Magic.
Magic came to Man in many ways. We created Shamanism out of our base knowledge of the heart and the Soul. White Magic came from the Elves who, although long users of its healing and light powers, learned it from the Golden Dragons before human history began to be recorded. Black Magic came from the Mazoku, who wished to corrupt Man, but found its basic will too erratic to truly succeed.
Magic. Has there ever been a greater boon? And a greater threat?
- Excerpt from Oerlus the Silent's Adress to Sorcerers, 17 AR
Chapter Fifteen
Marcus Jaderam was by no means a novice in spellcasting, even though he was barely reaching his nineteenth summer as it was. An hard youth, a keen mind and an innate ability to understand some of magic's basic works had made him a full-fledge sorcerer in four years where it took most at least ten. He was already more powerful than many of his elders, and had taken to refining his skills through research and travels.
In said travels, he had met his share of enemies who had challenged his skills and wits. Raving wizards who'd lost their minds, dangerous undead, bands of monsters of many kinds. He'd met many sorts and had come out on top. Only Fezra had been found to be his match in a magical brawl.
But then he'd never been up against a powerful sorcerer who'd been augmented by human, elven and draconian devices from ancient and desperate times. Suddenly, he found his skills tested as they'd never been before.
The entire, multi-towered castle seemed to vibrate, shake and groan under the magical maelstrom created by the three who fought. Already, primal lightning and fire had erupted from skilled hands, words of power had been shouted on both sides, creating forces capable of ripping the average man to bloody pieces within a bare moment, only to impact on great magical shields.
He and Fezra were doing their very best, fighting as they'd never had to before. One created a powerful spell while shielded by the other when doing battle. Both linked their shields when an especially powerful spell hit. Both hit with a spell when Dallomir seemed to weaken a moment. Loerik and Hallia were still in the fight themselves, but even Hallia's healing and protection and Loerik's powerful magic blade and immense skill couldn't quite measure up in a fight between Black Magic users. Still they fought on, the swordsman rushing and striking, the priestess healing and reinforcing the protection spell.
Their combined forces were very potent, and Marcus knew that he himself would have fallen against such a display. But Dallomir still held his own and bit more, seemingly inexhaustible, often attacking.
Presently, the older mage managed to shrug off one of Fezra's ice lances; his eyes alight in maddened triumph, gathering negative, black energy. "Don't you see? You can't destroy me! The artefacts of the War of Resurrection have made me too powerful for you! ZELIAS BLEED!"
None of the four was suicidal. All had excellent reflexes. They threw themselves flat on the ground, the great energy beam slicing the air above, the energies shattering stone, wood and mortar with no difficulty.
Marcus jumped up to his feet even as the beam had gone, chanting quickly, remembering words. "By the powers of the infinite Fires, from the Elements of the Scorching Sun. Burn in ages, struck in rage! BRAM GASH!!!"
Marcus had always been skilled at fire shamanism. It had been a close second to his black magic abilities. His minded couldn't escape the irony of it. His mother had, after all, been a fire shaman, and had been burned alive by superstitious, ignorant, backwater townsfolk who knew only of the crazed madness and destruction a few had wrought.
This was one of the reason he let fly his magical, fiery beam with such strength. Dallomir and his ilk were what gave wizards such a dangerous reputation. It was because of people like him that he'd been forced to watch his own mother burn while his own father looked on approvingly! His hatred made only grew from his inner turmoil, and it made his black magic more powerful as it drank from his anger and pain.
At the exact same moment, Fezra screamed her own Bram Gash. Marcus was surprised. Although good in three of the four shamanist elements, Fezra was a master of Air, and casting such a high-level fire spell was draining. It was the last thing he expected her to do.
Fortunately, it had quite an effect. The two beams melded, becoming a force easily greater than anything Dallomir had thrown so far. It hit the mage, and for the first time the crazy wizard screamed in pain, as his shield found itself unable to turn all the energy back. About time, even augmented by the bracelet, Marcus hadn't been able to defend against some attacks, and he bore burn marks, wounds and frost bites as a result.
It didn't last, however. The sorcerer regained his footing almost at once, and growled out a response, gathering his own energies and unleashing them in a torrent of power. Not a spell there, only energy that hit them both, throwing them away, freezing and burning at the same time, overriding all shields. He didn't hear anything but his own scream of pain, didn't feel anything but searing agony. It took a long moment to realize he was on the floor of the expansive passageway. He saw that Fezra was also out on her back, twitching, also trying to regain her control.
The sorcerer took a step towards them, but before he could utter another word, Loerik crashed into him, his magical blade slamming again and again against the magical shield. So quick was it that the sorcerer had to step again and again, until finally he threw a bolt of energy which sent the swordsman to his knees. A mad, pain-filled smile tore Dallomir's features as he raised a hand against the swordsman. Marcus forced his body to move, but it was too slow, too late.
"Poor fool! You think that using the Garunova is enough to take me down? Such childish conceit!" he smiled as energy gathered in his hand. "Now I'll-" his confident sentence ended in a gasp of pure agony. His eyes widened in disbelief, and he looked down to his side, shivering from a new impact.
There stood Hallia, who'd taken advantage from Loerik's attack and managed to drive her dagger deep into the mad sorcerer's side. Blood flood on its metal and to the floor, and yet she kept driving it deeper, eliciting another cry of pain from the surprised spellcaster. Marcus and Fezra unsteadily forced themselves to their feet.
His eyes wide, Dallomir turned to Hallia and grabbed her by the throat, holding her at arms' length "You...you bitch! You-AAAAAAAAAGH!!"
The shock and fury had made the archwizard careless. For a moment, his shields had failed, and he had turned away from Loerik. It was a bare instant - one more and his defences would have been back. Loerik, however, took the instant, slicing off the older man's arm above the elbow. Blood gouted all three, and Hallia forced the dead member off, shoving it away. The sorcerer screamed again, stump bleeding profusely, and gave a laugh that was pure madness, caught between hilarity and rage. His shield went back up. Weaker, much weaker.
It was all they needed. Marcus forced his power to respond and sent attack spell against attack spell, Fezra doing the same, while the swordsman struck the shield dauntingly quickly. Even Hallia managed a few minor spells.
No shield this weak could hold forever under that onslaught. Pressed from all sides, Dallomir's defences began to buckle. He growled and cursed at them, and finally thrust his good arm into a pocket, fishing a strange medallion. He grinned, his lips and the light in his eyes showing beyond a doubt that the man's last marbles were crumbling.
"I won't die here! I won't die here! My destiny awaits, and I must grasp it! Soon my creation will destroy you!" he grasped the medallion "Ankathu-Deluk Nakaft! Erulk Nabirenen!" His body flashed once, then twice, and in a burst of light, he was gone.
"NO!!" Marcus growled. "We had him! We've got to finish him off NOW!!" he knew from the look Fezra and Loerik both gave him that he spoke with unusual blood thirst, but he didn't care. "His quarters have to be near this place. Lets look for it!"
Fezra nodded, still giving him that odd look. "Right. Time to settle the score!" she gave Hallia, who still retched from Dallomir's death grip, a look. "Are you alright?"
"Y-yes..." the priestess answered, then coughed again fitfully. "Eventually...go ahead...I'll be alright."
"I'll stay here and help her. You two can handle him now, I think." Loerik stated. From his tone, there was no budging him from the green-haired woman's side. They didn't try.
Fezra nodded, a gleeful look crossing her face. "Don't worry! Leave it to us! Come on, Marcus! Lets take care of that mad dog once and for all!" She slapped him on the rump - momentarily subsuming his anger for embarrassment - and sped off towards the end of the long hall.
He didn't waste time, catching up to her. It was time indeed. For Berwen. For his mother. For all those people like Dallomir had hurt and destroyed through their evil.
Yes, it was time to even the score a bit.
* * * * * * * * * *
Lionel returned to consciousness wondering what had hit him. His mind was a whirl, he couldn't think right. He felt around himself, eyes closed, and realized that he was flat on his back, upon solid flagstones. He groaned, grasping his head. There was something unnatural, grasping at the corner of his mind. It seemed to somewhat scrambled the feel he had of his own magic. That told him all he needed to know.
'Magic spell, that's what hit me. Mano Bolt, most likely." He winced as remaining stiffness worked itself out of his muscles. 'A pretty powerful version of the spell, if the ache I'm feeling is any indication.'
But who had done it? He looked around himself. Except for himself, he was alone. No sign of his attacker. He shook his head and struggled to his feet. Its fortunate, he supposed, that no one had come and seen his unconscious form. But then, why would someone go to all this trouble to knock him out, if only to...
That's when it truly hit. He glanced around. "Narie?" he called once, then a second time, more strongly. No response. Nothing. He felt a chill run up his spine. He had been running with Narie. Could it have been her? He searched his memory for the events, which had led to his incapacitated state. She was running just slightly behind him...
