"The task is done and the victors are assembled. Behold." The oracle's booming voice echoed throughout the halls once more as the dim light in the room slowly intensified. The ever-present Maidens of the Evening and Morning bowed low to a shadow that was forming in the dim light. The light continued to brighten and the shadow began to take on a shape of monstrous dimensions. The observers soon began to appreciate the enormity of the cavern in which they stood.
Before them, easily a thousand feet long, lay a beast whose presence sent all of them to their knees in awe. It was covered in scales of black and white creating a gray overall cover.
A head the size of a cottage was attached to a long snake-like neck. Slowly, it lowered to their level and came to rest on a mountain of gems and gold coins. The vertical slitted eyes focused on them and a cavernous mouth grinned with teeth the size of small trees. The creature possessed front and hind legs, which rippled with muscles and ended with talons capable of ripping solid stone to shreds effortlessly. A long tail twitched back and forth and a pair of wings were folded across the creature's back. Some of the visitors had seen and even on occasion fought dragons before, but this was unlike anything they had ever dreamed.
"I am the Oracle of the Twilight Dragon,” a voice revertebrated off the trembling walls. “Ask of me thy question."
It was Marlena who first recovered her wits. "We seek the Well of Time. Can you tell us where it is?"
The dragon closed its eyes for a moment then spoke. "Hear ye, the answer ye seek. That which thou seekest can be found at the center of the Isle of Time. A door lies in the highlands that gaze out over the Place of Eternal Death. But know this, thou hast traveled from afar and thy time in this place grows short. Already one hath been lost and another will be lost unless thou makest great haste. A third will be lost to thee amidst treachery before thy task is done and wilt not return with thee. Three more of thy remaining number will not see thy homeworld again."
The dragon opened its eyes again. "I can see no more," it said, "I hope you got your answer."
"I think we got more than we wanted," Keeneye remarked.
The dragon laughed. "That is the way it is with oracles," it said. "An answer and some confusion. But remember, even though everything I said was true, it is almost always vague enough to fool you into a false assumption."
"I don't believe you would be interested in clarifying any of what you said, would you?" Norwind asked with a sarcastic chuckle.
"I have no idea what I did say," the dragon replied. "Being the Oracle is actually being the host of an alter ego with limited omniscience. When the Oracle assumes control of my body I am displaced. So I really do not know what the Oracle thinks or says. So you see, I won't clarify it because I can't," The dragon paused. "But," it said grinning and showing brilliant tree-sized teeth, "if I could, wouldn't that spoil the fun?"
Ultrecht was about to speak when suddenly he was standing outside the entrance of the dragon's lair. The sun was up and the chill in the air was bitter. There was the smell of meat being cooked on the wind.
Friday, December 5, 2008
Chapter 3 Part 23
Avery stood in the middle of the road. Where he was or how he had gotten there was the first question in his mind. Looking around, he saw that he was on a road near the edge of a forest. Far in the distance, he could make out what appeared to be the walls and towers of a large city. Not quite so far, there was an old woman and a small child sitting by the road.
Avery tried to push his curiosity and irritation at being zapped to yet another place in the back of his mind. As long as he was there, he might as well try to make the best of it.
He probably should go to the city and find some answers to a few questions he had about where he was exactly. However, blindly rushing into cities without knowing something of the culture was foolish. So, Avery decided to speak to the odd pair sitting by the roadside and discover what information he could from them.
As he approached, the old woman took note of him and watched him cautiously. The child was weeping and the woman was trying to calm her. Even as Avery approached, he could not discern the child's gender, but the clothing and long hair seemed to suggest a small girl of about five years old.
"Good day," he said as he approached in a non-threatening manner.
The elderly lady nodded and hugged the child closely.
"I was on my way to the city," he said gesturing down the road. "Then I heard the young one's sorrow. Is there any way I can help?"
The woman shook her head in a negative manner, but the child turned to stare at the halfelf with eyes that had shed a river of tears. "Are you an elf?" she asked between sobs.
Avery knelt down. The child was a pitiful sight of a girl, but her tearful eyes bore a hole into his very being, and he felt an urge to comfort her. "My father was an elf," he said. "My mother was a dryad." He sat on the ground next to the couple.
"Would you be my new daddy?"
Avery was taken aback. Her what? He looked at the old woman. "Are you the mother?"
The old woman smiled. "Son, you don't have to pretend. I know I am old. I could never have given birth to this blessing at my age."
Avery's heart went out to the child. Apparently she was an orphan. That was something he could sympathize with. He tried to comfort her. "Do you know what a dryad is?"
The girl told him that she did.
"Then you know that when a dryad's tree dies, so does the dryad." Again the girl showed that she understood. "Well," he continued, "one day when I was very young, a band of goblins set fire to the forest in which my parents lived. Since my father was a druid, he tried to stop the blaze, but the goblins killed him, and when the fire destroyed my mother's tree, she died also."
"My mother ran away from me," the girl said with a detached ease that gave Avery the indication that it had happened long ago.
"I am sorry to hear that," he said. "What of your father?"
"Her father was my daughter's husband," the old woman said. "And soon he will leave this innocent child, too."
"Why?"
"Through no fault of his own, I assure you," she said. "He is a decent man." She sighed. "But very stubborn."
"He was brave," the child insisted.
"Aye, that too my jewel."
"What happened to him?" Avery asked.
"I am afraid he is a victim of greed and twisted laws." She hugged her grandchild close. "Her parents were farmers," she explained. "They held their own until that irresponsible daughter of mine ran off with a stranger and left her husband to care for an infant and a farm alone." The old woman spat in the dust as she spoke of her own child.
"When my son-in-law fell behind on his bills and taxes, the state took his lands."
"Life is rarely fair," Avery said showing sympathy. "Was there no one who would help him?"
"There may have been, but he was too proud to ask."
Avery shook his head slowly. "The wise man knows when he needs help and there is no shame in the asking."
"As I said, 'he is a stubborn man'." The old woman absently stroked the child's tangled hair. "It wasn't until this precious girl was suffering from malnutrition and was half-starved to death that his spirit broke."
"What did he do?"
"He stole a loaf of bread."
"Was he caught?"
The woman bowed her head. "He was caught, tried and branded to five years of bonded servitude for his crimes."
"I am sorry for you," Avery said firmly, "but the law is the law. A thief must pay for his crimes."
"Of that I agree," she said. "My complaint is for the welfare of the child."
"She has you."
"Not for long." She sighed, "my days are numbered, and my back can no longer toil to earn bread."
Avery checked his money pouch. There was very little in it. Most of their money was held by Ultrecht and Armegon.
Seeing his actions, the woman said, "You are kind, sir, but charity is not what we need."
"Then there is little else I can do," Avery said. "I suggest you take what money I can produce and contract a nice family for her."
Before the old woman could speak, a noise from the city caused them all to turn and look. Trudging up the hill was a ragged man pulling a cart loaded with compost. He was flanked by two men on horses. The man who rode on the left was in fine clothes, branding him a merchant of great success. The other was obviously an officer of the city's guard.
Before anyone could act, the child had jumped out of the woman's arms and was running towards the approaching party.
"Daddy," she cried as she flung her arms around the leg of the slave pulling the cart.
The merchant kicked at the child with his foot. "Get away, brat," he said. "This is my slave, and he has no children."
Avery clenched his teeth. No method of justice should alienate a father from his daughter.
The soldier leaned down, scooping the girl in one hand and depositing her roughly on the ground next to where Avery stood. "Well, old woman," the guardsman said as he pulled his mount up to where the old woman sat. "Still begging for money?"
"She has asked for no funds," Avery informed him. "In fact, she refused what I did offer her."
"Shut up, half-breed!" The merchant snapped as he pulled up along side of the guardsman. "You will speak only when spoken to."
Not wanting to cause a disturbance with the local populace, Avery swallowed his pride and refrained from responding. Instead, he inspected the girl's father as he approached. His eyes were vacant and his skin hung loosely on his bones. He was obviously being starved.
"I am surprised to see you still alive, old woman," the soldier laughed. "I bet master Brigon here that you would be dead within the week." He winked mockingly at her. "Do be a dear and croak within the next two days."
The old woman spat, and Avery agreed that the jest was in poor taste.
"Don't you think I know what will happen to this child when I die?" She turned to look at Avery. "They want me to die," she explained, "because I am the last free relative the poor child has. When I am gone, Brigon will work her father to death and claim her to finish her father's sentence. Probably in a house of pleasure." She spat again. "That is why I sit here every day. There exists an old law which allows the girl's father to go free if someone is willing to serve his sentence for him. It is the child's only hope."
"Oh, yes, half-breed," the merchant said greedily while eyeing the child. "If she grows up to look anything like her mother, she will sell quite well." He drooled then winked at Avery. "Got any taste for young flesh?"
Avery felt his blood boiling and clenched his fists. This was horrible. The child was not guilty. But he had no right to interfere with the city's established laws.
Seeing that the halfelf was getting flushed with anger, the merchant decided to goad him into a fight. Halfelves live for hundreds of years and were quite good at performing manual labor. If he could get him to attack, his companion would easily subdue the attacker and the law would sentence the halfelf to slavery.
"Oh yes," he said looking hurt. "The child's father still has several years left on his sentence." He laughed. "Of course, he had no choice but to steal. I kept raising the price on his mortgage and charged him double for his food."
That was enough. The law was meant to serve the public, not to be used by one man to destroy another in the name of greed. Legal or not, what was happening there was wrong.
"I will take the man's place," Avery announced to his own astonishment.
The merchant and soldier looked at each other. "I don't think you understand," the soldier said. "That slave has a seven year sentence to carry out."
"Let him go," Avery said. "I will serve his sentence and the child will have a better life."
Brigon rubbed his chin. The halfelf would make an excellent slave. His value was good and it would be no problem to frame him with some crime that would force him into permanent slavery.
But then there was the girl. He hadn't expected the girl's father to live through the first year. That was why he had swindled and cheated the man into stealing. He wanted to sell the girl. A young virgin would make him enough money to retire in style. Who cared what happened to her later.
"No," he said firmly.
"You can not deny him," the woman shouted as she climbed to her feet. She turned to Avery as if pleading his case. "By law, he can only deny you if you are worth less than the present slave."
"I have my reasons," he replied, "and they are not for you to judge."
"If you can not give such a reason," Avery said as he drew himself up to his full height and faced the horseman, "then obey the law. I am willing to serve for this man."
