Shadowrun - Earthdawn - Prophecy, page 7
The bat flew close, then past. The glowjelly whipped it again. The bat flew past again at an angle. Leandra kept chanting. Her eyes followed the arc of the bat until it passed behind her field of vision. Cymric kept the bat in sight. It fell, turned again, passing closer. As it came al-most close enough to touch, the glowjelly’s tentacles radiated out, marking a circle like the notches on a sundial. It lashed the bat again. The bat fell too close to the ground, became tangled in the tall grass. The glowjelly went into a frenzy; the bat flapped and squeaked. It tore itself free with a spasmodic jerk, arced airborne for a brief moment, then plummeted to the ground not two paces from Cymric.
Cymric reached back into his mind. His wizardry spun a thread from the stuff of astral space, reinforced the pattern of his spell. The glowjelly jammed its tentacles into the nose, eyes, and mouth of the bat, which flopped wildly for a moment, then lay still. Cymric sighted the spell along his outstretched arm. Goodbye, you little floating piece of snot.
The spell spun through astral space along a path corresponding to the one Cymric sighted. The pattern of the spell merged with the pattern of the glowjelly. Cymric clenched his fist reflexively. Amplified by the spell, Cymric’s will tore at the mind of the creature.
The glowjelly’s shriek startled Cymric. Even Leandra stopped chanting. As the creature slid off the back of the bat, Leandra drew her sword. Cymric pulped the creature with his staff. Other glowjellies pinwheeled slowly toward them. Cymric heard excited shouting from the camp.
“What the hell were you doing?”
“Start chanting again!”
“They know we’re here. Run!”
“Start chanting. I’m casting. Leave and you can buy yourself another wizard.”
Leandra took two steps away, then spun and knelt on the ground. She clasped the necklace with her left hand, keeping her sword in her right. She kept her eyes on the swarm of bats and glowjellies, her face set in a scowl as she chanted.
Cymric had more hope than a plan. If Leandra’s magic really had kept them hidden, then the glowjellies were reacting to the shriek. Cymric wove another thread, finishing just as the swarm arrived. He targeted a glowjelly on the edge of the swarm, about twenty paces away. Cymric felt his will envelop the creature; it shrieked when Cymric tried to crush its pattern.
The swarm flew over and through them. One bat caromed off Leandra’s sword-arm, fell stunned, then took off again. Several brushed against Cymric’s robes. Squeaks, squeals, and the whirring of hundreds of wings made a din beyond anything Cymric would have imagined such small creatures could produce. He wanted to cover his ears, but was already weaving the thread for his next spell.
The glowjellies hesitated, then began to flow in a wider pattern. The swarm broke into dozens of small groups of bats, each darting around the location of a glowjelly. Cymric chose one about fifty paces away, further from the campsite than the last one. The glowjellies reacted more decisively this time, swirling toward the position of the latest shriek.
Cymric’s hands were shaking. Not yet, can’t stop now ... He wove again, then hit a glowjelly eighty paces away. The first spell arced too inexactly, the spell missing the thing by a fraction. Cursing softly, Cymric wove another thread, this spell hitting the glowjelly squarely. A luminescent burst of goo erupted at about ninety paces.
Someone in the pursuing party must have noticed the pattern Cymric had established; there suddenly came two flashes, then two circles illuminated by brightly glowing spheres. The spheres appeared further along the path Cymric had suggested with his attacks. They were moving toward the last downed glowjelly at the pace of a slow walk. Now that you’re looking for us where we aren’t, it’s time to leave. He tapped Leandra.
“They’re going to be looking into the lighted area for a little while. They’ll have a hard time spotting us moving in the moonlight.”
Leandra nodded. She slipped the necklace over her head, then tucked it under her armor. The sword was still in her hand. “I’ll lead,” she said, moving off at a slow trot.
