"By Lilith's withered breasts strike him down!" Rescartes howled at his scrying mirror, shaking it as if he were shaking the mink herself. Fury burned in his heart as he found not one, but three individuals whom this mink would not raise her sword against, no matter how much power the blade exerted against her. The skunk he knew, that one was her lover, and it did not take a lot to discern that she also loved that fool child of a priest for more spiritual reasons. But the other furred beast, why would she not attack him? What was he to her that she loved him with the same furious intensity that she loved the skunk?
With a furious hiss he decided that he could care less about whom his pawn loved, and would take care of the matter himself. Waving his hands in a swift, intricate gesture, he hurled a spell into the mirror, through the sword itself, at the skunk. With the souls trapped within the blade amplifying its power and the portal anchoring his demesnes with the Keep he had the strength to finally act through the sword directly without having to continue battling the will of his stubborn minion.
"Lord, Votik has entered the portal." Fylmar stated quietly from the far corner of the room.
"Order him to slay the wolf bitch and the boy." Rescartes snapped with a flat, toneless snarl as he watched the results of his attack, leaning his hands against the desk. Nuia circled around behind him silently, the silken drape of her gossamer silk gown caressing the side of his face as she traced a finger across his temple.
"Patience, my dear prince, she will fail against you in due time." She crooned close at his ear, her warm breath stirring his dark hair. Rescartes could only nod curtly as his fingers flexed and splayed, manicured nails clicking upon the smooth stone of the desktop.
"Have the Arl'at'lar Cohort called to arms, and instruct the master of the menagerie to awaken the most fearsome of his beasts." Rescartes said without looking away from his mirror, "Once we secure an anchor head within the chapel, the Keep will be hard pressed to cast us out."
"Very well, lord."
Lothanasa Raven hin'Elric took up Elemacil, her gods' touched mithril sword, and turned to face the giant approaching the altar dais upon which she stood. Hough and the two guards protecting him stood at her back, fearfully watching the huge human stalk toward them. Regardless of the frictions and differences of faith between her faithful and those whose path lead to Eli, she would not stand idly by when danger threatened one of either flock. With a feral snarl rippling along her muzzle she squared herself off to face the giant, tail outstretched behind her, hackles up beneath the collar of her robes.
"Hassal Dokorath, lat mivestas, Elric eon hasen." She growled a slow, brief prayer to the god of war as she shifted her grip upon the hilt of her great blade. Whether her prayer was heard or heeded she did not know, but she steeled herself for battle nonetheless. With a broad, leering grin upon his huge face, the giant looked from the wolf facing him to the guards, then to the morsel standing between them wearing naught but flimsy night clothes. His grin splitting his bearded face, he snapped his arm back and launched a full bodied swing with his mace at the wolf. With a growl Raven braced to block the attack, meeting the heavy steel head of the mace with the magically keen edge of Elemacil. Sparks showered from the point of impact as the giant's swing was arrested completely, bringing him to an unexpected halt. The brute strength of the blow shook Raven's entire body, numbing her arms with the force of the strike and driving her back two paces.
Leaning his considerable weight and strength against her blade the giant tried to force her down. "Bitch." He grunted, a tight smile pulling at his bearded face, the fetid stench of his breath assailing Raven's senses and causing her eyes to water, "Die." Occupied trying to hold the weight of the giant's mace at bay Raven could do nothing about the kick she saw coming. Gritting her teeth she tensed herself to receive the attack but she could not prevent the ignominious yelp that burst from her throat as she was hurled bodily across the platform. Elemacil clattered and sang as it escaped her grasp, sliding across the stone floor to fetch up against the lectern. Raven's head cracked against stone solidly as she slid into a pillar with another pained grunt. Not far away Hough watched in horror, fearing that the brute strength of the giant would end her life with such a blow.
"Mistress Lightbringer, are you well?" he cried as he darted to her side, the two guards moving to put themselves between the holy leaders and the giant. Hough grasped her arm with small hands as he looked toward the giant, struggling to help the wolf rise. Raven gave her head a shake to chase back the gray haze stealing at her vision, only to heighten the throb in her temples. Laughing, the giant swept his heavy mace at the two guards mockingly, not particularly trying to strike them.
"Bitch, no gods to save you. Fogal crush your bones." The giant explained as his long strides brought him inexorably closer. With a pained, angry growl Raven levered herself up, leaning one hand upon Hough's shoulder. Forcing back the pain she raised her free hand toward the giant, "Yajiit tu lassin estes pyr." The words called forth the powers gifted to her by the goddess Yajiit, leaping from her hand in a searing fountain of white flame. Bellowing curses in his native language the giant retreated, batting at the flames with his mace futilely. He barely managed to escape the searing wrath as he threw up an arm to shield his eyes from the blinding light. Seeing a momentary opening one of Hough's guards closed in on the giant and thrust his sword into the huge creature's side. A pained roar issued from the giant's throat as the guard's blade pierced fur and leather armor to sink deep into tender flesh. Turning swiftly, he struck the guard with the back of one massive hand and forearm, sending the smaller human sprawling in a motionless heap some distance away.
