(Art source unknown)
Index: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15
Chapter 11
Ensorcelled dawn
“No,” – Rolan refused the masked audience and his face became adorned with a vicious smile, a drop of blood on his lips when he pointed the Zweihänder at them and said – “but I can offer ye Castigation!”
One of the watchers clapped with his gloved hands, chuckling – “Why yes, but of course you would!”
Dalen coughed bloody spittle, his eyes darting swiftly between the floating ones, the advancing crowd of beguiled, and the barred gate behind their backs. Wincing, his cheek twitched and he aimed his loaded crossbow. Predictably, the bolt bounced off and clattered harmlessly on the dusty floor, utterly failing to harm the magically shielded audience.
“I win, I win!” – giggled another of the floaters, as a plump coin purse materialized in his hand and wincing Dalen picked up his bolt.
“The gate, unlock it!” – the bounty hunter directed Rolan, and this time he coughed up blood.
“Can’t, he placed a magic barrier!” – replied the wizard as he wobbled on his legs, raising his Zweihänder to point one among the floating group.
“Dispel does not work?” – the dwarf’s wheezing question was answered with a sad head shake, and Rolan coughed:
“This poison cloud... gah... seeped most of my mana. Not enough to... cough... unless I meditate.”
Joel, despite the horrid situation they walked into, smiled – “Then I know who shall be blessed by my single anti-poison prayer.”
“That is against the rules.” – waggled his finger the man who Rolan pointed at – “No dispelling of barriers and definitely no healing.”
“Oh, they have rules.” – Rolan coughed, despite seeping from his words – “How conformist of them!”
“Like someone will let you channel back your mana!” – snarled one among the masked degenerates and, following a series of quick gestures, released a powerful enchantment.
What was supposed to hit Joel and possibly inhibit his ability to draw upon Mara’s holy might, instead vanished not two feet in the air. The debilitating sphere, a curse which many a mage often hurled at members of the clergy in order to wreak havoc upon their perception, was successfully countered.
“Amateur.” – smirking said Rolan as he stood guarding Joel’s back, his shimmering blade raised up, ready to block or deflect incoming spells.
The ensorcelled advanced further and Joel assumed a guard stance, aiming to delay them. It would be a doomed venture, yet a Marrite would not falter in defending others, not even if he were trampled by a throng of enemies.
Dalen was quick to try and reload his crossbow, yet arms getting weak, the spare bolt slipped from his numbing fingers. Indeed, that pickle which someone had so cleverly marinated for them, did appear near impossible to escape from. For a warrior who constantly chased after the most vile and furtive of criminals, near was odds high enough.
“Imperial shield once strong now broken,” – Dalen shouted, hitting his bloodied chestplate – “it will again stand guard against the foes misbegotten!”
While the floating men and women sneered and chuckled, the bounty hunter’s companions understood. Without betraying their thoughts the two steeled themselves, for victory against such odds would be hard, even with a furtive plan.
One after the other, bolts of crackling magical energy flew at praying Joel and, each and every one of them was countered by Rolan. However, this was not without cost as the wizard’s hands and clothes smoldered, the blade of his Zweihänder almost red hot.
The first group of ensorcelled leapt at them, eyes aglow and weapons burning. Dalen and Joel were somehow able to stab their hearts, swiftly ending the handful of attackers. However, in their quickly diminishing state, the three would soon be overwhelmed and slain.
“Matreas, enh matreas, graice thielhs saervan holiesth efthe blud!” – and the dwarf chanted each word proper, despite the bloody cough.
Joel’s stance wavered and his shining sword nearly slipped from his fingers, when another member of the floating audience hurled a forked lightning bolt at him. Though Rolan was able to diminish part of it and deflect the other, he could no longer properly hold his Zweihänder. The two men helped each other up and, in a deft move, Joel slipped the dead ork’s flask in Rolan’s bleeding hand.
Immediately, the wizard raised it to his mouth and his thumb had half-snapped the stopper, when one of the floating watchers snickered.
“What you got there?” – and used a magic spell to snatch the vial.
The thing promptly exploded into a stinking cloud which caused some harm to the man who took it. Of bigger importance, however, was the minor commotion which said grayish smoke caused. Mere seconds long, nevertheless, it was plenty for the bounty hunter to tie the string of his amulet around the bolt and shout:
“Bargho!”
Dalen’s crossbow bolt flew up and without error found the person Rolan had previously singled out as the one who’d placed a magical barrier. He was no longer chuckling this one since there were four inches of alchemical-strengthened wood and razor sharp tip stuck deep in his chest.
Panic struck the flying audience, who, witnessing the doom of one of theirs, suddenly fluttered around like a flock of clucking hens running from the fox.
The entire building shook.
Screams... the clangor of bloody battle and rumble of horse hooves boomed in the air.
Joel fenced off another three of the beguiled, yet he received a bloody head wound when one managed to breach his waning defenses and smacked him over the forehead with the flat of an ax. Only with the utmost of efforts, spitting his own poisoned blood, could the dwarf prevail. On one knee, his mobility denied, he parried another slash aimed at his eyes, and in turn stabbed the ax wielding ensorcelled dead.
Dalen, crossbow slipping from his fingers, stumbled over to help. The bounty hunter proceeded to help Joel limp towards the storehouse’s gate, while the two parried a handful of beguiled armed with shortswords. It would be of no use, all of their desperate struggle, if Rolan could not open the door.