No, he decided. His senses on those last moments were becoming clearer. The attack had come quickly, unexpectedly, and from his other side. In any event, he doubted Naries had the ability to cast a Mano Bolt strong enough to incapacitate him with one blow. No, the one who'd done it - whoever or whatever it was - was a far more powerful creature. Which only made him worry about his friend more.
Lionel Greysword was a cold, analytical man - a fact he'd felt didn't endear him to his companions much. He hated surprises and the unexpected, and that was what he was facing right darn now. Consequently, he cursed, before rearranging his thoughts. First, find Narie. Second, deal with whatever had taken Narie. Third, if any time remained, find Berwen. He nodded. That would work.
"Good job!" he told himself wryly "And how do I find Narie at all? Follow some arrows? Use a compass?" He couldn't help but chuckled at the ridicule in his own notions, then concentrated on the problem at hand.
He couldn't simply pick a direction. This place was much too large, and searching every room would consume too much of his time. And although sounds of battle didn't resound in the area - except for a few bodies farther on, he saw no indication of further violence - he was willing to believe that some soldiers still roamed around, and he was in no condition to pull of a fight against too many of them. Not yet, at any rate.
Which left...
Which left Magesight, he supposed with great reluctance. It was a spell that allowed to feel the living mana within a body. His master Rezo hadn't created the spell itself, but had made it more effective to aid in his magical research, and he had taught Lionel and his own daughter - who happened to be Lionel's fiancée - about it. He had never been proficient in its use at all, unlike some other spells. But what other choice did he have?
He sighed. None, he supposed.
Looking around to make certain no one would be looking - or attacking - for the present - the apprentice then closed his eyes, murmuring words of power, summoning the little of white magic he had to help him. "Mana, life of life, link from the Gods to the Mortals, open my sight to your vibrancy, let it show through this trance." Carefully he repeated the words, feeling the magic congeal, and a headache forming. Still he continued, as he had been taught.
It eventually worked, if barely. He couldn't feel every living magic in the castle-like, multi- towered, description defying building. But he could feel larger ones. He could feel two very large magical forces moving. One standing still, one in the midst of a spell. Two larger ones further off. Friends, foes? He couldn't tell, but they were on the other side of him completely, and that struck him as unlikely that whoever had taken Narie would bring her to such a place that had been or certainly would be a battlefield soon. It didn't fit.
Then he felt it. Farther off. Down two further corridor. A magical force, relatively weak, logically placed away from any of the fighting. He opened his eyes and nodded. Yes, that should be it, he decided, setting off.
It didn't take long for him to find the bodies. Many bodies, nearly a dozen, burned to a crisp. No, he realized with a lurch of his stomach. No, not totally burned. They had been burned strongly, each of theses soldiers, enough so that armour and flesh melted into each other. But the flesh hadn't gone completely, and the position each body was found in spoke of unbelievable agony.
None of his friends had done this. They didn't have that cruelty in them. Whatever had done this was angry. Very angry. Shivering, Lionel called to mind his strongest earth-based spells, the ones he was most proficient with, words of power on his lips, the power surging within him.
It was only when he had made a few steps, looking over the bodies with disgusted, analytical eyes, that he heard a noise. It seemed to have come from just next to him. In a closed room. He felt Goosebumps on his skin, and turned towards the door. "Who's there?" he asked, and winced at the inane question. There was no answer. He hadn't truly expected one, either. He hesitated before opening the door.
Then he heard more thumps, and a muffled scream in a voice he recognized hesitation went out the window. Steeling himself for a possible confrontation with the power, which had killed these soldiers so horribly; he opened the door, spells ready.
He stopped when he saw the scene. His Magesight had been right, it seemed. He had found Narie, and it froze him.
She was tied to a chair and struggling mightily against her bounds. Her mouth had been stuffed with some tissue or such, and she could only muster some muffled, desperate cries. But, as ugly the scene itself might have been, that wasn't what stopped him and turned every drop of blood in his body to ice. What did was her lack of response to his presence. She didn't stop, her eyes, so wide he thought they would pop out of their sockets, never settled on him.
He reached her quickly, trying to hold on to her. As he touched her, he felt it. Something magical and insidious. He didn't have to look for what it might be - he'd studied those quite well, and was rather proficient in them, although he'd never used one and never intended to.
"Dragon Kings help her," he breathed "A Suggestion spell in her state!"
Suggestion spells were tricky business, pulled off only by the very skilled or very powerful. It implanted an event within a person's mind, and for its duration all a person saw, heard and felt was what had been implanted. It usually didn't work on those who had a very strong will or a completely stable mind. But Narie, he had known, was only tenuously hanging on to stability, while her will had received a terrible blow. She was a perfect target for this.
He pulled out the tissue stuffing her mouth, and she immediately screamed. It was an inarticulate scream of fear, rage and despair, and was tinted with slivers of what could only be madness. "STOP! PLEASE STOP!" Was all he could manage to hear in these, and he knew with a sinking heart whoever had done this had struck well. Her composure was shattered, her stability annihilated. Analytical though he may be, it struck him hard, and left him bare.
Finally, unable to stop her ranting with gentle words, he called upon a little magic and sent a Sleep spell through her. The screaming subsided, and she stopped struggling, only jerking here and there. As she did, however, she said something he didn't want to hear. "Berwen...stop...stop..."
The last sentence she uttered before collapsing kept him thinking for many minutes. Berwen? Wasn't that the woman they'd come here to save? Could it be that whoever had done this had used Berwen in the vision. He shook his head. There was no relationship between Berwen and Narie, so that was illogical. Which left him with two options. The first was that it had come as a fluke, taken from the mission that had probably been present in Narie's mind when she'd been Suggested. The second was more probable, even though he tried to shy away from it.
His so-analytical, logical, cursed mind didn't let him. The third possibility was simple: Berwen had done this. Had Suggested Narie, had killed those men in such a horrible fashion. He didn't like the implications. But they were there.
* * * * * * * * * *
Dallomir's mind raved as he struggled to overcome nausea even as the teleportation spell faded. His hand was still clutching the bleeding stump which had once held his forearm, and he felt warm blood gouting between his finger. Already he was weakened by it, and that added to the magical drain he'd put himself through against those runts had created more than a little problem.
He feverishly cast his strongest Recovery spell, even as he raged. This couldn't possibly be happening to him! He had uncovered some of the Lores's secrets, and that alone should have made him invincible! It was impossible that some - some ignorant CHILDREN could hurt him in such a way, and yet...
He'd gone to meet them and face them in full confidence in his own capabilities. Augmented as he was, his spells should have cut them to shreds. But they hadn't, curse it all! He'd felt why soon enough - bracelets the two children-sorcerers wore had auras he recognized, powerful auras, which were, designed to counter the forces he was putting into play. How these ignorant runts had managed to find to such powerful artefacts was beyond him and was irrelevant. All that he knew was that the fight had turned much harder than it should have been.
Still, he'd been winning, until that freakish, green-haired priestess had stabbed him. Stabbed him! How DARE she?!? And then that swordsman - that murderous cur! - had struck at him, and cut off his arm! Curse them, curse them, curse them! That wasn't that way it was supposed to be! He was supposed to be invincible! That was what she'd said!
"That was what you said!" he howled, "You lied to me! You lied to me!" he glared at the portrait of a lovely blonde woman garbed in robes, the portrait he had always kept in his sanctum. Without thinking he stretched his arm and forced himself to summon his magic, sending gout of flame to consume it. "YOU LIED TO ME, YOU BITCH!!"
"How the mighty has fallen. The great Archwizard Dallomir of Lumeria has become nothing more than a pathetic wretch, it seems."
Dallomir could only whirl, his disbelief growing, his fractured mind uncomprehending as he stared at half a dozen men, one of whom he recognized as Mellinius, the rest he didn't know. It was one of these unknown men who had spoken. His eyes widened at the gall these men had. "Who are you? How dare you?!? Mellinius, who are these men."
The younger mage stayed silent. Whatever remained of the mage's calm frayed. "I ASKED YOU A QUESTION, MELLINIUS! WHO ARE THESE TRESSPASSERS!?!"
"We can tell you that ourselves." the obvious leader of that band of rogues said with a smirk. "Dallomir of the Cyan, Archwizard of the now-defunct Lumerian Guild, you have been found guilty of consorting with powers forbidden in the Laws of the Known World. By order and will of the Imperial Sceptre of Elmekia, you are condemned to pay the price for your sins." the formality, faked as it was, went away as the smirk returned. "The sentence as decreed by His Imperial Majesty and the Elmekian Guild is death."
Dallomir's eyes shifted to Mellinius. "You. You betrayed me!"
The other man flinched, but remained firm. "It had to be done. Jomekin also agrees," his face stonewalled a moment "Although he decided not to take part in this engagement."
Betrayers and defiler that was what they all were! They wanted to kill him, and were so very smug about it. But a part of his mind cut through the confused ranting, and he remembered. He remembered what was at his comment and chuckled. "Fools! I have something that none of you may defeat! Appear before me, ye creature bound to my will. Chimera of the ancient days, I hold you to Lei Magnus' Order, and Command you! His Forbidden Lore devices activated, working as they were ordered to, and worked a teleportation.
