Realms of the Dragons vol.1 a-9 Page 4

  The flames died out rapidly, and in the dim light of his globes, Serreg saw the beast wagging its body back and forth. He saw the blackened teeth framed by blistered skin, and spittle and ichor being slung about as the creature wagged its… its head?… to clear the pain.

  Serreg started to smile in conquest. But instinct tempted him to look over his shoulder instead.

  Two more of the horrid things hung stationary in the air behind him.

  As he blinked in surprise, the multiple arms of the two creatures issued forth, and began making mystical passes in the air. Serreg glanced back at the wounded beast and saw that it, too, wove a spell.

  They had him surrounded.

  He sprinted away, not caring which direction he took. He zigged and zagged as the obscene taloned hands of the three subterranean slugs launched magical spells. A crack of raw magical power flew past him to one side. Another spell of unknown nature ripped the ground open a few yards behind him, and just as he thought himself lucky, a wave of magical frost struck him from behind. It hit like a gale, cutting through his archwizard's vestments and biting his flesh. The impact knocked Serreg off his feet, and the sudden drop in temperature made his back arch.

  Too cold to shiver, Serreg stood. The three creatures studied him. One cast another spell as he rose, too quickly for Serreg to dodge or counter, and he found himself framed in flickering red light.

  Enough, he thought, and pulled one of the most powerful spells he knew to the forefront of his mind, something to burn all three of these vile things: Volhm's chaining.

  Serreg's eyes glowed with raw power as he quickly moved through the invocation. He watched with grim satisfaction as the three creatures gathered together and closed upon him.

  He launched the spell. A thick bolt of electrical power sprang from his fingers, a bolt of lightning that struck the lead creature, then arced to the other two. For a moment, the power of Serreg's attack illuminated the entire area.

  By that light, Serreg clearly saw that only one of the creatures flinched. And the one he'd already wounded, he watched as the arcing lightning bolt erased the fire's blisters, healing the monstrous being with its magical power. The lightning bolt never grounded itself out as it was supposed to. The creature had sucked in all the power Serreg had just spent trying to kill it.

  Vblhm's chaining. One of the best spells he knew. And still they came. Not only did they resist magic, they could absorb the raw energy to give themselves more power.

  Dumbfounded, Serreg had no idea how to defeat them. Then one of them cast a spell, a maddeningly familiar one, yet one Serreg knew he had never seen before, and the light globes all dimmed and went out, leaving him in the dead of night, with those things… and a flickering red halo.

  Serreg knew panic.

  For his whole life, his power had been his magic, and suddenly it was utterly useless. The scaffolding of decades of training collapsed beneath him, leaving him in the terror of uncontrolled freefall, falling into a darkness filled with those hideous creatures.

  He sensed them moving closer. Serreg knew he couldn't outrun them, so he desperately gambled with

  Oberon's flawless teleport. East, toward the enclave, toward Delia.

  Even as he cast the spell, Serreg felt one of the things try to counter it, while another clutched at him with its claws. Praying they had not interfered too greatly, Serreg submitted himself to his spell and vanished.

  He reappeared several miles away, safely close to the ground. The spell collapsed around him just as he exited its effect, but that didn't matter. He'd gotten away! He exhaled explosively, free from the panic that had gripped him. The lightness in his head caused him to stagger briefly, and he almost laughed, feeling the giddy release of tension.

  Then the flickering red aura around him flared into brilliant life, a beacon in the night. They had done that, to find where he'd gone. Serreg frantically summoned the most potent dispelling he could muster, cast it, and watched in relief as the flickering light vanished.

  He knew he had at least a few minutes before the subterranean obscenities could reach him. They didn't look like they moved that fast. He took a few deep, panting breaths to get his heart and lungs under control, then wracked his brain for spells. To his horror, he sensed his spells fading, their power draining from his mind like the life had been drained from the soil beneath Delia.

  That's how they do it! he thought in alarm. A huge spell, sucking the life and magic out of our enclave like a ghoul sucking the marrow from our bones!

