My chest burned. It felt as if I’d been struck once more by those flaming darts. My legs burned as well, though differently. My breath came in fits and starts. Even my hair seemed tired. The ever-lashing tendrils hung low and leaden.
“Okay that’s enough. We’re all very impressed. Time to stop.”
Conan was there between us.
I shook my head, “I’m just getting warmed up. I’ll be right as rain once I catch my breath. Dances in Blackbridge used to go on twice as long.”
Conan pushed us (myself and Gunhild the Northwoman) gently apart, “Then catch your breath. Don’t we have a map to find?”
Gunhild managed her regret better than me, “He’s right, I’m afraid,” she lowered her hands and took a further step back, “There will be plenty more time for dancing once we are free from the warlock’s lair. But we cannot afford to spend all day dancing. It is time to start moving. Eric looks sufficiently doted after.”
Erin gave her a glare. Gunhild stuck out her tongue, so fast you could barely see it, and returned-
The sun rose.
-the glare with a grin.
I started and stepped away myself.
“I have another spell to write. If you,” (I was speaking to Conan), “think Eric and the women are fit for travel, why don’t you bring them back to the hideout while I write the spell. We’ll meet back here in an hour and head out for the map.”
One of the Northwomen (I’d only learned Gunhild’s name) spoke from the floor, “We have a different place. Another hideout where we hide and find our sustenance. You go on your way, we’ll go on ours. I apologize if we don’t say where. Even if we trust you now, we cannot know to trust your companions or those who can sway your loyalty.”
Such were the ways of the warlocks. There mere presence drove a wedge through all budding friendships and alliances.
I felt a strange stirring in my stomach and chest as I looked at Gunhild. She smiled back in return,
“If I may,” she said, “I would go with you Conan, to await dear Oswic’s return.”
The stirring became a roar of triumph and emotions flooded me. Desire. Joy. Elation. Victory. I forced my face back from the manic grin spreading across it. What was that about? What was I? A teenager?
Conan met my eye and I nodded. He winked in return.
“Very well. Gunhild, Erin, Eric, and I will return. Then I will come back to copy Oswic’s map.”
“And I,” said Erin.
“And I,” said Eric at once, “I don’t wish to separated from my sister again.”
“And I will not be left alone with strangers while poor Oswic risks dangers on his own. I am coming also.”
Conan laughed, “Then we’d have no cause to return. But look at you two. Eric, you are in rags, and Gunhild, you are wearing naught but a dress and an apron. Neither are fit for adventuring about a dungeon.”
Eric murmured a few words of concession while Gunhild began to protest anew. I left them to it, returning to my spot in the foul-scented room once more. I’d do no better than Conan at sorting them out, and time was slipping away from me.
Lesser Heal II. Lesser Heal III. Lesser Heal V. Lesser Heal VI. Heal. Heal II. Time swept away from me. The universe receded to an insignificant speck in four dimensions. I was left outside. Frozen, but breathing. Powerless, yet greater than all of creation. Alone, save for the albatross which flew high above. I fought the vision. Raged against it for an eternity. It did not fade. I begged with whatever gods might listen, swore myself to every power I had knowledge of, both real and fantasy, good and evil. My prayers went unanswered. The albatross was silent. Even the whispers fled me in the place outside of places, the time outside of time. I summoned my runes to me and they did not answer. My eyes could not look away from the totality arrayed before me. They would not close. An infinitude of eons passed studying that infinitesimal prick of light which held all. I surrendered. There was no other choice.
The moment passed in an instant. The visions retreated. My crayon remained pressed in place, with only the record of Heal II’s healing record. I’d succeeded. The visions would end here. My mind was fractured. Exhausted. I’d lived more lives than those of all creatures combined. My body was renewed. As strong as a newborn, and nearly as smooth. Even my scars had begun to fade. Only my chest betrayed me. Twin wounds marred by the puffy pink flesh piled about them. Sensitive to touch, sensitive to move, painful even, but agony had fled. The wounds had become ones I’d survive.
Heal III: The caster’s body heals 240 hours’ worth of injuries over the course of an hour.
