Shadowrun - Earthdawn - Mother Speaks (3 page)

"No," she answered. "They came from a town called Mebok, or so the villagers who hired me said. Humans and some elves..."

"Corrupted?" someone asked.

"The elves were not of the Queen's Court, if that's what you mean," the woman said with a rueful smile. "And no visible signs of corruption. But then Horrors do not always make signs upon the flesh." She shrugged.

"And they came for prisoners?" I asked.

"They killed, make no mistake about that. I haven't seen such fierce fighting for some time—not by folks not trained in combat. But their leader, he was a tough one. A swordmaster adept as well, from the way he fought. He rallied his people hard. The village I tried to protect... Well, they didn't have much money, and it was me, three other warriors, all mundane, and the village smith. They ran roughshod over us. A hundred or more charged us."

Several of those gathered gasped.

"And they came for prisoners?" I repeated.

"Yes. They stole some goods. But for the most part they tried to disarm everyone and gather them up. They succeeded quite well."

"You escaped?" someone asked.

“I did. When I'd taken so many wounds that I could no longer raise my sword, I retreated." She looked down. Shamed.

I touched her hand. "Did the villagers know why the people of Mebok attacked?"

She shook her head. "A few farmers from the village had gone to visit a neighboring village and found it empty. All of its inhabitants had vanished or lay as corpses on the ground. They became afraid, and hired me when I stopped at their village."

A silence wound its way through the room. I asked,

"And you heard nothing of such raids while you traveled?"

"No. But then, I am new to the area."

"While you traveled, did you hear any word of a..."—I paused, realizing how odd the idea would sound to someone who had not been speaking of it for the last month—"a flying castle," I finished.

She looked at me with surprise, and then half-smiled, curious. "Yes. But I didn't think anything of it. How could anyone get a castle to fly?" She looked directly into my eyes, the smile gone now. "Does such a thing exist?"

"Oh, yes." My chest tightened with anxiety. "What have you heard?"

"Some people said that someone they knew, knew someone who knew someone who'd seen a castle fly through the air the day before, or two days before. Some people knew someone who knew someone who was related to someone who had actually gone off to follow the castle. And none of these people ever returned."

6

That night I prepared to search for your father.

I left you in Tellar's care, the two of you still asleep on the floor. I planned to depart in the morning, saying goodbye to you then. Back home, I folded my traveling clothes, and gathered my magical components, placing them in small bags. It was late, I was tired, and every fifteen minutes or so I would stop, sigh heavily, and wonder why I was going to try to find your father. If he wanted to ride off into danger, that was his business. Why did I have to involve myself?

The reason was this: Although our reasons would be different, he would do the same for me. It was impossible to turn my back to him.

As I was placing the clothes and bags in Wisher's saddle bags, the first screams came.

Thoughts tumbled through my mind. I thought a wyvern, or possibly even a Horror, had entered the village. I started for your bedroom to make sure you two were all right, only to remember as I ran that you were at Tellar's.

I stopped, uncertain where to go next, listening. More screams and shouts filled the air, and I heard people calling for help. Then more cries, gruff and charged with the desire for battle. I grabbed my magician's robe and slipped it on. Barefoot, I rushed out the door and across the moist ground.

Across the village I saw dozens of torches, some bobbing in the darkness, carried by raiders on horseback.

Others rested on the ground, flung forward by the raiders and illuminating the eastern half of the village. Swords flashed harsh red. I heard screams. Someone in a white gown was being carried off by two of the raiders. Those who ran through the fields were chased down by raiders on horseback.

Two raiders, a thick-bodied man and a woman, rushed toward me along the small road through the village. They laughed, but only until they recognized my magician's robe.

That's when they pulled up on their reins, trying to bring their horses around.

Too late.

I grabbed two pebbles from my pocket and tossed them at the man. As the pebbles crossed the distance between us, I transformed them into maces of ice linked by a chain of ice. The man's eyes widened as the frozen weapon caught him around the neck. The maces swung past each other, the chain biting deep into the flesh of his neck.