The guard glanced at the merchant who glared at Avery. Avery showed no sign of anxiety in the least. He had given his word. If the merchant accepted, he would keep the bargain in good faith. But Avery was almost certain that his offer would be refused.
"And just what are you going to do if I refuse?" Brigon said with a smile.
"Then it is up to me to enforce that law," the soldier cut in. "And I see no violation."
"Then perhaps you should be educated in the matters of law."
Brigon held up a gold coin. "This," he said sarcastically, "is the law."
"To offer a bribe is as much a crime as to accept one," Avery pointed out. "And both are far more serious than the theft of a simple loaf of bread."
"Are you planning to report us?" the soldier laughed.
Avery did not respond.
"Hey Farkin," Brigon said with mocking fear. "Is he threatening us?"
"Why, I do believe so!"
"He did not!" the woman spoke out trying to defuse the situation. She knew what these villains were planning.
"What did you see happen, Farkin?" Brigon asked.
"You were attacked by a halfelf who slew your slave and an old woman relative of his." With this the soldier dismounted and pulled a broadsword from its sheath by the saddle.
"That left me with the slave's orphaned child to care for," Brigon agreed.
Farkin walked around the cart towards Avery, who retreated a few steps. Suddenly, the tall man whirled and plunged the sword into the slave's side, felling him with a single thrust.
The girl screamed with a scream that seemed to echo off a thousand walls penetrating into the very hearts of those around.
Farkin turned towards the old woman.
"Help us, please," the girl begged as she ran towards her last living relative. The old woman stood defiantly.
Avery could no longer stand motionless. Although he carried no weapon other than a hunting knife, he sprang towards the swordsman.
Seeing this action, Farkin spun and expertly sliced open the halfelf's arm. Then with a flick of his wrist, he brought the flat of the blade down to the base of Avery's skull.
Stunned and bleeding profusely from his left arm, Avery fell to the ground. With his senses reeling, he could do no more than watch as the old woman also fell under the swordsman's skill. Slowly his eyes moved to the ground in search of a weapon--a stone, limb, anything that would inflict injury.
Miraculously, his gaze fell on the lower half of an old rusted sword hilt. Its blade was broken less than a foot from the handguard. He slowly reached for the shoddy weapon. The sounds of resistance came from behind as the little girl struggled to escape her new masters.
Avery stretched his reach as far as he could until his fingers just touched the metal. There was a tingle in his hand and a buzzing in his head that slowly coalesced into speech. Time seemed to stand still as the voice became clearer and louder.
Behold mortal, for I am thy doom, it said. For over a thousand years I have awaited a hand.
Who are you? Avery thought back.
I am victory and defeat--a never-ending quest, power and helplessness.
I must fight, Avery explained.
My service has a price, the voice countered. Your freedom will be forfeit if you do.
My soul will be forfeit if I don't, Avery cried adamant.
The choice is yours.
Suddenly, Avery was on his feet. Before him, he held a longsword with razor-sharp edges. He watched with fascination as his partially amputated left arm healed in a flash of light. He felt the power running down his arms into his body and his mind exploded at the force of the magic that had yanked him from the ground like a toy.
The sword twisted in his hand, and Avery watched as if in a dream as Farkin's head rolled to a stop at his feet. Avery's hand moved independently of his will. Brigon was lifted out of his saddle on the tip of the sword and slid down toward the hilt with a sickening sound. Avery felt no weight. It was as if he were merely holding an empty hand out.
We must cleanse the city, the voice said.
"What?" Avery asked aloud.
The city is full of injustice; we must pass judgment on them as well.
The sword tugged towards the city and Avery took a few involuntary steps before he fought himself to a halt. With a supreme effort, he forced his fingers open and let the blade fall to the ground.
"No," he said. "I will not kill without reason, and only then if I have exhausted all other methods at my disposal."
They are vermin, the voice said.
"Not all of them are evil."
There is only one among the entire four hundred that is not involved in slavery or corruption. It is for the greater good that we destroy the city.
"Not all of them are evil," Avery shot back. "I will see ten guilty men go free before I will condemn one innocent life."
There was no reply except that the compulsion to go towards the city faded.
Avery knelt to check on the fallen bodies. Only the old woman remained alive, but that would soon change if he did not act immediately. Quickly, Avery bound her wounds and stopped the bleeding.
The girl was sitting on the grass. She was obviously in deep shock. Avery knew that she needed looking after as well. In moments, he had stabilized the woman and was seeing to the girl.
Suddenly, the woman was on her feet and standing beside him. The strange sword she held reverently in her hands. "For thousands of years travelers have been tested to visit the oracle," she said. And as she spoke, she seemed to grow younger and smaller, until she, too, looked like a small girl. "Most fail. Some pass. But very few do both."
Avery wanted to speak but found his tongue would not move.
"Those who made no attempt to help the girl found themselves receiving no help from the oracle. Those who at least offered to trade their freedom found themselves free to leave. Those who successfully defended the girl and old woman and freed the father found their way to visit the oracle. Only a few were willing to risk their sanity and life to defend an ideal. And until you came, none of them had the strength of heart to decline great power for the sake of a single innocent life." She reversed the weapon and offered it to him hilt first. "I am the Maiden of the Morning. I and my sister, the Maiden of the Evening, serve the Dragon. He has seen your arrival long before you were born in your own world. You have been chosen by your actions to take up this weapon called the "Dawn of Law" by the gods, "Godslayer" by the devils, and "Liberator" by the mortal races. You will wield it wisely by the wisdom of your own heart. This weapon, made during the Creation, is The Sword of Justice."
Avery automatically reached out and took the handle. There was no rush this time, but a slight tingle, hinting of unimaginable power. "I am a healer first, not a warrior," he protested.
"That is why you were chosen," she replied. "A judge must also be merciful and compassionate."
"Will we ever make it back home," he asked remembering Scarlet's parting words.
"It is necessary that you will not," she replied. "Fate and events that have put the sword in your hand gave you the choice. Did it not warn you that your freedom would be lost?"
Avery conceded. "And my friends?"
"I could tell you, but you would not remember."
Avery looked at the weapon. The hilt was wound with braided leather with a small silver ball at the end. The handguard was a rather plain gray, with two spikes acting as a shear guard rising at a forty five degree angle from the base of the blade. The blade itself was made of a deep blue translucent substance that spread about three fingers wide at the base and narrowed to a point about a meter long, making the whole thing one long skinny triangle. It was impossibly thin and rigid. When viewed from the edge, the blade almost disappeared. Avery found himself comparing it to looking at a thread in a spider web. Yet, in spite of this, it would not bend. The only other odd feature was the red edges. Where the blade had been edged, the substance was red. It was not paint nor blood.
"But...." Avery was about to speak when his vision blurred and he found himself standing by the door of the entrance to the Oracle's lair.
The halfelf made a quick survey of his new environment. There was evidence of a fair number of people having moved through the area recently. "I wonder where everyone is?" he asked himself.
They will come, the sword answered.
Avery tried to push his curiosity and irritation at being zapped to yet another place in the back of his mind. As long as he was there, he might as well try to make the best of it.
He probably should go to the city and find some answers to a few questions he had about where he was exactly. However, blindly rushing into cities without knowing something of the culture was foolish. So, Avery decided to speak to the odd pair sitting by the roadside and discover what information he could from them.
As he approached, the old woman took note of him and watched him cautiously. The child was weeping and the woman was trying to calm her. Even as Avery approached, he could not discern the child's gender, but the clothing and long hair seemed to suggest a small girl of about five years old.
"Good day," he said as he approached in a non-threatening manner.
The elderly lady nodded and hugged the child closely.
"I was on my way to the city," he said gesturing down the road. "Then I heard the young one's sorrow. Is there any way I can help?"
The woman shook her head in a negative manner, but the child turned to stare at the halfelf with eyes that had shed a river of tears. "Are you an elf?" she asked between sobs.
Avery knelt down. The child was a pitiful sight of a girl, but her tearful eyes bore a hole into his very being, and he felt an urge to comfort her. "My father was an elf," he said. "My mother was a dryad." He sat on the ground next to the couple.
"Would you be my new daddy?"
Avery was taken aback. Her what? He looked at the old woman. "Are you the mother?"
The old woman smiled. "Son, you don't have to pretend. I know I am old. I could never have given birth to this blessing at my age."
Avery's heart went out to the child. Apparently she was an orphan. That was something he could sympathize with. He tried to comfort her. "Do you know what a dryad is?"
The girl told him that she did.
"Then you know that when a dryad's tree dies, so does the dryad." Again the girl showed that she understood. "Well," he continued, "one day when I was very young, a band of goblins set fire to the forest in which my parents lived. Since my father was a druid, he tried to stop the blaze, but the goblins killed him, and when the fire destroyed my mother's tree, she died also."
"My mother ran away from me," the girl said with a detached ease that gave Avery the indication that it had happened long ago.
"I am sorry to hear that," he said. "What of your father?"
"Her father was my daughter's husband," the old woman said. "And soon he will leave this innocent child, too."
"Why?"
"Through no fault of his own, I assure you," she said. "He is a decent man." She sighed. "But very stubborn."
"He was brave," the child insisted.
"Aye, that too my jewel."
"What happened to him?" Avery asked.
"I am afraid he is a victim of greed and twisted laws." She hugged her grandchild close. "Her parents were farmers," she explained. "They held their own until that irresponsible daughter of mine ran off with a stranger and left her husband to care for an infant and a farm alone." The old woman spat in the dust as she spoke of her own child.
"When my son-in-law fell behind on his bills and taxes, the state took his lands."
"Life is rarely fair," Avery said showing sympathy. "Was there no one who would help him?"
"There may have been, but he was too proud to ask."
Avery shook his head slowly. "The wise man knows when he needs help and there is no shame in the asking."
"As I said, 'he is a stubborn man'." The old woman absently stroked the child's tangled hair. "It wasn't until this precious girl was suffering from malnutrition and was half-starved to death that his spirit broke."
"What did he do?"
"He stole a loaf of bread."
"Was he caught?"
The woman bowed her head. "He was caught, tried and branded to five years of bonded servitude for his crimes."
"I am sorry for you," Avery said firmly, "but the law is the law. A thief must pay for his crimes."
"Of that I agree," she said. "My complaint is for the welfare of the child."
"She has you."
"Not for long." She sighed, "my days are numbered, and my back can no longer toil to earn bread."