The Castigator, able to channel a small bit of his mana back in the few seconds the floating sociopaths had given him during their short confusion, dashed at the gate. Zweihänder raised with bleeding hands, the stalwart man was unable to breach it since the one who had hurled magics at him earlier, barred his way.
Blade no longer shimmering, Rolan’s sword harmlessly bounced off of the masked man’s magical field and this one sneered:
“Why, I am aghast! Where is my castigation?!”
Dropping the handle, which left the sword stand at place, the Castigator leapt forth. His bleeding hands pried the protective field open and wrapped around the man’s neck, whose sneer turned into a terrified squeal, followed by the loud snap of bones.
“Here,” – snarled the wizard snatching his waiting Zweihänder as he discarded the corpse – “just like I promised!”
“Stop him! He will ruin all the fun!” – screamed another floating man, who attempted to halt Rolan’s inevitable gate breach, only to be promptly ended.
This one had the honor of being slain by the wizard’s sword, when neither his arcane blast hit Rolan, nor his magic field survived a bloody fist.
“Inconceivable! You are not supposed to be able to simply punch through...” – screeched the man who cited rules earlier.
“A sheltered arcanist living in his cozy little tower telling me, who fights by sword and magic for a living, what is and is not possible!” – Rolan replied and it was his time to be gleeful, for the numbers of this otherwise powerful floating audience were rapidly diminishing.
They were running away...
The Zweihänder’s pommel collided with the lock and, shattered, the gate swung open following one of the patented Rolan kicks. Light once more shone inside immediately followed by the red of fires, and the flicker of spellcraft. Fighting men clad in glistening metal armor were hard at work trying to overcome a well armed mercenary band and reach the storehouse’s gate.
Dalen and Joel wobbled near, the ensorcelled close on their heels now a hundred strong. When the wizard saw their gray faces, he leapt and made a literal wall of magical steel, cleaving through the beguiled, as his companions stumbled out on the bloody streets. The mercenaries, who had so far been successfully holding off the bounty hunters, were suddenly pancaked between them and a handful of armored riders of the city guard.
More, Lady Thaliel’s boys led a bunch of Red Hoods, their chainmail torn, limbs bandaged and weapons bloodied, in a flanking attack. Emerging out of a tiny wynd, these thirty strong young men trampled what resistance there was still left in the mercs and these attempted to retreat. Because more and more ensorcelled poured out of the storehouse and engaged bounty hunters and Red Hoods, a few of these thuggish, but professional warriors led by Brolf slipped away.
Rushing to their aid, soon both Joel and Dalen were given antidotes, as their allies fought to stem back the tide of beguiled, shroud in weird magics, who kept marching out of the storehouse.
“Youuuu,” – squealed one of the last masked persons as he flew away, finger pointed at the three men – “you’ve ruined it! The party, the bets... everything... ruined!”
“Edraineath.” – chanted Rolan instead of a witty reply, the tip of his sword aimed at the complaining man.
Magical field tied by invisible ropes, the masked man suddenly found himself hitting the pavement. Though his protective field was still quite strong, the person floating inside lost his composure. Command over spells of such magnitude was not easily kept, especially when one was violently bashed into the street as if they were a child’s rag ball. Indignant attitude replaced by cries for help, the man trashed into the walls of his own magical bubble.
Turned into a mewling mess, the twig of a man begged for mercy.
“Whom do you serve! Quickly, start talking...” – threatened him Dalen who raised his armored fist aiming to tenderize the degenerate.
“Stay away!” – roared Rolan as he leapt, forcefully pulling the bounty hunter off the masked man.
Jumping at them, Joel pushed two of the nearby younger Red Hoods away.
Bones snapping and flesh tearing, in but a few seconds their captive became a blob of bloody mush which promptly detonated. Flames of green and arching lightning bolts erupted, scorching and even killing those who were slow to dodge. Joel worked feverishly, using ointments and healing prayer to save as many as he could, while his companions descended back into the storehouse in search for clues.
Later, singed and dirty, they approached the bloodied, tired dwarf. Joel greeted them sitting on the pavement and the two joined him. Dalen had managed to recover his amulet but not the crossbow and mumbled something about beating its cost out of the floating scum, while Rolan pointed at the small crater left of their captive.
“I could not even contain, only diminish it.” – lamented the wizard and for the first time since they befriended him, his voice wavered.
“Bar the poor ensorcelled, there is nothing inside.” – grumbled Dalen and attempted to wipe the dirt from his singed cuirass, which had acquired a great many new dents and scratches.
“The trap we walked into,” – said the priestly dwarf and sighed, throwing one look at the guards who carried a number of dead bodies – “it wasn’t for us mere little fishies to just fall in it. There was another goal and we must divine it or more innocent people will die.”
“I acquiesce.” – and Dalen rose up on his feet with a painful groan – “These floating libertines, the weird magic, and that noblesse ork sorceress, they are connected.”
Rolan stood up too and respectfully offered Joel a helping hand. With a somber grin, the dwarf joined his standing companions and, eyes focusing at some distant dot, concluded:
“That ‘wohman’ better not be a puppet on strings for some shadowy mastermind to control, or I am sending my resignation from Temple duty.”
Bounty hunter and wizard exchanged slightly confused looks, until the human sniggered – “I swear, not swords, not magics, but these jokes of yours will definitely be me end!”
With a tired pace, they left the smoldering backstreet aiming to reach The Sonsy Maid, as one invisible figure high up in the air watched over their every step.
[Ninth] — Krartian weeks are nine days.
[Turn] — This is a planetary rotation numbering seventeen thirty five day months.
[MWF] — The greatest magical wrestling federation ever!