  Everything was clear. The intermittent failures of magical items, spells abruptly collapsing without warning, the odd side effects as he tried to pursue his investigation through magical means. They intended to drain Delia of all life and magic. The dirt and all its plants and animals just happened to be in the way.

  At long last, Serreg knew who was behind the blight, and how it worked. But it was too late.

  They were after him. They probably even knew he knew. They had been watching him all along, trying to prevent him from finding them, concealing their dark enchantment, interfering with his magic. And they had just tapped his very mind and drained away the arcane power of the spells he knew.

  He had nothing left but himself. He had to hide. On that open plain, they'd find him easily. Frantically, he looked around, and barely visible as a shadow against the stars, he saw a ridge jutting out of the plains, about a mile east.

  His only hope lay in that ridge, and somehow blending in with it, finding a cave or a large rock to crawl under or a large bush or something to use for cover. He couldn't let them find him. He had to live. He had to warn the others.

  He ran.

  After only a hundred yards his lungs burned within his breast. His legs protested the sudden advent of intense physical labor. His whole body complained. He started stumbling, open mouthed, with spittle dangling from his chin, but fear pushed him on.

  Panting madly, he reached the foot of the ridge, which jutted like a dragon's spine out of the plains. He climbed, randomly exploring those places that were easiest to reach. After several agonizing minutes' search, he scrabbled up to a small cleft barely visible in the moonlight. He wormed his body backward into the crevice, frantically scanning the starlit sky to the west. Even with rough rock on all sides, his bruised and raw hands tried to push him even deeper into the crack. His ribs protested the strain, but he did not relent, for it seemed that the stones themselves wanted to push him back out into the night, out where they were looking for him.

  He blinked the sweat out of his eyes, salty tears of fright already gone icy in the cold night air. His heart, too was chilled, and his soul felt the toll the creature's had taken, stealing his life-force itself. One of the creatures screeched in the darkness, a horrid, alien sound.

  "Please," he gasped, using the word for the first time in his life. "Please… someone… anyone… help me!"

  Half of his brain desperately pleaded for aid, any aid, while the other half;astigated itself for panicking. Self-control and reason were needed then, not pointless calls for help. No one was near. No one but them….

  Serreg heard a clash of steel on steel, a burst of melee fighting close at hand, and his heart caved.

  They've found me! he thought. But wait-they weren't carrying weapons…

  No sooner did that realization cross the rational half of his brain than a flash of light winced his eyes. A star-burst of swords, axes, and spears clashed and sparked in the darkness, erupting like a vicious steel flower blooming in an instant, flowing outward with strokes and parries like a smoke ring, then vanishing as a tall, powerfully-built man stepped out of its midst.

  Serreg stared in frank shock, his contorted body frozen in the crevice.

  The man was a giant. He stood nine feet tall, and Serreg couldn't understand how he'd stepped out of a small ring of moving steel without cutting himself, let alone stooping over. He had the proud, easy, alert stance of the warrior. He looked askance at Serreg, keeping one ear alert w
hile focusing most of his attention on the hapless fugitive wedged in the rock.

  "Well, now," said the giant, with a deep and gravelly voice. It reminded Serreg of steel-shod boots marching over bones, or boulders catapulting into the masonry of castle walls. "A helpless archwizard. That's not something you see every day."

  Serreg's eyes traveled down the length of the visitor's body. He was unshaven, and his nose had been broken multiple times, but he was no less handsome for it. His broad, battle-scarred chest was bare, protected only by the cloak that covered his wide shoulders. His arms, all- all three, no, four… or five… well, all that Serreg could see… all carried weapons: a spear, a scimitar, an axe, a war flail's spiked heads dangling near his ankles, and a skull wielded like a club, gripped with fingers through the eye sockets and thumb under the teeth.

  The giant cocked his head and asked, "Do you talk, boy? Or was that magic, too?"

  "Wh-why-?" Serreg stammered.

  "You called for help," said the giant, spreading his many arms, "and here I am."