Avery checked his money pouch. There was very little in it. Most of their money was held by Ultrecht and Armegon.
Seeing his actions, the woman said, "You are kind, sir, but charity is not what we need."
"Then there is little else I can do," Avery said. "I suggest you take what money I can produce and contract a nice family for her."
Before the old woman could speak, a noise from the city caused them all to turn and look. Trudging up the hill was a ragged man pulling a cart loaded with compost. He was flanked by two men on horses. The man who rode on the left was in fine clothes, branding him a merchant of great success. The other was obviously an officer of the city's guard.
Before anyone could act, the child had jumped out of the woman's arms and was running towards the approaching party.
"Daddy," she cried as she flung her arms around the leg of the slave pulling the cart.
The merchant kicked at the child with his foot. "Get away, brat," he said. "This is my slave, and he has no children."
Avery clenched his teeth. No method of justice should alienate a father from his daughter.
The soldier leaned down, scooping the girl in one hand and depositing her roughly on the ground next to where Avery stood. "Well, old woman," the guardsman said as he pulled his mount up to where the old woman sat. "Still begging for money?"
"She has asked for no funds," Avery informed him. "In fact, she refused what I did offer her."
"Shut up, half-breed!" The merchant snapped as he pulled up along side of the guardsman. "You will speak only when spoken to."
Not wanting to cause a disturbance with the local populace, Avery swallowed his pride and refrained from responding. Instead, he inspected the girl's father as he approached. His eyes were vacant and his skin hung loosely on his bones. He was obviously being starved.
"I am surprised to see you still alive, old woman," the soldier laughed. "I bet master Brigon here that you would be dead within the week." He winked mockingly at her. "Do be a dear and croak within the next two days."
The old woman spat, and Avery agreed that the jest was in poor taste.
"Don't you think I know what will happen to this child when I die?" She turned to look at Avery. "They want me to die," she explained, "because I am the last free relative the poor child has. When I am gone, Brigon will work her father to death and claim her to finish her father's sentence. Probably in a house of pleasure." She spat again. "That is why I sit here every day. There exists an old law which allows the girl's father to go free if someone is willing to serve his sentence for him. It is the child's only hope."
"Oh, yes, half-breed," the merchant said greedily while eyeing the child. "If she grows up to look anything like her mother, she will sell quite well." He drooled then winked at Avery. "Got any taste for young flesh?"
Avery felt his blood boiling and clenched his fists. This was horrible. The child was not guilty. But he had no right to interfere with the city's established laws.
Seeing that the halfelf was getting flushed with anger, the merchant decided to goad him into a fight. Halfelves live for hundreds of years and were quite good at performing manual labor. If he could get him to attack, his companion would easily subdue the attacker and the law would sentence the halfelf to slavery.
"Oh yes," he said looking hurt. "The child's father still has several years left on his sentence." He laughed. "Of course, he had no choice but to steal. I kept raising the price on his mortgage and charged him double for his food."
That was enough. The law was meant to serve the public, not to be used by one man to destroy another in the name of greed. Legal or not, what was happening there was wrong.
"I will take the man's place," Avery announced to his own astonishment.
The merchant and soldier looked at each other. "I don't think you understand," the soldier said. "That slave has a seven year sentence to carry out."
"Let him go," Avery said. "I will serve his sentence and the child will have a better life."
Brigon rubbed his chin. The halfelf would make an excellent slave. His value was good and it would be no problem to frame him with some crime that would force him into permanent slavery.
But then there was the girl. He hadn't expected the girl's father to live through the first year. That was why he had swindled and cheated the man into stealing. He wanted to sell the girl. A young virgin would make him enough money to retire in style. Who cared what happened to her later.
"No," he said firmly.
"You can not deny him," the woman shouted as she climbed to her feet. She turned to Avery as if pleading his case. "By law, he can only deny you if you are worth less than the present slave."
"I have my reasons," he replied, "and they are not for you to judge."
"If you can not give such a reason," Avery said as he drew himself up to his full height and faced the horseman, "then obey the law. I am willing to serve for this man."
The guard glanced at the merchant who glared at Avery. Avery showed no sign of anxiety in the least. He had given his word. If the merchant accepted, he would keep the bargain in good faith. But Avery was almost certain that his offer would be refused.
"And just what are you going to do if I refuse?" Brigon said with a smile.
"Then it is up to me to enforce that law," the soldier cut in. "And I see no violation."
"Then perhaps you should be educated in the matters of law."
Brigon held up a gold coin. "This," he said sarcastically, "is the law."
"To offer a bribe is as much a crime as to accept one," Avery pointed out. "And both are far more serious than the theft of a simple loaf of bread."
"Are you planning to report us?" the soldier laughed.
Avery did not respond.
"Hey Farkin," Brigon said with mocking fear. "Is he threatening us?"
"Why, I do believe so!"
"He did not!" the woman spoke out trying to defuse the situation. She knew what these villains were planning.
"What did you see happen, Farkin?" Brigon asked.
"You were attacked by a halfelf who slew your slave and an old woman relative of his." With this the soldier dismounted and pulled a broadsword from its sheath by the saddle.
"That left me with the slave's orphaned child to care for," Brigon agreed.
Farkin walked around the cart towards Avery, who retreated a few steps. Suddenly, the tall man whirled and plunged the sword into the slave's side, felling him with a single thrust.
The girl screamed with a scream that seemed to echo off a thousand walls penetrating into the very hearts of those around.
Farkin turned towards the old woman.
"Help us, please," the girl begged as she ran towards her last living relative. The old woman stood defiantly.
Avery could no longer stand motionless. Although he carried no weapon other than a hunting knife, he sprang towards the swordsman.
Seeing this action, Farkin spun and expertly sliced open the halfelf's arm. Then with a flick of his wrist, he brought the flat of the blade down to the base of Avery's skull.
Stunned and bleeding profusely from his left arm, Avery fell to the ground. With his senses reeling, he could do no more than watch as the old woman also fell under the swordsman's skill. Slowly his eyes moved to the ground in search of a weapon--a stone, limb, anything that would inflict injury.
Miraculously, his gaze fell on the lower half of an old rusted sword hilt. Its blade was broken less than a foot from the handguard. He slowly reached for the shoddy weapon. The sounds of resistance came from behind as the little girl struggled to escape her new masters.
Avery stretched his reach as far as he could until his fingers just touched the metal. There was a tingle in his hand and a buzzing in his head that slowly coalesced into speech. Time seemed to stand still as the voice became clearer and louder.
Behold mortal, for I am thy doom, it said. For over a thousand years I have awaited a hand.
Who are you? Avery thought back.
I am victory and defeat--a never-ending quest, power and helplessness.
I must fight, Avery explained.
My service has a price, the voice countered. Your freedom will be forfeit if you do.
My soul will be forfeit if I don't, Avery cried adamant.
The choice is yours.
Suddenly, Avery was on his feet. Before him, he held a longsword with razor-sharp edges. He watched with fascination as his partially amputated left arm healed in a flash of light. He felt the power running down his arms into his body and his mind exploded at the force of the magic that had yanked him from the ground like a toy.
The sword twisted in his hand, and Avery watched as if in a dream as Farkin's head rolled to a stop at his feet. Avery's hand moved independently of his will. Brigon was lifted out of his saddle on the tip of the sword and slid down toward the hilt with a sickening sound. Avery felt no weight. It was as if he were merely holding an empty hand out.
We must cleanse the city, the voice said.
"What?" Avery asked aloud.
The city is full of injustice; we must pass judgment on them as well.
The sword tugged towards the city and Avery took a few involuntary steps before he fought himself to a halt. With a supreme effort, he forced his fingers open and let the blade fall to the ground.
"No," he said. "I will not kill without reason, and only then if I have exhausted all other methods at my disposal."
They are vermin, the voice said.
"Not all of them are evil."
There is only one among the entire four hundred that is not involved in slavery or corruption. It is for the greater good that we destroy the city.
"Not all of them are evil," Avery shot back. "I will see ten guilty men go free before I will condemn one innocent life."
There was no reply except that the compulsion to go towards the city faded.
Avery knelt to check on the fallen bodies. Only the old woman remained alive, but that would soon change if he did not act immediately. Quickly, Avery bound her wounds and stopped the bleeding.
The girl was sitting on the grass. She was obviously in deep shock. Avery knew that she needed looking after as well. In moments, he had stabilized the woman and was seeing to the girl.
Suddenly, the woman was on her feet and standing beside him. The strange sword she held reverently in her hands. "For thousands of years travelers have been tested to visit the oracle," she said. And as she spoke, she seemed to grow younger and smaller, until she, too, looked like a small girl. "Most fail. Some pass. But very few do both."
Avery wanted to speak but found his tongue would not move.
"Those who made no attempt to help the girl found themselves receiving no help from the oracle. Those who at least offered to trade their freedom found themselves free to leave. Those who successfully defended the girl and old woman and freed the father found their way to visit the oracle. Only a few were willing to risk their sanity and life to defend an ideal. And until you came, none of them had the strength of heart to decline great power for the sake of a single innocent life." She reversed the weapon and offered it to him hilt first. "I am the Maiden of the Morning. I and my sister, the Maiden of the Evening, serve the Dragon. He has seen your arrival long before you were born in your own world. You have been chosen by your actions to take up this weapon called the "Dawn of Law" by the gods, "Godslayer" by the devils, and "Liberator" by the mortal races. You will wield it wisely by the wisdom of your own heart. This weapon, made during the Creation, is The Sword of Justice."
Avery automatically reached out and took the handle. There was no rush this time, but a slight tingle, hinting of unimaginable power. "I am a healer first, not a warrior," he protested.
"That is why you were chosen," she replied. "A judge must also be merciful and compassionate."
"Will we ever make it back home," he asked remembering Scarlet's parting words.
"It is necessary that you will not," she replied. "Fate and events that have put the sword in your hand gave you the choice. Did it not warn you that your freedom would be lost?"
Avery conceded. "And my friends?"
"I could tell you, but you would not remember."
Avery looked at the weapon. The hilt was wound with braided leather with a small silver ball at the end. The handguard was a rather plain gray, with two spikes acting as a shear guard rising at a forty five degree angle from the base of the blade. The blade itself was made of a deep blue translucent substance that spread about three fingers wide at the base and narrowed to a point about a meter long, making the whole thing one long skinny triangle. It was impossibly thin and rigid. When viewed from the edge, the blade almost disappeared. Avery found himself comparing it to looking at a thread in a spider web. Yet, in spite of this, it would not bend. The only other odd feature was the red edges. Where the blade had been edged, the substance was red. It was not paint nor blood.