I slid against the wall until the base of my skull reached the floor. I needed sleep. More sleep than could be found in a lifetime. The endless parade of years was a weight no mortal mind could bear.
“Oswic! Oswic, are you alright?”
Something was shaking me. I ignored it. I needed-
Earth shake the sea! Blind the One-eyed Man! Bring the End to the Beginning! Couldn’t he see I was still injured?
A palm rocked my jar hard enough that my ears began to ring. My cheek smarted, all the healing I’d received serving to make me more sensitive, not less.
I pushed myself upright, wincing as the muscles in my chest drew tight.
“I’m awake, I’m awake! Just needed to rest my eyes.”
The human mind was nothing but adaptable. Confronted with a problem I couldn’t possible face, I’d simply opted to forget it. Only a faded memory remained, tattered and stained. A reminder never to tread the road again. And above it flew an albatross.
For some reason.
“You looked dead, not asleep. You were hardly breathing.”
Conan hauled me to my feet, which would have been more cruel than kind if he’d been in the presence of mind to consider my injuries.
I sought for the words to explain, and came up empty.
“I’ve had... difficulties with my spell crafting in this place. The dark magic hangs heavy and all pervasive,” was the best I could manage.
“Are you fit to continue?”
“Yes, I’ll be fine we should...” I blinked, trailed off, blinked again. There were two women standing behind him.
Erin with her club and leathers, and Gunhild wielding a club, a torch, and a new pair of shoes.
Conan looked sheepish, “I couldn’t keep them away. The best I could do was convince Gunhild to arm herself. Brace gave her the shoes.”
“Brace is twice her size!” This was not entirely true. Brace was of a normal height for a woman, though far more muscular, but Gunhild was tiny, both in stature and height. I could rest my chin on the top of her head without effort.
Conan raised his hands and backed toward the southern side of the room, “You tell her. I already tried. Spent a full hour.”
I locked eyes with Gunhild, “Are you sure about this? It sounds as though you are no stranger to the dungeons,” —that was strange wasn’t it? I was surprised I wasn’t surprised- “but the path I take is a dangerous one. There is no avoiding obstacles. I must go through them. Fight through them.”
“I’ll take that risk if it means I can stay by your side,” Gunhild replied, “Lead the way.”
Erin’s lips shrunk to a point as if her heart would break and she placed a hand over her heart. Far be it from me to stand in the way of two beautiful women.
“Very well. Keep alert. Obey Conan at all times. If he says stop, stop. If he tells you to place your foot somewhere, you put it there. If you see danger, run. That goes for you as well Conan. I can take care of myself.”
Sword Storm
I sent the fireball to guard our backs while the mage lights went forward in a net of illumination. My swords rushed past them to open the portcullis. Both Erin and Gunhild gasped first as the fireball came into being, and then again and louder as the gate rose seemingly on its own. Erin’s face became pale.
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“Are you alright?” I asked.
She took a deep breath, squeezed her eyes shut, and nodded, not daring to speak.
“Then follow me.”
***
We made it to the shaft in good time, with but a single stop to explain the absolute necessity of not even glancing near the demon mirror. Both women took me seriously and both obeyed, allowing us to transverse the perimeter of the magic pool in safety.
Conan and Erin were set to the task of raising up the lift while Gunhild and I stood guard. Despite the counterexample of every other hinge in the dungeon, the lift was silent as it moved. The gears spun easily and the pulleys were well oiled. There was little noise to attract the interest of the creatures groaning in the dark.
I still had no answer for the rats. Perhaps if I used all my fireballs at once—
the rune rose in my mind. Deadly. Desperate to slip free.
No! No not here! No!
It receded. I sat, shaken. Gunhild ran to my side.
“What is the matter Oswic?”
The rune rose again at her words, dancing along the edge of thought. I grit my teeth and shook my head, “Not here. Not now. Another time. Please. Anything else. Distract me.”
Her concern curved upwards into a smile, “I can do that.”
She took a swaying step forward, then another back. She raised her hands above her head and then down, out to the sides. Step to the left, step to the right. Her swaying became a dance as she grew more confident with her footing on the lift.