Cymric followed as best he could. Every hundred paces or so, Leandra turned for just a moment and Cymric would spot the red glow from the necklace and correct his course. After a time, one too long for the comfort of Cymric’s legs, the red glow dimmed to a point. Cymric caught up again as Leandra slowed down to a walk. He strode up alongside her, ignoring the stitch in his side.
“Now that we’re out for an enjoyable evening stroll, would you mind telling me who those people were? Perhaps even why they were after you? You know, just to help pass the time.”
In the dark Cymric saw only her silhouette, but he could hear the steady tap-tap on the pommel of her sword even over the quiet rustling of the grass.
“That can wait until Corthy.”
“You must be joking.”
“I shall decide if I can trust you. You can decide if you want to work with me. If we’re still together, I’ll tell you everything you need to know.”
“Wizards are keen judges of what they need to know. This wizard thinks he needs to know who those people were.”
“I’m sure you do.”
Cymric stopped and threw up his hands. “Leandra, this isn’t going to work unless we tell each other what we know.”
Moonlight caught one of Leandra’s quick, quirky smiles. “Agreed. How about telling me why you took so long to wake me up? The red glow must have seemed odd to a wizard.”
Cymric dropped his arms. He leaned on his staff, feeling a slow, ragged grin spread over his face. He gave his best bow, one hand sliding down his staff, his other arm held out stiff behind him.
“So we agree to a common mistrust, softened by uncommon courtesy, at least as far as Corthy?”
“At least as far as Corthy.”
Cymric nodded, then hobbled over to Leandra. He held out one hand in their direction of travel, and took an exaggerated first stride. Leandra took a normal step. Staying an uneasy distance apart, the two traveled silently through the long, rustling grass until the moon began to set.
8
Two days of peaceful travel ended when Cymric caught sight of a column of smoke over Corthy. He and Leandra moved off the trail and up a hill about five hundred paces outside the farming town. They could hear the shrieks and oaths of fighting, but the sounds were muted, nearly lost in the wailing of the wind. Cymric could barely see figures moving about on the outskirts of the village. It looked like adults fighting spindly youths, although the youths were a little more numerous. Leandra studied the battle carefully.
“Ogres,” she said.
“I assume we wait?”
Leandra adopted her blank expression, but her eyes narrowed for a fraction of a second. She started down the hill. Cymric blinked, then hurried after her.
“Are you serious about charging into a melee in the middle of a burning town?”
“Yes.”
Cymric stopped for a moment to stare at Leandra as she walked past him. Then he picked up his robe so he could dash ahead of her a ways. Then he turned to face her and talked while walking backward.
“Wizards hate fighting, particularly when the wizard isn’t convinced it’s completely necessary and the fight is against opponents three times his size.”
Leandra bunched her hair together with her left hand while pulling two hairpins from the lining of her scabbard with her right. One pin went into her mouth, the other into a mass of hair. She never broke stride. Cymric stumbled, then righted himself, trotting to catch up. Leandra pulled the other pin from her mouth, talking to Cymric without taking her eyes off the village.
“The calendar is in the village.”
“What do you think are the odds that ogres would be interested in stealing a ritual calendar?”
“Too high for me. The person who has the calendar is a friend of mine.”
“Now, some wizards could begin to see that as a reason.”
Leandra reached behind her neck. She rubbed a few links of her chainmail, then pulled. A yellow shimmer played over her hand, then the links expanded into a camail, a chain link collar to cover her neck and shoulders. Another touch, another shimmer, and she pulled a mail coif over her head.
“We saw no refugees along the trail,” she said while adjusting the coif under her chin. “That must mean the townsfolk stayed to defend their homes. I have to admire that kind of courage.”
Cymric threw his arms to the sky and screamed in exasperation.
“My lady swordmaster, wizards wearing robes find talk of courage most suspicious when coming from skilled fighters armored in inagicked mail. Those best protected from physical danger seem least fit to suggest it to others.” Cymric did not see Leandra draw her sword, but he felt the jolt shooting from his left wrist to his elbow. His staff flew several feet, spinning and bouncing end to end. Cymric looked at Leandra in surprise, then flinched.