"But...." Avery was about to speak when his vision blurred and he found himself standing by the door of the entrance to the Oracle's lair.
The halfelf made a quick survey of his new environment. There was evidence of a fair number of people having moved through the area recently. "I wonder where everyone is?" he asked himself.
They will come, the sword answered.
Chapter 3 Part 22
The girl entered the room again and this time she was followed by Samson.
"Well," Ultrecht said from the chair in which he sat, "Samson will also be joining us for the day."
"Leave him alone," Marlena scolded, "can't you see he's been through something tragic?"
"That leaves only Avery to arrive," Norwind observed.
"Your other comrade will not be joining us," the Oracle's voice said.
Ultrecht had been there the longest and had spoken at length with the disembodied voice. The Oracle had made it quite plain that it was not going to tell anything until everyone had been tested. "Are you saying that Avery did not pass the test?"
The voice did not reply.
Marlena stepped forward and addressed the darkness from which the voice seemed to come. "We were told that those who failed your test were killed," she said. "Is this true?"
The voice hesitated for a moment. "It is true," it said at last.
"Then you have slain the halfelf?" asked Samson.
"The one you speak of has not perished," the voice replied.
"Has he failed the test?" asked Armegon.
"He has not failed the test," the voice said.
"Then he passed the test?"
"Not completely. His solution to his test was, unexpected and ambiguous," the voice answered.
"He is alive. He didn’t fail or pass his test, but what he did was unforeseen?" Ultrecht thought on this for a moment. "Yes, that sounds like Avery."
"The one you call Avery was given a test to determine if he would risk his own life to defend the life of one who was doomed to die soon anyway."
"Well," Ultrecht said from the chair in which he sat, "Samson will also be joining us for the day."
"Leave him alone," Marlena scolded, "can't you see he's been through something tragic?"
"That leaves only Avery to arrive," Norwind observed.
"Your other comrade will not be joining us," the Oracle's voice said.
Ultrecht had been there the longest and had spoken at length with the disembodied voice. The Oracle had made it quite plain that it was not going to tell anything until everyone had been tested. "Are you saying that Avery did not pass the test?"
The voice did not reply.
Marlena stepped forward and addressed the darkness from which the voice seemed to come. "We were told that those who failed your test were killed," she said. "Is this true?"
The voice hesitated for a moment. "It is true," it said at last.
"Then you have slain the halfelf?" asked Samson.
"The one you speak of has not perished," the voice replied.
"Has he failed the test?" asked Armegon.
"He has not failed the test," the voice said.
"Then he passed the test?"
"Not completely. His solution to his test was, unexpected and ambiguous," the voice answered.
"He is alive. He didn’t fail or pass his test, but what he did was unforeseen?" Ultrecht thought on this for a moment. "Yes, that sounds like Avery."
"The one you call Avery was given a test to determine if he would risk his own life to defend the life of one who was doomed to die soon anyway."
Chapter 3 Part 21
Samson stood atop a dam with a reservoir of water to his left. The level was dangerously high. Along the water's edge near the bank, he could see how plants and trees, which had grown on dry land, were now swaying in the currents and eddies of the watery plain. On the right side, Samson saw a valley carpeted with barren rocks and long abandoned rubbish. The only difference was that near the base of the dam the smoke of a campfire climbed steadily from a lean-to. A path climbed steadily through the rock until it emerged upon the dam about two hundred yards in front of him. The dam rumbled slightly beneath Samson's feet. He instinctively deduced that it was not far from bursting.
Samson called down to the occupants of the lean-to below. When no one answered, he trotted over to the pathway and began the trek to the valley floor. He had to warn the campers of the threat of flood.
The path was not difficult to navigate, but the process could not be rushed. About halfway down, he rounded a corner and discovered a warhammer on the ground in the path. Not wasting time to stop, Samson scooped it up and examined it as he continued downward. The hammer was a Dwarven Thrower, a magical device designed to return to its thrower after striking its target. It looked just like the one Scarlet used to wield. And with that thought, the grief of a friend's death came back on his heart heavily and he cast aside the hammer. He could no longer bear to see it.
He tried to think of something else as he continued downward. He was passing an old gnarled tree when his eye caught the glint of sunlight off metal among the branches. Reaching out his hand, he found a pendant dangling from a branch. He instantly recognized the gold dragon on the platinum chain. It was Tyson's emblem of his brotherhood in the monasteries. A second wave of grief and emotion piled onto him.
With great effort, Samson put his feelings behind him and continued to follow the path towards the bottom. He half-expected the next find when he saw it. Rounding the last corner, a short-handled war mallet lay in the path. This was not a look alike of Seymore's weapon. It was without a doubt the very weapon right down to the scratches and notches in the handle. This time Samson stopped. He lifted the weapon from the sand and cradled it in his arm. It was deceptively heavy. For a moment, Samson could almost see Seymore wielding it two-handed and wading through goblins or trolls like a berzerker.
The unique short handled hammer swinging to and fro had become something of a legend in the society of the Mountain Giants back home. Giant children would be scared into good behavior by their parents with threats of Seymore and the Storm Hammer that spit lightning and rolled like thunder. The vision brought a smile to his face but faded as he remembered Seymore in a deep coma barely alive by the healing hand of the half-breed.
Samson closed his eyes and fought back the despair he felt stirring deep within his soul. He reminded himself that Marlena was still alive. Even though she didn't remember their past, he was still her friend and he loved her still. She was going to need him to get out of this place and back home.
So with great effort, Samson drove the despair from his heart and continued towards the camp. He didn't know where the others were, nor how he had gotten there. At the moment, all he did know was that if he didn't warn the occupants of the camp ahead, they would die under the crushing weight of millions of tons of water when the dam broke.
Samson drew nearer and approached the lean-to from the side. To his left, the dam's base trembled lightly, and there was a dark spot around one block near the center of the bottom row. Samson suspected it was the weak block of the dam. When it finally gave, the whole thing would go.
Yelling his warning of the danger, Samson hurried around the corner of the shelter and instantly wished he hadn't.
There before him lay Marlena. Her head lay in the lap of an unknown man. Her swollen abdomen labored to deliver a child that he knew he had not fathered.
Finally, Samson's emotions broke from his control. A cry of unbridled rage broke from his lips. Despair and anger welled up in him as he clenched his fists crushing the pendant he had plucked from the tree.
Gone. They were all gone. Scarlet, Tyson, Seymore and his wife had all left him. He felt so alone and bitter that he could not even decide what to do next. Part of him wanted to leave and let his wife and her lover perish under the impending death building behind the wall at their backs. The other part of him wanted to go into the shelter and crush the man with his hands and take his wife out.
There was a crackling sound from the dam, and Samson saw that the stone was beginning to leak water. He knew that if he left immediately, he could climb to safety before the whole thing collapsed.
He didn't care anymore. He had lost everything he had ever loved, and he just wanted to run and get as far from the reminders as he could.
He was about to leave when he looked one last time into his wife's eyes. Then he was sprinting to the base of the dam. She was not to blame. He knew that the amnesia had cost him his wife and not a lack of love on her part or his part.
Samson skidded to a halt before the weakened block and set his back against it. Then reaching into the depths of his being, summoned up the great strength that was his namesake. He threw himself against the block with all of his might, slowing the water's motion out of the wall. Samson Okmar strained until the very heart within his chest began to complain. Drawing on the anger and despair he had experienced earlier, he bent his body in a surge of emotionally driven effort. Slowly, the block ground to a halt.
He saw the man carrying his wife up the path off to the right. He knew that he had sealed his own doom by staying, but he could not have left. The only thing stronger than his will to live had been his love for his wife. Now, he was going to give her all that he had left to give her. Without his friends, he had no further reason to go on.
He couldn't see himself travelling with Armegon and the others without Seymore and Scarlet. And, he knew he could never live near Marlena when she had taken another. No matter how she had wronged him, he still loved her more than anything in his life. It was with his own life that he was buying her time to get out of the valley.
Samson wearily gazed through sweat blurred eyes upward and saw the man carry Marlena out of the valley. He felt the water running down his face as his strength finally failed him and the waters came. No matter what happened before, in the end Samson Okmar felt only love for his wife.
Suddenly, as if waking from a dream, Samson stood in a bright room. There before him stood a young girl scantily dressed in a white flowing gown.
"Your test was a test of strength," she said. "And the strength of Samson Okmar is strongest in his heart." The girl smiled. "Well done."
Samson called down to the occupants of the lean-to below. When no one answered, he trotted over to the pathway and began the trek to the valley floor. He had to warn the campers of the threat of flood.
The path was not difficult to navigate, but the process could not be rushed. About halfway down, he rounded a corner and discovered a warhammer on the ground in the path. Not wasting time to stop, Samson scooped it up and examined it as he continued downward. The hammer was a Dwarven Thrower, a magical device designed to return to its thrower after striking its target. It looked just like the one Scarlet used to wield. And with that thought, the grief of a friend's death came back on his heart heavily and he cast aside the hammer. He could no longer bear to see it.
He tried to think of something else as he continued downward. He was passing an old gnarled tree when his eye caught the glint of sunlight off metal among the branches. Reaching out his hand, he found a pendant dangling from a branch. He instantly recognized the gold dragon on the platinum chain. It was Tyson's emblem of his brotherhood in the monasteries. A second wave of grief and emotion piled onto him.
With great effort, Samson put his feelings behind him and continued to follow the path towards the bottom. He half-expected the next find when he saw it. Rounding the last corner, a short-handled war mallet lay in the path. This was not a look alike of Seymore's weapon. It was without a doubt the very weapon right down to the scratches and notches in the handle. This time Samson stopped. He lifted the weapon from the sand and cradled it in his arm. It was deceptively heavy. For a moment, Samson could almost see Seymore wielding it two-handed and wading through goblins or trolls like a berzerker.
The unique short handled hammer swinging to and fro had become something of a legend in the society of the Mountain Giants back home. Giant children would be scared into good behavior by their parents with threats of Seymore and the Storm Hammer that spit lightning and rolled like thunder. The vision brought a smile to his face but faded as he remembered Seymore in a deep coma barely alive by the healing hand of the half-breed.
