59: LESSONS IN METALLURGY

Galen’s story Drehemia’s Lair near Da’utunse

Galen kicked and squirmed, but the gold metal wrapped around his leg had him trapped. He raised his sword to parry the trident heading for his chest, and that worked … somewhat. He slowed the weapon’s forward movement, but the larger, stronger shark-toothed man inexorably forced the deadly points of the fork closer and closer.

“A little help?” Galen cried out.

As if in answer, the shark-man paused, shook his head, and glanced wildly around himself as if seeing this place for the first time. He pulled the trident away from Galen, said something in a foreign tongue, and swam for the exit.

The gold released its hold on Galen, the coins reverting to normal coin behavior and tumbling slowly to the floor of the cavern.

Galen scanned the place for more threats.

There were none.

The majority of the “game pieces” were contorting in horrible-looking ways or clawing at their throats. “Oh damn,” he said and then, “Qown!”

“I know,” Qown said. He held a pile of wooden splinters in his hand, evidently torn from the various caskets, and he’d done something to break their connection to their former occupants. But doing so also removed the protections allowing them to survive underwater.

Qown extended his finger and drew a now-familiar glyph on the floor of the cavern, several orders of magnitude larger than Galen had ever seen it drawn before. A huge bubble of air pushed the water out and away, leaving them all dripping but able to breathe, in Drehemia’s no-longer-entirely-underwater lair.

Galen let out a shriek—a very manly shriek—as he fell six feet and landed on a pile of coins.

He threw Qown a reproving look from where he lay, sprawled inelegantly on his royal throne. “That’s it,” Galen announced. “I’ve decided this is a very comfy bed, and I’m never leaving it.”

“Sorry,” Qown was explaining to one of the newly freed creatures, a dog-like creature the size of a Joratese pony with flat teeth and antlers coming out of its head. “I thought that if I could break Drehemia’s control, you’d all be free. But you were about to kill me, so I had to do that first before I could do the spell that would let you breathe and not get crushed and—”

“Qown?” Talea said, putting her hand on his shoulder. “Qown, she doesn’t speak Guarem. I doubt any of them do. But I think they get the idea.”

The former pieces milled about, testing the confines of their new habitat. The cat-man poked at the wall of water being held at bay by the air from the glyph. A few, however, perhaps a half dozen of the creatures, lay or crouched in variations of the fetal position as their physiology dictated, lost to the trauma of what they’d experienced.

Despite his protestations otherwise, Galen heaved himself to his feet and approached, pulling Qown close. “You were perfect,” he said. “Thanks.”

Qown blushed. “What about them, though?” he asked, glancing about.

“We’ll have to figure something out,” Talea said. “But we’ve ruined Drehemia’s game set … so I hope Senera is able to cure her. Also that Senera rescues us soon.” She linked arms with Qown and said, “In the meantime, let’s make some new friends.”

Senera’s story Atamer Harbor, Devors, Quur

“Look out!” Thurvishar pulled Senera behind him roughly, throwing up his hands to form a magical barrier. A scorpion cask exploded in front of them, the blast partially deflected by his shield. The force still shoved them both back several feet.

Normally, scorpion fire was horrifyingly accurate. However, the spotter lights had never had to cope with a shadow dragon or a kraken before. Drehemia’s form absorbed the light, preventing the war machines from focusing on her. Likewise, the lights slid off the Lash’s magic-resistant skin as though she was made of mirrors. Even so, plenty of splash damage hit both monsters, and the casks were landing close enough to their own position to make completing the ritual impossible.

Senera and Thurvishar retreated, joining Sheloran and Kihrin farther up the quay.

“Xivan!” bellowed the Lash as another cask exploded and melted off part of her left-side flipper. “Explain this betrayal!” But Xivan was nowhere to be found.

Drehemia wrenched a leg free and slammed it into the harbor. She began dragging herself toward shore, bodily pulling the Lash with her.

“If she reaches the shore, the Lash will have to release her,” Senera said.

“We can’t let that happen,” Thurvishar said. “You need to complete the ritual.”

“I need to be much closer!”

“Can we just let High General Stupidhead and his stupidhead soldiers drive them off?” not-Kihrin asked.

“Even if they do, what makes you think that the Lash won’t return for revenge after our ‘betrayal’?” Senera shook her head. “This is our only chance, but as long as that continues”—she pointed toward the top of the cliff behind them—“we don’t stand a chance.”

“I can help.” Sheloran stood from the barrel she’d been sitting on. She swayed and sat back down abruptly. “From here,” she added. “I can help from right here.”

“What do you need me to do?” Thurvishar said.

Senera faced him. “Can you keep them away from me for long enough?”

Thurvishar nodded, his face grim. “Absolutely,” he said.

Senera knew he was lying. The strain would be too much. He was good, he was so good, but even Thurvishar had his limits. It was entirely possible to burn up every reserve of tenyé until the energy began to cannibalize one’s own body. A powerful enough wizard with a strong enough will could cast their way right past the Second Veil and into their own grave.

What other choice did they have?

“We have another problem,” Kihrin said. He pointed. The Lash’s undead were heading their way. “I think she’s really pissed at Xivan but is willing to take it out on, you know, us.”

Sheloran forced herself to stand again. “Then that’s our job,” she said, nodding to Talon-disguised-as-Kihrin. “Luckily, there’s plenty of metal around.”

And indeed, there was. The weapons and armor of the fallen, hoops from shattered barrels, nails from crates and boxes, spikes from the very dock itself; Senera was willing to bet Sheloran hadn’t had this rich an environment to work with since leaving the Rose Palace.

“Very well,” Senera said softly, still looking at Thurvishar. “Shall we finish this dance?”