While the giant's attention was momentarily taken elsewhere the other guard crossed around behind him and darted toward the altar. Hooking the toe of her boot under the crossbar of Raven's sword she kicked it across the floor toward the priestess. Such was the limit to the aid she could provide as she suddenly found two purely mortal lutins charging swiftly at her, the second giant several strides behind them.
The third giant that had come through the portal was lying face down amidst shattered pews.
Releasing Hough's shoulder Raven steadied herself as she forced the pain in her throbbing skull and aching body into abeyance. Clasping her hands together she transferred Yajiit's holy flames to herself, immolating both hands to her wrists. The white blaze leaped and crackled upon her hands but did not consume her fur or flesh. Reaching down, she picked up Elemacil and prepared once again to face the giant. Raising it vertically before her face she set her predatory teeth in a hard snarl as Yajiit's flame raced up the blade.
Scanning the chapel she gauged the situation in the seconds she had before the giant reached her.
The mink with the magical sword seemed contained between the marten warrior and skunk mage, her sword held aloft but not moving. Rickkter the war mage was stalking after one of the giants having left the other two to deal with the mink. One guard, previously Hough's protector, was dispatching lutins while trying to avoid the attacks of Rick's foe. The four other guards were rapidly eliminating the last of the undead lutin golems. A new figure was emerging from the portal, a mage by the look. Too far away and not truly mage enough herself to engage in such a battle, she turned her attention to the threat much closer at hand.
"All mine, demon bitch." The giant observed with a sneering grin on his bearded face. He shifted his grip upon his mace, his fingers tightening around the thick shaft as he neared the wolf who failed to give ground.
"Come then." She barked challengingly, her fur bushing anew under her robes, her tail standing out behind her as she shifted her stance, Elemacil angled slightly as she watched the giant. "Rickkter, ware the portal!" she howled as the giant spring at her with a swift lash of his mace. Blade and bludgeon met sending molten metal spraying.
Hearing Raven's warning howl Muri's eyes darted toward the portal without turning his body away from Llyn. The human stepping through was already in the motions of a spell. Muri did not know where Rick was or how able he would be to combat the mage. Torn between saving Llyn from the terrible geas the sword held upon her and intercepting the more direct threat of the new mage Muri was caught unprepared for the attack that did come at him. From the sword a violet whip of magical energy lashed out and enwrapped the skunk in agony. Fur smoked and curled as the magic seared at him, sending him to his knees with a purely animalistic shriek of pain. Llyn fell back a step in horror, muzzle falling open, her fur standing as Muri's wail rang in her ears. For several heartbeats she stood rooted in shock as Muri grabbed desperately for his inner magic and the magic of Metamor itself in an attempt to throw back the potent magic burning its way into him. The mink's face twisted into a sudden snarl as she turned and hurled the sword, which she had not let out of her reach in months, as far as she could. She never saw the spinning blade clatter to the floor amongst smashed pews for the moment it left her hand Llyn fell to the floor in an unconscious heap.
As the sword grew more distant Muri found its assailing power rapidly weakening its hold upon him, eventually allowing him to cast away the life sapping corruption. The effort and the attack left him feeling as weak as a newborn cub in both spirit and body. On hands and knees, his head bowed, he gasped for air while agonized tears pattered to the floor between his hands.
Luck was with him as all combatants seemed occupied with individual battles leaving him clear and uncontested in the center of the chaos. Knots of fighting waged back and forth on all sides as the skunk crawled hastily toward his fallen love. Weakness slowed his pace to an eternity long quest to cover the twelve feet to Llyn's immobile form. He could feel his physical strength swiftly returning as he moved while his spirit energies, his magic, remained drained to the very dregs. Reaching her side he laid a hand upon her shoulder and sank down to the floor in exhaustion.
Forcing himself to focus on his breathing to speed his recover he let his senses broaden, his sight delving deeper into the world around him, the underlying magic of all things swimming into focus. The twisted knot of energies wreathing the mink quailed his heart with its complexity and power. The threads of the complex interwoven spells traced across the floor of the chapel in chaotic profusion to the sword, anchoring the two together with a complex knot of dark, vile magic. Any of those threads alone would have been a mighty challenge for the skunk to untangle. As a whole and linked as they were to Llyn's spirit and mind it would be folly to tease out spell strands singly. He would have to sever all of them at their source simultaneously.
That Llyn might loose her sanity or her life as a result was a risk he would be forced to take.
