, looking for both the reiver woman and any further long-range attackers. She saw the ranger step out from behind the wagon, bowstring drawn back.
“Dayna! Ranger! By the wagon!”
Vari marveled at just how fast Dayna was. In the time it took the other ranger to open his fingers, Dayna had raised her bow, drawn, aimed and released in one fluid motion. The arrows flew past each other. Dayna’s arrow pierced the ranger’s leather armor and skewered his right shoulder. The ranger’s arrow plunged into Braemar’s chest.
Braemar let out an astonished grunt as he stared down the shaft protruding from his tunic, at the blood soaking the cloth. Then he looked to Vari, bewildered, as he sank to his knees.
“Mend Flesh!” shouted Vari. The spell took effect immediately. The bleeding stopped and the color returned to Braemar’s blanched face as the arrow was pushed out of his chest by his own healing tissue.
Braemar rose to his feet and looked at Vari with astonishment. She simply smiled and shrugged, and then turned back to Dayna. The ranger was nocking a fresh arrow, having just winged a second ranger. Meanwhile, the headhunters had stopped their initial charge. Instead they stood and watched, their faces devoid of any expression. She looked above their heads, to Citadel’s wall. The captain was easy enough to locate, his magnificent helm gleaming brightly in the morning light. It seemed he was holding his minions back for now, wary of Braemar’s quagmire spell, waiting for their next move.
And that’s when Vari spotted the reiver sergeant out of the corner of her eye. Her arms were folded, her sword sheathed at her hip, and she was leaning against the doorframe of the stables, calmly smoking a pipe.
Of course, thought Vari. You let your grunts do the fighting and dying while you have a nice smoke and keep a lazy eye on Calder and his mining team.
She hurried to Dayna’s side and gripped the rangers arm as she pointed at the sergeant. Dayna nodded, understanding immediately. If Calder’s team broke through Citadel’s wall before Vari and her companions could stop them, the headhunters would flood into the chambers below and slaughter the villagers.
“We should’ve come out closer to the fucking stables,” Dayna muttered through gritted teeth.
On the wall, the captain made a series of complicated gestures and the next wave of headhunters began their advance. Eight of them carefully skirted Braemar’s quagmire, four on each side. But it was the sight of a trapped headhunter, gurgling and choking as his face disappeared into the mud, that gave Vari an idea.
“Braemar? How far can you stretch these quagmires lengthwise while still making them too wide to jump across?”
The druid pursed his lips in thought. “About six meters, give or take.”
Vari quickly estimated the distance between them and the stables. Roughly twenty meters.
“Perfect. Make us an avenue. Three quagmires on each side, linked together. If you can make each one a bit more than six meters, even better.”
“That’ll burn up most of my essence. Won’t have any left for golems to scare this lot away after-”
Vari interrupted his train of thought by handing him an essence potion. “Just focus on putting quicksand between us and them so that we can reach the stables.”
Dayna raised her eyebrows, impressed. “Then I’ll concentrate my fire on any rangers and spear-chuckers, make sure we don’t get sniped along the way.”
“Good, thanks Dayna.”
Braemar grinned his agreement and wasted no time in laying down the first quagmires, end on end, right under the feet of four approaching headhunters. Together they hurried to put their backs to the original quagmire while Braemar, sweating and huffing with the exertion, laid down the other side of the avenue, effectively sealing them in.
Ahead of them, the sergeant frowned at the quagmires now penning her in, then calmly tapped the ash out her pipe and tucked it into her belt.
Dayna followed, dropping two more Barren-dwellers, a blowpiper and a spear-thrower, the former with an arrow right through her open mouth as she took a gulping breath.
They walked together down their avenue of gnashing teeth and howled frustration. The reiver woman watched their approach for a moment, then drew her sword and flexed her shoulders.
When they were within a few meters of the sergeant, Vari drew her dagger and stalked ahead of Braemar and Dayna. Seeing this, the sergeant cocked her head, a faint smile on her plump lips.
