Stealing Sorcery (50 page)

“I…don’t…” Sterling coughed again. “I don’t think you’re going to do much to help me if you don’t have a sorcerer with you.”

“We’ll get you help.” Velas frowned, slipping off her backpack and retrieving her medical kit. “You’re a Haven Knight, right? Don’t close your eyes.”

Sterling nodded. “Yeah, I was. Why?”

“I’m from House Jaldin – you know what that means. We’re the best healers.”

“The best healers…yeah, I guess that’s true.”

Sterling’s gaze began to falter. Velas slapped him, jolting the man awake.

“You need to keep your eyes open. I’m going to need a few more minutes to prepare something. You need – ” Velas coughed into her hand, shaking her head. “You’ll need to drink this when I’m finished with it. It’s going to make you throw up.”

“Lovely.” He smirked. “Just like a bad night of drinking, eh?”

She nodded. “Yeah, except last time we went drinking, you didn’t throw up at all. It was the ring, yeah?”

He raised his right hand, displaying a ring. “Probably the only reason I’m alive.” He chuckled. “It was just a trinket. Not made for handling real tough poisons – just a trinket for winning drinking contests. I never thought…”

“You’re very lucky you had it.” Velas turned her head toward Taelien, who was shuffling his feet uneasily. “You want to go catch those fuckers?”

Taelien nodded furiously.

“Sterling, how long ago did the other two leave, and which way did they go?”

He shook his head. “Couldn’t have been long. I mean, I don’t think… Maybe ten minutes? Seemed like they were in a hurry.” He frowned. “They looked like they were headed on the path downhill, back toward where you came from. You shouldn’t split up, though. Gotta leave me here if you want to go after them.”

“They can handle it. Only two of them – I’ll send two of us.”

Velas turned back to Taelien. “Take Asphodel and head down the road. Hopefully she can use her oracle powers to find them or something. Don’t take any risks. If you have to kill them to save yourselves, do it.”

This…this is bad. This is the wrong move, isn’t it?

But – what do I – what should we do?

Taelien nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

Velas and Landen will be fine, won’t they? They can handle themselves, even if Susan and Wandering War wrap back around.

He shook his head, which swam for an instant as he moved.
Shit, I need to be careful. This travel sorcery sickness might be a problem.
I’ll need to walk it off.

The swordsman jerked a thumb toward the road while facing Asphodel. “You good to go?”

She nodded. “We will catch them.”

Well, at least someone is confident.

***

The sick feeling in Taelien’s stomach did not improve as he raced with Asphodel down the trail – it only worsened. Still, he pressed on, the pain from his side fading into the back of his mind as he focused on a single goal – smashing Susan Crimson and the Wandering War with overwhelming force.

Minutes passed, the forest around them thickening into walls. Though the path appeared to be well-traveled, he could see the fragmented ruins of abandoned stone structures among the trees. The forest had retaken the majority of its territory long ago.

Asphodel froze in her tracks, her eyes narrowing. Taelien turned, breathing heavily from a combination of exertion and the growing tension in his muscles.

“Continue down the path. We part ways here.”

Asphodel turned to the right, stalking off the road into the forest.

“That doesn’t seem wise –”

“I am following Crimson. Her path broke from his here. She has laid several traps. You will only slow me down.” She spoke in a tone that brooked no argument, but Taelien was tempted to follow her regardless.

She trusts in her visions, even knowing that they only represent a possibility – but I suppose that’s still more information than I have at my disposal.

Shaking his head, Taelien whispered an old saying, “Lissari, keep her healthy,” and continued on his own path. The tree cover grew thicker, blotting out much of the dawnfire’s light. He passed a stream, tempting him to stop and drink, but he pressed on – he knew that his enemy could choose to abandon the road – or meet with allies – at any time.

His heart was pounding when he came upon a marker in the trail – three paladin practice blades embedded in the dirt on the side of the road.

Like unmarked graves.

The three-inch blade that flashed out from the tree-line grazed the left side of his face.

Taelien drew his practice blade, not bothering to assess the wound. The pain was insubstantial, distant.

Sharpen.
The blade’s edges shifted into a closer facsimile of a standard weapon, though he could feel that the metal itself was a lighter grade of iron.

A cloaked figure emerged from the woods, moving to the center of the road.

“I am disappointed,” the Wandering War intoned, his voice rich and full. “I did not even wait to flank you – and yet you still missed the thrown knife. Are you unwell?”

More than a bit, but I’m not going to show him that.

“That trinket wasn’t even worth deflecting.” Taelien smirked. “I hope you’ve brought something a little bit more substantial.”

The cloaked figure made a sweeping bow. “But of course.”

The three paladin blades tore free from the dirt, hovering to float behind the Wandering War and reorienting themselves to point toward Taelien.

Well, that’s one time I really shouldn’t have said anything.

The Wandering War flicked his arm toward Taelien – the swords followed his command.

Taelien’s sword smashed the first blade to the side, but it simply floated nearby, beginning to reorient itself as he struck at the second blade.

Shatter,
he commanded the metal of the opposing blade as the swords met, but the meeting of weapons was too brief – his command incomplete. The third sword’s blade struck the left side of his breastplate, scrapping harmlessly across the plate as it flew past him.

He was already rushing off the road when the blades came again, giving him no time to pause for thought. He deflected one with his left bracer while sweeping the second’s blade into a nearby tree, pinning it in place. Even as he brought his blade back to parry the third, he noted the entombed sword wiggling in place, as if struggling to free itself of its own accord.

