Towering Trouble: A LitRPG Isekai, page 69
“You mean like metamagic?”
He looked at her blankly.
A huge smile spread across her face. “This is incredible! If we could find someone who could cast these spells, they could solve all our problems! Well okay, only the biggest ones, but still…”
“Mayhap,” he repeated. “But how would we find him? This magic could come from any worldseed…on any branch…anywhere on Arbor Mundi.”
“Yeah,” she said. “But it’s something! A possibility of a way out of this. Let’s see if we can find anything more on the subject.”
Pressing her hand against the keystone, she sent the message: Where may I find the worldseed dealing with arlium manipulation or metamagic?
Keystone: I do not have that information, mouthlet of the master.
Saskia: Do you know where I might find it?
Keystone: The Great Library might contain the answers you seek.
Saskia: And where is the Great Library?
Keystone: The Great Library is located in the Scholar’s Circle of Pentus, on Ulugmir.
Saskia drew in a sharp breath, then relayed this information to Kveld.
“Ulugmir,” he said. “But that’s…”
“The Deadlands,” she said. “Yup. Not the kind of place we could survive in, even if we had a way of getting there. There has to be another way. Keep digging in the keystone. I’ll go check the physical library upstairs.”
All that was left of the library were burnt books, shredded scrolls, torn mosaics and ripped and broken paintings. The elves had ransacked the place on their way out. Wincing, she asked her interface to highlight anything of interest that had survived the destruction. All it revealed were scraps of Poggendoobler’s journal, which she’d already read.
She wandered through the various chambers, checking for anything she might have missed on her first, rather rushed, exploration of the place. A bitter, hollow feeling settled over her as she went from room to room, finding only dust and ruins. Everything of value had been trashed or taken.
Returning to Kveld, she found him staring into the keystone, just as she’d left him.
“Anything?” she said.
He smiled up at her. “No, but I did larn how to turn gold into lead.”
“Not the reverse?”
“No. The spell were called mad gold.”
“I think someone was trying to be funny.”
Three days passed with no sign of her father, and no leads on where they might find a metamagician, as she’d begun to call them. Kveld was having the time of his life trying out new spells and delving into the keystone’s secrets, but she was getting restless—not an ideal feeling for one trying to sleep.
“Let’s head back. I think we’ve gotten all we can out of this place. The keystone doesn’t need to be plugged in here for you to access the spell library, right?”
“It shouldn’t,” he said. “We can test it afore we leave.”
A quick test revealed that all the information was still there for them after they unplugged the keystone, so without further ado, they set off back the way they’d come.
Four days later, as they approached New Inglomar from the west, an uneasy feeling crept up her spine. A glance at her minimap confirmed her suspicions. The town was abuzz with activity, while a small cluster of grey dots approached from the southeast.
Saskia bounded up the hillside to where her friends stood surveying the nude blue-white figures stalking across the shallow water.
Mer.
“Sashki, you’re just in time,” said Ruhildi, her face grim.
“Just a few of them,” said Saskia. “And my minimap doesn’t see them as a threat.”
“There may be tempests walking among them,” said Baldreg. “Best not to assume they’re harmless.”
“Aye,” said Ruhildi. “Be prepared for anything.”
The mer came to a halt in the shallow water several hundred metres shy of the town. Four women and three men, each armed with spears and bows. The tattooed woman at the head of the group caught Saskia’s attention, and not just because of the eerie smile on her inhumanly flawless face. The way she held her spear—hand clasped close to the tip—gave the game away. There was arlium beneath her fingers, she just knew it.
“They wish to parley,” said Ruhildi. “Let’s go out there and larn what they have to say.”
Ruhildi picked out Saskia, Baldreg, Garrain and Nuille to accompany her. Three different species walking side-by-side. Hopefully that would send the right signal to the newcomers.