Samson closed his eyes and fought back the despair he felt stirring deep within his soul. He reminded himself that Marlena was still alive. Even though she didn't remember their past, he was still her friend and he loved her still. She was going to need him to get out of this place and back home.
So with great effort, Samson drove the despair from his heart and continued towards the camp. He didn't know where the others were, nor how he had gotten there. At the moment, all he did know was that if he didn't warn the occupants of the camp ahead, they would die under the crushing weight of millions of tons of water when the dam broke.
Samson drew nearer and approached the lean-to from the side. To his left, the dam's base trembled lightly, and there was a dark spot around one block near the center of the bottom row. Samson suspected it was the weak block of the dam. When it finally gave, the whole thing would go.
Yelling his warning of the danger, Samson hurried around the corner of the shelter and instantly wished he hadn't.
There before him lay Marlena. Her head lay in the lap of an unknown man. Her swollen abdomen labored to deliver a child that he knew he had not fathered.
Finally, Samson's emotions broke from his control. A cry of unbridled rage broke from his lips. Despair and anger welled up in him as he clenched his fists crushing the pendant he had plucked from the tree.
Gone. They were all gone. Scarlet, Tyson, Seymore and his wife had all left him. He felt so alone and bitter that he could not even decide what to do next. Part of him wanted to leave and let his wife and her lover perish under the impending death building behind the wall at their backs. The other part of him wanted to go into the shelter and crush the man with his hands and take his wife out.
There was a crackling sound from the dam, and Samson saw that the stone was beginning to leak water. He knew that if he left immediately, he could climb to safety before the whole thing collapsed.
He didn't care anymore. He had lost everything he had ever loved, and he just wanted to run and get as far from the reminders as he could.
He was about to leave when he looked one last time into his wife's eyes. Then he was sprinting to the base of the dam. She was not to blame. He knew that the amnesia had cost him his wife and not a lack of love on her part or his part.
Samson skidded to a halt before the weakened block and set his back against it. Then reaching into the depths of his being, summoned up the great strength that was his namesake. He threw himself against the block with all of his might, slowing the water's motion out of the wall. Samson Okmar strained until the very heart within his chest began to complain. Drawing on the anger and despair he had experienced earlier, he bent his body in a surge of emotionally driven effort. Slowly, the block ground to a halt.
He saw the man carrying his wife up the path off to the right. He knew that he had sealed his own doom by staying, but he could not have left. The only thing stronger than his will to live had been his love for his wife. Now, he was going to give her all that he had left to give her. Without his friends, he had no further reason to go on.
He couldn't see himself travelling with Armegon and the others without Seymore and Scarlet. And, he knew he could never live near Marlena when she had taken another. No matter how she had wronged him, he still loved her more than anything in his life. It was with his own life that he was buying her time to get out of the valley.
Samson wearily gazed through sweat blurred eyes upward and saw the man carry Marlena out of the valley. He felt the water running down his face as his strength finally failed him and the waters came. No matter what happened before, in the end Samson Okmar felt only love for his wife.
Suddenly, as if waking from a dream, Samson stood in a bright room. There before him stood a young girl scantily dressed in a white flowing gown.
"Your test was a test of strength," she said. "And the strength of Samson Okmar is strongest in his heart." The girl smiled. "Well done."
Chapter 3 Part 20
Keeneye was standing in a room about twenty feet square. It was dimly lit with the only light source being a torch on one wall. How could he be abducted twice in one year? He was beginning to get angry. He felt as if he could cuss up a demon if he had a mind to. Someone really had it out for him. He was sure there was a higher power involved. Well, he reasoned, he might as well see if he could find the others. They might need some help.
Keeneye was still grumbling to himself as he walked over to the wall and snatched the torch from its holder. He was immediately sorry as he heard the distant click and felt himself drop into the floor. In his irritation, Keeneye had forgotten himself and gotten careless. He had tripped a trap and was now sliding down a chute to unknown reaches. He made several vain attempts to slow his descent, but the chute was near frictionless and the walls were too hard to dig into anything. So failing to stop himself, he unlatched his shield and maneuvered it underneath his body. Too often these slides had razors embedded in them to cut a victim to ribbons as they fell.
If there were any additions to the trap, he did not encounter them. Several long twists in the passage did barely more than add to a respectable collection of bruises that he was accumulating on his body. Finally, he had been sliding about a minute when the chute suddenly turned a corner and dumped him through the roof of another room to land unceremoniously on the hard floor.
Fretting as he brushed himself off, he was angry at himself for falling for the old trapdoor/slide gag. It was on page two of the Oldest Tricks in the Book series volume III.
His new cell was large--about a hundred feet on each side with ample light to see everything. He was standing in the center. Taking in his surroundings, he became distressed at the lack of exits. The only thing unusual about the room was a large hole in the center of each wall. The holes were about two feet in diameter and about five feet off the ground.
Just as he was about to walk over and investigate one of them more closely, there was a whoosh of air behind him. Spinning around, he reflexively brought the shield up. Bearing down on him was a ball of green fire. There was no time to run. Keeneye braced himself and placed the shield between himself and the flame. The impact was not very hard and the flames died out as they were dispersed by the shield. Somewhat amused, Keeneye slowly lowered the shield to see where the ball had come from. He saw only the hole.
The sound came again from off to his left. Turning, Keeneye was welcomed by another ball of flame flying at him. He did a repeat of his first performance. As the second ball dissipated, a third was launched. Keeneye noticed that this time the balls were being launched from the holes and were beginning to arrive more frequently. He quickly decided that to remain in the middle of the room was to ask for trouble, so he made for one of the corners.
No sooner had he taken two steps when he found his path blocked by an invisible barrier. Another pair of flames appeared from adjacent directions and Keeneye paused to deal with them. With a sweep of his arm, he perfectly timed the shield's path to intercept the flames in sequence as they drew near.
Another was coming from his left again and this time he simply dropped to his belly and let it pass overhead. It travelled halfway to the opposite wall then fizzled out. The next one came from behind. As he watched it, it started to drop down to where he lay. As it approached, he jumped up and let it pass under him. The archer grinned. He hadn't played dodgeball for some time. He noticed that even though the direction where the next flame would come from was random, they were always launched in a sequence and never more than one at the exact same time.
This was beginning to present itself as a challenge. Keeneye let his instincts take over the dodging and blocking, while he used his mind to concentrate on how to get out of the trap. As fun as it was, he was not too keen on the idea of letting one of those flames hit him. The flames were sequentially beginning to come more rapidly. They were coming from all four directions and now Keeneye was working hard just to keep up with which one would arrive next.
Inevitably, there came a time when, due to his moving around, two flames were going to hit him from opposite sides at the same time. Without thinking, he sidestepped them and whipped the shield around to intercept one from the right. He then blocked two from the left and was getting ready for another from the front when he noticed that the one from the front was going to miss him anyway.
Keeneye spun around to guard his back, blocking one from the right as he did so. Again the ones that had been at his back also zipped by without swerving to hit him. On inspiration, Keeneye stepped further toward one of the holes from which the flames were emerging. No invisible wall blocked his passage. With a solution in his mind, Keeneye blocked one last flame from the left, then sprinted to the right with his shield held before him. He reached the wall and slammed the shield against the opening, effectively plugging it up.
Glancing back, he relaxed as he saw the flames from the opposite wall dissipate long before they reached him. Satisfied with the temporary solution, he leaned against the shield, letting his weight hold it in place and contemplated how he was going to get back through the roof, which seemed to be the only exit.
Keeping pressure on the shield, he drew his bow and set its string. Then tying a light line to an arrow, he fired at the roof by the chute opening that had dumped him there. The arrow bounced off the stone with barely a scratch in the masonry. He would never sink an arrow into that stone.
Cursing, he replaced the bow in its sheath. The shield at his back throbbed at irregular intervals as flames tried to escape, reminding Keeneye of one of Ultrecht's contraptions that used weighted balls rolling around to tell time.
Half out of curiosity and half out of desperation, Keeneye ducked down underneath the mouth of the hole in the wall and lowered his shield. Instantly, a flame zipped across the room looking for a target. It was followed about nine seconds later by another. Chewing on a piece of jerked beef, Keeneye sat there for a full ten minutes timing the firing intervals between the flames. Most of the time they were spaced about ten to fifteen seconds apart. Only a few lagged longer than twenty and fewer still less than ten. None were spaced less than five.
Keeneye dug into his pack and located a device Armegon had constructed for him. Basically, it was a tube containing a permanent Light Spell. It was capped on both ends, but if one end was removed, it would produce a beam of light in a single direction. Counting to himself, Keeneye waited for the next flame. When it passed, he quickly peered into the hole and used his light to illuminate its interior. He saw that the hole was only about ten feet long and led into another room. In the other room, there was a catapult-like device that was reloading.
Keeneye sat down on the floor below the hole again. He knew that he needed to crawl through the ten feet of pipe and get to the other room. But he also needed more than five seconds to do it. He needed some way to predict the time lag. He was watching the flames crossing the center of the room when suddenly something he had noticed earlier came to mind. When he had been in the center of the room, never had more than one flame arrived at him at the same time. That meant they were dependent on one another and were firing in sequence. With this in mind, Keeneye began timing the relation between his hole and the others. After a while, he had it all figured out. The firing order of the holes depended on which hole had previously fired. When one fired, only it or one of the adjacent ones could sequentially fire next, so all he had to do was wait for the opposite hole to fire. That would give him at least ten seconds to crawl through the tunnel.
Keeneye gathered all his belongings and watched for his cue. When it occurred, he practically threw himself through the tunnel and crawled frantically down its length. Though it banged up his knees and elbows liberally, he emerged from the long passage in the next room with time to spare.
In the room, the catapult and a small human girl, dressed in a morally questionable attire, were the only occupants of the room.
Keeneye was still grumbling to himself as he walked over to the wall and snatched the torch from its holder. He was immediately sorry as he heard the distant click and felt himself drop into the floor. In his irritation, Keeneye had forgotten himself and gotten careless. He had tripped a trap and was now sliding down a chute to unknown reaches. He made several vain attempts to slow his descent, but the chute was near frictionless and the walls were too hard to dig into anything. So failing to stop himself, he unlatched his shield and maneuvered it underneath his body. Too often these slides had razors embedded in them to cut a victim to ribbons as they fell.
If there were any additions to the trap, he did not encounter them. Several long twists in the passage did barely more than add to a respectable collection of bruises that he was accumulating on his body. Finally, he had been sliding about a minute when the chute suddenly turned a corner and dumped him through the roof of another room to land unceremoniously on the hard floor.