Her hand reached out, bidding me to rise. I smiled and complied.
“Easy,” Gunhild said, “moving with the lift, not against it. Step forward. Now back. Wait as the pulley turns over. Forward. Back. You as well Conan. Erin. There is not enough room for a proper dance unless we are all dancing.”
And so we danced as the lift descended into the depths.
***
We were breathing hard by the time we landed, and the others’ faces shone with sweat. My own skin appeared immune. Another wedge separating me from humanity.
The dance continued as the lift stilled. Gunhild had done her duty of distraction by choosing the most energetic dance the small space would allow. Even cramped, it was thing of beauty. Given space, it was a triumph of expression, strength, and form. All were raised by their expression, but none more than Erin. While not as talented as Gunhild, her sincerity, exuberance, and natural beauty were a force so pure the heavens would have wept to see her. It was a crime she danced underground rather than for a crowd beneath the stars. Even Gunhild couldn’t take her eyes off her.
It was, therefore, all the more jarring when it was Erin who stopped dancing first. I suspected the dance would have continued had any other participant stopped, but we were enthralled by her. Even now as her chest heaved for breath and her eyes shone with exertion none of us three could take our eyes off her.
The sun rose and the spell was broken. I tore my eyes away, though it tore part of my heart to do so.
“Where to next?” Erin didn’t acknowledge the others’ eyes on her, whether because she was used to it or didn’t notice.
Even not looking at her, the memory was before me. I shook my head, trying to clear it, and failed.
“I... yes. That... yes that way. I should... yes. Follow me.”
I strode off to face the rats with my storm of swords, not daring to turn around or I might demand the dance start anew. Secretly, I hoped it might.
Gunhild rushed to my side and wrapped both her arms about my own. She looked slightly upset, though I couldn’t say why. Was she jealous of a woman already spoken for? Envious?
“Is it very far? Do the dark thoughts still plague you? We could dance again until you are calm.”
Fireball II
At once my head was clear. A sudden ball of fire directly in your face will do that to you. As will a woman shrieking in your ear. I stumbled back as Gunhild leapt into me, still shrieking. I tried to wrap an arm about her to shield her from the flame but she ducked away and scampered around behind me instead.
Conan and Erin were there all at once, weapons drawn and ready.
“What is it? What assails us? Is that fire yours?”
I moved the fireball to the blasted corridor outside the room.
“All is well. The spell is mine. Be ready. A horde of rats bars out passage ahead.”
And indeed the fireball now illuminated two score eyes, glittering at the edge of its light. Neither of the warriors could suppress their shudder.
“I will deal with the rats. You protect me from any which slip by. Do not interrupt me for the next hour. I’ll need all my concentration.”
Fireball. Fireball III. Sword Storm. Sword Storm II.
Six balls of fire and seventeen swords flew forward into the pack. My concentration was divided, recording some, leaving others to fade out naturally after they fought. The incontinent fireball (as I had taken to calling it) was too unpredictable to record, and the earlier sword storm too far gone. The rats proved to be little challenge. The fireballs corralled them. There was more swords than rats. Conan and Erin’s weapons waited ready and useless as the rats died. Not one escaped. Their size simply made them easier to hem and strike.
Swordferno: Fourteen invisible blades dance and strike with the base force of 484 lbs. Four for half an hour, six for 45 minutes, and four more for an hour. Four fireballs join them, one twice as hot as the others. Four lights, bright as candles, swirl about them, rising into existence just before the blade appears for the first time and dying an hour after it vanishes. Two more lights join in at the end of the first hour, and end an hour after the first lights fade, providing 3 hours of light total. All move independently following the whims of their master.
The name was a bit silly, but I was having a hard enough time concentrating fighting a pack of rats, controlling the horde of weapons, and recording my spell. There was a reason Magi were taught to come up with the names ahead of time. Thinking of a good name during the casting was near the bottom of my priorities.
To their credit, Erin and Conan remained silent while I recorded. They didn’t even wander from my side, electing instead to continue guarding me against any new threats which might escape my notice.