‘“I was talking about them, not you. I didn’t mean the courage to face danger. I meant the courage to believe in something bigger than yourself.”
While Cymric scrambled for his staff, Leandra was sheathing her sword, the shushing sound carrying over the battle noise from town. When he looked up, she had her eyes closed and was breathing deeply. When she opened her eyes again, they looked as sharp as her blade.
“The necklace and I are going into Corthy. Come in. Stay out. Whatever.”
She walked away. As Cymric hopped to his feet and began to race after her, he saw two figures heading in their direction away from a burning building. They wore overlapping pieces of leather, crude helmets, and carried large clubs. No question that those are ogres; at least we don’t have to smell them yet. Cymric slowed, the urge to run away flooding his legs, chest, and groin with nervous energy. “Leandra, wait.”
Leandra altered her course slightly, making directly for the ogres. She matched each step with a single tap on her sword pommel.
“Wait, damn it! I need the right spells in my matrices. Asking me to walk into that inferno without good spells is like me asking you to walk in naked and unarmed.” Cymric stopped, breathing more heavily than justified by mere exertion.
Leandra looked from Cymric, to the town, to the approaching ogres, then back into the young wizard’s eyes. To his own surprise, he bore the weight of the gaze well.
“No jokes. No clever lines. No fancy words. Just ‘yes’ or ‘no’. When you get the right spells in your ... things, will you go with me into Corthy?”
Cymric licked his lips, looked at the ogres.
“Are you going to keep those big boys off me until I get my spells?”
Leandra nodded.
“Then I’ll go with you into Corthy.”
Drawing her sword, Leandra stood between the ogres and Cymric, who sat down, staff across his lap. He calmed his breathing as best he could. Ogres—big, fast, not the most clever or coordinated of creatures. An illusory attack would probably work against them. I need a defensive spell, but probably won’t need to dispel magic. A spell for quicker movement might serve me better. Cymric chose ephemeral bolt, coaxing the pattern into astral space, hooking it onto the thread leading to one of his spell matrices. In his mind’s eye the thread looked kinked and looped rather than the smooth curve it should have made. Fear must have distorted it. Chastising himself for losing his nerve, Cymric maneuvered the spell pattern along the thread to the matrix, but the pattern snagged on a kink in the thread.
Cymric gently increased the pressure of his will. The spell pattern didn’t budge, but the thread shimmered and coiled under the effort. Then Cymric visualized a hand slamming the pattern into the matrix, but it slammed too hard. The pattern spun along the rest of the thread, hitting the matrix at a bad angle. A flash of energy poured from the matrix into the spell, vaporizing the pattern. The flux traveled upthread to Cymric, who had just enough time to shield himself, but not enough to keep the magic from leaking out and scalding his neck with an internal heat. Cymric could smell the burned hair on his nape. He frantically checked his other matrices, but all three came up empty. The flux had ruined the patterns in every one of his matrices.
He returned his focus to the external world. The two ogres were perhaps fifty yards away, dragging spiked clubs that casually mutilated grass and flowers as the pair approached. Cymric choked back a cry as he was struck by the full pain and realization of what had just happened. Leandra looked back at him, eyebrows raised.
“I lost all my spells. I blew them out of their matrices.”
“Meaning?”
“I can’t cast anything until I replace them.”
Leandra looked at the ogres, who seemed to have increased their pace slightly. Cymric got up on one knee, then brushed off his robes and wiped away the tears streaking his face.
“Sorry. Time to run, I guess.”
“Get your spells back. I’ll take care of them.”
As Leandra walked toward the ogres, one of them began to scratch vigorously at a patch of greasy black hair. The other raised his club. Cymric tried hard to focus on his internal sight. He relaxed his face, allowing more tears to flow down his cheeks. Once again he chose the ephemeral bolt spell, summoning the pattern in his mind. An ogre growled nearby, spitting out something in passable dwarven.
