Delver Magic III: Balance of Fate - Jeff Inlo (ready player one ebook .TXT) 📗
- Author: Jeff Inlo
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The wizard smiled broadly. “Let’s see, how would I describe it? It was kind of a floating dimension spell, no, actually more like I suspended time around you. Well, that’s not really it either, because time always marches on. However, you know when an important event is about to happen and everything sort of slows down around you? Well, that’s what I did for you. That way you could really appreciate that moment you were gliding across the air, flying if you will.”
“Seemed like I was flying forever there for a moment,” Ryson replied almost gleefully as he turned and raced back toward the wizard.
“Barely a few moments, actually, but in your mind those moments were extended. You were able to think and react and even move as if everything else around you was placed in a state of slower motion.”
“Thank you very much, that was more of what I expected. It really did feel like I was flying.”
“Only because you allowed yourself to perceive beyond what you thought you knew. When I saw that, I knew you were ready to experience the sensation.”
With those words, Ryson suddenly stopped in his tracks. He stood stone still as his eyes narrowed and his chin lifted slightly into the air.
The delver’s reaction was not lost upon the wizard and Enin immediately tried to gain Ryson’s attention. “Can I ask why you are doing that? Well, I know why you’re doing that, you’re sensing something. That’s obvious, but what is it that you think you’re sensing? Can you describe it?”
At first Ryson appeared to ignore the wizard, he continued to tilt his head from one side then to the other. His eyes would not fix on anything in the distance and he did not bother to sniff the wind. Instead, he simply moved his head slowly about as if the skin on his face could catch something very elusive in the breeze, like a single strand of a spider web caught on his brow. Finally, he spoke without looking toward Enin, without looking toward anything at all.
“I don’t know… I really don’t. It’s something magical, that’s about all I can say for sure.”
Enin began to question Ryson further, but caught himself and stopped. He grunted about something inaudibly until he finally spoke with almost guarded words. “I’ve seen you like this before over the past few days. The fact that you say it’s magical is a serious consideration. I’m most curious about what you think is the source of this sensation.”
“I don’t know what to tell you,” Ryson offered. “Ever since the sphere was destroyed, I’ve always felt the magic. It was new to the land, basically it still is. It seems to be everywhere and sensing it is a feeling I am getting used to, but this isn’t quite the same. It’s powerful, powerful but deceptive. Sometimes I think its hiding, then again I find that hard to believe. I actually believe that whatever it is, it knows I can sense it right now. Still, it doesn’t care; doesn’t try to mask itself beyond whatever it’s doing to keep in secret as it is. I know that doesn’t make sense.”
“No, that I can understand. Keep going. What else do you feel?”
“Well, what I feel is difficult to put into words. Dry. That’s what comes to mind. Not dry like the desert or dry like thirsty, but still dry. At first I was going to say dread, but that’s not really it. When you dread something, you know it’s coming and you hope it doesn’t. Dread is heavy suppressing. This isn’t the same. This is more empty than heavy, but then again empty doesn’t quite explain it either. I keep coming back to dry.”
“I see.” Enin wanted to ask more, but his own attention was quickly pulled in another direction. With a distinct mutter of dissatisfaction, he quickly turned and peered with great intent to the Northeast. He lifted his left hand above his shoulder and flicked his fingers in an odd fashion. Immediately, two snow white circles again danced about his left hand. They slipped off his fingers into midair, crashed together in an almost powdery explosion, and disappeared leaving behind a small distortion in the air. Enin focused deeply into this fist-sized mass of twisted, blurry air.
“Sazar!” he said bluntly. “Must be. Too many creatures to be anyone else this close. Goblins, a good many of them, a river rogue, a couple of shags, maybe even more than two, hard to say, a hook hawk, even a rock beetle. Has to be Sazar.”
Ryson spoke out with an even but commanding tone. He wanted to be heard by the wizard and he wanted an immediate answer.
“Where?”
“Pinesway.”
“You’re sure?”
“Without a doubt. I’ve cast several web spells near areas that might give us advanced warning of any movement that might affect Burbon. Pinesway always offered itself as a staging area for some unpleasant creatures. That’s why most of the people abandoned it. One of the web spells I cast there just sent me a warning. I just cast a sight spell to connect to it and other web spells I placed in the area. I can see the creatures I described to you. They are swarming over the town.”
A vision of the monsters raiding Pinesway crashed into Ryson’s thoughts. He didn’t like what he envisioned. “Can we help?”
“We’d never reach the few that are left in time. The town is mostly deserted, thank Godson. Those that remain will either escape safely or meet their fate. There’s nothing we can do.”
“Nothing at all?”