  Serreg's brow furrowed. Called for help? Yes, he supposed in his panicked state he must have. It didn't matter. Help had come.

  "So… what-uh, who are you?"

  "Psshht!" guffawed the giant. "You really are helpless, aren't you?"

  He turned away and scanned the landscape. Serreg felt affronted that he no longer merited the giant's attention.

  "But… but I don't-"

  "I am Targus."

  For a long time there was silence, broken only by the delicate drip-drip of droplets steadily dribbling from the hem of the giant's cloak.

  "Targus," said Serreg finally.

  Targus's head swiveled from side to side as he smelled the air.

  "Targus," said Serreg again.

  The giant ignored him. "Lord of War," added Serreg.

  "Yes," replied Targus simply. He turned to face Serreg again, and snorted. "That's all right with you, isn't it?"

  "Wh-what are you doing here?" asked Serreg.

  "You called," answered Targus with a shrug.

  "But-but you're a god!" blurted Serreg.

  "So? I had a whim to answer you." There was something awfully frightful about that voice, thick with death and carnage, speaking whimsically. Serreg surmised Targus could speak of rape and slaughter with equal aplomb. "You ought to be thankful, since the only other possible help is three tired farmers a few dozen leagues from here." Targus looked pointedly at Serreg, who mutely nodded his assent. "Besides," the god added, "you have potential."

  "All right…"

  Targus stepped forward, put one heavy boot on a rock outcropping, and leaned over Serreg in the crevice. Serreg wasn't sure how he fit his massive bulk into that small crack, but then again, he was a god.

  "So," said Targus with a conspiratorial wink, "I'm here. What do you want?"

  "What do you mean?" asked Serreg.

  The mere presence of a god had eclipsed all other considerations at that moment.

  "You asked for help," said Targus reasonably. "What sort of help would you like?"

  Serreg thought about it for a moment, and an idea struck him

  But before he spoke, Targus, seeing the glint in Serreg's eye, interjected, "Understand that I will not fight your battles for you. I am the supreme general, and while I give my troops the best odds of winning, it's up to foot soldiers like you to do the fighting."

  Curse the luck, thought Serreg, selfishly ignoring the amazing good fortune that had caused his frantic plea to catch the ear of a god.

  He thought some more, carefully formulating his answer.

  "What I would like," he said, "is a weapon. A physical weapon, because spells do no good. Something small and light, like a knife or an ice pick, because I haven't had military training. I want this weapon to inflict great damage. And I also want it to grant me powers."

  Targus pursed his lips knowingly and replied, "Powers? Plural? No. Were I to grant you that, we'd be here all night listening to you prattle off your avarice. Choose one, and be quick."

  "I want it to polymorph me, changing me from one creature to another, in such a manner that those things out there can't steal the magic away."

  Targus grinned broadly.

  "As you wish," he said. "You'll have your weapon. But be careful, because it likes to draw blood." He bowed ever so slightly. "Good evening, good luck, and I hope you live up to your potential."

  The giant collapsed in on himself, leaving nothing but the echo of a thousand screams and war cries, and a cloud of droplets suspended five feet off the ground. Serreg saw a dagger hanging in the center of the mist. He grasped the handle, surprised at the warmth of the supernatural fog. As he pulled the dagger closer to inspect it, three things struck him at once.

  It was a beautiful dagger, exquisitely wrought and decorated.

  His hand was covered with warm blood.

  The night insects started chirping again.

  Until that instant, Serreg hadn't even realized they'd stopped. His intuition told him that the entire conversation had occurred outside of time, suspended on a whim by Targus. That meant the demons were close….

  Serreg heard a grunting moan, and saw a dark bulk rise in the darkness, blotting out the stars behind it. He turned the dagger blade down in his hand and gripped it tightly. The thing came closer. Its four arms waved gracelessly, tracing embers of magical fire in the night. It abruptly turned toward him in a manner that indicated it had noticed him in his hiding place. The creature made a few mystic passes with its arms, spinning an incantation. A web of phosphor spread all around the monster, Serreg, and the cleft, then vanished.