Fretting as he brushed himself off, he was angry at himself for falling for the old trapdoor/slide gag. It was on page two of the Oldest Tricks in the Book series volume III.
His new cell was large--about a hundred feet on each side with ample light to see everything. He was standing in the center. Taking in his surroundings, he became distressed at the lack of exits. The only thing unusual about the room was a large hole in the center of each wall. The holes were about two feet in diameter and about five feet off the ground.
Just as he was about to walk over and investigate one of them more closely, there was a whoosh of air behind him. Spinning around, he reflexively brought the shield up. Bearing down on him was a ball of green fire. There was no time to run. Keeneye braced himself and placed the shield between himself and the flame. The impact was not very hard and the flames died out as they were dispersed by the shield. Somewhat amused, Keeneye slowly lowered the shield to see where the ball had come from. He saw only the hole.
The sound came again from off to his left. Turning, Keeneye was welcomed by another ball of flame flying at him. He did a repeat of his first performance. As the second ball dissipated, a third was launched. Keeneye noticed that this time the balls were being launched from the holes and were beginning to arrive more frequently. He quickly decided that to remain in the middle of the room was to ask for trouble, so he made for one of the corners.
No sooner had he taken two steps when he found his path blocked by an invisible barrier. Another pair of flames appeared from adjacent directions and Keeneye paused to deal with them. With a sweep of his arm, he perfectly timed the shield's path to intercept the flames in sequence as they drew near.
Another was coming from his left again and this time he simply dropped to his belly and let it pass overhead. It travelled halfway to the opposite wall then fizzled out. The next one came from behind. As he watched it, it started to drop down to where he lay. As it approached, he jumped up and let it pass under him. The archer grinned. He hadn't played dodgeball for some time. He noticed that even though the direction where the next flame would come from was random, they were always launched in a sequence and never more than one at the exact same time.
This was beginning to present itself as a challenge. Keeneye let his instincts take over the dodging and blocking, while he used his mind to concentrate on how to get out of the trap. As fun as it was, he was not too keen on the idea of letting one of those flames hit him. The flames were sequentially beginning to come more rapidly. They were coming from all four directions and now Keeneye was working hard just to keep up with which one would arrive next.
Inevitably, there came a time when, due to his moving around, two flames were going to hit him from opposite sides at the same time. Without thinking, he sidestepped them and whipped the shield around to intercept one from the right. He then blocked two from the left and was getting ready for another from the front when he noticed that the one from the front was going to miss him anyway.
Keeneye spun around to guard his back, blocking one from the right as he did so. Again the ones that had been at his back also zipped by without swerving to hit him. On inspiration, Keeneye stepped further toward one of the holes from which the flames were emerging. No invisible wall blocked his passage. With a solution in his mind, Keeneye blocked one last flame from the left, then sprinted to the right with his shield held before him. He reached the wall and slammed the shield against the opening, effectively plugging it up.
Glancing back, he relaxed as he saw the flames from the opposite wall dissipate long before they reached him. Satisfied with the temporary solution, he leaned against the shield, letting his weight hold it in place and contemplated how he was going to get back through the roof, which seemed to be the only exit.
Keeping pressure on the shield, he drew his bow and set its string. Then tying a light line to an arrow, he fired at the roof by the chute opening that had dumped him there. The arrow bounced off the stone with barely a scratch in the masonry. He would never sink an arrow into that stone.
Cursing, he replaced the bow in its sheath. The shield at his back throbbed at irregular intervals as flames tried to escape, reminding Keeneye of one of Ultrecht's contraptions that used weighted balls rolling around to tell time.
Half out of curiosity and half out of desperation, Keeneye ducked down underneath the mouth of the hole in the wall and lowered his shield. Instantly, a flame zipped across the room looking for a target. It was followed about nine seconds later by another. Chewing on a piece of jerked beef, Keeneye sat there for a full ten minutes timing the firing intervals between the flames. Most of the time they were spaced about ten to fifteen seconds apart. Only a few lagged longer than twenty and fewer still less than ten. None were spaced less than five.
Keeneye dug into his pack and located a device Armegon had constructed for him. Basically, it was a tube containing a permanent Light Spell. It was capped on both ends, but if one end was removed, it would produce a beam of light in a single direction. Counting to himself, Keeneye waited for the next flame. When it passed, he quickly peered into the hole and used his light to illuminate its interior. He saw that the hole was only about ten feet long and led into another room. In the other room, there was a catapult-like device that was reloading.
Keeneye sat down on the floor below the hole again. He knew that he needed to crawl through the ten feet of pipe and get to the other room. But he also needed more than five seconds to do it. He needed some way to predict the time lag. He was watching the flames crossing the center of the room when suddenly something he had noticed earlier came to mind. When he had been in the center of the room, never had more than one flame arrived at him at the same time. That meant they were dependent on one another and were firing in sequence. With this in mind, Keeneye began timing the relation between his hole and the others. After a while, he had it all figured out. The firing order of the holes depended on which hole had previously fired. When one fired, only it or one of the adjacent ones could sequentially fire next, so all he had to do was wait for the opposite hole to fire. That would give him at least ten seconds to crawl through the tunnel.
Keeneye gathered all his belongings and watched for his cue. When it occurred, he practically threw himself through the tunnel and crawled frantically down its length. Though it banged up his knees and elbows liberally, he emerged from the long passage in the next room with time to spare.
In the room, the catapult and a small human girl, dressed in a morally questionable attire, were the only occupants of the room.
Chapter 3 Part 19
Marlena awoke to find herself propped up on a bed of cushions and rich satin sheets. She was draped in silk and wore flowers in her hair. At the foot of the bed stood a humanoid draped in black robes and a hood, which covered its face.
She tried to rise but found she couldn't move. Then she tried to speak, but no words came out. So, paralyzed and mute, she lay in comfort awaiting whatever fate her captors had planned for her. Finally after what seemed like hours, her body began to move--not of its own accord--like a marionette, she stood and walked through a door that had been hidden by the being who had stood before her. Her companion walked beside her, and again she tried to speak without success.
Slowly, they walked down a dark and damp corridor. Like a scene from a child's nightmare, their path contained cobwebs and scurrying creatures. The smell of decay assaulted her senses and the sound of screaming could barely be made out in the distance. Marlena's pulse raced. It occurred to her that she could be in for a bout of torture.
On they walked. The coldness of her surroundings was beginning to penetrate into her own body as it sapped the heat from her and left her feeling cold and clammy. There was moisture dripping from the roof and soon the flowers that had been in her hair lay soaked on the floor. The screams grew closer.
Still onward they walked in the dark. Marlena wanted to cry out, then turn and run. But whatever power drove her onward had complete control of her body. Louder the pain-filled screams grew as they walked onward.
Finally their journey came to an end. The screaming alternated with sobbing. It was coming from somewhere near. Marlena drove the fear from her mind. She tried to concentrate on breaking the grip of whatever force had control of her muscles.
Unexpectedly, a door opened in front of her, and she was momentarily blinded by the light, which spilled from the room beyond. Then as her eyes adjusted, she walked forward again and approached a bed with an old woman seated near the foot. On it lay a woman stripped of her clothes. She had her legs spread apart, for she was heavy with child and was in the pain of birth. That explained the screaming.
Her companion stood beside her, and for a moment they watched in silence as the girl sobbed and the midwife attended. Then a voice spoke from the recesses of the hood. "The pregnancy is only three months old," it said.
Marlena had no choice but to stare. The woman's abdomen was swollen like a nine month set of twins. The face of the woman was hidden by her swollen belly, and now for some reason Marlena wanted to see the woman's face. Immediately, there was a spasm in the body upon the bed and another scream followed.
"The mother will not survive this," the voice said. Marlena could not even tell if her companion was a male or female.
The screaming took on a sense of desperation as the woman labored to pass the child. The midwife, oblivious to her audience, put her bowl on the floor and drew from its contents a sharp knife and a rag. These she lay on a small table next to one side of the bed. Another spasm rocked the woman, and there was movement within her womb that was visible from the outside. "The time draws near," her companion said.
Suddenly, the woman's body arched as it was rocked with a contraction of great power. The woman screamed, but it was cut short by the gurgling of liquid. Without seeing, Marlena knew the woman had bitten through her tongue and was choking on her own blood. She wanted to scream herself for the lack of compassion those around her had for this woman in pain. Why would no one help her?
Finally the woman let out a sigh and her body went limp. The midwife immediately grabbed the knife and opened the woman's womb. A moment later and the child was free. Marlena was startled. It must have weighed fifteen pounds.
The midwife cleaned it off and then brought it to the robed figure. Marlena felt pity for the child. It would have a hard time growing up without a mother. She felt a sudden maternal desire to hold the infant and keep it warm herself.
Then she noticed the fingers. They ended in claws instead of nails. Looking closely at the infant, Marlena could see distinct feline features in the child body. She wondered what could cause such a mutation. Then, the child opened its eyes and looked at her with the vertical slit-like pupiled eyes of a cat.
Just then, Marlena found herself in control of her limbs again. She stepped back and started to look around for a weapon she could use to defend herself should the need arise. Her eyes fell on the knife the midwife has used and she reached for it.
As her hand was about to close on the weapon, her eyes glanced toward the head of the bed. Her blood ran cold and she froze. Her hand never closed on the weapon and her knees buckled under her. The dead mother's face was her own.
Now, it was her turn to scream. But the scream died in her throat. And it suddenly dawned on her that the screaming that she had heard before had been her voice then too. Why hadn't she noticed then? The horror of what she had witnessed flooded over her, and in defense of her sanity, her mind shut down into blissful unconsciousness.
When she awoke, Marlena found herself again on the bed where the whole nightmare had started, but this time she was dressed in her traveling clothes. Instead of the robed humanoid, which had accompanied her, there stood a young girl of perhaps thirteen years or less.
"You have entered the halls of an oracle, Marlena. What you have just witnessed is the most probable of your many possible futures." The girl moved over to the side of the bed and Marlena found she could turn her head and watch the girl.
"The oracle does not mean to frighten you," she said. "In fact, your plight has generated great sympathy here." She opened a cabinet and took two bottles from a shelf. She poured some of the contents of each bottle into a separate glass, then put the glasses on the table.