Yes, thought Vari, you’re an overconfident bitch eyeing up your soon-to-be-slaughtered lamb.
“Vari? What are you doing?” whispered Dayna as she drew a bead on one of the enslaved rangers.
“Trust me.”
She knew that the inquisitors kept their figurists’ powers a secret from the common soldiers. It was another way to maintain their mystique and seemingly unassailable power. Vari was hoping that secrecy would work in her favor today.
“Are you sure you-” Braemar tried to add.
“Trust me!” she growled.
She took a stance she’d seen Dayna adopt when about to fight. If she could make the sergeant think, even for a moment, that she was an accomplished knife fighter, the soldier would tread more carefully, test her defenses before launching an attack that Vari knew she would be too slow to counter.
The sergeant’s amused look turned to one of speculation.
That’s right, thought Vari, I’m a Karaji bladegirl, raised in the blood and mud of some gods-forsaken Credence ghetto. Vari had heard many stories of the bladegirls of Credence, roaming gangs of teenage women of every color and creed. The daughters of freed slaves, robbing the foolish and the drunk at knife point. She’d never met one, of course, but if the sergeant had ever done guard duty in the capitol, it was almost guaranteed that she had.
The sergeant settled into her own fighting stance, sword leveled at Vari. The figurist had the soldier right where she wanted her.
“Dayna. Nock an arrow.”
“Vari? What the fuck are you-”
The reiver’s slashing sword was so fast it sliced through Vari’s side even as she tried to throw herself away from it. Pain seared across her ribs but she didn’t have time to register it. Instead, she hissed “Craft Bone” through clenched teeth, a fraction of a moment before she hit the dirt. The sergeant screamed as her forearm s
napped and her sword dropped from fingers made abruptly nerveless.
“Dayna! Now!”
Dayna’s arrow was already in the air, streaking towards the reiver’s blanched face. Yet despite her pain, the sergeant still had her warrior instincts and reflexes. She jerked her head aside at the last moment, her eyes following the arrow as it flashed harmlessly over her shoulder.
“Shit!” huffed Dayna as she nocked another arrow.
But Vari was already on her feet, charging at the warrior woman with all the speed she could muster. Though distracted by Dayna, the woman still caught Vari’s movement out of the corner of her eye. Her left hand struck like the tale of a scorpion, catching Vari by the throat. That hand was as powerful as a vice and Vari knew she had but a fraction of a moment to make her next move. If she hesitated, her neck would be snapped like a twig.
Vari used her Physick Perception skill to take in the warrior’s physique and to get an exact measure of her arm. It was too long for Vari to strike at the reiver in the face or chest with her dagger. In fact, the sergeant had so many health points that her blade would barely scratch the surface anyway. Instead, she switched the weapon to her left hand and drove it into the sergeant’s elbow crease. Though it felt like she was trying to stab a brick wall, the joint gave, just a little. Vari dropped her dagger, wrenched the elbow a fraction more with her right hand and lashed out with her left. Her small fingers wrapped around the reiver’s thick, tattooed throat. And as the sergeant’s crushing grip started to squeeze the life out of her, Vari spent the last of her breath to wheeze out two short words.
“Rend Flesh.”
Beneath Vari’s palm, the sergeant’s skin and sinew opened, splitting like a ripe nectarine. The woman’s eyes grew wide with shock and fear, and Vari felt the grip around her own neck release as the warrior drew her own hand back to pull Vari’s free. There was nothing Vari could do to resist the revier’s strength, but she didn’t need to. The damage was done. With blood streaming down her chest, bubbling into her lungs, the reiver woman gurgled, her neck muscles working furiously as she tried in vain to take a breath. She turned to run, but in her panic, succeeded only in stepping into one of Braemar’s quagmires. Her right arm flapping uselessly from her snapped forearm, her left hand still clutching her ruined throat, and she sank into the mud in a few tortured, thrashing moments.
