Clothes Hanger. Safe TeleportII. True Teleport II. I cast all three spells simultaneously. The feeling was strange, akin to sprinting forward on a carriage moving at full speed, or riding a horse across boat heading down stream. The effect of casting a teleport on that cocoon of space which was already teleportation me, was for both spells to move at the same speed while I moved twice as far in the same amount of time. Given that the spell moved me rather following a straight path, I sent it to the forge and back and then in a loop around the top half of the room holding Life’s orb. And then I vomited everywhere.
Fast Teleport: The caster and his gear moves 300 ft over the course of eight seconds, but do not exist in the intervening space.
Thankfully, I didn’t really have any lunch to lose, so the vomiting only consisted of a tiny mouthful of acid and a number of dry heaves.
I spat the taste clear and hunched over with my hands on my knees while I waited for the room to stop spinning.
Changing direction midway through had been a mistake. Too disorienting if there was even the slightest disconnect in timing between the two spells. If I ever tried that again I’d shorten the distance rather than try to get clever with it.
The room only contained one other door. West, if I remembered correctly, which was the direction I needed to go. I’d travel west until the sun rose, then reorient as best I was able to the south.
Sword Storm II
I crouched behind the orb’s altar with my fireball while the swords went to deal with the door.
They tore through the door like it was made of cloth, not iron. Metal wrapped around my blades and then was flung into the wall beyond as the moment ran out. I winced at the ringing crash. I bet the warlocks could hear it all the way up in the fort proper, even with the rift in the way.
I tensed, waiting for a response, but other than a sudden silence as the wailing and moaning cut off, there was none. A moment later the wails returned in force, supplemented by several gibbering howls. None seemed to be getting closer, alike to sun in winter.
Walking down to the thoroughly open door already gave me a glimpse of what I might see. A corridor running parallel to the wall or possibly a large chamber. My vision didn’t extend far enough past the stone to reveal more than the first five feet of flagstones.
I could have teleported across, but teleportation was a one way trip. I’d need to expend a spell every time I wanted to move back and forth. The swords had been a more permanent solution. A far more permanent solution.
What had that been about?
I recalled my swords and tried to study the three of them.
Three?
Sword Storm II should summon six. I would know. I’d just read the rune to cast it.
I ran my finger across it again.
Sword Storm II: Three invisible blades dance and strike with the base force of 968 lbs. One for half an hour, one for 45 minutes, and one more for an hour. A fireball appears in the centre. One light, twice as bright as a candles, swirl about them, rising into existence just before the blade appears for the first time and dying an hour after it vanishes. Another light joins in at the end of the first hour, and end an hour after the first light fades, providing 3 hours of light total. All move independently following the whims of their master.
That wasn’t right.
Better, in many ways, but not right
“My spell changed as I cast it!” I called back to the orb, “Weren’t you supposed to stop that?”
I stop corruption and decay
Your spell was not lost
Change is constant
Embrace change
Or join your king in death
“My king? The Dead King? He is not my master.”
My apologies
You bear his lancegay
It was an easy mistake to make
“So the change is not due to corruption?”
It is a corruption of a different sort
Less dangerous
Less permanent
I have weakened it
It should be rarer this close to my heart
I was inattentive
I shall not be again
I jerked my head in a nod, “Right, good. Good. Best of luck with that. Sun and rain bless you.”
It felt strange to leave the room so abruptly, but how else was I supposed to end the conversation? I was bad with sentient glowing orbs at the best of times.
I ducked my head through the doorway. It was indeed a corridor. Unfortunately one which headed back north, but my ever-questing will-o’-wisps revealed it forked near the end to both the north and the west.
I followed the path back north then west, doing my best not to vomit from the rocking sensory sphere I kept deployed around me. Did you know people bobbed as they walked? It wasn’t something I’d ever paid much attention to before I’d had my hearing and sight dipping in and out of a floor, and back and forth into a wall.
It was like catching something out of the corner of my eye over and over and over again. Like a flock of sparrows flying by or a dozen spears raining down. After I caught myself flinching back from the mortar suddenly looming in my vision for the dozenth time I ended the vision from my ring.
Sound and touch would have to do. If I kept vision I’d be so worried about the mundane I’d completely miss the next spike trap to come my way. As for taste and smell? If I accidentally ring-licked another ogre I’d never get the taste out, and I wouldn’t be able to focus on anything else. The constant laughter from the walls was bad enough.
The fork to the north was a dead end, or at least had the appearance of one. I’d learned not to trust such things. Not that I was going to waste time looking for a secret door leading in the wrong direction. The fork to my left—west, hopefully—went on for ten to twenty feet before switching back and abruptly heading south once more.
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
The wall between the corridor I’d taken north and the one I was taking south was about ten feet thick, no more. Which meant the switchback was caused only by the existence of the wall, and no intervening rooms or amenities in between.
Perhaps the wall was loading bearing, or a defensive measure, but I suspected the architects had merely wanted to waste my time. After nearly a minute of walking I was less than twenty feet away from the doorway to Life’s chamber.
Madness.
I followed the corridor another 20 feet before it ended in a doorway to my left—East? I was starting to get turned around. The place was a warren.
Gravel or stones buried beneath the door?
Sharp spines waiting on the other side.
Legs.
Far too many of them.
My sense of touch ran along the legs and fur of something which made my skin crawl. A finger slipped between the join of two legs, looped around to a third, then a fourth, all along the same side of the creature’s body.
A spider, or something like it, waited for me on the other side of the wall. A spider the size of a house cat.