"When I leave," she explained, "you will be freed. But to regain your freedom, you must make a choice." She indicated the glasses of liquid. "As I have told you, what you saw was the most probable of your many possible futures. This is because of the child you are carrying now. If the child is born, then it will attain great power. Whether good or evil, we will not say. There is no guarantee you will survive the birth nor can we say that you will perish. The odds are, however, against you."
Marlena tried to speak, but she still had no control of her speech.
The girl continued her lecture using an air of confidence that was not normal in one so young. "This potion on the left is sweet water and will do no more than to nourish you. The potion on the right, however, will destroy that which is within you. That which has been started will pass within a few days and you will live out the rest of your life as you see fit."
The girl walked back toward the door. She stopped just short of it and turned around. "The oracle understands the druidic ceremony of the Bonding," she said. "It is only by an unfortunate coincidence that your maternal cycle was active at that time."
The girl smiled. "You are offered the chance to rid yourself of a child you did not want to begin with, and at the same time secure your health from a probable fatal birth. Or, you can accept the consequences of your actions and take the chance that you may die for the possibility of bringing into this world one who may save it or damn it. The choice is yours."
Marlena watched the girl leave. As soon as the door closed, she regained control of her limbs again.
Immediately, she reached for the glass on the right and brought it to her lips. But something would not let her drink. She had the means to rid herself of a child she really did not want. Yet, she could not forget the maternal urge she had experienced in the other room. Then, she thought of the screaming and the pain the woman, whom she would become, would go through. Finally, she remembered watching with horror as the midwife had cut the baby out of its dead mother. Then, there was the baby's face as it laid in the stranger's arms.
Slowly, she lowered the glass to the table. What right did she have to destroy that life, which she had started. True, it wasn't intentional. She had known the risk and still had gone ahead with the Bonding ceremony. But she had a right to determine what happened to her own body. No one, not even the unborn, had a right to dispute that.
Yet a life had been started. Life was life, no matter what form it took. Did she have the right to destroy that life? She argued with herself that as it was, the unborn was hardly human. Even as she thought it, she couldn't be sure of the argument's validity. Just where did one draw the line as to what was human and what was not?
Ultrecht would give her definitions and technical views. But definitions were words and technicalities were views of people who could only guess as to when an unborn could think or feel pain or remember things. No one remembered the day she or he was born, yet the person was certainly human.
It was Norwind who would have given her the best advice. Norwind, always the philosopher, had once said that a non-human entity became human when you could not tell the difference. Marlena knew where that was leading. She could not--nor could anyone short of the Creator himself--say when an unborn child was human and when it was not. Then, could she risk murder?
In the end, it was her own druidic beliefs that finally made the decision for her. She had long ago devoted herself to the laws of nature. The laws of all nature governed all living things. The child growing inside her was alive; of this there was no doubt. Not even the lowliest animal killed for the sake of convenience.
With her mind made up, she took the glass on the left and drank the sweet water. She felt better almost instantly. With that done, Marlena walked over to the door and opened it. There stood the girl outside.
"Well done Marlena, Mother and Preserver of Life," she said. "Your heart is wise. I will take you to the oracle and your friends."
"Wait," Marlena said. "You mean this was all a test?"
"No," the girl stopped and replied. "Everything was real except for the potions."
"What would have happened had I chosen the other glass?"
The girl turned and started walking again. "You would have been damned," she said.
She tried to rise but found she couldn't move. Then she tried to speak, but no words came out. So, paralyzed and mute, she lay in comfort awaiting whatever fate her captors had planned for her. Finally after what seemed like hours, her body began to move--not of its own accord--like a marionette, she stood and walked through a door that had been hidden by the being who had stood before her. Her companion walked beside her, and again she tried to speak without success.
Slowly, they walked down a dark and damp corridor. Like a scene from a child's nightmare, their path contained cobwebs and scurrying creatures. The smell of decay assaulted her senses and the sound of screaming could barely be made out in the distance. Marlena's pulse raced. It occurred to her that she could be in for a bout of torture.
On they walked. The coldness of her surroundings was beginning to penetrate into her own body as it sapped the heat from her and left her feeling cold and clammy. There was moisture dripping from the roof and soon the flowers that had been in her hair lay soaked on the floor. The screams grew closer.
Still onward they walked in the dark. Marlena wanted to cry out, then turn and run. But whatever power drove her onward had complete control of her body. Louder the pain-filled screams grew as they walked onward.
Finally their journey came to an end. The screaming alternated with sobbing. It was coming from somewhere near. Marlena drove the fear from her mind. She tried to concentrate on breaking the grip of whatever force had control of her muscles.
Unexpectedly, a door opened in front of her, and she was momentarily blinded by the light, which spilled from the room beyond. Then as her eyes adjusted, she walked forward again and approached a bed with an old woman seated near the foot. On it lay a woman stripped of her clothes. She had her legs spread apart, for she was heavy with child and was in the pain of birth. That explained the screaming.
Her companion stood beside her, and for a moment they watched in silence as the girl sobbed and the midwife attended. Then a voice spoke from the recesses of the hood. "The pregnancy is only three months old," it said.
Marlena had no choice but to stare. The woman's abdomen was swollen like a nine month set of twins. The face of the woman was hidden by her swollen belly, and now for some reason Marlena wanted to see the woman's face. Immediately, there was a spasm in the body upon the bed and another scream followed.
"The mother will not survive this," the voice said. Marlena could not even tell if her companion was a male or female.
The screaming took on a sense of desperation as the woman labored to pass the child. The midwife, oblivious to her audience, put her bowl on the floor and drew from its contents a sharp knife and a rag. These she lay on a small table next to one side of the bed. Another spasm rocked the woman, and there was movement within her womb that was visible from the outside. "The time draws near," her companion said.
Suddenly, the woman's body arched as it was rocked with a contraction of great power. The woman screamed, but it was cut short by the gurgling of liquid. Without seeing, Marlena knew the woman had bitten through her tongue and was choking on her own blood. She wanted to scream herself for the lack of compassion those around her had for this woman in pain. Why would no one help her?
Finally the woman let out a sigh and her body went limp. The midwife immediately grabbed the knife and opened the woman's womb. A moment later and the child was free. Marlena was startled. It must have weighed fifteen pounds.
The midwife cleaned it off and then brought it to the robed figure. Marlena felt pity for the child. It would have a hard time growing up without a mother. She felt a sudden maternal desire to hold the infant and keep it warm herself.
Then she noticed the fingers. They ended in claws instead of nails. Looking closely at the infant, Marlena could see distinct feline features in the child body. She wondered what could cause such a mutation. Then, the child opened its eyes and looked at her with the vertical slit-like pupiled eyes of a cat.
Just then, Marlena found herself in control of her limbs again. She stepped back and started to look around for a weapon she could use to defend herself should the need arise. Her eyes fell on the knife the midwife has used and she reached for it.
As her hand was about to close on the weapon, her eyes glanced toward the head of the bed. Her blood ran cold and she froze. Her hand never closed on the weapon and her knees buckled under her. The dead mother's face was her own.
Now, it was her turn to scream. But the scream died in her throat. And it suddenly dawned on her that the screaming that she had heard before had been her voice then too. Why hadn't she noticed then? The horror of what she had witnessed flooded over her, and in defense of her sanity, her mind shut down into blissful unconsciousness.
When she awoke, Marlena found herself again on the bed where the whole nightmare had started, but this time she was dressed in her traveling clothes. Instead of the robed humanoid, which had accompanied her, there stood a young girl of perhaps thirteen years or less.
"You have entered the halls of an oracle, Marlena. What you have just witnessed is the most probable of your many possible futures." The girl moved over to the side of the bed and Marlena found she could turn her head and watch the girl.
"The oracle does not mean to frighten you," she said. "In fact, your plight has generated great sympathy here." She opened a cabinet and took two bottles from a shelf. She poured some of the contents of each bottle into a separate glass, then put the glasses on the table.
"When I leave," she explained, "you will be freed. But to regain your freedom, you must make a choice." She indicated the glasses of liquid. "As I have told you, what you saw was the most probable of your many possible futures. This is because of the child you are carrying now. If the child is born, then it will attain great power. Whether good or evil, we will not say. There is no guarantee you will survive the birth nor can we say that you will perish. The odds are, however, against you."
Marlena tried to speak, but she still had no control of her speech.
The girl continued her lecture using an air of confidence that was not normal in one so young. "This potion on the left is sweet water and will do no more than to nourish you. The potion on the right, however, will destroy that which is within you. That which has been started will pass within a few days and you will live out the rest of your life as you see fit."
The girl walked back toward the door. She stopped just short of it and turned around. "The oracle understands the druidic ceremony of the Bonding," she said. "It is only by an unfortunate coincidence that your maternal cycle was active at that time."
The girl smiled. "You are offered the chance to rid yourself of a child you did not want to begin with, and at the same time secure your health from a probable fatal birth. Or, you can accept the consequences of your actions and take the chance that you may die for the possibility of bringing into this world one who may save it or damn it. The choice is yours."
Marlena watched the girl leave. As soon as the door closed, she regained control of her limbs again.
Immediately, she reached for the glass on the right and brought it to her lips. But something would not let her drink. She had the means to rid herself of a child she really did not want. Yet, she could not forget the maternal urge she had experienced in the other room. Then, she thought of the screaming and the pain the woman, whom she would become, would go through. Finally, she remembered watching with horror as the midwife had cut the baby out of its dead mother. Then, there was the baby's face as it laid in the stranger's arms.
Slowly, she lowered the glass to the table. What right did she have to destroy that life, which she had started. True, it wasn't intentional. She had known the risk and still had gone ahead with the Bonding ceremony. But she had a right to determine what happened to her own body. No one, not even the unborn, had a right to dispute that.
Yet a life had been started. Life was life, no matter what form it took. Did she have the right to destroy that life? She argued with herself that as it was, the unborn was hardly human. Even as she thought it, she couldn't be sure of the argument's validity. Just where did one draw the line as to what was human and what was not?
Ultrecht would give her definitions and technical views. But definitions were words and technicalities were views of people who could only guess as to when an unborn could think or feel pain or remember things. No one remembered the day she or he was born, yet the person was certainly human.
It was Norwind who would have given her the best advice. Norwind, always the philosopher, had once said that a non-human entity became human when you could not tell the difference. Marlena knew where that was leading. She could not--nor could anyone short of the Creator himself--say when an unborn child was human and when it was not. Then, could she risk murder?