Taking a steadying breath he looked about quickly for foes before pushing himself to his feet and staggered in the direction of Llyn's discarded sword. Physically his strength had almost returned to less exhausted levels, but his magic was sapped and not returning. He was forced to draw upon the prodigious magic of the keep to raise a shield against further attack by the sword. From the corner of his eye he could see the mage, a tangle of varicolored spells coruscating around him. Shields for the most part to protect him from physical and magical attacks. Muri was reassured to see that the enemy mage could not draw upon the keep's ready power. Indeed, it seemed to his spirit sight that the pale blue sea of magic that defined the keep was attacking the unknown mage's own magic, ablating the strength of his shields and sapping the spells he was trying to cast even as he formed them.
Concealing himself from the sight of the mage and two giants in an alcove along the wall, one which held a battered, chipped representation of Yashua's trials, Muri looked upon the sword to see if there was any sort of weakness which he could attack. As the multitude of spell threads came from Llyn and converged upon the sword they formed a tangled skein too chaotic for his eyes, keen as they were, to prize apart to find a point to begin his attack upon the magical construct. A lutin charged by his hiding place, startling him momentarily as it raced by, never looking toward him. Yelling and howling, five Metamoran guards charged in swift pursuit. In his moment of distraction the skunk's vision shifted and unfocused upon the magic of the sword. In that brief moment something else filled his vision, and it was not the lutin or its attackers. It was a silvery flash and shimmer, like mercury in a vial that stared his sight. The effect was nothing more than the glimmer of battle magic and torchlight upon the blade which his eyes were boring into, but it reminded him of something which he had not thought of.
A scrying pool.
In order to create a portal, knowing when and where to place it, someone had to be able to see the chapel. With new intent he looked around once more, beginning his search around the sword and working outward.
Only five paces behind the giant, who did not even know he was there, Rick stopped and spun as his ears pricked up. Raven's howl had not finished echoing from the walls of the chapel as he turned about and found the enemy mage looking toward him and putting together a spell. Faster than the mage's spell, Rick snatched a dagger from the belt at his hip and hurled it. The polished steel blade cast chaotic motes of light about the chapel as it sped through the air, only to come to a sudden halt an arms length from the mage, who completed his spell. Sweat beaded upon the humans shaven, glyph tattooed scalp as he flashed Rick a quick, evil smile and reached out to pluck the blade from the air in which it was suspended.
"Tut, tut, southerner." The man said as he shook his head and sent the blade back with a leisurely flick of his wrist. Rick sidestepped swiftly as the spinning dagger came back at him twice as fast as he sent it. Where the mage's spell went worried him to no end, but he had heard no screams or explosions. By the shift of the wizard's gaze he figured it was aimed at the giant, not at the raccoon. It had most likely been a shield or some manner of spell to enhance the massive humanoid in some way. "We here in the northlands find you southerners quite quaint in your pitiful little squabbles."
Rick blinked once at the bald mage's arrogance, considering the odds were not in his favor. Where the mage's allies were whittled down to two giants and a few overmatched lutins, Rick had at his support a Lightbringer priestess, his own apprentice, the sword wielding marten, and five Metamoran guards. "And we southerners find you in the north to be arrogant, patronizing, and slowed by the ice on your ass." He growled in reply as he waved one arm, sending forth a wave of stone shards that materialized out of thin air inches before his arm. The mage took a short step back and smiled from one corner of his mouth as he waited for his own shields to absorb the stilettos. The first to strike his defenses shattered in small flashes of muted blue light, but not all of them. Five pierced the mage's shields, three missing by mere inches, one imbedding itself in the robes at his hip, and the last burying itself in the flesh of his shoulder.
The shriek that reached Rick's ears, however, did not come from the mage, who merely growled in pain. Risking a glance toward the terrible sound Rick's breath caught when he realized it was Murikeer! The skunk was burning with a dark violet flame which licked at his body, consuming his magic more swiftly than he could hope to halt. Rick had seen spells very similar in play several times in his past battles, the soul shredding magic belonging only to the most powerful and most ancient of wizards. A non-mage could never hope to withstand it, falling in seconds with such screams that left nightmares in the minds of any who heard them for months afterward. Mages, able to stave off the attack with their own reserves of magic, could sometimes outlast the spell if they were powerful, sacrificing their magic rather than their soul. He felt hollow in his heart as he watched his pupil 's agony, knowing he was powerless to aid him even were he not trapped in combat with another foe.
With a snarl, he turned his rage for the possible death of his pupil upon the enemy mage, who had removed the shard of stone from his shoulder and replaced his shattered shields. Pointing a finger at the mage he spoke two words beyond the ears of mortal men to make sense of, ancient words long forgotten to any but the most studied of mages, and produced a single spear of strange, gray light. The lance of eye defying magical force struck the mage's shield with a coruscation of bright light that ended with the shield failing once more. "Impressed yet?" he growled as he stalked toward the mage, "That was a cantrip."
