Guardians of Magessa (The Birthright Chronicles Book 1) (2 page)

“I should have expected something like
that,”
Jothnial chided himself.
“After
all, I’m infiltrating Molkekk’s headquarters. This place was bound to stink of
dark magic.”

He extended another tendril of magic
toward the doors, but stayed several feet away from them. He knew
what was on the
other side of those doors and would
gladly have left it there if it weren’t for his current predicament. He slowly
nudged one door open without any more effort than he had expended the first
time. Clearly, being shrunk had not affected his ability to work magic. He
waited for the soldiers to burst through the doors, but nothing happened. The
seconds turned into minutes and still nothing. Jothnial slid his sword into the
scabbard on his back, and using his free hand, formed a small ball of magic
between his index finger and thumb and spread it on his eyes. Immediately, his
surroundings took on a transparent form, showing all that was hidden. He looked
toward the door and instead of seeing the temple on the other side he saw a
hillside. With a snap of his fingers, his vision returned to normal
. Moving
cautiously, he walked toward the doors. He
peeked through the open one and saw that his magic had not deceived him. On the
other side was a sunny hillside with a stream running down it. A small cottage
stood on top of the hill.

Jothnial was bewildered by the change, but
more frightened by the fact that he had no idea where he was
. He took a slow, deep breath and let it out before
comparing his
options. On one side of the door was a marsh that stank of
evil. It could easily hide enemies and would be difficult for him to traverse.
On the other side of the door was a
brightly lit
hill. It did not
seem evil in the least and was very open. If Jothnial
were attacked, he would have plenty of time to react. He went over the decision
in his head hundreds of times, knowing quite well that the wrong choice could
cost him his life.

He finally stood, turned his back on the
door, and walked toward the marsh. He knew that he would choose this
eventually. This was, after all, the
headquarters
of Molkekk. Nothing was pleasant here without a purpose, and even so
, the hillside
seemed
too
pleasant.

Jothnial made his way to the bridge that
spanned the marsh. It appeared rickety and was broken down in many places, but
somehow he knew it was the only way
across. He
carefully stepped
onto the first plank of the structure and tested it
before putting his whole weight on it. A splash sounded off to his right, and
he jerked his head around. Ever-expanding rings rippled in the water,
originating from a spot on the marsh only a dozen yards from him
. He eyed the
water suspiciously before taking
another cautious step. As he continued to navigate the bridge, the conviction
that he needed to reach the other side of the marsh grew.

Fifteen minutes passed as Jothnial hopped
from plank to plank. The bridge was in a greater state of disrepair than he had
thought, and he sometimes had to leap over gaps that spanned up to ten feet of
empty space in order to reach the next plank. He had to stop to catch his
breath, and he did so while leaning against one of the posts that supported the
bridge. The gap he faced next was the largest yet, spanning possibly fifteen
feet, but only a hundred yards beyond it was land.

He carefully sized
up the gap, took a flying leap, and landed with only
his toes on the plank. He was off balance and stood there for several long
moments struggling to regain his footing. He might have had a chance if this
were anywhere else, but here the wood was all slick with mold. His feet slid
off of the board, and he tumbled backwards into the sticky mud of the marsh.
His first thoughts were for the baby which he held up with one hand. The mud
was so thick that he sank into it slowly, giving him time to reach for and find
purchase on the slimy planks of the bridge. The baby was now about even with
the bridge's surface, so he thrust her onto the timbers. Moments later his face
submerged and for a moment he began to panic. This was no ordinary mud; he was
almost overcome by the malicious magic that was behind it, trying to pull him
down and suffocate him. Gripping the bridge with both hands, he pulled as if
his life depended on it. After what seemed like an eternity under the mud, his
head forced its way out and he took deep gasping breaths of the rancid marsh
air.

Even in the small amount of time that he
had ceased to pull his body upward, the mud had begun to suck him back
downward. With a groan, Jothnial began to pull again causing every muscle in
his body to scream at him. With unhappy squelching noises, the mud slowly gave
him up. Hand by hand he clawed his way up onto the bridge, fighting the mud the
whole way. Finally he was able to pull his feet free and crawl forward a few
more feet just for good measure. Exhausted, he dropped face down on the bridge,
gasping for breath.

It was several minutes before he trusted
his limbs to hold his weight. When a small amount of strength had returned, he
pushed himself to a sitting position and looked around for the baby. She was
laying on the bridge a foot or so from the edge, unaware of what was going on
around her. The bottom of her dress and her legs were covered in mud, but on
the whole she was not hurt. Jothnial looked down at his clothes and as he had
expected, saw that he was covered in the foul smelling mud of the swamp. It was
already starting to dry on him, creating a hard shell on his skin that pulled
at him when he moved, and it was time for him to move if he had any intentions
of getting out of here alive. He had already spent a good amount of time here,
and every second more was one closer to something that he couldn't deal with
catching up to him. With a groan he picked up the baby and pushed himself to
his feet.

The thought of dry land only a hundred
yards away made Jothnial want to get there as quickly as possible, but he
forced himself to proceed cautiously. After all, it was not only his life at
stake, but the life of the baby in his arms as well. The next step was all that
he focused on until, suddenly, he found himself standing on solid dirt. He
looked up and saw for the first time a large, plain looking structure blocking
his path. An observer might call it a house, though that description would have
been generous. It was simply a large, white cube with a single door in the
exact center of the wall facing him. Jothnial walked around the back of the
house, examining the wall as he moved. He wasn't sure what material it was made
out of, but it certainly wasn't wood.