The third blade swept at Taelien’s upper legs, which were covered only by a thin layer of mail. He raised his right greave to block the attack, successfully deflecting it, but fell backward from the force of the impact and landed in a sitting position on the dirt.

The Wandering War had not noticeably moved.

Frustrated, Taelien awaited the first blade’s next swing, snatching it out of the air with a gloved hand. The practice blade’s blunted edges did his hand no harm, though it remained in motion, pushing with unseen force toward his throat.

Ball
, he commanded the blade. This time it responded – although with hesitation – and the iron blade separated from the hilt, shifting into a sphere. The hilt fell harmlessly to the dirt as Taelien reached back to throw the ball, but the third sword swept down too quickly, interrupting his attempt. He was forced to raise his bracer again to block the swing, and then swung his own sword in an awkward arc, missing the floating blade entirely.

The Wandering War laughed, beginning to walk closer.

Taelien stood, stumbling backward as the last floating blade swished in front of him, deflecting it and hurling the iron ball at the Wandering War.

The cloaked figure raised his hand again – and the ball paused in mid-air, and then fell harmlessly to the ground.

That’s… not even fair. What kind of reshing sorcery is he using?

The last floating sword swung again, but Taelien was more than ready this time. He locked his blade against it in a push, giving him more than enough time to issue a command to the metal.

Shatter.

The blade fractured like glass, spilling across the dirt.

Taelien didn’t advance directly on his opponent – instead, he stepped back off the path to grasp the blade of the second of the floating swords, which was still working its way free from the tree. He was tempted to try to use it as a secondary weapon, but the Wandering War had clearly exerted some kind of sorcerous control over the weapons, making the sword too much of a risk.

Separate.

The blade split into pieces – large enough that Taelien could easily reassemble them into a weapon, but too small to be individually dangerous. This would give him an option for a fallback weapon if the Wandering War seized control over his current sword.

“That was an improvement, but still hardly sufficient to warrant the whispers I’ve been hearing. Where’s that bravado you demonstrated in the earlier tests? I want to see blades of
fire
, swordsman. This is nothing.”

What’s the point of this baiting?

Taelien coughed, his head still swimming. He suppressed the urge to vomit, taking his weapon in a two-handed grip to stabilize it and shifting into the Teris Low-Blade stance.
I’m missing something vital.

The cloaked figure audibly sighed, adjusting his cloak to reveal the red-runed blade he had displayed during their last encounter. “If you insist upon curtailing your abilities, I suppose I will have to force you to take this more seriously.”

The Wandering War raised the sword into an unfamiliar high stance, his elbows raised to shoulder level, the flat of his weapon parallel to the dirt.

Six more swords appeared in the air around him – phantasmal blades enshrouded in blue-green fire.

Taelien moved first, releasing his left hand grip to grab his right bracer and issue a command.
Shift into knife.

The metallic portion of the bracer reshaped itself and he hurled the short weapon through the air, but the Wandering War brought down his blade in a heavy strike, severing the metallic blade in twain and sending the pieces flying to either side of his body.

Then the flaming blades were moving – and Taelien was falling back.

If he’s controlling these manually, he can’t possibly maneuver six weapons with any degree of finesse.

He managed to make it to the side of the road before the first blade came into reach. As before, he swung the practice blade to meet his attacker, planning to dismantle it with his strike.

His own blade split in twain as it struck the hovering weapon - with no sense of steel entering his mind. The enemy blade continued in its arc, its flames coming close enough to singe his hair as he stumbled backward to avoid the cut.

They’re not metal at all – they’re like Keldyn’s swords, only on fire. I can handle that.

Taelien hurled the remaining half of his sword at the Wandering War, but it didn’t come anywhere close to hitting. He hadn’t expected it to – it merely bought a momentary pause while his opponent stepped back, and the floating swords ceased their motion.

Well, that’s one minor plus. They’re not sentient – he has to command them, and he can be distracted.

The Sae’kes sang as he wrenched it from its sheath, meeting the next two flaming blades with heavy two-handed strokes. Each strike seemed to break away at the essence of the floating weapons – their flames diminished somewhat, and their blades showed cracks from the impact.

“Ah, excellent, the entertainment can begin in earnest.”

Six more swords appeared around the Wandering War, floating in a slow circular pattern.

Oh, you have to be fucking kidding me.

The swords moved.

Taelien was a whirlwind of silver, slashing each blade apart as it drew near. Metal or not, with each stroke he felt their essence more strongly, and that familiarity formed a map in his mind – the trajectory of each weapon, the timing of its approach, the necessary vector to deflect each incoming projectile.

With a sweep, he slammed two blades into each other, roaring triumphantly as they split into shards and dissipated. A third blade went unnoticed as he roiled in the momentary triumph, the sword slashing across his left thigh and tearing through mail and flesh alike. The skin around the laceration burned from contact with the spectral fire.

Taelien fell to a knee as he processed the wound, deflecting the next two blades.

Shit, that’s bad,
he processed, seeing his blood draining from the wound. The phantasmal flames had not cauterized the wound, and while it had not struck anywhere vital, the injury would limit his mobility.

A second blade slipped through, taking a chunk from his right ear and grazing his neck. He felt the hint of heat from the blue-green flames as they licked close, but he instinctively deflected them with his own flame shaping, feeling a chill as the sorcery extracted its toll.

I need to make forward progress; he’s forced me completely onto the defensive.

Grabbing another weapon was out of the question – he couldn’t count on being able to wield it the way he had with Keldyn’s stolen blade, since the Wandering War seemed to have some way to mentally control the blades.