Saskia kept her attention on the tempest, prepared to leap to her companions’ defence at the first hint of magic. The tempest’s smile widened as they approached. She opened her mouth as if to speak—
Her eyes went wide. The smile turned to a rictus of agony. Dropping her spear—her plain, ordinary spear without a hint of arlium—she reached for her throat. Blood ran between her fingers. Then she slumped forward, staining the water crimson.
Heart leaping into her throat, Saskia exchanged a shocked glance with her companions, and it was clear they had no more idea what had just happened than she did.
Cries of alarm erupted from the mer. They sprang into action, levelling bows and spears at Saskia’s group.
One of them fired directly at Ruhildi from a range of just twenty metres. Saskia lunged forward, snatching the arrow out of the air, even as a spear flew past the spot where she’d just been standing.
A second mer slumped into the water with an arrow in his eye.
Desperately, Saskia’s eyes sought the shooter. Some of the dwarves along the shore had crossbows drawn, but she couldn’t see anyone reloading. Besides, they’d have to be world-class snipers—and incredibly lucky—to hit two mer from that range.
There! When she looked to the left, her eyes were turning away against her own volition.
“It’s the invisible assassin!” cried Garrain, apparently realising at the same instant she did. He began to summon a scorching sap spell. She didn’t know how he could hope to hit his target without looking.
Turning back to the mer, she flinched as another one dropped beneath the churning waves.
In the back of the dwindling group, an unassuming young woman had raised a spear with the unmistakeable glow of arlium in its shaft. The tempest—the real tempest, this time—was preparing to bring up a repelling vortex spell; the air shield that had cause Saskia so much trouble during earlier encounters with their kind. That might protect her from the rogue sniper, but Saskia very much doubted the slow-cast spell would come up in time. And now the tempest had revealed herself, she’d be the prime target.
Saskia sprang forward, landing with a tremendous splash in front of the tempest. She snatched her up, curling her body protectively around the startled young woman. In the same moment, an arrow thudded into her back, and she felt an awful pain spreading outward from the point of impact.
Poison.
Not a tranquilliser; something much, much worse. The fiery agony was steadily working its way to her chest.
Flailing in her arms, the mer jabbed her spear up at Saskia’s throat, using it not as a focus, but as a simple melee weapon.
Can’t have that, thought Saskia. She tore the spear out of the tempest’s hands. And as she did so, a surge of warmth flowed into her.
Oh…crap.
The tempest’s wide eyes were locked on the spear; the spear now absent any trace of arlium.
A new mirror appeared in her interface next to those of her other vassals. The tempest’s face in the mirror held a hint of outrage. As the last of her strength left her, Saskia stabbed an ethereal finger at the button that would cut off the tempest’s magic.
Still clutching her new vassal, she fell retching into the water, and for a time, she knew only pain and darkness.
Book 3, Chapter 4: Tempest
Bright light pierced her eyes. Her head was full of agonlings, and her stomach…oh no, she was gonna…
Saskia puked up something so vile, it made her vomit. After that, she barfed, then hurled, heaved, spewed, upchucked and chundered. Before she was done, she’d used up every pukeworthy word she could think of, and had started inventing new ones: she blarghed, eurfed, mulped and yurked.
“That’s it,” said a soothing, feminine voice. “Let it all out.”
“Uuurgh,” said Saskia. Then she urghed.
At some point, she realised that the light was coming from the tip of a wand, held by her favourite raven-haired elf girl. She was lying inside Garrain and Nuille’s expansive housetree in Redgrove, surrounded by worried-looking dwarves and elves, and one grinning troll.
“Princess look good in green,” said Rover Dog.
Saskia sent him a glare. Or at least tried to. Another wave of nausea swept over her, and she…rovergitated. A truly awful pun; almost as bad as she felt right now.
“You can thank your trow friend for dragging you here,” said Nuille, offering Saskia a thin smile, after the latter was done emptying the contents of her stomach. “There was no way the rest of us could have hauled your enormous rump all the way up here.”
“My butt isn’t that big, is it?” croaked Saskia.
“’Tis a fair impressive arse, Sashki,” said Ruhildi.