"NO!!" Mellinius started to summon a fireball to stop him, but the fool was too late. Before the energy coalesced, before any of these assassins, in all their smugness, reacted, his weapon had appeared, a female form of reddish metallic skin and long, spiky, blood red hair. Her traits had become far sharper because of the demonic essence in the conversion, and she was a fearsome sight now, having nothing to do with the average spellcaster she had been. Dallomir exulted, his madness carrying into a joy he had never experienced.
"Now pay the price. Kill them all, my minion!" he told the chimera, which turned to face the horror-struck Mellinius and the suddenly wary sorcerous assassins.
"As you command, Master." it said dutifully, and attacked.
And she did, faster than any human could match. She struck with a powerful lightning spell before any could prepare, striking one man dead in one swift moment, Then concentrated against Mellinius, who frantically attacked her with his spells. A fireball washed over he shield, and she dodged a frantic Elmekia Lance, responding by throwing a Burst Rondo at the lesser sorcerers to keep them from helping, and moved in close, a feral smile on her lips.
She dodged a last spell, grabbed the man's arm, and kicked him three times in the belly. So hard the blows made the body convulse. Mellinius went down moaning and gasping, but already it had dismissed him, moving on to the five lesser spellcasters, and engaged them all in battle.
The fight was decidedly one-sided. Although it was clear that the assassins were skilled enough, they had fought to get where they were, and so they were tired, their magic drained. The chimera, however, had magic to spare, and combined the dexterity of a human, with the reflexes of a Mazoku, as well as the stamina of a steel Golem. The result was astounding, and deadly.
One of the assassin fell to a point blank Flare Arrow of great power, while another, his shield breached, received a punch that broke his neck. The other three started to pour magic attacks against her, and she responded in kind. Energies, flared, sparks of power screamed against magical shields. She staggered, recovered, killed one, staggered more, managed to recover, and killed another, until only the leader of the band remained. That once, realizing what would happen, tried to flee, only to receive three successive Elmekia Lances in the back, blowing him to bloody parts. The Chimera stepped to the gasping Mellinius, and Dallomir moved closer in relish.
"Yes, that's it! Kill him, too!" the chimera didn't budge, and he stepped closer. "Didn't you hear me?!? Kill him!! He must-"
That was his mind, exhilarated, saw the smile on the Chimera's face, and he only had the time to see the evil in that expression that he was grabbed by the throat. "Treachery! You cannot do this to me!" he gasped, struggling.
"Oh, but I can!" the thing said with an amused undertone. "You created me, but someone messed you spell up a bit, so I still have my will." the grip tightened "And I remember the beatings you had the guards do to me, I remember the humiliation. And mostly I remember the transformation. For that alone, you'll die."
"No..." he gasped. This couldn't be happening. Nothing was right, no, no! "I cre--urrk--created you!"
"Yes." the traitorous freak said, "You did. And I'll be certain to remember that when I become something the world will always remember! Thank you very much, 'Father'!"
And with that, the pressure became too much. Dallomir, tried to fight, tried to curse, but had too little energy. In a moment of sanity, just before the blackness took him, he realized what the Chimera intended.
And begged forgiveness even as the thing he had created killed him in savage joy and release.
* * * * * * * * * *
Fezra frowned darkly when she saw the doors leading to Dallomir's private chambers. It could be nothing else - the doors were intricately carved, mostly with runes of warding. She noted from the gleam that the runes were inlaid with silver, and that the door was actually made out of Denzer's Oak, a rare breed of tree which was reputed to be the best at holding latent spells. It was found only in two small areas - the Zefielian Guatev Forest and the Dorolik Grove in Dils. As such, it cost a small fortune. Yes, this had to be it.
"Pretty pricey outfit." she muttered.
"Not to mention the wards themselves. You noticed?" her companion stated.
She nodded. Although most of the wards were made up of human sigils, some she recognized as elven, and she didn't quite know what two of them meant. Draconian, maybe. Or Mazoku. Anything was possible. "We'll need to be very cautious before we get that bastard." she mused, and concentrated upon the wards, feeling them out.
She felt nothing. Where she should have found some magical residue of power emanating from the door itself, she found nothing but disjointed bits of magic. There was no resistance, and the door seemed to hide no great strength in itself. She frowned, and probed deeper, surveying the magic. Only then did she see a pattern. She opened her eyes, and stared at the equally surprised expression of the man beside her.
"Open. Nothing forced. It was opened. The wards were disengaged."
He looked at the door. "Doesn't make sense. He should know we were coming soon. Something's up here. Someone who knew the words for the wards must have passed here not long ago. I don't like it one bit."
Neither did Fezra, actually. Walking in to fight against a madman was dangerous enough, but they knew said madman was terribly wounded, and they knew how to fight him if need be. This, however, had suddenly become an unknown situation. Even if the mage hadn't called in reinforcements, it could mean that at least the other two they had fought before would be there. And in the state both young sorcerers were, it could well be deadly.
After considering a moment, she shrugged, and stepped towards the door. "We don't have much choice, do we?" she asked with all the daring she could muster in her eyes. Marcus hesitated then grumbled something and sighed, before going to join her.
"Sure." he said "We've been suicidal thus far, why not keep it up?" he grumbled, but his eyes were bright, and she nudged him gently before her face became serious once more. Steeling herself, preparing her magic, she opened the door.
The stench hit them first. It was a stench adventuring had made her quite knowledgeable about. It was the stench of burnt flesh, and of blood drying. It was the stench of death, in all of its macabre glory. Seeing the bodies - broken, burnt, dead - came at no surprise to her. Still, bile rose in her mouth, and she fought it down bitterly. Death was never beautiful, and finding it out of the heat of battle always came as a shock.
But it wasn't the bodies of the dead, which caused her - and Marcus it seemed - to stiffen and call up their powers. Rather, it was movement, from the shadows on the right. Someone had been watching them!
"I'm glad you made it to this little party, Fezra." said a voice she thought she recognized. No, it was that voice, but why was it so...cold...so...sharp?
So malevolent?
"Berwen?" she asked breathlessly.
"Partly. Most of me, maybe." a giggle "I don't know anymore. Not sure I care anymore. Wanna see the change?" And as she said this, she stepped out of the shadows.
Fezra heard Marcus's sharp intake of breath, and she gaped in horror. Berwen was dressed in a robe that was too big for her, but that didn't matter to her eyes. What did was the blood-red metallic hair, the equally metal-like skin which had also acquired some reddish hue. Her face's traits had tightened, giving her a severe, dangerous look. And her brown eyes had given way to black pinpoints surrounded by deep red colour. She was a frightening sight, and one she knew from her histories and her research.
"Gods," she gasped "Berwen, what has he done?!?"
Her friends' look changed then, going from tense and amused to stark furious. "Don't act all innocent, Fezra! You KNOW what this is! I'm a Chimera, friend! A freak! Don't you try to insult me further! Not after all of you did! You owe me! You all owe me!" she looked down "Except for you, sweet Mellinius. You're a sweetheart for not pulling the whole spell at me, you know that?"
She looked down, and what Fezra had thought to be another body twitched. It wasn't dead at all, it seemed. Rather, clothes had been tightly woven around the person, preventing speech and movement. The figure moaned, and Berwen went to almost gently pat where the head was. "There, there. We'll be off soon. Just a few moments more."
"Berwen." she said, not liking the light she saw in her old friend's eyes. "We came to save you! I'm so sorry we took so long, but we couldn't just-" she was cut off as the controlled hostility she had felt from her friend from the beginning erupted.
"NO, FEZRA!! NO MORE EXCUSES!" she growled, her eyes flashing, "I know what you did. You gave me away to be with that pretty boy next to you! You sold me away to Dallomir to be his slave!!"
"What the heck?!?" Marcus blurted half-angrily "What the HELL are you talking about! We bled to come here! We all risked ourselves to get you back!"
"There's no way I'd leave you behind!" Fezra protested, but she saw that the chimera in front of her didn't believe a word of it, as Berwen's face scrunched up in pure fury.
"ENOUGH!" her face turned from hot to cold, and with a chill Fezra finally wondered about Berwen's stability. "I won't have that anymore. You hear me? I won't have that. Once, I didn't believe, but I finally saw you for the selfish bitch you always were. All of you, my 'comrades', worked to make me into this - something no human will ever like. But I'll pay you back. Oh yes. I'll pay you all back!" she grinned in triumphant malice. "Narie's the one I hated the least. I already took care of her."
Cold seeped in Fezra's being at the blatant implications. "Narie? What have you done to her?" she asked, but her query went unanswered, and unacknowledged.
"As for being an outcast, I assure you it won't work. I make you this pledge here and now, Fezra: in the end, the world'll speak of me. They'll speak of me in fear, terror and the respect accorded to tyrants, for that's the only respect I'll ever have. But I'll get it. I swear it in Shabranigdo and Ceipheed's Names, people of this continent will know my name. It will be known in history forever!" her eyes glowed fiercely, and the man under her moaned more.