When mages battled one another, the commonly accepted display of fearful lights and deafening thunder was simply not what one ever normally saw. Mages battling mages fought with the fastest spells within their arsenal, hoping to beat their opponents in speed rather than sheer devastating raw power. Rick was a versatile mage, rather than being the most powerful. He knew and could draw immediately to mind more than three score swift spells for use in battle, requiring little more than a few words or simple gestures of one or two hands. He had to admit that, in sheer brute strength, Muri was slightly more powerful than he, but far, far less versatile. Muri would deal with a foe by striking them with an anvil, whereas Rickkter would much more easily finish the fight by a fusillade of tiny cuts. His foe was more like his pupil, quite incapable of casting rapid spells that dealt little overall damage. As Rick crossed the floor toward him he cast spell after spell at the bald, sweating mage. The greater majority of them were turned aside or simply stopped, but many also got through, shredding the mage's robes and raising cuts upon his flesh.
"Focus is a good thing, but watch your backside, 'coon." Someone rasped close behind Rick, which nearly caused him to turn and launch his next spell in a completely new direction, but the warning was heard and the speaker recognized as ally a moment before he felt the speaker's weight crash into his back. Not solidly enough to upset his footing or his spellcasting, it nonetheless brought him to a stop as he braced back against it. He turned one ear rearward to listen at the battle behind him even as he cast three blinding flares at his foe, gaining a precious second to discern the situation at his back.
The heavy, floor-shaking footsteps closing swiftly from behind told him more than he needed to know. Sidestepping slightly, he turned even as he felt the marten behind him mirror the maneuver the opposite direction. Gazing up almost into the face of the charging giant, he raised his sword in a lightning swift thrust only to have his attack struck aside by the giant's mace as the huge humanoid lurched back to avoid having his throat ripped out by the raccoon's steel. He continued his pirouette with two smooth steps, bringing the marten and his two swords back around to face the giant as he returned his attention to the mage. A finger of lightning hammered into his chest with such force that he would have been thrown off his feet had not the marten's weight been braced against his back. As it was the searing energy blasted a hole through his doublet and fur, leaving a singed, blackened circle in the center of his chest. Gritting his teeth against the pain he cast the very same spell in return as behind him the marten's swords rang shrilly against the heavy steel mace of the giant.
Snarling, Rick launched a barrage of firebolts at the mage, only to have them countered with a sudden wall of ice. Shards scattered in all directions as the mage let out a growling laugh and returned a similar spell, bolts of green flame which sizzled like fat on an overheated skillet as they darted from the mage's fingers. Rickkter batted aside the first, the other three missing entirely as he twisted and the marten at his back dodged the other way to avoid an attack by the giant. One of the bolts hissed as it struck the giant's leg, charring the leather armor and causing the giant to dance several paces as he tried to put out the sickly green flames burning up his shin.
"Is that your best, Kankoran pawn?" the bald man snarled, ignoring the trickle of blood tracing its way down his brow, giving his head a quick jerk to cast the sticky warmth from his eyelid, "Mere apprentice spells, I thought you could do far better." He taunted as he raised shield after shield, layering them between himself and the raccoon, then looking around to see what other havoc he could wreak. Rick puffed a breath through his glistening black nose as his tail bushed with the insult, his molars grinding.
"Why waste effort on the likes of you?" Rick countered as he held one hand outstretched toward the mage, palm forward, fingers splayed toward the ceiling. Shouting a string of incantations in the elder tongue of both magic and the Way, he hurled a mighty barrage from his outstretched fingers. Rather than streaming straight at the mage, and his shields, they blossomed in all directions, screaming angrily around the chapel. Some slammed into pillars and vanished with sharp reports while others continued to circle like angry bees, causing the bald mage to watch them warily. His shields were not complete enclosures, mere arcs concentrated between his position and the raccoon. The spells swiftly closing in from all sides put him once more on the immediate defensive as he threw up a hasty sphere of protection. While he was thus distracted Rick followed with another spell and charged forward, his sword held out before him like a lance.
With the rapid-fire thunder of a dozen breaking timbers, the remaining spells of his swarm hammered the mage's sphere while the spell Rick followed with destroyed the shields with a deafening roar. The floor beneath his paws cracked, the surface peeling away in thousands of small flakes and shards that leaped up several inches and scattered in the wake of the shatter spell. His attention snapping back toward Rick, the mage brought both hands together and prepared to hurl a swift, powerful, and lethal spell. Had his hands remained attached to his wrists he may actually have succeeded. Unfortunately the raccoon's out-thrust sword, piercing the last shreds of his protective sphere, whispered one way and back across in a wide sweep, cutting across and severing his forearms at the wrists. As his hands fell the mage's mouth opened in a terrified shriek of agony. His eyes met those of the raccoon, now only inches away, muzzle to nose, whiskers so close he could have felt them against his cheeks had the searing pain from his wrists not erased any other sensation.