Enin grimaced. “No. I’m sorry.”
Ryson’s hands fell to his sides in clenched fists. “I’m really beginning to hate that serp.”
Enin heaved another heavy sigh as the bubble of distortion faded before him. “I think we should get back to Burbon. I need to tell Sy what I’ve seen. I doubt it will be a threat to us at this instant, but he needs to know. I must ask that you allow me to move us both together. If you wanted to, you can run faster than I can fly, but I’m not just going to levitate. I’m going to—hmmmm, how should I say it? The egghead that liked science might state that I was bending space. If that helps you understand, then I’ll leave it at that. In essence, I’m going to reduce the distance we have to travel, but we have to move together.”
“Whatever you have to do,” Ryson allowed.
Intermittent screams of fear and pain echoed through the shadowed alleys of Pinesway. Tall grass and abandoned carts muffled the sounds in spots, but there was little else to cover the sporadic sounds of panic. There was no alarm, no shouts of militia, no bark of guard dogs—no sound of any organized resistance whatsoever. It was during broad daylight, yet there were no markets full of suddenly panicked shoppers, no offices filled with curious clerks, and no stalls busy with concerned laborers. As the few but unmistakable sounds of sheer terror initially blistered through the streets, a light breeze scattered dust across the empty roads, very little of anything else stirred.
The bulk of Pinesway’s residents abandoned the town immediately after the very first goblin raid. Those that remained after the initial raid quickly realized that their lack of numbers now made them an even greater target. When a river rogue staked a territorial claim at the town’s northwestern edge and shags started making frequent appearances to the south, even the hardy homesteaders that needed little to scratch a living decided to leave as well. When the dormant season took hold of the small town, the resident population was mostly made up of vagrants, petty bandits, opportunistic thieves, homeless wanderers, and a handful of stubborn citizens that refused to leave their homes for any reason.
Joel Portsmith was a citizen of the latter. He was considered an old cantankerous man by his neighbors before the magic returned to Uton. He didn’t care. He didn’t particularly like people. He worked his whole life at the docks of towns along the western shores. He saved his money, found a woman that could stand him enough to marry him, and the two of them eventually moved inland, away from the ocean he never truly cared for. He built his house with his own hands, and then served as a volunteer in the town’s militia as a way to defend his home. His woman was killed in that first goblin raid. He buried her in his backyard when others loaded their carts to run for Connel or some other larger city. He wouldn’t run—he would stay, no matter what.
Joel let the exterior of his own home appear to be as abandoned as those around it. He broke boards with nails in them and scattered them around the porch. He didn’t plan to sit out there as a target for a goblin arrow, so why should he care if the new decorations made the porch more of a hazard than a pleasant place to relax. He broke the front gate in a locked position so it was near impossible to move. Only he knew that the section of fence two posts down to the left could swing open for easy entry. He let the weeds and grass grow long, nailed shut the windows, and threw broken glass about the front walk. He pulled the shutters closed and nailed them in place. He left the front door barred from the inside and out. A walk-down basement door was sufficient for his use, so the loss of the front entrance was inconsequential.
From the street, his house looked dark, decaying and long devoid of any real care, as if it had been the town eyesore even before the other residents abandoned their homes. And that was exactly what he wanted. A clean, well-kept looking house was an invitation to other less desirable visitors to this town, visitors he had no desire to entertain. Let the vagrants and bandits choose another home to camp in.
Inside, however, the house was clean and simply organized. He had everything he needed to survive—warm clothes, utensils, blankets, comfortable places to sit and sleep, as well as a few diversions such as books, wood carving tools, and a spy glass to keep an eye on the surrounding streets. Those supplies he would run out of over time—food, water, and wood for a fire in a small stove that he would only burn at night—these items he could collect easily from other abandoned buildings in town or from the nearby forest. Since he didn’t mind being alone, he was content to stay and live with the threat of river rouges, shags, and goblin raids.
It was from inside his house that he heard the first indications of the current unrest. He immediately knew that something very odd was going on outside. He had grown aware of certain sounds, learned to listen for hints of dark creatures and how these noises differed from a brigand fight or the mugging of a hapless wanderer. The current commotion clearly indicated a goblin attack even though the sun was now shining bright and goblins usually used the cover of darkness. This in itself perplexed Joel, but more ominous was the combination of additional noises that indicated something much more than a goblin raid was occurring outside his door.
The shrieking caw of a hook hawk flying overhead could not be dismissed at any time of day. The fact that it mixed in with the guttural rants of goblins nearby made Joel cringe. During previous days to pass the time, he had watched hook hawks from afar. He learned that these flying nightmares particularly enjoyed snacking on goblins, thus goblins usually
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