Aurora's Rift, page 18
part #1 of Celestial Arcanists Series
Several arrows protrude from the queen’s eye cluster like a pincushion. At least three of her eight eyes have been blinded, but it’s not enough.
As soon as my mana is enough, I cast Starfire at her front leg again.
This time it’s plenty.
The leg severs at the top joint, and the queen pitches forward, off balance for just long enough to allow Sasun to send a devastating slice of her broadsword into the lower joint of the other front leg.
The queen wobbles, screeching, fumbling to get her spinnerets in position to blast us with webbing again, but her balance is off, and the webbing shoots upward in an arc, coming down on the queen herself as Sasun leaps backward to avoid it.
Sasun is injured. Shit. Angry red droplets mark the serpentus’s hands. I cast Ela’s Touch on her, hoping it’ll be enough.
“Taunt!” Ink calls, and Sasun does without a thought.
The queen swivels clumsily to face the warrior, and Ink darts in beneath the enormous cephalothorax, leaping with both daggers to plant them in the joint of one of the back legs.
Ferelthin hits the queen with his stun, which causes her to seize up, but only for a split second.
My mana is back to its usual regeneration, but I have enough in me to cast Sudden Blaze once more, and I aim for her eyes.
The queen shrieks, lurching backward.
Sasun goes in for an attack, aiming for the leg next to Ink, where Ink is still stabbing at the joint.
Something hits me in the back.
I hit the ground hard, my staff wedged between me and the ground just low enough that the breastplate doesn’t mute the impact.
“Lithrial!” Ferelthin calls out my name just as the queen collapses on top of Ink and Sasun.
“Help them!” I yell, trying in vain to turn.
Green-black bodies and furry legs cloud my vision. More venom drips onto the back of my head, down the sides of my neck. I can hear it on the plate of armor against my shoulder blades like the tink-tink-tink of slowing raindrops on a metal roof.
I can’t let them web me down.
Drawing the rest of my mana, I cast Aura of Deigith immediately above me. There’s a crackling sound as the hairs on the spiders’ legs frost over, and the tangle of movement against my body slows enough for me to twist, yanking my staff out from under me.
I can’t see what’s going on with the queen, but Ferelthin is yelling, and Sasun is swearing.
Three of the smaller spiders got caught in my spell. They are still moving, but slowly, and I hit them with basic attacks that do nothing for me, or seem to.
My breath is coming in hiccups, and without thinking, I swing my staff directly at them, pummeling them with the violet spinel cluster at the staff’s end over and over, shooting them as I hit them with whatever attack I can push out through the conduit I’ve turned into a crude club.
I don’t realize the fight is over until a hand falls on my shoulder, and I jerk, almost thwacking Ferelthin in the face with my staff.
“It’s okay,” he says softly. “You’re okay.”
I snap back to myself with those words. The trio of spiders are a slushy pulp of legs and chunks of exoskeleton at my feet.
The ground is no longer trembling.
“First time I ever saw a mage go berserk,” Sasun says, sauntering over and snapping a rag she just used to clean her sword with a crack that sends spider guts spraying out over the leaves of a bush.
She claps me on the back, then grimaces, wiping her hand.
Everyone’s staring at me as if wanting reassurance that I’m not going to start beating them with my glorified magic stick.
“I really, really hate spiders,” I say finally.
“I noticed,” Ink mutters. “You roasted my arrows.”
The changeling gestures at the collapsed body of the spider queen. Protruding from the cluster of eyes is a group of six or seven arrows, cheerfully burning like birthday candles.
Twenty-One
Quest Updated: Go Tell it in the Mountain. You’ve made it to the central cavern and found it guarded by an army of spiders. Ferelthin says something magical has been done here, but so far you haven’t found any clues. There might be answers in the hut you saw upon arriving. Investigate.
Arachne Queen defeated! +500 Experience. The arachne are generally shy, but some combination of rift-sickness and outside interference may account for the aggression of these ones. If you hadn’t come in, it’s likely someone else would have fallen prey to them. Unraveling magic can cause as much damage as traps. +550 Bonus Experience.
Level Up! You have reached Level 6. You have 10 attribute points and 4 skill points to spend.
My body burns from the fight. And apparently I forgot to apply my points after I leveled up the last time. Gods, I’m rusty.
I cast Ela’s Touch on myself again, hoping at some point there will be an upgrade that allows me to make it an area of effect heal or a full party heal.
Ink is scurrying around retrieving the arrows that survived the fight, and it cheers me a little that the changeling’s quiver is at least half full by the time they’re finished.
“Shall we?” Ferelthin asks, nodding in the direction of the hut.
I nod, shifting my shoulders as the healing takes effect. The burning fades to itching, but I do not want another spider venom shower any time soon.
It’s only a short walk to the hut, which looks incongruously cozy in the absence of stampeding spiders.
Ferelthin stops at the door, hesitating.
At first I’m not sure why, but I take a breath and try to listen in a way I haven’t thought to before. I can feel his mana rippling outward from him. I wonder if mine does the same.