"You have forgotten that not all mages are limited to magic." He snarled as his sword slid smoothly into the man's sternum, backed by the power of spell-enhanced strength. Such was the force of the blow that the man's ribcage collapsed with a wet crunch, his body lurching up and back as Rick completed his thrust. "Some can actually use swords."
"All well and good showing off and all, but put your magic where your mouth is and get this giant off my furry arse." The marten growled as he darted past the raccoon, pointing back toward the giant with one bloodied sword. Rick shoved the gurgling human from the end of his sword and simply turned in place, squaring off against the giant only three paces away, well within range to sweep that mace across and paste the raccoon against a wall. The giant did not do that, however, as he peered down at the raccoon warily and took a step back. Casting about with a quick glance for less fearsome foes, the giant spied the cluster of purely mortal looking Metamor guards and turned slightly as if to engage them.
Leaning slightly as he moved to intercept, Rick brought his sword up quickly as the giant swung the huge mace at him and lunged forward. Backpedaling, Rick felt the numbing strength of power behind the giant's swing race up his arm and wrench at his shoulder. Only the enhanced strength provided by magic prevented the blow from dislocating his shoulder. Teeth bared, he snapped his sword down under the mace as the giant drew it back, darting forward and slashing across the taller humanoid's shins. One leather greave survived with only a deep gash, the other came apart in a crumble having already suffered one magical attack. The giant danced back and brought his mace down to hammer the raccoon, only succeeding in stirring debris up from the already damaged floor as it crashed down through empty air. The raccoon dodged to one side as the more slender marten glided off to the other, his shorter swords singing as he struck at the haft of the giant's mace, aiming for fingers but missing and succeeding only in carving divots of steel from the haft of the mace.
Both circled around behind the giant and kept moving as their foe spun in a desperate attempt to keep them in sight. Passing the marten Rick shook his head, "Problems, problems, everyone's bringing me their problems today." He chuffed and suddenly switched directions, darting between the giant's knees as the marten leaped into the air and tumbled acrobatically over the giant's low swing. A great bellow of pain rent the air as the keen edge of Rick's blade carved a long, deep cut through the meat of the giant's inner thigh. Ignoring the marten, the giant spun about and lashed out at Rick with his mace so swiftly the raccoon, still regaining his stance, was forced to take the blow against his blade and block with brute strength.
A maneuver the giant was expecting, for as Rick stopped the swing of his mace, his free hand reached down and grabbed the raccoon's sword arm and yanked him into the air as one might a prize rabbit from its hole. "Ludos kill little animal." The giant growled angrily, his foul, rotten breath flattening the raccoon's fur and causing his eyes to water as his shoulder complained quite painfully. Drawing back his mace, the giant prepared to smite the raccoon a severely damaging blow, but was forestalled with a yelp and another curse as the marten's sword bit through the leather greaves protecting his calves and nearly hamstrung him. Lashing out with his mace, the giant attempted to clobber the swift, dexterous dancing of the small, slender brown tree weasel. He missed, as well with the impromptu weapon he made of the raccoon in his free hand, slamming Rick against the floor bodily as he attempted to catch the marten.
Stunned, Rick felt himself yanked into the air as the world spun crazily about him. White motes danced in his vision and his thoughts seemed to be scattered in fifty different directions at once. While he had fought in scores of battles, both alone and with armies, he had never before been bodily taken and used as a weapon. The humiliation of it put a rage into him that banished the pain, for the moment, and forced his thoughts to clear. As his shoulder began to give under the continued strain of being wrenched and twisted, he raised his free hand, hissed a single, devastating word that he had only thrice uttered in his life, and felt the last of his magical strength drain away as the invisible spell blossomed within his chest, filled his head with its barely contained strength, and surged down his arm. It built around his outstretched hand for only the barest of moments before leaping forth and rending the giant's shoulder and much of his upper arm from his body in a cloud of red vapor. Freefall was brief, and luck was granted to Rick as the arm took the impact with the unyielding stone of the floor before the raccoon did.
The shock of falling was nothing compared to the dull, aching agony of his shoulder, and Rick sprang up relatively swiftly when the spasming fingers released his arm. The giant had fallen to his knees and clutched his shoulder in agony by the time Rick rose to his paws. Rolling his strained shoulder, Rick secured his grip upon his sword, which he never dropped throughout the humiliating event, and strode over to the giant. "Little animal kill Ludos!" he cursed as he lashed out with his sword. The magically keen edge sliced through flesh and gristle with as much ease as it passed through air, opening the giant's throat and nearly removing his head. He stepped back almost casually as the giant, his eyes going vacant, toppled forward and crashed to the floor.
"Messy." The marten observed as he walked over to the side of the war mage and regarded the fallen giant and the swiftly expanding pool of blood staining the floor, "One left." He said calmly, pointing toward the altar where Raven was squaring off with the last remaining giant.