“I’m ready. It’s just across this hall here.”
I led the party through one of the cracks in the wall not full of smouldering rat corpses. As it turned out, it came out almost directly in front of the map. Conan hurried forward, his own map in hand.
“Aha!”
It was less than a minute later when Conan thrust his finger at the map on the wall in triumph, “We are here! Second floor.”
The rest of us crowded around to crane up at the spot. Erin was the first to point out the obvious.
“Are you sure? It looks nothing like this room.”
Conan waved his map in her face, “Completely. It only took me a moment to recognize because our friend Oswic here rearranged the maps with his adventuring,” he jabbed a thumb back to the gaping holes in the wall, “throws everything a little off. Fortunately I drew a good amount of both the third and second floor before the explosions.”
Both Gunhild and Erin looked at me in with fear. I winced.
“The explosions were not my doing. I can only lay claim to the undoing of the ritual which bound them.”
Neither woman seemed put at ease.
“Is it the whole dungeon?” I asked to change the subject.
Conan shrugged, still studying the map, “No idea. I see six floors mentioned, but I don’t know how deep the dungeon is.”
“Thirteen,” I said, “The dungeon is thirteen floors deep. Even if I didn’t know it, it would be true. Such is the way of warlocks.”
Conan shrugged again, “Who am I to doubt one of the wise? Give me half an hour and I’ll have this copied.”
***
In the end it took Conan nearly an hour, for he made two copies. One for me and one for his own records to add to or copy again at will.
He drew in large shaky lines, clear enough to plan a route, but any notes or details were lost to me. One floor every two pages was larger than the map on the wall, and it let me truly examine my surroundings.
“This place is huge!”
Erin was reading over my shoulder. Gunhild was on the opposite.
I laughed, “You’d be surprised. There is much the map doesn’t show. Tunnels beneath rooms, hidden walkways, hidden rooms-”
“Hidden realms,” Conan interjected, “Endless oceans and endless isles, emerald green, where the stars meet the sea.”
Erin’s mouth quirked upwards at the perceived jest, then faltered as she saw the yearning in Conan’s eyes. She probably saw it in mine as well.
“The wind is warm and the grass is soft. Never a storm, only a fair breeze,” I said.
“And company, the best company. Silent and strong. Laughter ringing forever in those sacred vales,” said Conan.
“Elysium,” Gunhild said with a reverent whisper, “you have seen it?”
We could only nod. It seemed crude somehow to outright say it. Such was the power of that place that the women demanded no more questions. Even Erin demanded no explanation as to why Conan hadn’t told her of it earlier. Such was Elysium.
“Does it truly dwell in this awful place?”
Conan looked to me for confirmation.
“A portal only,” I said, “An anchor which moves. (“Not a very good anchor,” murmured Conan) The path we travelled is no more. Perhaps a new path will open, or perhaps Elysium will never return here again. Only one path remains open always, and that is a path any may take, for Elysium dwells in men’s hearts first of all.”
Gunhild cast down her eyes, “Would that I could follow that path.”
“Would that we all,” Conan agreed. He finished comparing old map and new, “I think that’s done it, unless you want me to mark your decorative decisions, Oswic.”
“Better I keep one map of how it should be that I need not update at every little change.”
Gunhild looked at the tons of stone strewn about the room with a raised brow at “little”, but otherwise held her piece.
“Let us be off then. It is getting late.”
We endeavoured to return the way we’d came, only to find the path once more occupied by giant rats. This creatures waited on the opposite side of the hall as the bodies of their fellows, still cutting off access from the lift. It was enough to make me wonder if a great force compelled them, though I had no way of telling.
Gunhild reacted as soon as I did, the Delta folk stopped and looked askance, their vision not as keen as mine in the dark. No human’s was. I sent my will-o’-wisps forward in answer, illuminating a glittering sea of eyes.
“Ready yourselves,” I called. There was less rats than last time, but I was no less cautious. A normal rodent could gnaw through stone. If any of their size slipped past my magics they would kill with a single bite.
Swordferno.
Rats broke.
Rats burned.
Rats died.
Our party continued on.