“Prodigious posterior,” offered Rover Dog. “Just how I like.”
“After comments like these, you’re not gonna be admiring it up close for a good long while, bud,” Saskia shot back. His ears drooped. “But thank you for bringing me here.” She turned to Nuille. “And thank you for healing me.”
“No, thank you,” said Nuille. “I never thought I’d see the day when I got to heal a trow. It was…enlightening.”
“You scared me for a while there, Sashki,” said Ruhildi. “’Twere a fair vicious poison coursing through your veins. Were you not a trow, you’d be dead ten times over.”
“Grillock root extract,” said Nuille. “A favourite among dwarrow assassins.” She turned a frank gaze to Ruhildi.
“Aye,” said Ruhildi, meeting her gaze. “The Vindicals weren’t above using poisons if it got the job done.”
“Maybe the assassin is a dwarrow, after all,” suggested Saskia.
“Unlikely,” said Garrain. “We already discussed the peculiarities of his magic. There’s nothing preventing other peoples from procuring such a poison.”
Saskia sat up slowly, clutching her aching head. The mer was still there on her interface. Still alive then. “Speaking of the assassin, how many of the mer did he get in the end?”
“Five,” said Garrain.
Saskia let out a breath. “Just two left then, including the tempest.”
Ruhildi coughed and looked at the floor. “Actually, Sashki, we were forced to slay another when he attacked us. The tempest were the only survivor.”
Saskia put her head in her hands.
“Aye,” said Ruhildi. “If there were ever any chance of peace between us, methinks it died with them.”
“Maybe,” said Saskia. “But I’d still like to speak to her.”
The subject of their discussion was sitting in the back room, trembling visibly. Saskia crouched low in front of her, trying to look as non-threatening as an enormous monster could look.
“I’m so sorry about your companions,” she said.
Slowly, the tempest’s eyes seemed to regain some of their focus. She looked up at Saskia and drew in a shuddering breath. “You speak…sea tongue?”
“I do now,” said Saskia. Her oracle translator had picked up the language during her sojourns through mer territory via Garrain’s head. “Just so we’re clear, the assassin who attacked your people does not represent us. When I grabbed you, I was trying to protect you from that frocker. As for what happened afterward…well, I’m sorry about that too.”
“You…you are the one I have heard about, yes?” said the tempest. “The demon trow.”
“That’s what some people call me. You can call me Saskia.”
Many long seconds passed before the tempest replied in a small voice. “Zarie. I am named Zarie.”
Saskia smiled at her, while trying not to show any pointy teeth. “Thank you, Zarie.”
“You took my magic. My focus.”
“Yeah,” said Saskia. “That was a total accident. Whenever I touch a piece of arlium…well, in it goes. I can restore your magic if you—”
“Let’s not be too hasty,” interrupted Nuille, tugging at her arm. Saskia followed her out into the main room, before she continued. “Her mind may be…a little frayed right now, and we don’t know her motive for coming here. Let’s not arm her just yet.”
“I agree,” said Garrain. “Nuille and I can take care of her tonight. Save your questions for tomorrow, once you’ve both rested. I’d also like to talk to her, one accidental vassal to another.”
“As long as it’s just talk, ardonis,” said Nuille, smiling sweetly at him.
“Of course, my light,” said Garrain.
“Okay, fair point,” said Saskia. “I guess I’ll come back tomorrow then. Keep her safe.”
“Oh no, you misunderstand,” said Nuille. “You’ll be sleeping here tonight, Saskia. Before I let you out of my sight, I want to be sure the poison has left your body.”
“If it were going to kill me, I think I’d be dead already,” said Saskia. “But sure, whatever. I’ll go lie down now.”
Then she froze, seeing a large group of yellow dots approaching on her map.
“Or not,” she said. “We’ve got company.”
Stepping outside, Saskia’s already sour mood turned worse when she saw who was heading there way. Grindlecraw, with a crowd of goons at his back. A few of the faces she recognised as the troublemakers who had heckled the elves from Wengarlen.