I feel…something. Right at the edge of my awareness, like fingers brushing up against something just barely out of reach.
“You feel it, don’t you?” Ferelthin asks, nodding at the door.
“What is it?” Like I’m grasping at something and getting closer to catching it, I push my mana against it a little more insistently. It pushes back with a slight sting. “Wards?”
You have gained a point in the ability Sensory Spellwork. Just like you can feel someone’s body heat or the movement of the wind, magic produces energies you can sense as well. An observant mind can use it to spot traps, spellwork, and places of arcane significance that would escape a more distracted user. Gain points in this ability by observing your magical surroundings and listening to the flow of your own mana and that of those close to you. As you increase in skill, points will only be awarded for more complex uses.
“Exactly,” Ferelthin is saying. “Powerful ones, but unmaintained. It is likely whoever was maintaining them missed an appointment.”
“Feld,” I say flatly.
Ferelthin nods. “At this point, I would be surprised if this were not his work.”
It bothers me.
“If he were such a powerful mage, how did he die so easily?” I ask.
“You call that easy?” Sasun approaches, digging the point of her sword into the ground next to me.
I wince. “Not exactly what I meant.”
“You mean to ask why he didn’t use more offensive spellwork if it were available to him. That is a pertinent question.” Ferelthin looks back to the door of the hut, assessing.
“The bastard’s cocky, that’s all,” Ink says, thumbing the point of a now-clean arrow before dropping it back into their quiver. “Look. He’d spent all this time hiding who or what he was, if he really was a mage, and he told us himself the Disciples of the One God were coming to make kebabs out of us. He was buying time for them to get there, and he didn’t really expect to be outmatched by four nobodies in his own house.”
That does make a certain amount of sense.
“And magic has limits,” I say quietly after a beat. The sensation of spider legs tangled all over my body makes me shiver. “Even if he had, there’s no guarantee he would have been successful. This way he’s also a martyr.”
The thought sours on my tongue. Sasun looks as if she finds it at least as distasteful.
“All the more reason to find out what is inside this hut,” Ferelthin says.
“Can you get through the wards?” Sasun stumbles a bit on the words.
The serpentus are innately tied to magic. It’s a bit strange to meet one who balks at it so much. Everybody’s different, I guess.
“It’s less a matter of punching through them—that’s usually the best way to trigger their defenses—and more letting them dissolve. I can likely help them along.” Ferelthin gives me a sideways glance. “This might be a helpful spell for you to learn eventually, Lithrial.”
Intrigued, I step back while he opens himself to his mana. I can almost see what he’s doing; threads of spirit entwine with something that feels like death and life balled up in one. He casts it out like a net over the hut, and it flashes white and purple before fading away. When the light is gone, there is a…void.
Where there was something for my mana to brush up against, now there’s just nothing.
“Did you just dispel the existing magic?” I ask, in awe. “And it worked even on those wards?”
“It won’t always be that easy. These were already in a state of decay.” But Ferelthin looks pleased that I figured out what he’d done.
As if in answer, a notification pops up.
You have gained a point in Sensory Spellwork. Studying the work of other mages is an excellent way to improve your own skills. Sometimes a new perspective can help you help them, if you’re lucky.
That sounds tantalizing.
“Well, what are you waiting for? Is it safe or what?” Ink asks with an explosive sigh.
I can’t help but grin. “Ferelthin?”
“After you,” he says, opening the door.
The inside of the hut has an odd smell to it, like someone has lived in it recently. There is a fireplace in the back with a kettle on a hook pushed off to the side, and the ashes have been cleaned out in the near past.
It’s clean, tidy, and unmistakably the place of a magic user. Herbs hang from the rafters in neat bundles, and there is an entire bookshelf loaded with vials all precisely labeled by a fastidious hand. Another bookshelf is full of actual books, and these ones are titles no Speaker of the One God would get away with keeping within fifty miles of a temple openly.
“Well,” I say. “I guess Speaker Feld was a mage.”
Sasun lets out a low whistle, going over to the shelf of vials. “The man knew his poisons.”
She lifts her right shoulder and lets it fall again, clearly uncomfortable. I hadn’t realized he’d poisoned his blades, but it certainly makes sense that someone like Feld would.
Ferelthin is going over the books, running a long index finger across their spines. “Some of these are very valuable. All of them are rare. It’s a death sentence to be caught with at least three of them.”
“Ooh, let me see.” Ink bustles over and plucks one of them off the shelf. “A Compendium of the Spiritual: Servants of the Arcane. I’ve always wanted to read this!”
“Servants knew about this place?” I say slowly. “Did he trust someone with his secret?”
“Unlikely,” says Sasun, still staring at the rows of delicate glass bottles. “But servants don’t miss much.”
That’s true. Anyone who ignores what goes on in the foundation levels of their household is likely to end up with their small clothes hung on a flagpole.
There’s a desk against the far wall, along with a narrow cot in the corner with a fluffed pillow. I go to the desk, which is clean of any papers, but it has drawers.
Tentatively, I brush my mana against it, but it meets no resistance. If there were wards on the desk itself, it looks like Ferelthin’s spell dispelled them as well.