In the end, it was her own druidic beliefs that finally made the decision for her. She had long ago devoted herself to the laws of nature. The laws of all nature governed all living things. The child growing inside her was alive; of this there was no doubt. Not even the lowliest animal killed for the sake of convenience.
With her mind made up, she took the glass on the left and drank the sweet water. She felt better almost instantly. With that done, Marlena walked over to the door and opened it. There stood the girl outside.
"Well done Marlena, Mother and Preserver of Life," she said. "Your heart is wise. I will take you to the oracle and your friends."
"Wait," Marlena said. "You mean this was all a test?"
"No," the girl stopped and replied. "Everything was real except for the potions."
"What would have happened had I chosen the other glass?"
The girl turned and started walking again. "You would have been damned," she said.
Chapter 3 Part 18
Armegon stood on a plain. There was grass of an unfamiliar variety that stood about two feet tall. It was just right to hide an ambush. The sky was a deep blue green with yellowish clouds drifting lazily by. He was not sure where he was nor how he had gotten there, but he was sure that he did not like being treated like a laboratory animal.
He was still looking about when there was a flash of light to his left. There stood a figure about one hundred feet away dressed in robes and a tall pointed hat.
"Hello there," he called. He wanted to see if the fellow was responsible for his entrapment before he said or did anything threatening.
The figure didn't reply, but just stood there watching Armegon from a distance.
Armegon decided to walk over and introduce himself. Before he had taken a third step, the other being made a move that Armegon recognized as the enactment of a material and semantic gesture. Instinctively, Armegon dove to one side. A split second later a bolt of magical lightning ionized the air where he had been standing. Armegon's robe was burned as was a good part of his backside and left leg. The pain washed over him like a wave breaking on a shore, but he instinctively ignored it.
Armegon's temper flared. He had tried to make peaceful contact with this person who was obviously a mage of no small capability. Now, he was under attack. Armegon rolled into a crouched position and pointed his finger at his opponent. The other wizard was already casting another spell. Armegon spat a quick phrase of magic and instantly bursts of energy jumped from his finger and slammed into the enemy. The other mage lost his concentration and his spell dissipated harmlessly as he fell onto the grass.
Armegon crept closer. He didn't know if he had killed his enemy or not, but he wasn't going to take any chances. He reached into his shoulder bag and removed a crystal rod and piece of wool.
Slowly, he crept closer to where his enemy had fallen. As he approached, he saw the figure lying sprawled on the grass. An ugly burn mark scarred his chest area and his left arm was badly mangled.
Armegon observed that it was a human male about forty or fifty years old. It wore no armor nor carried a weapon. Armegon watched him for a moment until he was sure that the human was not breathing. Then he approached and knelt down next to his adversary and started checking pockets and pouches for a clue as to his origin.
Armegon was taken completely by surprise when the body suddenly reached up and touched his arm. There was a quick phrase of magic as Armegon tried to get away.
Suddenly, Armegon felt his body drop. He felt as if he had been trampled on by a stampeding herd of cattle. Rolling over, Armegon saw that his opponent was applying some kind of clerical healing skills on himself.
Armegon chastised himself. He should have expected something like a reversed healing spell. The guy probably used another spell to feign death as well.
Quickly, Armegon applied an amount of healing of his own. He had to make a decision--should he strike and chance a retaliation that could kill him, or should he try to heal himself completely and try to slug it out again from scratch. Every second he delayed his attack, he allowed his opponent to heal further and prepare a major spell.
Armegon and the human were both on their feet again, each backing away from the other as if readying for a duel. Armegon still limped. He had not had time to heal himself completely. The other seemed to be quite healthy physically, but Armegon knew that he had to be fatiguing mentally. The more spells one casts, the more fatigued one became. Not only had Armegon cast fewer and less powerful spells in the attack, but he had not spent as much energy in healing either. So, it was about even odds. Armegon was hurt physically and the other was exhausted mentally.
The other's hands came up as a spell was launched. Armegon recognized the ball of flame screaming towards him and jumped forward so that the ball exploded behind him covering him with first degree burns. He immediately fell into the tall grass. The pain was terrible, but again he forced it to the back of his mind.
With some difficulty, he cast a low-powered spell rendering him invisible. He crawled and each movement brought him such agony that he almost lost consciousness twice. Slowly, he moved through the grass about twenty feet from where he had fallen. Quickly, Armegon whispered an enchantment and cast an illusion of his body lying where he had fallen. He stood to observe the action better. As long as he made no offensive gestures, he would remain invisible.
The human closed his distance to within ten feet of the body and stopped. Armegon saw him reach into his pouch and pull forth a piece of what Armegon instantly recognized as rock sulfur. He was going to finish off Armegon's illusion with another fireball.
Just before the human released his fireball, Armegon encased him in a globe of force. So intent in his own concentration, the human did not notice. When he cast his spell, it rebounded from the inside of the globe and concentrated on the spell caster. The result was astounding. All that was left was a smoking mass of meat and bone.
Armegon sighed. He had not experienced any magical combat in a long time. He knew that he could have used a dozen spells of great power, but back home it was considered a sign of superiority to win in a spell casting contest by using as few spells as possible and great skill was demonstrated by making effective use of low-powered magic. Had this been a competition, he would have really racked up points by turning his opponent's own spell against him.
Armegon dispelled the globe, which he used to defeat his opponent. The globe itself was a medium-powered spell, but the kill was worth the effort. He was only sorry that he had to kill. He was really curious about that. He did not even know why his enemy had attacked him. He knelt by the smoking body. He tried to ignore the stench of burned flesh as he tried to find some clue to the wizard's origin.
Suddenly, the world blurred around him, and he found himself kneeling on a floor in a room that was completely bare except for a human adolescent. The pain of his injuries and all evidence of his battle were gone, as if it had never happened.
"Well done Armegon Master of Sorcery."
He was still looking about when there was a flash of light to his left. There stood a figure about one hundred feet away dressed in robes and a tall pointed hat.
"Hello there," he called. He wanted to see if the fellow was responsible for his entrapment before he said or did anything threatening.
The figure didn't reply, but just stood there watching Armegon from a distance.
Armegon decided to walk over and introduce himself. Before he had taken a third step, the other being made a move that Armegon recognized as the enactment of a material and semantic gesture. Instinctively, Armegon dove to one side. A split second later a bolt of magical lightning ionized the air where he had been standing. Armegon's robe was burned as was a good part of his backside and left leg. The pain washed over him like a wave breaking on a shore, but he instinctively ignored it.
Armegon's temper flared. He had tried to make peaceful contact with this person who was obviously a mage of no small capability. Now, he was under attack. Armegon rolled into a crouched position and pointed his finger at his opponent. The other wizard was already casting another spell. Armegon spat a quick phrase of magic and instantly bursts of energy jumped from his finger and slammed into the enemy. The other mage lost his concentration and his spell dissipated harmlessly as he fell onto the grass.
Armegon crept closer. He didn't know if he had killed his enemy or not, but he wasn't going to take any chances. He reached into his shoulder bag and removed a crystal rod and piece of wool.
Slowly, he crept closer to where his enemy had fallen. As he approached, he saw the figure lying sprawled on the grass. An ugly burn mark scarred his chest area and his left arm was badly mangled.
Armegon observed that it was a human male about forty or fifty years old. It wore no armor nor carried a weapon. Armegon watched him for a moment until he was sure that the human was not breathing. Then he approached and knelt down next to his adversary and started checking pockets and pouches for a clue as to his origin.
Armegon was taken completely by surprise when the body suddenly reached up and touched his arm. There was a quick phrase of magic as Armegon tried to get away.
Suddenly, Armegon felt his body drop. He felt as if he had been trampled on by a stampeding herd of cattle. Rolling over, Armegon saw that his opponent was applying some kind of clerical healing skills on himself.
Armegon chastised himself. He should have expected something like a reversed healing spell. The guy probably used another spell to feign death as well.
Quickly, Armegon applied an amount of healing of his own. He had to make a decision--should he strike and chance a retaliation that could kill him, or should he try to heal himself completely and try to slug it out again from scratch. Every second he delayed his attack, he allowed his opponent to heal further and prepare a major spell.
Armegon and the human were both on their feet again, each backing away from the other as if readying for a duel. Armegon still limped. He had not had time to heal himself completely. The other seemed to be quite healthy physically, but Armegon knew that he had to be fatiguing mentally. The more spells one casts, the more fatigued one became. Not only had Armegon cast fewer and less powerful spells in the attack, but he had not spent as much energy in healing either. So, it was about even odds. Armegon was hurt physically and the other was exhausted mentally.
The other's hands came up as a spell was launched. Armegon recognized the ball of flame screaming towards him and jumped forward so that the ball exploded behind him covering him with first degree burns. He immediately fell into the tall grass. The pain was terrible, but again he forced it to the back of his mind.
With some difficulty, he cast a low-powered spell rendering him invisible. He crawled and each movement brought him such agony that he almost lost consciousness twice. Slowly, he moved through the grass about twenty feet from where he had fallen. Quickly, Armegon whispered an enchantment and cast an illusion of his body lying where he had fallen. He stood to observe the action better. As long as he made no offensive gestures, he would remain invisible.
The human closed his distance to within ten feet of the body and stopped. Armegon saw him reach into his pouch and pull forth a piece of what Armegon instantly recognized as rock sulfur. He was going to finish off Armegon's illusion with another fireball.
Just before the human released his fireball, Armegon encased him in a globe of force. So intent in his own concentration, the human did not notice. When he cast his spell, it rebounded from the inside of the globe and concentrated on the spell caster. The result was astounding. All that was left was a smoking mass of meat and bone.
Armegon sighed. He had not experienced any magical combat in a long time. He knew that he could have used a dozen spells of great power, but back home it was considered a sign of superiority to win in a spell casting contest by using as few spells as possible and great skill was demonstrated by making effective use of low-powered magic. Had this been a competition, he would have really racked up points by turning his opponent's own spell against him.
Armegon dispelled the globe, which he used to defeat his opponent. The globe itself was a medium-powered spell, but the kill was worth the effort. He was only sorry that he had to kill. He was really curious about that. He did not even know why his enemy had attacked him. He knelt by the smoking body. He tried to ignore the stench of burned flesh as he tried to find some clue to the wizard's origin.
Suddenly, the world blurred around him, and he found himself kneeling on a floor in a room that was completely bare except for a human adolescent. The pain of his injuries and all evidence of his battle were gone, as if it had never happened.
"Well done Armegon Master of Sorcery."
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