Rick shrugged, "But effective." He stated flatly as he rotated one ear toward a sound that did not come to his hearing with pleasant news. Turning slightly, Rick reached to his belt and drew his wakizashi as he nodded toward the portal, "More." He said grimly as a lutin stepped through, followed immediately by two more, then another two. Shoulder to shoulder, marten and raccoon turned to face the new arrivals, their swords gleaming and dripping blood.
quot;Lord, the cohort has arrived within the portal chamber." Fylmar reported as he shifted slightly and stretched his back. While the battle had not been raging particularly long, the concentration he required to keep in contact with the mages in the portal chamber and all of the elements that Rescartes was communicating with was draining his stamina and his head was beginning to ache.
"Send them immediately, and prepare the glacier hounds." Rescartes said as he leaned his chin in one hand and watched Votik, then the giant fall. He shook his head and muttered darkly as he watched the last remaining giant face off with the gray furred Lightbringer priestess. "And any other forces that might be available at the moment."
"Yes, lord."
"This is becoming a waste, Res." Nuia cautioned quietly as she reclined in her lounge before the great hearth along the wall to Rescartes' right. A huge fire roared in the depths of the fireplace, logs easily as long as a tall man providing an almost stifling heat in the huge chamber. "The Mistress has forbid us to attempt taking Metamor, that is a task given to Ba'al's chosen minion."
"Eliminating the leaders of faith will weaken that damnable castle far better than almost any other force." Rescartes countered without looking up, "Once that task is accomplished we can leave the rest to the dark one's pawn, damn him to the pit of oblivion anyway."
Nuia hid a chuckle behind one hand at Rescartes' black mood as she glanced over at the mage in the corner, then back to the fire.
Muttering to himself, Rescartes cursed the unconscious mink for casting away the sword. Without contact with her, and the souls that were bound to her and the sword, he could not cast any further spells through his scrying mirror to support the giant or lutins he could see stepping through the portal. He never noticed the skunk examining the sword from the shadowed safety of an alcove.
Pushed back into his concealing alcove, Muri spent several long moments watching the sword, his eyes narrowing as he tried to delve deeper and deeper into the knot of tangled enchantments and spells bound to the blade, and thus bound to Llyn. He was no longer looking for a way to unbind the spells, but for another weakness. Such a powerful weapon was bound to be linked to its creator as well, for it was not particularly ancient.
And, after several moments of careful, head-throbbing concentration and focus he found that weakness. A single thread, silver in his sight, almost lost against the pale blue of latent magic, which traced away from the sword and pointed unerringly north. That was the scrying link, he knew, the one way he could use to attack the sword.
As Rick and Dream moved to intercept the lutin regulars Muri slinked from his concealment and moved along the wall toward the great double doors of the chapel. The five remaining guards looked at him as they regrouped and secured what weapons they could find. Catching Muri's eye, the sergeant gave him a salute with a lutin shortsword and nodded to his comrades. Without fanfare or battle cry they moved forward as a group to join the battle.
Reaching the door, Muri spared the scene a last glance, and drew one leaf open far enough to squeeze out.
The mob that greeted him was all blades, until they realized that the escapee was of Metamor and not some other manner of enemy. Duke Thomas strode forward and grasped Muri's shoulder as the door thudded shut behind him.
"Young mage, what transpires within? Kyia refuses to allow us entry." The horse lord whikkered with dark ire, his tail lashing as he met Muri's startled gaze. Around him several knights and guards, many in various states of battle readiness, stood with swords drawn and itching for battle. The duke himself was only half armoured, wearing only his breastplate over his night robes.
"An evil influence entered the keep unbeknownst and has created a portal within the chapel, sire." Muri reported as he scanned the crowd hastily with his spirit sight. He needed a weapon, something of magical potency, and was disheartened to see that Thomas' own ancient blade was no more magical than a dinner knife. Spying a fox to one side of the crowd, one that looked very familiar but not known to him personally, he felt relieved to see a weapon of great power in the keeper's grasp.
"As much Kyia explained. How fares the battle within?" the Duke prompted with an irritated flick of his ears.
"Well. Many of the foes have been dispatched. An attacking mob such as this would have come to more harm than aid, my lord. Kyia meant only to limit the risk such a large force would encounter considering the foes we faced." Muri explained as he slipped from under the tall horse lord' s hand and crossed to the fox, "You, I need, now. Come with me." He ordered as he grabbed the fox's forearm and hauled upon it.
The fox cast the duke a confused, concerned glance and remained in place, only moving when Thomas shrugged and waved a dismissive hand. Reaching for the door he yanked firmly upon the handle, quite surprised when the door opened. The crowd surged forward as Muri turned and looked through the opening doors. Spying Rick, he bowed his head briefly in concentration. After a few moments he firmed his grasp once more on the fox's forearm and pushed through the crowd.