The top drawer is mostly fountain pens and a few carefully corked inkwells, along with stacks of unused paper and parchment.
The second drawer is home to a book.
Touching it gives me an immediate thrill. This is what we came here for; I know it.
I open the book.
The first few pages are mostly innocuous, lists of alchemical ingredients, a partial inventory of the books on the shelf, but after that, it’s clear that what I’ve just found is Feld’s personal journal.
The various factions in Viathan continue to plague me. Keeping them focused upon one another instead of me is a delicate dance, but one I am pleased to say I am succeeding at admirably. They none of them suspect how close I am to seizing true power in this city, and with the barest sliver of luck, they will continue to fail to suspect it until my foot has crushed their throats beneath my boot.
I flip a few pages forward, skimming.
Arnantas has written again to ask about my progress, and I am satisfied at the ability to tell him that I am ahead of schedule.
That gives me pause.
“Ferelthin?” I say. “Whatever Feld was up to down here, Arnantas was in on it.”
There is a clink of bottles as if someone jerked suddenly in response to what I just said, and Ink is at my side before I can say anything else.
“That’s not possible,” Sasun says firmly. “The Apostle himself?”
I read the sentence aloud, and the serpentus goes silent.
“Shit,” Ink says, eloquent as always.
There are moments sometimes where it feels like the world suddenly grows much larger than it was only a second before. This is one of those moments.
I flip forward in the book again, trying to find the most recent entries.
There are whispers in the city from the countryside that there is a tribe of elementals to the east claiming to be able to pinpoint and predict the coming of Aurora’s Rift. I have to say, that is…unexpected. We will continue as planned and monitor the situation. In the extremely unlikely event that they are correct, it is possible that the chaos could work to our advantage.
There are only a few more pages with writing on them.
The rift has indeed appeared. A runner from the east informs me that the camp of the elementals and their followers resisted my troops—though the information I received that allowed me to dispatch them in time was apparently correct—through means the runner was unable to identify. The runner was reduced to gibbering about coming face to face with god himself and obviously mad. I gave him to the Disciples. I will deal with this shortly as soon as I receive an answer from Arnantas.
It’s the last thing he wrote.
Wordlessly, I hand it to Ferelthin, who reads it quickly.
“We need to get back,” he says as soon as he’s done. “We may not have time we thought we did this morning.”
“Gather up as much as you can carry,” I say. “We’ll send some of the others back as soon as we reach the palace to get the rest, but take anything you don’t want someone else getting their hands on.”
There are a few satchels hanging from hooks behind the door, and we stuff them full of forbidden books and potions, wrapping the glass vials in whatever fabric we can find.
My stomach sinks with every step we take on our return.
Twenty-Two
Teinath is waiting for us when we return, and within minutes, he’s sent a team down our trail, Elan among them, to retrieve the rest of the things the former Speaker of Viathan kept so hidden.
“Find the servants who clued you into the cave’s location,” I tell Ink. “Either they were truly trying to prove their loyalty and thus deserve a reward, or they knew about the spiders and were hoping we wouldn’t come back. You should be able to tell by their reaction to seeing you, unless they’re far better spies than they should be.”
Ferelthin gives me an approving nod, as does Sasun.
I have everything brought up to my room, where I lay out the books on the wide, midnight blue carpet at the foot of my bed. Sasun excuses herself shortly afterward, but Ferelthin stays.
Something is bothering me, like I should be remembering something important.
“Credit where credit is due,” Ferelthin says. “I wouldn’t have put it past the man to hide a secret this large successfully. Most secrets don’t stay secret long when you live in a fishbowl.”
Strange. The way he says it makes it sound like he’s got personal experience.
I open Feld’s book again, reading the last few entries over a second time.
…though the information I received that allowed me to dispatch them in time was apparently correct…
“He got some kind of intelligence in time to send the soldiers,” I say out loud, more to process it than anything.
“So it says, yes.”
We skirted Viathan by about ten miles when we came in. Not much of a distance for someone mounted, but depending on how far behind us they were and whether they were able to immediately reach the Speaker, that could have delayed things.
The easiest thing would be to ask some of the humans who converted, but if they were simple foot soldiers, which it seems they were, it’s doubtful they’d know more than simply when they were ordered to leave and who ordered them.
I’m close to it. I can almost taste it.
It hits me all at once, nearly stealing my breath.
I dig open my belt pouch, rifling through it until I find what I’m looking for. I’d forgotten to even open it in all the confusion.
“What’s that?” Ferelthin asks curiously.
I heft the still-heavy purse in my palm.
“I took this off the scout Ink and I killed when we went to look for Elan,” I say. “I completely forgot about it.”
I tug open the leather cord serving as a drawstring and pull open the mouth of the bag. It’s mostly full of coins, which won’t go amiss, but I’m not looking for money.
The one thing I don’t begrudge the humans and their religion is that they encourage literacy. They burn all the books they don’t want people reading, naturally, but one of the tenets of their faith is that everyone ought to have access to the scrivenings they use to justify all their atrocities.