Fezra took a deep breath. Her friend had lost it. She couldn't quite grasp it, but what she said was clear. It was madness, and had to be stopped here and now. "Berwen...we can't let you do this." she said with a pang, gathering her magic. Her friend - former friend, it seemed sadly - looked unsurprised, but actually smiled.
"I know you can't Fez." she said, and for one moment she saw her old friend in the fearsome visage. Then the new Berwen was back. "But we won't fight today. Oh no. I will decide when we fight next, Fezra! And to make certain you don't follow me, I have only to say that this structure is weakened, and that a simple shake should bring it down. Earth Below Me, Submit To My Will! Stone Spiker!!! she shouted, hitting the ground. The room immediately started to fall apart, the walls trembling. Spikes of rock sprang everywhere, shattering the keep, always stronger. A rumble was heard, and they all knew it was falling.
Fezra was grabbed by Marcus and hauled behind, but she did steal a last glance at her friend before hurrying out. Berwen was looking at her almost gently, and expectantly. "Until we meet again, Fez!" she crowed.
And then dust and stone barred each other from sight, and Fezra fled, mind astray and lost.
* * * * * * * * * *
Zasthla was one who had fought in many battles for many years. Although she had met more than her match in people like Kalarus or Loerik, she knew she was much above the average too. Her skill and experience had made her intimately knowledgeable about the fact that magic was sometimes used, and to the kind of effects this or that spell would have on walls, barricades, or some sort of fortification. Which was why her ears perked up as the rumbling started distantly.
Experience told her what she needed to know incredibly quickly. Stone Spiker, or at least some high-level Earth elemental spell. Cast in the very midst of a castle! She had seen it done once, two years before, when an Elmekian sorcerer had managed to get inside a Lumerian fort she and four hundred other were ordered to defend. The mage had buried all but sixty survivors into the rubble.
This explained why she began to feel extremely fidgety even as she stood in the midst of slain enemies. Prince Philionel, however, had obviously never seen magic used suicidally before, for he looked around, not nearly as worried as he should be feeling.
"What in the world?!" he exclaimed, "What possible madness could this be now?!" he seemed more wondering than anything else.
Years of mercenary work quickly told Zashtla what it had told her two years back. "Run." she snapped, sheathing her blade quickly.
He blinked at that. "What?"
"You HEARD me, Prince!! Move your ass. We gotta go NOW!!" she said in a fit of temper. She didn't wait to see if he got her warning straight. Instead she turned on her heels as swiftly as she could and sped, retracing the steps the battle had taken them. She heard Phil move about behind her, and for a while he fell away. Then she heard his heavy, quick steps as he returned, catching up with her. She looked back a moment.
She nearly groaned when she saw the two soldiers. Phil had slung one on each broad shoulder, and seemed to be carrying them easily enough despite the fatigue he must have felt and the extra weight they were. She narrowed her eyes by force of habit when she saw this, and it didn't go unnoticed. He glared right back.
"This place, I assume, is falling down on our ears, right?" he said sharply.
"Yes."
"Then I'll save whom I kind. It is the right thing to do."
She humphed. What an idealistic fool. "Its your loss if they slow you down and you die." she remarked coldly. She turned back to watch her step, but she felt his self-righteous disapproval from behind. So be it. She supposed it was the part that made him more charming than he seemed at first sight, but she wasn't about to agree with Phil's policies on justice and right. They sped along the dead and the battle-scarred corridors.
They hadn't gone very far towards the exit, stomping, clinking and running, when they ran into someone. She stiffened and instinctively reached for her blade before she realized that she recognized the persons. Loerik had also stiffened and relaxed in quick succession, and he was also holding a person. However, as that person was Hallia - and knowing that Loerik would cut off his sword arm rather than leave her behind - she didn't find fault in that action, as she'd found with Phil.
"Are you two alright?" she asked quickly, then judiciously added "You seen any of the others?"
Loerik nodded quickly, but it was Hallia who answered. "I'll be fine...just too tired to run too fast. Fezra and Marcus went ahead to Dallomir's room. We don't know about the others." she explained the battle they'd fought quickly, until Phil interrupted.
"It grieves me to be the one to say this," he muttered "But is it just me or are the walls starting to crack?" They all followed his gaze to inspect the walls. Sure enough, there were cracks showing in the old stone, and the mortar was starting to fall messily. The rumbling grew, and the ground itself seemed to shake suddenly.
"We don't have much time! Lets go!" she hollered, only to see Loerik already speeding away towards the hole Marcus had blown. She followed, Phil on her heels. She worried about the others, but she would be unable to do anything if she was crushed herself.
They went some way, and Phil cursed as the weight of the two soldiers started to drag him down. He started to puff harder, his abnormal strength finally strained under the heavy weight of flesh, bone and armour. She bit back an order to leave the two soldiers, knowing it would only earn her a deadly glare. She muttered a curse: sometimes her friends seemed to have no sense at all, no matter how skilled they were.
However, she knew she was only ranting because she felt a little guilty not to be able to share Phil's ideals, or even Hallia's benevolent - and more reasonable - philosophy. She was an harder person, and it didn't always please her.
Such thoughts were driven from her mind as someone else emerged ahead of one of the other passageways. They were a little way off, so there was no surprise involved before she recognized them. Lionel and Narie were running towards the hole as well, and the man seemed to be dragging the priestess. Narie's own movements were sluggish, as if belonging to a slow golem following instructions. Zashtla couldn't help but frown at the sight. Something was wrong there.
"Hey, Lionel, Narie!" she called "Wait up!!"
The apprentice stopped suddenly, looking in their direction, and Narie actually sped into him, nearly bowling him over. As they reached, Lionel was helping steady her, and was murmuring words to her. At the sight, Hallia gasped, struggling in Loerik's grip, and she felt both men stiffen with shock as well. She didn't feel much better herself.
Narie no longer looked like the woman who had given a brave facade to them all. Tears were streaming out of her eyes, and she clung to Lionel, looking lost and broken. It felt like seeing her after Kalarus had raped her months ago, only even worse. Her eyes had lost all lights.
Loerik was the first who found his voice. "What in Ceipheed's name happened?!?" he asked.
And Lionel only looked at him with grim eyes. "I don't think you'll believe me right now. Let's go!" he stated as he urged the broken young woman along.
Having no choice - and seeing the point as pieces of stone and marble started to fall - they ran after him. They had reached the hole when they heard a sound behind them. Turning, Zasthla saw the two missing members of the team. Both looked weary and wounded - as all of them did - and both were speeding along on a flying spell, swaying between the falling rocks. They reached the others just outside the fortress-like, multi-towered place.
They didn't waste time on words this time, as the structure started to buckle in on itself. Instead both sorcerers landed and ran away with them, farther along the path they'd taken to get there in the first place. Finally, a ways later, Phil groaned, letting go of the enemy soldiers he'd saved and falling on his knees. Panting, Loerik let his new wife down to the ground as they all turned to look at Dallomir's place as it fell to pieces, shivering, towers falling and crashing, until the noise finally died down as the mighty structure was left as nothing more than a pile of rubble and ghosts.
"Its over, it appears." Phil panted, his entire body shaking. His relief was evident. Loerik's shoulders sagged, and Hallia hurried to look Narie over, her face worried. Zasthla, however, saw the grim look Marcus gave Fezra, and the troubled one with which the sorceress answered him. For some reason, this cut and killed Zasthla's own sense of tired victory.
"What's going on, you two?" she asked gently, not wanting to disturb the others. They looked at her, and then exchanged that look - that frightening look - once more. Finally, Marcus gave her a level look.
"Its a story better told later." he said wearily. "Lets just say...that we might later find Dallomir wasn't much of an enemy next to the one we'll face."
And try as she might, she never managed to get more out of them for two entire days.
* * * * * * * * * *
Far from the exhausted group of adventurers, a whirlwind of black energy entered the Material Plane, quickly shaping itself into the form it had taken for well over a millennia. The being - powerful even by the measure of the few peers and superiors he had - didn't however spare the small group more than a passing thought. Instead, it looked towards the rubble, a faint smile upon a face, which seemed ever-relaxed.
It took a strong effort to pick up anything - which told him that whatever moved, it happened to have quite a bit of magical strength. Once he had it identified, he followed it, the being's senses seeing through the dust as the object of his attention picked its way through the pile of broken stones which had until recently been a magical haven.
And then, he lost it in a flare of magic. Teleportation most likely. Which, in itself, could only mean one thing...
Unable to repress it, the being brushed one hand through his purple hair, his smile turning into a happy grin.
"Humans." he mused joyfully. "You can say a lot about them. But in the end, one thing's certain: things never get dull around them."
And with wink towards the unwitting heroes he'd helped more than once, Xellos vanished back to his home in a puff of magical energy.