“Pays Hokf and me, shiny woman?”
“You pays, we not bruise you badly.”
“Not badly, but maybe just a little.”
Ogrish laughter. The sound of a rapid double-swipe of Leandra’s sword was followed by a many-toned “Ooohh” from the ogres, then another deep laugh. Cymric calmed enough to see the thread leading to the matrix. Trying to slide the spell pattern toward the matrix felt like trying to move a delicate glass bead along a rough, uneven wire.
“I have a different deal. You walk away from Corthy, and you can keep all your limbs at no extra charge.” Cymric gently wiggled the pattern over the worst of the kinks and loops, then took the time to let it settle at its next natural resting place on the thread before pushing it any further. The spell pattern moved away from Cymric like a wispy-edged snowflake sinking into a pool of turbulent water.
Cymric heard a scuffing sound in the dirt.
“You pays now, or we breaks much.”
“Maybe we break some, and see how the rest fits.” “Bets it fits snug.”
“You two use whatever you want me to cut off.”
The scuffing sound was followed by a light step. Cymric was floating the ephemeral bolt into the matrix when a roar snapped his sight back to the external world. The ogre’s first blow missed Leandra by two club-widths; Leandra parried the second, then instantly followed up with a deep cut across that ogre’s weapon arm. The howl preceded title flow of blood. Leandra whirled away from the ogre, placing herself behind him. The first ogre went around his companion, who turned. Both brutes now faced Leandra, and had their backs turned to Cymric. The wizard decided to risk placing one more pattern into a matrix.
Turning his sight inward, Cymric chose his leaping spell. The threads to his matrix appeared blue rather than white, more difficult to see in the gloom of astral space but with fewer kinks in the threads. He started to slide the pattern down the thread. He flinched when an agonized bellow sent a shock up and down his spine, but Cymric kept his concentration on his internal sight. The spell slipped neatly into a matrix. Do I go for three?
“Cymric!”
Leandra’s shout brought him back to the external world. The ogre with the wounded arm had switched the club to his other hand. The ogre swung wildly, clipping Cymric in the shoulder and spinning him around. Cymric cast a spell. The spell zipped along the shortest astral arc to the ogre. In the external world, a green wriggle of light flashed from Cymric, and struck the ogre’s chest. The ogre staggered a step, then regained his balance and brought the club whistling down onto Cymric’s head. Cymric’s timing was better than the ogre’s; the club smashed into Cymric’s footprint.
Cymric again cast his bolt. The flash was far brighter, and Cymric saw spots for a few seconds. His eyes adjusted quickly, though, showing him the ogre lying unconscious on the ground. Leandra’s ogre threw his club at her, but she deflected it easily. When the ogre turned and ran full-tilt back toward Corthy, Leandra hesitated, then turned and walked over to the ogre lying unconscious. She prodded him with the tip of her sword.
“He’s not dead?”
“No, illusion spells can merely .. .” Cymric watched Leandra’s swing cut through most of the ogre’s throat. He swallowed reflexively. The ogre convulsed, shooting speckles of blood several feet off from the large pool forming by his neck. The ogre stopped moving. Leandra cut a pouch free from his rope-belt, then looped the drawstring over the point of her sword. She swung the sword toward Cymric, dangling the pouch about a foot in front of him. The sword point was even closer.
“We should have settled this earlier. You dropped the ogre, so this pouch is yours. Or do we split whatever we find?”
Cymric eyed the bloody sword edge, then the pouch.
“Splitting the take is fine with me.”
Leandra smiled. She lowered the sword point, letting the pouch fall at Cymric’s feet. When she withdrew the blade, Cymric snatched up the pouch.
“You have your spells. Ready to hit Corthy?”
I don’t have all my spells, but I’m not crazy enough to tell you I’m not ready. Cymric bowed.
“After you, milady swordmaster. By the bye, who or what are we looking for in Corthy?”
“An elven spellcaster named Gelthrain. Her house is in the center of Corthy, and she has the calendar.”