The woman turned her horse back toward me when she saw her companion endangered.

She raised her sword, obviously no longer concerned with taking me prisoner. As she charged, the panic that always struck me in combat seized my mind. I thought of every possible spell I knew, desperately searching for the best way to use my magic, but meanwhile taking no action at all.

I gave up on thought when the woman was only a few steps away. I dropped to my knees and touched the puddle of water her horse was splashing through. I concentrated, opening my thoughts to the astral plane, where magic flows across our reality. As I had shaped the pebbles into maces and a chain, now I shaped the ground and water before me. It bent to my will, the puddle becoming deeper and deeper until the horse finally fell forward, surprised.

Whinnying and sinking up to its chest in the mud, the horse threw the woman forward.

The sword flew from her hand, and she landed in the mud beside me. I pulled out a dagger from my robes, opting for a simpler method of conflict for the task at hand. As she scrambled to get up, I drove the dagger's tip down past the collar of her stiff leather armor and into her neck. Blood sprayed-up, washing me warm. She cried out for mercy, and I pulled the dagger away, releasing more blood from her body.

You see, I had only you boys in mind at the moment. And anyone who threatened you or who prevented me from getting to you, would die.

The man had removed the ice maces from his neck, and rode back to the east side of village, toward the brunt of the attack. Again I shifted my thoughts to the etheric plane, and again I used my skill to change the nature of the world. I drew my hand back behind my shoulder, and as I did so a spear of ice formed, gripped-in my palm. I flung it forward, and it cut through the air, leaving a trail of ice flakes in the air as it shot forward.

The spear drove deep into the man's back, then snapped, leaving a portion of the shaft buried in his body. He was alive, but disoriented. I ran up and dragged him off the horse, then mounted the beast myself, rushing off toward Tellar's home, desperate to protect the two of you. It took less then a minute to get there. The swordmaster who had brought us news of the raiders fought four of them outside Tellar's door. The raiders, a mix of humans and elves, cut at her savagely with their blades. She fended off their attacks, but could not make a successful strike.

Seeing me approach, she smiled in relief. I dropped the horse's reins, cupped my hands together and produced a flame, which I tossed to her sword. Her opponents pulled back, startled. In that half-beat she struck two solid blows with the enchanted sword, sending two of the raiders to the ground, bleeding heavily.

Then I heard you calling for me, Samael. I looked up toward a window on the second floor of Tellar's- and saw you both looking down at me. Flames leaped behind you and smoke poured out the window.

In that moment I forgot all but my concern for you. A mistake. A fireball thrown by a raiding wizard splashed into my right side, blinding me with its fiery light and numbing me with incredible heat as it ripped into my skin.

I screamed—the sound of a thousand birds screeching filling my ears. By that time I had fallen from the horse. The left side of my body, from my face down to my waist, felt horribly cold even as a burning sensation cut through my flesh. My left arm shook violently.

I looked up at you in the window, saw your startled, horrified faces. Tears formed in my eyes. I didn't want you boys to see me like that. I felt shame mixed with fear. My fingers dug into the soft ground and I tried to raise myself with my right arm. Pain cut through me as I moved my body. But still I tried to rise.

Then a pair of tanned leather boots stepped up in front of me, filling my vision. I suddenly felt like a child confronted by an angry adult. One of the boots pulled back to kick me in the face. I rolled to my right, but not fast enough. The boot swung forward.

My vision flashed to black, and for a moment I couldn't remember what was happening.

Then I felt the ground slam into my face. I tried to get up again, focusing on a spell—a fireball, I think. I tried to bring my thoughts to the astral plane, but it was no use. I could not think properly.

The booted foot came for me again, and I tried to catch it with my right hand.

There was not a chance. It slammed into my face once more.

I rolled onto my back. A huge man stared down at met his features angry and dark, though he smiled with dirty teeth. I turned my head and saw the swordmaster adept surrounded by enemies, her melee illuminated by fluid red torchlight. One of her opponents suddenly drove a sword point through her abdomen. She gasped, her face freezing in pain, then another sword slashed down into her shoulder.