___________________________________________
Magic came to Man in many ways. We created Shamanism out of our base knowledge of the heart and the Soul. White Magic came from the Elves who, although long users of its healing and light powers, learned it from the Golden Dragons before human history began to be recorded. Black Magic came from the Mazoku, who wished to corrupt Man, but found its basic will too erratic to truly succeed.
Magic. Has there ever been a greater boon? And a greater threat?
- Excerpt from Oerlus the Silent's Adress to Sorcerers, 17 AR
Chapter Fifteen
Marcus Jaderam was by no means a novice in spellcasting, even though he was barely reaching his nineteenth summer as it was. An hard youth, a keen mind and an innate ability to understand some of magic's basic works had made him a full-fledge sorcerer in four years where it took most at least ten. He was already more powerful than many of his elders, and had taken to refining his skills through research and travels.
In said travels, he had met his share of enemies who had challenged his skills and wits. Raving wizards who'd lost their minds, dangerous undead, bands of monsters of many kinds. He'd met many sorts and had come out on top. Only Fezra had been found to be his match in a magical brawl.
But then he'd never been up against a powerful sorcerer who'd been augmented by human, elven and draconian devices from ancient and desperate times. Suddenly, he found his skills tested as they'd never been before.
The entire, multi-towered castle seemed to vibrate, shake and groan under the magical maelstrom created by the three who fought. Already, primal lightning and fire had erupted from skilled hands, words of power had been shouted on both sides, creating forces capable of ripping the average man to bloody pieces within a bare moment, only to impact on great magical shields.
He and Fezra were doing their very best, fighting as they'd never had to before. One created a powerful spell while shielded by the other when doing battle. Both linked their shields when an especially powerful spell hit. Both hit with a spell when Dallomir seemed to weaken a moment. Loerik and Hallia were still in the fight themselves, but even Hallia's healing and protection and Loerik's powerful magic blade and immense skill couldn't quite measure up in a fight between Black Magic users. Still they fought on, the swordsman rushing and striking, the priestess healing and reinforcing the protection spell.
Their combined forces were very potent, and Marcus knew that he himself would have fallen against such a display. But Dallomir still held his own and bit more, seemingly inexhaustible, often attacking.
Presently, the older mage managed to shrug off one of Fezra's ice lances; his eyes alight in maddened triumph, gathering negative, black energy. "Don't you see? You can't destroy me! The artefacts of the War of Resurrection have made me too powerful for you! ZELIAS BLEED!"
None of the four was suicidal. All had excellent reflexes. They threw themselves flat on the ground, the great energy beam slicing the air above, the energies shattering stone, wood and mortar with no difficulty.
Marcus jumped up to his feet even as the beam had gone, chanting quickly, remembering words. "By the powers of the infinite Fires, from the Elements of the Scorching Sun. Burn in ages, struck in rage! BRAM GASH!!!"
Marcus had always been skilled at fire shamanism. It had been a close second to his black magic abilities. His minded couldn't escape the irony of it. His mother had, after all, been a fire shaman, and had been burned alive by superstitious, ignorant, backwater townsfolk who knew only of the crazed madness and destruction a few had wrought.
This was one of the reason he let fly his magical, fiery beam with such strength. Dallomir and his ilk were what gave wizards such a dangerous reputation. It was because of people like him that he'd been forced to watch his own mother burn while his own father looked on approvingly! His hatred made only grew from his inner turmoil, and it made his black magic more powerful as it drank from his anger and pain.
At the exact same moment, Fezra screamed her own Bram Gash. Marcus was surprised. Although good in three of the four shamanist elements, Fezra was a master of Air, and casting such a high-level fire spell was draining. It was the last thing he expected her to do.
Fortunately, it had quite an effect. The two beams melded, becoming a force easily greater than anything Dallomir had thrown so far. It hit the mage, and for the first time the crazy wizard screamed in pain, as his shield found itself unable to turn all the energy back. About time, even augmented by the bracelet, Marcus hadn't been able to defend against some attacks, and he bore burn marks, wounds and frost bites as a result.
It didn't last, however. The sorcerer regained his footing almost at once, and growled out a response, gathering his own energies and unleashing them in a torrent of power. Not a spell there, only energy that hit them both, throwing them away, freezing and burning at the same time, overriding all shields. He didn't hear anything but his own scream of pain, didn't feel anything but searing agony. It took a long moment to realize he was on the floor of the expansive passageway. He saw that Fezra was also out on her back, twitching, also trying to regain her control.
The sorcerer took a step towards them, but before he could utter another word, Loerik crashed into him, his magical blade slamming again and again against the magical shield. So quick was it that the sorcerer had to step again and again, until finally he threw a bolt of energy which sent the swordsman to his knees. A mad, pain-filled smile tore Dallomir's features as he raised a hand against the swordsman. Marcus forced his body to move, but it was too slow, too late.
"Poor fool! You think that using the Garunova is enough to take me down? Such childish conceit!" he smiled as energy gathered in his hand. "Now I'll-" his confident sentence ended in a gasp of pure agony. His eyes widened in disbelief, and he looked down to his side, shivering from a new impact.
There stood Hallia, who'd taken advantage from Loerik's attack and managed to drive her dagger deep into the mad sorcerer's side. Blood flood on its metal and to the floor, and yet she kept driving it deeper, eliciting another cry of pain from the surprised spellcaster. Marcus and Fezra unsteadily forced themselves to their feet.
His eyes wide, Dallomir turned to Hallia and grabbed her by the throat, holding her at arms' length "You...you bitch! You-AAAAAAAAAGH!!"
The shock and fury had made the archwizard careless. For a moment, his shields had failed, and he had turned away from Loerik. It was a bare instant - one more and his defences would have been back. Loerik, however, took the instant, slicing off the older man's arm above the elbow. Blood gouted all three, and Hallia forced the dead member off, shoving it away. The sorcerer screamed again, stump bleeding profusely, and gave a laugh that was pure madness, caught between hilarity and rage. His shield went back up. Weaker, much weaker.
It was all they needed. Marcus forced his power to respond and sent attack spell against attack spell, Fezra doing the same, while the swordsman struck the shield dauntingly quickly. Even Hallia managed a few minor spells.
No shield this weak could hold forever under that onslaught. Pressed from all sides, Dallomir's defences began to buckle. He growled and cursed at them, and finally thrust his good arm into a pocket, fishing a strange medallion. He grinned, his lips and the light in his eyes showing beyond a doubt that the man's last marbles were crumbling.
"I won't die here! I won't die here! My destiny awaits, and I must grasp it! Soon my creation will destroy you!" he grasped the medallion "Ankathu-Deluk Nakaft! Erulk Nabirenen!" His body flashed once, then twice, and in a burst of light, he was gone.
"NO!!" Marcus growled. "We had him! We've got to finish him off NOW!!" he knew from the look Fezra and Loerik both gave him that he spoke with unusual blood thirst, but he didn't care. "His quarters have to be near this place. Lets look for it!"
Fezra nodded, still giving him that odd look. "Right. Time to settle the score!" she gave Hallia, who still retched from Dallomir's death grip, a look. "Are you alright?"
"Y-yes..." the priestess answered, then coughed again fitfully. "Eventually...go ahead...I'll be alright."
"I'll stay here and help her. You two can handle him now, I think." Loerik stated. From his tone, there was no budging him from the green-haired woman's side. They didn't try.
Fezra nodded, a gleeful look crossing her face. "Don't worry! Leave it to us! Come on, Marcus! Lets take care of that mad dog once and for all!" She slapped him on the rump - momentarily subsuming his anger for embarrassment - and sped off towards the end of the long hall.
He didn't waste time, catching up to her. It was time indeed. For Berwen. For his mother. For all those people like Dallomir had hurt and destroyed through their evil.
Yes, it was time to even the score a bit.
* * * * * * * * * *
Lionel returned to consciousness wondering what had hit him. His mind was a whirl, he couldn't think right. He felt around himself, eyes closed, and realized that he was flat on his back, upon solid flagstones. He groaned, grasping his head. There was something unnatural, grasping at the corner of his mind. It seemed to somewhat scrambled the feel he had of his own magic. That told him all he needed to know.
'Magic spell, that's what hit me. Mano Bolt, most likely." He winced as remaining stiffness worked itself out of his muscles. 'A pretty powerful version of the spell, if the ache I'm feeling is any indication.'
But who had done it? He looked around himself. Except for himself, he was alone. No sign of his attacker. He shook his head and struggled to his feet. Its fortunate, he supposed, that no one had come and seen his unconscious form. But then, why would someone go to all this trouble to knock him out, if only to...
That's when it truly hit. He glanced around. "Narie?" he called once, then a second time, more strongly. No response. Nothing. He felt a chill run up his spine. He had been running with Narie. Could it have been her? He searched his memory for the events, which had led to his incapacitated state. She was running just slightly behind him...