“We wish to see the prisoner,” said Grindlecraw.
Ruhildi glared at him. “If you think we’re just going to let you put that tiny blade in her, you’ve some larning to do, shitebag.”
“She’s not exactly a prisoner,” said Saskia.
Grindlecraw gave a derisive grunt. “Not a prisoner?” He turned to face the crowd. “You hear that? The fish-ears tried to kill them, and now she’s…what, their honoured guest?”
Angry murmurs rippled through the dwarves at his back. One of them shouted, “Fish-humpers!”
“You know as well as I do why she attacked us,” said Saskia. “She thought we were the ones killing her companions.”
“I don’t care why she did it,” said Grindlecraw. “Only what she did, and what she is. Now kindly step aside and let us do what you’re too craven to do.”
“How about this?” said Saskia. “You all go on your merry way, before I get angry. You wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.” Stealing a line from the Hulk seemed appropriate right now. Her head was pounding, and she was in no mood to play Miss Nice Troll.
“We don’t take orders from you, demon!” said Grindlecraw, unsheathing his shortsword. An act that Saskia found almost laughable. This dwarf was no warrior. Having lost his magic, he wasn’t much of anything, except a pain in her oversized butt.
No, he was no direct threat. But the crowd behind him? They were a different story. Saskia counted at least a dozen crossbows being aimed at her.
“You do now,” said Baldreg, pointing his own crossbow at the former stoneshaper. “Unless you want to eat an arrow, you’ll do as she says.”
Grindlecraw’s glare grew positively malevolent. “I always kenned you were a traitor, Baldreg.”
“And I always kenned you were an arse, Grindi,” said Ruhildi. She raised her hand, and Saskia felt the familiar tug of essence from within.
Rover Dog spread his arms wide, claws splayed, and stepped up beside Saskia. Kveld drew his warhammer, and at the same time, she could feel him reaching for the newly formed link between them, ready to turn his own magic against the dwarves if it came to that. She prayed that it wouldn’t.
Grindlecraw looked between the five of them. On his face, she could clearly see anger warring with self-preservation. Self-preservation won. “This isn’t over,” he growled, lowering his weapon carefully to his side.
Watching the dwarves scurry off, Saskia let out a sigh. “I think you should all stay in Redgrove tonight. These donkholes might try something.”
“Aye, you may be right,” said Ruhildi. “We’ll guard the house. Now get some rest, Sashki. I’ll wake you if they come back.”
Despite feeling utterly wrecked, Saskia slept fitfully, and dreamt she was suffocating beneath a mountain of corpses. Some of them had faces she knew.
She awoke to the lingering echo of a crash and a shout, and the sight of Garrain rushing to the window, clutching his shoulder.
“What happened?” she cried, leaping to her feet.
“The assassin,” he growled. “He was after the tempest, not you. I chased him away.”
“You’re wounded! Oh god, is there poison?”
“Perhaps,” he said with a calmness that she could scarcely believe. “I don’t think such poisons can harm me any longer. Not since…” He gestured at the leaves growing from his body.
“Oh. Well that’s…convenient. So Zarie’s okay?”
“Indeed,” said Garrain. “The tempest is unharmed. Though I don’t know how much longer she’ll remain that way with events transpiring as they are.”
After a large breakfast, Saskia went with Ruhildi to question their guest. Zarie looked a bit livelier than she had yesterday, which wasn’t saying much.
“I guess we should start by asking why you came here in the first place,” said Saskia.
Zarie seemed to wilt under her gaze. She looked as if she was struggling to hold back tears. “It matters not. We should not have come.”
“Let me be the judge of that,” said Saskia.
Zarie drew in a long breath, and let it out. “I…I came in search of you and your disciple, demon. The one they call Vindica.”
Saskia blinked in confusion. “Ruhildi? What do you want with her?”
Ruhildi stepped forward. “Aye, what do you want with her?”
Zarie looked between Saskia and her friend. The mer’s eyes slowly widened. “You are Vindica! Yes?”