The back of the house looked exactly as
the front had: a solid wall with a single door cutting through it. Jothnial
might have ignored the structure altogether if it had not been sitting on a
small plot of land surrounded on all four sides by the marsh. It appeared as
though the bridge was the only way to the island and the only way off. The
magician decided that as long as he had made the dangerous and useless trip out
here, he might as well see what was inside the building. Cautiously, he opened
the door and peeked inside. The entire inside of the house was empty, so he
stepped through the door. There were no furnishings or subdivisions of the
house; it consisted of one large, empty room. No windows looked out of the
house, and it had only two doors.

Jothnial stared in bewilderment.
Previously, he had been certain that he needed to cross the marsh, but now he
was positive that he had made a mistake. Behind him, the door creaked, and he
spun around to face this new development. In
the
doorway stood what could
only be described as massive, black, and ugly.
 It was at least fourteen feet tall, two feet taller
than the tallest ogre Jothnial had ever seen, but didn’t resemble one at all.
It looked like a pile of mud with arms and legs. It didn’t appear to have a
head, and Jothnial didn’t spend too much time looking for one. He figured that
even if he took it off, the thing would not die.

The monster slowly advanced from the door
and made its way toward Jothnial. By now the elf could tell
that it reeked
of magic. He reached for one of the
silver throwing knives on his belt and flung it at the blob. The projectile hit
the monster dead
center and disappeared into
it. For a second nothing happened, and Jothnial started to panic.

“That thing has to be magic,”
he told himself,
“and the knife I threw was
silver. Everyone knows that silver destroys magic.”

Before Jothnial had time to finish
convincing himself, the blob exploded and threw him across the house. He almost
lost the baby, but managed to keep hold of her. The warning bells in his brain
were working overtime, and he landed on his feet and spun to face the front
door of the house. A man
with blood-red robes
stood in
the doorway
. His eyes were completely
white, and it was obvious that he was blind. He seemed to rely on his sense of
smell to navigate, and it led him straight toward Jothnial. The magician
reached over his
shoulder, pulled
his sword
from its scabbard, and began to circle to the man's right.

The man seemed to immediately sense the
change in Jothnial’s behavior and withdrew a sword from the folds of his cloak.
He approached Jothnial slowly and sank into a fighter’s crouch. Jothnial
wondered how the man could tell where everything was even though he was blind.
He raised his sword to block a blow from the blind man and was surprised at how
powerful it was. With a quick, twisting move, he thrust his blade at the blind
man’s stomach. The blade
sank in up to the hilt
,
and Jothnial jerked it down and then up, causing the man to fall in half.

Jothnial started to turn away from his
victim, but was stopped short. The man fell in two pieces, but not a drop of
blood spilled onto the floor. Instead, the two halves of the man’s body began
to grow
. In no time, two
exact replicas of him
stood in front of him. They both clenched swords in their fists and began to
circle Jothnial.
The elf began
to turn in a
circle, trying to keep both opponents in his sight, but they continued to circle
further apart. Soon one of them would be behind him and ready to attack.
Thoughts rushed through Jothnial’s head as he tried to decide what to do. Could
one of the men be an illusion? That was an easy trick for even an inexperienced
magician. Then again, maybe the first attacker was an illusion as well. After
all, he didn’t bleed when he had been split in half.

There were too many options to consider
and Jothnial knew that if he didn’t move quickly, he was going to be
vulnerable. Gripping the baby more tightly in his left arm, he turned and
bolted toward the man who had maneuvered
behind him.
He went to his knees at the last second, sliding underneath the man's blade and
past him. In one smooth motion, Jothnial rose to his feet and spun, bringing
his sword in a wide, vertical slash toward the man’s neck. The sword met next
to no resistance as it cut, and the man’s head fell to the floor. Again, no
blood issued from the cut as the man's body quickly grew another head.
Meanwhile, the head on the floor morphed shapes and grew into a tiger.

Jothnial looked at his three opponents,
carefully sizing them up. It appeared as though wounding them would do nothing
but create more enemies. This had to be magic.

“What’s happening?”
Jothnial wondered in panic.
“The silver in my sword
appears to have no effect on them, and yet they have to be magic.”

The tiger waited for the two men to come
even with it, and all three enemies started to surround Jothnial. He backed up
in order to keep all three in his sight. In only a few steps he
felt a wall against his
back, so he slid sideways
along the wall until he had moved into a corner. With his back now safe from
attack, he waited for his assailants to move in. The men advanced together, but
the tiger didn’t wait. Magic shot from Jothnial’s right fist and hit the tiger
as it jumped, flinging it across the house and into the other wall. It
immediately rose to its feet and began to bound back
toward
him.

The second that Jothnial threw the tiger
with magic, he rammed his sword into the floor and reached for a silver
throwing knife. With a flick of his wrist, he buried the knife in the shoulder
of one of the identical men. The weapon began to glow and shake violently, and
Jothnial
watched, holding
his breath. What
happened next was something that he had never seen before, something that he
had not thought was possible. The knife continued to glow brighter and shake
more violently until it exploded into a thousand slivers, all flying directly
at Jothnial. He had no time to avoid the missiles and
was just able t
o block the baby with his body and raise his arm to
defend his own face. The silver slivers hit him, stopping only where they met
metal. In all the gaps of Jothnial’s armor, they had a devastating effect,
smashing into his skin and leaving a million tiny cuts. The blind man paused
only momentarily as the skin of his shoulder grew back and hid the hole where
moments ago a knife had been buried. When the healing was complete, the man
removed a throwing knife of his own from his belt. With a motion so fast that
his hand appeared as
a blur, he hurled the
weapon across the room.