No, he decided. His senses on those last moments were becoming clearer. The attack had come quickly, unexpectedly, and from his other side. In any event, he doubted Naries had the ability to cast a Mano Bolt strong enough to incapacitate him with one blow. No, the one who'd done it - whoever or whatever it was - was a far more powerful creature. Which only made him worry about his friend more.
Lionel Greysword was a cold, analytical man - a fact he'd felt didn't endear him to his companions much. He hated surprises and the unexpected, and that was what he was facing right darn now. Consequently, he cursed, before rearranging his thoughts. First, find Narie. Second, deal with whatever had taken Narie. Third, if any time remained, find Berwen. He nodded. That would work.
"Good job!" he told himself wryly "And how do I find Narie at all? Follow some arrows? Use a compass?" He couldn't help but chuckled at the ridicule in his own notions, then concentrated on the problem at hand.
He couldn't simply pick a direction. This place was much too large, and searching every room would consume too much of his time. And although sounds of battle didn't resound in the area - except for a few bodies farther on, he saw no indication of further violence - he was willing to believe that some soldiers still roamed around, and he was in no condition to pull of a fight against too many of them. Not yet, at any rate.
Which left...
Which left Magesight, he supposed with great reluctance. It was a spell that allowed to feel the living mana within a body. His master Rezo hadn't created the spell itself, but had made it more effective to aid in his magical research, and he had taught Lionel and his own daughter - who happened to be Lionel's fiancée - about it. He had never been proficient in its use at all, unlike some other spells. But what other choice did he have?
He sighed. None, he supposed.
Looking around to make certain no one would be looking - or attacking - for the present - the apprentice then closed his eyes, murmuring words of power, summoning the little of white magic he had to help him. "Mana, life of life, link from the Gods to the Mortals, open my sight to your vibrancy, let it show through this trance." Carefully he repeated the words, feeling the magic congeal, and a headache forming. Still he continued, as he had been taught.
It eventually worked, if barely. He couldn't feel every living magic in the castle-like, multi- towered, description defying building. But he could feel larger ones. He could feel two very large magical forces moving. One standing still, one in the midst of a spell. Two larger ones further off. Friends, foes? He couldn't tell, but they were on the other side of him completely, and that struck him as unlikely that whoever had taken Narie would bring her to such a place that had been or certainly would be a battlefield soon. It didn't fit.
Then he felt it. Farther off. Down two further corridor. A magical force, relatively weak, logically placed away from any of the fighting. He opened his eyes and nodded. Yes, that should be it, he decided, setting off.
It didn't take long for him to find the bodies. Many bodies, nearly a dozen, burned to a crisp. No, he realized with a lurch of his stomach. No, not totally burned. They had been burned strongly, each of theses soldiers, enough so that armour and flesh melted into each other. But the flesh hadn't gone completely, and the position each body was found in spoke of unbelievable agony.
None of his friends had done this. They didn't have that cruelty in them. Whatever had done this was angry. Very angry. Shivering, Lionel called to mind his strongest earth-based spells, the ones he was most proficient with, words of power on his lips, the power surging within him.
It was only when he had made a few steps, looking over the bodies with disgusted, analytical eyes, that he heard a noise. It seemed to have come from just next to him. In a closed room. He felt Goosebumps on his skin, and turned towards the door. "Who's there?" he asked, and winced at the inane question. There was no answer. He hadn't truly expected one, either. He hesitated before opening the door.
Then he heard more thumps, and a muffled scream in a voice he recognized hesitation went out the window. Steeling himself for a possible confrontation with the power, which had killed these soldiers so horribly; he opened the door, spells ready.
He stopped when he saw the scene. His Magesight had been right, it seemed. He had found Narie, and it froze him.
She was tied to a chair and struggling mightily against her bounds. Her mouth had been stuffed with some tissue or such, and she could only muster some muffled, desperate cries. But, as ugly the scene itself might have been, that wasn't what stopped him and turned every drop of blood in his body to ice. What did was her lack of response to his presence. She didn't stop, her eyes, so wide he thought they would pop out of their sockets, never settled on him.
He reached her quickly, trying to hold on to her. As he touched her, he felt it. Something magical and insidious. He didn't have to look for what it might be - he'd studied those quite well, and was rather proficient in them, although he'd never used one and never intended to.
"Dragon Kings help her," he breathed "A Suggestion spell in her state!"
Suggestion spells were tricky business, pulled off only by the very skilled or very powerful. It implanted an event within a person's mind, and for its duration all a person saw, heard and felt was what had been implanted. It usually didn't work on those who had a very strong will or a completely stable mind. But Narie, he had known, was only tenuously hanging on to stability, while her will had received a terrible blow. She was a perfect target for this.
He pulled out the tissue stuffing her mouth, and she immediately screamed. It was an inarticulate scream of fear, rage and despair, and was tinted with slivers of what could only be madness. "STOP! PLEASE STOP!" Was all he could manage to hear in these, and he knew with a sinking heart whoever had done this had struck well. Her composure was shattered, her stability annihilated. Analytical though he may be, it struck him hard, and left him bare.
Finally, unable to stop her ranting with gentle words, he called upon a little magic and sent a Sleep spell through her. The screaming subsided, and she stopped struggling, only jerking here and there. As she did, however, she said something he didn't want to hear. "Berwen...stop...stop..."
The last sentence she uttered before collapsing kept him thinking for many minutes. Berwen? Wasn't that the woman they'd come here to save? Could it be that whoever had done this had used Berwen in the vision. He shook his head. There was no relationship between Berwen and Narie, so that was illogical. Which left him with two options. The first was that it had come as a fluke, taken from the mission that had probably been present in Narie's mind when she'd been Suggested. The second was more probable, even though he tried to shy away from it.
His so-analytical, logical, cursed mind didn't let him. The third possibility was simple: Berwen had done this. Had Suggested Narie, had killed those men in such a horrible fashion. He didn't like the implications. But they were there.
* * * * * * * * * *
Dallomir's mind raved as he struggled to overcome nausea even as the teleportation spell faded. His hand was still clutching the bleeding stump which had once held his forearm, and he felt warm blood gouting between his finger. Already he was weakened by it, and that added to the magical drain he'd put himself through against those runts had created more than a little problem.
He feverishly cast his strongest Recovery spell, even as he raged. This couldn't possibly be happening to him! He had uncovered some of the Lores's secrets, and that alone should have made him invincible! It was impossible that some - some ignorant CHILDREN could hurt him in such a way, and yet...
He'd gone to meet them and face them in full confidence in his own capabilities. Augmented as he was, his spells should have cut them to shreds. But they hadn't, curse it all! He'd felt why soon enough - bracelets the two children-sorcerers wore had auras he recognized, powerful auras, which were, designed to counter the forces he was putting into play. How these ignorant runts had managed to find to such powerful artefacts was beyond him and was irrelevant. All that he knew was that the fight had turned much harder than it should have been.
Still, he'd been winning, until that freakish, green-haired priestess had stabbed him. Stabbed him! How DARE she?!? And then that swordsman - that murderous cur! - had struck at him, and cut off his arm! Curse them, curse them, curse them! That wasn't that way it was supposed to be! He was supposed to be invincible! That was what she'd said!
"That was what you said!" he howled, "You lied to me! You lied to me!" he glared at the portrait of a lovely blonde woman garbed in robes, the portrait he had always kept in his sanctum. Without thinking he stretched his arm and forced himself to summon his magic, sending gout of flame to consume it. "YOU LIED TO ME, YOU BITCH!!"
"How the mighty has fallen. The great Archwizard Dallomir of Lumeria has become nothing more than a pathetic wretch, it seems."
Dallomir could only whirl, his disbelief growing, his fractured mind uncomprehending as he stared at half a dozen men, one of whom he recognized as Mellinius, the rest he didn't know. It was one of these unknown men who had spoken. His eyes widened at the gall these men had. "Who are you? How dare you?!? Mellinius, who are these men."
The younger mage stayed silent. Whatever remained of the mage's calm frayed. "I ASKED YOU A QUESTION, MELLINIUS! WHO ARE THESE TRESSPASSERS!?!"
"We can tell you that ourselves." the obvious leader of that band of rogues said with a smirk. "Dallomir of the Cyan, Archwizard of the now-defunct Lumerian Guild, you have been found guilty of consorting with powers forbidden in the Laws of the Known World. By order and will of the Imperial Sceptre of Elmekia, you are condemned to pay the price for your sins." the formality, faked as it was, went away as the smirk returned. "The sentence as decreed by His Imperial Majesty and the Elmekian Guild is death."
Dallomir's eyes shifted to Mellinius. "You. You betrayed me!"
The other man flinched, but remained firm. "It had to be done. Jomekin also agrees," his face stonewalled a moment "Although he decided not to take part in this engagement."
Betrayers and defiler that was what they all were! They wanted to kill him, and were so very smug about it. But a part of his mind cut through the confused ranting, and he remembered. He remembered what was at his comment and chuckled. "Fools! I have something that none of you may defeat! Appear before me, ye creature bound to my will. Chimera of the ancient days, I hold you to Lei Magnus' Order, and Command you! His Forbidden Lore devices activated, working as they were ordered to, and worked a teleportation.