Something, another movement, caught my attention to the left of me. Just as I was shifting my gaze, I saw the boot rising high over my head. After that, oblivion.

7

I awoke in pain. Darkness ate at my vision. The floor beneath me seemed to be made of stone, though I could not be sure. The burns on my body confused my sense of touch.

Memories of movement—riding in a cart, and even walking, came to me, but I couldn't remember any images.

My voice cracking and barely audible, I spoke. "Hello?"

No reply came back. But as I listened carefully, I heard t he sound of breathing, a few whispered words, soft crying, and a gurgling laugh no louder than water running slowly over a rock.

Gingerly I touched my right hand to the left side of my body. The burns had hardened—

like thick scars. Someone had taken the trouble of healing me with magic. I tried for a moment to get up, but the pain bit too deeply into my flesh. A wave of dizziness passed over me. I put my head down against the stone floor and fell back asleep.

When the door opened, the room flooded with dim red torchlight. The noise of the door opening startled me awake. The flames, though not bright, hurt my eyes and my vision blurred. I saw figures in the doorway. Around me people of many races—dwarfs, elves, humans, orks, trolls, and others—stood up and made their way toward the door. Someone by the door shouted at us, but in a language I didn't recognize. I tried to get up, but could not.

A whip cracked beside me, and I cringed in surprise. Again came words I couldn't understand. Shadows moved about the room. Suddenly someone grabbed me and pulled me up. The rough jostling cracked some of my scarred flesh, and fresh pain coursed through me. At that moment, all I could think of was, "What did I do? What have I done?"

I was standing now, being pushed forward by someone, forcing me to walk weakly toward the door. To my right I saw an old man on the ground, crying. The man with the whip snapped it against the downed man again and again. Drops of blood rained against my face as the whip snapped back. The sight drove me into a fury, albeit a quiet one. I could barely walk, let alone rescue the old man. I thought for a moment that I had to do something— rush the slave master, shout at him to stop. But I could find no energy to do anything. The sight only inspired me to move faster out the door, wanting to avoid the same fate.

Down long corridors lined with smooth marble stones, up perfectly carved stairs with bright silver hand rails. We walked a long time—or so it seemed in my weak state— and I wondered where I was. It might have been the ruins of a shelter from the Scourge, but such places were seldom so well preserved.

We reached a large door leading outside. Bloated gray clouds churned overhead. Thick drops of rain fell. Our escorts herded us into the courtyard of a castle. The castle, of course! Memories came back to me. Were we flying? Maybe not. The clouds didn't seem any closer.

Rain ran down my ruined skin like horribly cold needles. I remember worrying over where the two of you might be—but only for a moment. The constant pain stole my attention, and tears rolled down my cheeks, mixing with the raindrops.

Dozens and dozens of thin, weak people of all races stood in groups all around the courtyard. I realized that my chamber had been only one of many holding prisoners. The features of the people were strange to me: some had skin darker than I had ever seen before, others had thinner noses, or higher cheek bones, or countless other small, unfamiliar traits. It seemed that my fellow prisoners must have come from many, many different places.

Standing around the prisoners were soldiers in scarlet armor, a mixture of elves, humans, orks, and trolls. In contrast to the prisoners, they carried themselves with strength and confidence. Their faces were expressionless, but their eyes betrayed energy and alertness.

You know that I am speaking of the Therans, for you have seen them from a young age.

But I must tell you how I felt seeing them at that moment, seeing them for the first time.

Never have I beheld people so beautiful. Each seemed a perfect example of his race, each unique, but each an ideal. I had seen the graceful beauty of the elves, of course. Even the corrupted elves of Blood Wood are stunning in their own disturbing way. But the Therans washed me of preconceptions about how people can look. Their poise, lean builds—even though the orks and trolls were large, they were all muscle and bone. Purity. That was it.

Purity. And in a world that was still trying to scrub; the remains of the Scourge from the land, such people seemed as if they could only have been created out of my imagination.