  Concealment, thought Serreg. It wants me all to itself.

  The creature paused, swimming back and forth for a moment, and Serreg had the distinctly unpleasant sensation that it was studying not him, but his dagger.

  Then without further preamble or caution, it charged straight for him. It seized Serreg's torso with two of its four arms and hauled him out of the cleft, while the other two grabbed his head to maneuver it toward the gaping, spiny-toothed maw.

  Serreg desperately plunged the dagger into the creature's mouth, sinking the weapon up to the hilt into the pulpy flesh behind the teeth. The thing screamed, an unholy and utterly alien monotone cry, and suddenly the creature was eight times as large, filling the sky, and Serreg fell from its loosened grip.

  How did he get so high up? He had no time to consider that, so instead he spun his tail around to land on his feet, and ran. The ridge seemed much larger than it had before. He leaped for a rock outcropping, landing nimbly on his forelegs and pushing off with the back, just in time to-

  Forelegs? thought Serreg.

  He quickly scurried behind the outcropping and hid. The moaning creature nursed its wound on the far side of the rock, so Serreg chanced a look down at his paws.

  Paws?

  He had two furry forelegs ending in paws. He lifted one up, flexed the claws, and stared. His tail twitched in irritation and confusion, because he-

  He looked over his shoulder to see haunches and a lashing tail, all covered in soft tabby fur.

  He was a cat.

  A cat? Well, he hadn't wished to be a cat, never told the dagger to change his shape, but it had anyway. Fair enough. But where was the dagger? For that matter, where were his clothes? He looked at his claws again, and sure enough, one of the claws on his right paw glinted merrily in the moonlight.

  He smiled. All he had to do was change into a sparrow and dart out of there. A sparrow would be very tough to follow, and he knew he could out fly one of those things. Heck, once he got away from the immediate vicinity, he could become a falcon and really put some speed on.

  He looked at his claw and gave the mental command: Change me into a sparrow.

  Nothing happened.

  I command you to change me into a sparrow.

  Nothing. Did it have to be verbal?

  "Rreeooowwf," he said as quietly as he could.

 
Again, he started to panic. How could he command the dagger if he could only howl like a cat? But wait-he'd never asked to be a cat in the first place, it just-

  A great, cold hand with two opposable thumbs plucked him off the ground. He wriggled and writhed, knowing how hard it is to hold an uncooperative cat, but the thing held him fast. Three other arms spun spells of divination upon him to discern the cause for his change, and perhaps to try to undo it.

  The vile creature gave up quickly, however, much to Serreg's dismay. Instead, the maw opened wide to swallow Serreg whole. Desperately the tabby archwizard attacked the creature's thick skin, using his pathetic little weapons of tooth and nail. It was like trying to bite a wall, or scratch stone. He looked up as the mouth drew closer, filling his vision, and amidst a new frenzy of struggle, he felt himself change again.

  The world shrank around him, and the powerful hand that held him diminished in size and strength, shifting quickly from an iron band around his body to an unfriendly mitt trying to scratch at his ribs. Serreg's instincts told him he was at an awkward angle, his body too vertical and too close to the ground, so he beat his wings rapidly to get his center of gravity back under control.

  The evil abomination gaped at the sudden transformation, four arms wide in shock and spiny mouth formed into a perfect ugly circle. Serreg hissed, craning his head forward. He flew upward a few dozen feet and settled upon a rocky pinnacle. The creature rotated its loathsome body to follow his movements.

  Quickly, Serreg looked down to take inventory. Two reptilian claws clutched the promontory, and two leathery wings hung at either side. A wyvern?

  Thus distracted, Serreg did not see the beast gather itself and lunge at him. Its massive bulk impacted Serreg's body, and the fangs bit into his exposed side. Four arms scrabbled for a grip on Serreg's scaly hide. Reflexively, Serreg thrust with his stinger tail, bones and sinews straining with the strike. As the poisoned barb flew past his head, he caught the briefest metallic glimmer, then the stinger plunged deep into the monster's body, pumping poison as it went.