"NO!!" Mellinius started to summon a fireball to stop him, but the fool was too late. Before the energy coalesced, before any of these assassins, in all their smugness, reacted, his weapon had appeared, a female form of reddish metallic skin and long, spiky, blood red hair. Her traits had become far sharper because of the demonic essence in the conversion, and she was a fearsome sight now, having nothing to do with the average spellcaster she had been. Dallomir exulted, his madness carrying into a joy he had never experienced.
"Now pay the price. Kill them all, my minion!" he told the chimera, which turned to face the horror-struck Mellinius and the suddenly wary sorcerous assassins.
"As you command, Master." it said dutifully, and attacked.
And she did, faster than any human could match. She struck with a powerful lightning spell before any could prepare, striking one man dead in one swift moment, Then concentrated against Mellinius, who frantically attacked her with his spells. A fireball washed over he shield, and she dodged a frantic Elmekia Lance, responding by throwing a Burst Rondo at the lesser sorcerers to keep them from helping, and moved in close, a feral smile on her lips.
She dodged a last spell, grabbed the man's arm, and kicked him three times in the belly. So hard the blows made the body convulse. Mellinius went down moaning and gasping, but already it had dismissed him, moving on to the five lesser spellcasters, and engaged them all in battle.
The fight was decidedly one-sided. Although it was clear that the assassins were skilled enough, they had fought to get where they were, and so they were tired, their magic drained. The chimera, however, had magic to spare, and combined the dexterity of a human, with the reflexes of a Mazoku, as well as the stamina of a steel Golem. The result was astounding, and deadly.
One of the assassin fell to a point blank Flare Arrow of great power, while another, his shield breached, received a punch that broke his neck. The other three started to pour magic attacks against her, and she responded in kind. Energies, flared, sparks of power screamed against magical shields. She staggered, recovered, killed one, staggered more, managed to recover, and killed another, until only the leader of the band remained. That once, realizing what would happen, tried to flee, only to receive three successive Elmekia Lances in the back, blowing him to bloody parts. The Chimera stepped to the gasping Mellinius, and Dallomir moved closer in relish.
"Yes, that's it! Kill him, too!" the chimera didn't budge, and he stepped closer. "Didn't you hear me?!? Kill him!! He must-"
That was his mind, exhilarated, saw the smile on the Chimera's face, and he only had the time to see the evil in that expression that he was grabbed by the throat. "Treachery! You cannot do this to me!" he gasped, struggling.
"Oh, but I can!" the thing said with an amused undertone. "You created me, but someone messed you spell up a bit, so I still have my will." the grip tightened "And I remember the beatings you had the guards do to me, I remember the humiliation. And mostly I remember the transformation. For that alone, you'll die."
"No..." he gasped. This couldn't be happening. Nothing was right, no, no! "I cre--urrk--created you!"
"Yes." the traitorous freak said, "You did. And I'll be certain to remember that when I become something the world will always remember! Thank you very much, 'Father'!"
And with that, the pressure became too much. Dallomir, tried to fight, tried to curse, but had too little energy. In a moment of sanity, just before the blackness took him, he realized what the Chimera intended.
And begged forgiveness even as the thing he had created killed him in savage joy and release.
* * * * * * * * * *
Fezra frowned darkly when she saw the doors leading to Dallomir's private chambers. It could be nothing else - the doors were intricately carved, mostly with runes of warding. She noted from the gleam that the runes were inlaid with silver, and that the door was actually made out of Denzer's Oak, a rare breed of tree which was reputed to be the best at holding latent spells. It was found only in two small areas - the Zefielian Guatev Forest and the Dorolik Grove in Dils. As such, it cost a small fortune. Yes, this had to be it.
"Pretty pricey outfit." she muttered.
"Not to mention the wards themselves. You noticed?" her companion stated.
She nodded. Although most of the wards were made up of human sigils, some she recognized as elven, and she didn't quite know what two of them meant. Draconian, maybe. Or Mazoku. Anything was possible. "We'll need to be very cautious before we get that bastard." she mused, and concentrated upon the wards, feeling them out.
She felt nothing. Where she should have found some magical residue of power emanating from the door itself, she found nothing but disjointed bits of magic. There was no resistance, and the door seemed to hide no great strength in itself. She frowned, and probed deeper, surveying the magic. Only then did she see a pattern. She opened her eyes, and stared at the equally surprised expression of the man beside her.
"Open. Nothing forced. It was opened. The wards were disengaged."
He looked at the door. "Doesn't make sense. He should know we were coming soon. Something's up here. Someone who knew the words for the wards must have passed here not long ago. I don't like it one bit."
Neither did Fezra, actually. Walking in to fight against a madman was dangerous enough, but they knew said madman was terribly wounded, and they knew how to fight him if need be. This, however, had suddenly become an unknown situation. Even if the mage hadn't called in reinforcements, it could mean that at least the other two they had fought before would be there. And in the state both young sorcerers were, it could well be deadly.
After considering a moment, she shrugged, and stepped towards the door. "We don't have much choice, do we?" she asked with all the daring she could muster in her eyes. Marcus hesitated then grumbled something and sighed, before going to join her.
"Sure." he said "We've been suicidal thus far, why not keep it up?" he grumbled, but his eyes were bright, and she nudged him gently before her face became serious once more. Steeling herself, preparing her magic, she opened the door.
The stench hit them first. It was a stench adventuring had made her quite knowledgeable about. It was the stench of burnt flesh, and of blood drying. It was the stench of death, in all of its macabre glory. Seeing the bodies - broken, burnt, dead - came at no surprise to her. Still, bile rose in her mouth, and she fought it down bitterly. Death was never beautiful, and finding it out of the heat of battle always came as a shock.
But it wasn't the bodies of the dead, which caused her - and Marcus it seemed - to stiffen and call up their powers. Rather, it was movement, from the shadows on the right. Someone had been watching them!
"I'm glad you made it to this little party, Fezra." said a voice she thought she recognized. No, it was that voice, but why was it so...cold...so...sharp?
So malevolent?
"Berwen?" she asked breathlessly.
"Partly. Most of me, maybe." a giggle "I don't know anymore. Not sure I care anymore. Wanna see the change?" And as she said this, she stepped out of the shadows.
Fezra heard Marcus's sharp intake of breath, and she gaped in horror. Berwen was dressed in a robe that was too big for her, but that didn't matter to her eyes. What did was the blood-red metallic hair, the equally metal-like skin which had also acquired some reddish hue. Her face's traits had tightened, giving her a severe, dangerous look. And her brown eyes had given way to black pinpoints surrounded by deep red colour. She was a frightening sight, and one she knew from her histories and her research.
"Gods," she gasped "Berwen, what has he done?!?"
Her friends' look changed then, going from tense and amused to stark furious. "Don't act all innocent, Fezra! You KNOW what this is! I'm a Chimera, friend! A freak! Don't you try to insult me further! Not after all of you did! You owe me! You all owe me!" she looked down "Except for you, sweet Mellinius. You're a sweetheart for not pulling the whole spell at me, you know that?"
She looked down, and what Fezra had thought to be another body twitched. It wasn't dead at all, it seemed. Rather, clothes had been tightly woven around the person, preventing speech and movement. The figure moaned, and Berwen went to almost gently pat where the head was. "There, there. We'll be off soon. Just a few moments more."
"Berwen." she said, not liking the light she saw in her old friend's eyes. "We came to save you! I'm so sorry we took so long, but we couldn't just-" she was cut off as the controlled hostility she had felt from her friend from the beginning erupted.
"NO, FEZRA!! NO MORE EXCUSES!" she growled, her eyes flashing, "I know what you did. You gave me away to be with that pretty boy next to you! You sold me away to Dallomir to be his slave!!"
"What the heck?!?" Marcus blurted half-angrily "What the HELL are you talking about! We bled to come here! We all risked ourselves to get you back!"
"There's no way I'd leave you behind!" Fezra protested, but she saw that the chimera in front of her didn't believe a word of it, as Berwen's face scrunched up in pure fury.
"ENOUGH!" her face turned from hot to cold, and with a chill Fezra finally wondered about Berwen's stability. "I won't have that anymore. You hear me? I won't have that. Once, I didn't believe, but I finally saw you for the selfish bitch you always were. All of you, my 'comrades', worked to make me into this - something no human will ever like. But I'll pay you back. Oh yes. I'll pay you all back!" she grinned in triumphant malice. "Narie's the one I hated the least. I already took care of her."
Cold seeped in Fezra's being at the blatant implications. "Narie? What have you done to her?" she asked, but her query went unanswered, and unacknowledged.
"As for being an outcast, I assure you it won't work. I make you this pledge here and now, Fezra: in the end, the world'll speak of me. They'll speak of me in fear, terror and the respect accorded to tyrants, for that's the only respect I'll ever have. But I'll get it. I swear it in Shabranigdo and Ceipheed's Names, people of this continent will know my name. It will be known in history forever!" her eyes glowed fiercely, and the man under her moaned more.