As he raced through the castle, the taller fox easily keeping pace, he could spare little breath or time for conversation save to ask the fox's name.
"Misha, you met me before. Llyn's commander." The fox replied as they neared a door, only to find in the next instant that it was nothing more than an open archway. The structure and layout of the keep seemed to change even as they ran, opening corridors and doorways in plain sight. Usually the Keep was much more subtle, directing individuals along its ever changing passages without anyone ever actually witnessing those passages change before them. They burst out into a courtyard within moments, pounding toward the north outer bailey wall at a dead run.
Much to Misha's amazement an opening formed in the wall as they neared, revealing the edge of the northern ridgeline beyond. A steep descent awaited them by that route, he knew, for there was only a switchback path leading down the face of the ridge. The normal roads circled the keep to east and west, following the mountainsides before descending into the valley below. Heedless of his reckless flight, Muri darted through the new opening, charging to the edge of the precipice and over, sliding and leaping down the rocky incline with a fearlessness that left the fox feeling a little daunted.
In the past he himself had gone down the face of the ridge in much the same way, but those were the reckless days of youth, and he had been human at the time. Since the end of the siege of the gates he had never had cause to repeat the same reckless stunt. Not one to be left behind fearing for his personal safety, Misha shifted Whisper in his grasp and leaped down the ridge after the darting silhouette of the skunk in the darkness.
Reaching a ledge a considerable distance below the walls of the Keep, Muri cast about for the dim silver thread that he had been trying to follow since his flight from the chapel. He had not tried to bind a telltale to it for he feared that it would have alerted the wizard at the other end of the spell thread. "Misha, over here!" he called as the fox came crashing to the ledge a short distance away, "I need you to put that axe of yours to a delicate use."
"It's yours." Misha said as he drew close and watched the skunk curiously as he caught his breath.
"I am going to create an illusion for you so that you can see what needs to be done." The skunk explained without looking up, pacing back and forth along the ledge. Eventually he came to an abrupt halt, reaching out as if touching something the fox could not see. Nodding to himself as if satisfied, Muri turned back to the fox. "Come here." Misha did as bade, his curiosity far outweighing his pride at being ordered about by a mere boy. The boy was a potent mage, but still, he was merely a boy. Reaching up with both hands, Muri grabbed the fox's head with both hands firmly. "Close your eyes for a moment, then open them slowly. You're going to be a little blinded, but take a moment to focus."
Dutifully closing his eyes, Misha took a deep, steadying breath and slowly re-opened them. The sight that greeted his gaze was no less than amazing, quite beyond any sort of understanding that he could explain. A silvery blue haze seemed to hang upon everything, brighter upon living objects which he could still see vaguely through the blue haze. A wall of nearly blinding white radiance stood up before him only feet away, its surface shimmering and moving in the darkness quite independent of any real world composite.
"What the." he breathed in awe.
"Magic. What you see is the life energy of every living being, the essence of what becomes magic when we with the ability can touch it." Muri explained as he released Misha's head. Turning, he reached out and carefully took a slender thread of silvery light between his fingers. "This is a spell, you can see that its color is slightly different, and it seems. more complete, like a real thread rather than flowing water, right?"
Dumbfounded, Misha could only nod as he peered down at the slender silver strand. "I do understand magic, lad, I just - I've never seen it like this before." He explained as he looked around once more. "I could see some, and I knew I would eventually be able to see more and deeper, but this is - wow." He looked back down at the thread, "What manner of spell am I about to sever?" he asked as he stepped back and raised Whisper, the black blade glowing with an iridescence all its own.
"A scrying spell, the mage causing that entire battle is watching, and I'm about to blind his sight." The skunk said as he drew the spell between his hands, small tendrils of magic coruscating down the silver strand in his grasp, "If I don't manage to destroy his scrying device."
With a nod, Misha raised his blade slightly, and brought it down as if trying to cut a single twig from a branch. He was slightly startled when the skunk leaped back, releasing one end of the spell thread, and thrusting the other into the blinding white radiance behind him. A glowing pulse of reddish orange raced along the end of the thread he still held, vanishing almost instantly toward the north. "We are done here, I only hope it works."
"What did you do?" Misha asked, tightening his hands upon Whisper' s haft as the illusion faded and darkness returned.
"I cast a spark along the thread, and backed it with the raw power of a ley line. It should be strong enough once it reaches his location to destroy his scrying portal." The skunk replied, his breathing still haggard, his entire body radiating an exhaustion so profound that Misha thought it would infect him as well.
"As long as it makes him unable to direct the battle then I'd say it was a success. Let's get back to the fight before it's all over and I don't get to slice some enemies." The fox growled with a feral grin parting his muzzle, tail lashing as he turned and charged back up the face of the ridge.