I barely noticed the sun rise.
The sense of the spider’s legs running across my skin, its eyes brushing the back of my hands, its mouth segments rubbing either side of my fingers. It felt like I had spiders running over every part of my body at once, clothed or not.
I ended the sense of touch before I screamed.
I’d felt other things beyond the door. A carpet with jewellery resting atop it. Those strange stones buried deep beneath the door. At least one of those things was probably a trap.
I activated vision and promptly fell over as I found myself “face” to face with the creature beyond the door. It was indeed a giant spider. I’d been holding out hope it might be another of the giant ticks I’d met on the first floor. Despite being creatures who had demonstrably sought the blood of humans to consume, I found the relatively “small” spider far more threatening.
I think it was something about the way they moved. Or maybe the intelligence in their eyes.
The carpet had been a rug and the jewels had been jewels and other treasures set before the door, but I wasn’t in a position to pat myself on the back or even care. I was lying on the floor with a spider being projected onto my face from every angle.
The spider hadn’t reacted to me falling on the floor, which was surprising. Was it deaf? Or was it patient enough to not even give away the slightest hint it had heard me?
I didn’t have to deal with the spider. There were other paths out of here, but...
One was on the other side of a 50 foot canyon and the other was... worse.
Was it wrong to kill the spider unprovoked? I’d never liked killing the (much smaller) spiders back home. It felt wrong. A lesser form of dark magic almost, though I’d never been sure why. Maybe it was just the fact that you had to get closer to them to kill them. Or the way they twitched when killed.
It was cruel.
The calculation changed somewhat when they were the size of a cat. I could open the door and see how it reacted to me, but that might result in my death. I had no way of knowing how fast or poisonous it was.
There was also webs to consider. My sense of touch hadn’t detected any, but wasn’t that the point of webs? Especially in the warlocks’ dungeon. The spiders might be using magic to conceal their webs for all I knew.
It felt wrong to attack it in cold blood, but what else was I supposed to do about an ambush predator? Wait until it had sprung its trap (or until I’d sprung whatever all the cogs and gears in the wall were) and then starting fighting back?
I could simply turn around and my try my luck with the other paths, but I didn’t like the idea of having that spider at my back.
Fireball III
What I could sense I could cast on after all.
The spider didn’t shriek as it died, but the sound it produced was possibly worse. It let out a high pitched whine like a kettle, and then curled up on itself as its thick, thorn like fur, shrivelled away into nothing. Its skeleton split a moment later and its eyes ruptured. Then it was just a pile of flaming sticks on the ground.
The result hadn’t been unexpected. What was unexpected was the second fireball which appeared a moment later and crashed into my own.
It didn’t do anything, obviously, both hovered in place without harming the other, but the implication was disturbing. There was someone else in that room capable of casting spells.
“Hello?” I called beyond the door.
“Hello?” came a woman’s voice.
I froze.
“Hello?” she called again.
Gunhild?
No. It was my first thought, but the person sounded nothing like her.
“Was that spider yours? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean any harm.”
“I’m sorry.”
My muscles were already locked in place, but my blood did a fair try at slowing to a halt. I felt my heart lurch in my chest.
That had been my voice replying.
“Who’s there?” I called to the voice stealer. Or voice stealers. How would I know?
“Who’s there?” They were speaking with my voice again. My new voice changed by the altars and the druid stone.
I didn’t want to come face to face with whatever creature could and wanted to steal my voice, but much like the spider, I wanted them at my back even less. Surprise was my best bet.
I crept back around the corner until the door was out of my natural sight. My double strength swords flew forward and struck the trapped iron door. This one held up better than the last, folding rather than crumpling. It didn’t even clear the doorframe.
The trap itself remained intact. I’d have to do a second pass with—
My swords were wrenched sideways through the air. Sparks flew with the grinding of stone as they impacted the opposite side of the corner I was crouched behind. Whatever had struck them, on the other hand, had done so completely silently.
What had...
There was no way they could—
I restored my sense of touch. Immediately my ghostly fingers grasped the air, feeling stone, metal, and the tip of the charred spider all at once. They also ran along the edge of half a dozen invisible blades.
I’d only summoned three.
“I’m sorry,” called my voice from beyond the edges of my sphere.
This was starting to get creepy.
I traced the magic swords not under my control as they reared back and swept the corner of the room with long, wild strokes.
Whatever I was up against could apparently copy my spells, but I had three advantages. I could see around corners, I could see the spells, and I had experience using the spells.
I sent my own blades out of my vision-bubble, sweeping low.
No cries rewarded my efforts, so I returned the blades at shoulder height, continuing to strike blindly at the air. As long as whoever hid in the room was content to ineffectually attack the corner, I could take my time on long shots.
The instant my swords returned I sent a sweep out twenty—metal scraped on stone—fifteen—it continued to scrape—ten, nine, six—four feet from the ground. The ceiling rapidly dropped like a cliff just outside the reach of my bubble. I returned the swords along the ground once more.
Whatever the voice-stealer was, it wasn’t human. The room was simply too short. A child would feel claustrophobic with a ceiling that low. Even Tom’s house had had a proper ceiling. If I entered the room to confront the voice-stealer I wouldn’t be able to go far. And I wasn’t sure I could deal with the blades in any real way. Perhaps if they had been my normal blades my armour and skin combined would be enough to turn away the strokes, but these had crumpled two iron doors like parchment.
My best bet was to continue blindly attacking where they might be while their swords attacked where I wasn’t. It had become a race to see who could find the other first. A race I was going to win.