Fezra took a deep breath. Her friend had lost it. She couldn't quite grasp it, but what she said was clear. It was madness, and had to be stopped here and now. "Berwen...we can't let you do this." she said with a pang, gathering her magic. Her friend - former friend, it seemed sadly - looked unsurprised, but actually smiled.
"I know you can't Fez." she said, and for one moment she saw her old friend in the fearsome visage. Then the new Berwen was back. "But we won't fight today. Oh no. I will decide when we fight next, Fezra! And to make certain you don't follow me, I have only to say that this structure is weakened, and that a simple shake should bring it down. Earth Below Me, Submit To My Will! Stone Spiker!!! she shouted, hitting the ground. The room immediately started to fall apart, the walls trembling. Spikes of rock sprang everywhere, shattering the keep, always stronger. A rumble was heard, and they all knew it was falling.
Fezra was grabbed by Marcus and hauled behind, but she did steal a last glance at her friend before hurrying out. Berwen was looking at her almost gently, and expectantly. "Until we meet again, Fez!" she crowed.
And then dust and stone barred each other from sight, and Fezra fled, mind astray and lost.
* * * * * * * * * *
Zasthla was one who had fought in many battles for many years. Although she had met more than her match in people like Kalarus or Loerik, she knew she was much above the average too. Her skill and experience had made her intimately knowledgeable about the fact that magic was sometimes used, and to the kind of effects this or that spell would have on walls, barricades, or some sort of fortification. Which was why her ears perked up as the rumbling started distantly.
Experience told her what she needed to know incredibly quickly. Stone Spiker, or at least some high-level Earth elemental spell. Cast in the very midst of a castle! She had seen it done once, two years before, when an Elmekian sorcerer had managed to get inside a Lumerian fort she and four hundred other were ordered to defend. The mage had buried all but sixty survivors into the rubble.
This explained why she began to feel extremely fidgety even as she stood in the midst of slain enemies. Prince Philionel, however, had obviously never seen magic used suicidally before, for he looked around, not nearly as worried as he should be feeling.
"What in the world?!" he exclaimed, "What possible madness could this be now?!" he seemed more wondering than anything else.
Years of mercenary work quickly told Zashtla what it had told her two years back. "Run." she snapped, sheathing her blade quickly.
He blinked at that. "What?"
"You HEARD me, Prince!! Move your ass. We gotta go NOW!!" she said in a fit of temper. She didn't wait to see if he got her warning straight. Instead she turned on her heels as swiftly as she could and sped, retracing the steps the battle had taken them. She heard Phil move about behind her, and for a while he fell away. Then she heard his heavy, quick steps as he returned, catching up with her. She looked back a moment.
She nearly groaned when she saw the two soldiers. Phil had slung one on each broad shoulder, and seemed to be carrying them easily enough despite the fatigue he must have felt and the extra weight they were. She narrowed her eyes by force of habit when she saw this, and it didn't go unnoticed. He glared right back.
"This place, I assume, is falling down on our ears, right?" he said sharply.
"Yes."
"Then I'll save whom I kind. It is the right thing to do."
She humphed. What an idealistic fool. "Its your loss if they slow you down and you die." she remarked coldly. She turned back to watch her step, but she felt his self-righteous disapproval from behind. So be it. She supposed it was the part that made him more charming than he seemed at first sight, but she wasn't about to agree with Phil's policies on justice and right. They sped along the dead and the battle-scarred corridors.
They hadn't gone very far towards the exit, stomping, clinking and running, when they ran into someone. She stiffened and instinctively reached for her blade before she realized that she recognized the persons. Loerik had also stiffened and relaxed in quick succession, and he was also holding a person. However, as that person was Hallia - and knowing that Loerik would cut off his sword arm rather than leave her behind - she didn't find fault in that action, as she'd found with Phil.
"Are you two alright?" she asked quickly, then judiciously added "You seen any of the others?"
Loerik nodded quickly, but it was Hallia who answered. "I'll be fine...just too tired to run too fast. Fezra and Marcus went ahead to Dallomir's room. We don't know about the others." she explained the battle they'd fought quickly, until Phil interrupted.
"It grieves me to be the one to say this," he muttered "But is it just me or are the walls starting to crack?" They all followed his gaze to inspect the walls. Sure enough, there were cracks showing in the old stone, and the mortar was starting to fall messily. The rumbling grew, and the ground itself seemed to shake suddenly.
"We don't have much time! Lets go!" she hollered, only to see Loerik already speeding away towards the hole Marcus had blown. She followed, Phil on her heels. She worried about the others, but she would be unable to do anything if she was crushed herself.
They went some way, and Phil cursed as the weight of the two soldiers started to drag him down. He started to puff harder, his abnormal strength finally strained under the heavy weight of flesh, bone and armour. She bit back an order to leave the two soldiers, knowing it would only earn her a deadly glare. She muttered a curse: sometimes her friends seemed to have no sense at all, no matter how skilled they were.
However, she knew she was only ranting because she felt a little guilty not to be able to share Phil's ideals, or even Hallia's benevolent - and more reasonable - philosophy. She was an harder person, and it didn't always please her.
Such thoughts were driven from her mind as someone else emerged ahead of one of the other passageways. They were a little way off, so there was no surprise involved before she recognized them. Lionel and Narie were running towards the hole as well, and the man seemed to be dragging the priestess. Narie's own movements were sluggish, as if belonging to a slow golem following instructions. Zashtla couldn't help but frown at the sight. Something was wrong there.
"Hey, Lionel, Narie!" she called "Wait up!!"
The apprentice stopped suddenly, looking in their direction, and Narie actually sped into him, nearly bowling him over. As they reached, Lionel was helping steady her, and was murmuring words to her. At the sight, Hallia gasped, struggling in Loerik's grip, and she felt both men stiffen with shock as well. She didn't feel much better herself.
Narie no longer looked like the woman who had given a brave facade to them all. Tears were streaming out of her eyes, and she clung to Lionel, looking lost and broken. It felt like seeing her after Kalarus had raped her months ago, only even worse. Her eyes had lost all lights.
Loerik was the first who found his voice. "What in Ceipheed's name happened?!?" he asked.
And Lionel only looked at him with grim eyes. "I don't think you'll believe me right now. Let's go!" he stated as he urged the broken young woman along.
Having no choice - and seeing the point as pieces of stone and marble started to fall - they ran after him. They had reached the hole when they heard a sound behind them. Turning, Zasthla saw the two missing members of the team. Both looked weary and wounded - as all of them did - and both were speeding along on a flying spell, swaying between the falling rocks. They reached the others just outside the fortress-like, multi-towered place.
They didn't waste time on words this time, as the structure started to buckle in on itself. Instead both sorcerers landed and ran away with them, farther along the path they'd taken to get there in the first place. Finally, a ways later, Phil groaned, letting go of the enemy soldiers he'd saved and falling on his knees. Panting, Loerik let his new wife down to the ground as they all turned to look at Dallomir's place as it fell to pieces, shivering, towers falling and crashing, until the noise finally died down as the mighty structure was left as nothing more than a pile of rubble and ghosts.
"Its over, it appears." Phil panted, his entire body shaking. His relief was evident. Loerik's shoulders sagged, and Hallia hurried to look Narie over, her face worried. Zasthla, however, saw the grim look Marcus gave Fezra, and the troubled one with which the sorceress answered him. For some reason, this cut and killed Zasthla's own sense of tired victory.
"What's going on, you two?" she asked gently, not wanting to disturb the others. They looked at her, and then exchanged that look - that frightening look - once more. Finally, Marcus gave her a level look.
"Its a story better told later." he said wearily. "Lets just say...that we might later find Dallomir wasn't much of an enemy next to the one we'll face."
And try as she might, she never managed to get more out of them for two entire days.
* * * * * * * * * *
Far from the exhausted group of adventurers, a whirlwind of black energy entered the Material Plane, quickly shaping itself into the form it had taken for well over a millennia. The being - powerful even by the measure of the few peers and superiors he had - didn't however spare the small group more than a passing thought. Instead, it looked towards the rubble, a faint smile upon a face, which seemed ever-relaxed.
It took a strong effort to pick up anything - which told him that whatever moved, it happened to have quite a bit of magical strength. Once he had it identified, he followed it, the being's senses seeing through the dust as the object of his attention picked its way through the pile of broken stones which had until recently been a magical haven.
And then, he lost it in a flare of magic. Teleportation most likely. Which, in itself, could only mean one thing...
Unable to repress it, the being brushed one hand through his purple hair, his smile turning into a happy grin.
"Humans." he mused joyfully. "You can say a lot about them. But in the end, one thing's certain: things never get dull around them."
And with wink towards the unwitting heroes he'd helped more than once, Xellos vanished back to his home in a puff of magical energy.
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