Scowling, Rescartes clenched the frame of his ancient scrying mirror with both hands and cursed the incompetence of the wizard who perished in a mage fight that should have been a simple endeavor for a mage of his rank. He spat vile epithets in a dozen languages as the giant was cut down by the same raccoon. A target, he vowed, for his personal vengeance when he at last conquered that most irksome of bastions; Metamor Keep.
Even as he watched the lutin cohort attempt to gather itself and fend off the two sword wielding animals he sensed that something was amiss with the magic of his scrying. He knew that there were other mages in the chapel, and likely in the keep itself, now alerted to his magical manipulations. Likely, he felt, one of them was attempting to banish the sword's magic. That would be a miracle of godly proportions, he knew, for his power outstripped even the greatest of those soft-bellied Metamor wizards. Preparing to cast a simple spell and solidify the thread of his scrying magic, he felt his voice fail as a visage appeared within the surface of the mirror.
A beautiful visage, of a young woman just reaching the flush of her maturity. Strong eyes bored into his startled gaze, seeing him from within the mirror. It was a face he knew, or had known, many centuries in the past. It was the face of a powerful sorceress devoted to her peoples and to the compassionate rule of her kingdom.
It was the face of his wife. The wife he had slain to take on the mantle of Lilith's vast power. The first of thousands.
Aghast, he tried to cast away the mirror, only to find that the gold gilded hands, his wife's ancient hands, had released the polished glass and clasped his wrists, holding his own hands firmly in place. She smiled at him, a pitying smile, as one might offer a mischievous child after laying upon them severe punishment.
"I love you." She said, her voice perfectly clear to him, perfectly understandable in a language that had died with her kingdom. The grip of her golden hands tightened further as the pitying smile became a glare of wrath. "I'll kill you." She hissed as sparks blossomed within her eyes, the light expanding to obscure her face, blinding him. A moment later any concern he had about taking vengeance upon the raccoon mage, or anyone at the distant keep of Metamor, was no longer something Rescartes would ever need consider again. He never heard the final, whispered words of his long dead wife, his only wife, whom he had indeed loved at one time. "But I'll love you forever."
Leaning against the end of the divan a few paces away from Rescartes' great desk, Nuia never heard the words which were ringingly clear in her Master's ears. She saw his expression, though, as it changed from fury and annoyance to sudden surprise, then horror. Curiosity sparked within her mind as she started to stand, one foot raised as she prepared to go to his side and see what concerned him so.
Before her foot even landed, before the weight of her backside left the arm of the divan, she suddenly found that she no longer cared in the least for Rescartes' worries. The sudden blinding, terrible white radiance of the sun itself blossomed within the chamber, taking on the form of a pillar of light which appeared, whole and terrible, from his scrying mirror. Her flesh sizzled and charred as she launched herself backwards with a shriek of agony and horror. Her eyes only had the scantest moments to realize what she was seeing before they were charred blind by that terrible white brightness.
Crashing over the back of the divan, she curled about herself in a vain attempt to escape the light, her clothes unharmed though the delicate, porcelain perfect flesh they barely covered dried and blackened, flaking away like so much charcoal from a burning log. She had only the briefest moments of time to hear her own horrified cry before the blast of superheated air collapsed her eardrums. The outer doors blew open from the concussive force, the fire in the great hearth vanishing with a chuffing sigh, much of the ash exploding up the chimney. Blessedly the light extinguished itself in less than a heartbeat, lasting only long enough to vaporize a path of destruction from the mirror still in what remained of Rescartes' hands to the wall behind him.
The intervening space, from mirror to wall, which had a mere moment before been occupied by the head and neck of one Rescartes Inu, the back of his great chair, a tapestry of unknown and ancient origins, and the outer wall of the castle, was quite simply empty; as if the obstacles present a moment before had never existed, carved cleanly away from the flesh, wood, and stone. The wood of the chair smoldered, the tapestry smoked, and the hole through the wall glowed about the edges, hissing quietly as cold night air spilled into the chamber.
"Mistress?" Fylmar stammered from his corner, not nearly as blinded but still left disoriented by the sudden searing white brightness and the compression of superheated air that almost blew out his ears. His bowl had fallen from his lap, spilling its dark oil across the floor as he scrambled to his feet. He felt Nuia's hand grasp his robes and looked down to find a face horribly disfigured gazing back up at him with hollow eyes. The beautiful mistress of Lik had become a charred, animated corpse, her lips seared back from blackened teeth, the fangs of her nature standing out prominently within her mouth as she tried to speak though she had little tongue left.
He tried to pull away, but her grip was supernaturally strong. She climbed up his robes hand over hand, hauling him down as he grasped for anything to aid his escape. He tried to reach his bowl to use it as an impromptu weapon, but bending down proved to be unwise, for the vampire princess grabbed the collar of his robes and hauled him down onto her.
No one in Metamor noticed the sudden brief lance of light that speared the heavens that night, but many others in the north did. Few understood its portents, but not all were ignorant of such things, or the location from which the brief light originated.