Far From Home
Author's Notes:
Without these people, this chapter would probably be still in the making:
My lady love, Thornfoote, MisterWildCard and bikoukumori, my faithful editor. Thanks, guys and gals.
No sex this time, sorry.
* * * *
The smoke finally settled, leaving behind only the shattered arch of the elven portal and three dead clerics, their robes still smouldering.
Carver looked at the naked back of his second-in-command Faedal. A distinct twinge of anger was tugging at his nerves.
"Faedal."
"Yes?"
"Explain to me what just happened."
"Didn't you see it yourself?"
Carver balled his fists. "Of course I saw it myself. Just help me comprehend how a simple summoning ritual could go to hell in just an instant." Carver turned to the large pile of corpses behind the magic circle and invoked one of the spells his Mistress has granted him. One of the mutilated corpses, a slender elven girl, her throat cut from ear to ear, jerked into a semblance of life. He guided the animated body to one of the blood-filled basins and had it dig through it until its fingers found it. Touching the Disjunction stone broke the spell but Carver could pull the lifeless arm from the basin. In the limp palm, he could see the dull, magic-eating pebble.
"That little runt came in here and tossed something into the unholy basins," Faedal said.
"Yes. Disjunction stones. Clever little bastard. All the hard work preparing the basins, anointing them with fresh blood -- all for naught. We would have to redo everything again."
"That might pose a problem. We're running out of sacrifices," Faedal said, nodding towards the room's back exit.
"No matter. We managed to raise one ancient elven mage. As long as the other teams were successful, this setback means little. It makes me wonder though."
"What are you thinking about? And... since this ritual is over... can I have the remaining sacrifices?"
Carver made a sour face. He didn't particularly enjoy Faedal's sadistic antics but he had no choice but partake. It was the price he had to pay for the gifts Desire had lavished him with.
Your ambitions may be pure in spirit but without suffering you shall not win.
Food and drink had little value anymore but the suffering inflicted on the innocent -- that was pure manna. And there were few people more able to inflict horrendous suffering than Faedal. Even though Carver would prefer a more sane, rational lieutenant, Faedal was ruthlessly efficient and his debauchery allowed Carver to keep his own hands clean.
"In time, friend. I'm thinking about Thurguz, of course. This has his handwriting all over it. Even if the old greenskin hasn't shown himself this time, I'm sure only he has the resources to discover our ritual in the first place." He eyed Faedal suspiciously. "Unless we have a leak somewhere."
"I shall make sure no such thing happens," Faedal snarled. "It's about time the troops learned the meaning of fear again." He left for the back room.
"All right then," Carver instructed the two remaining clerics. "You make sure there will be no traces of us ever being here. Dispose of the basins, the corpses and clean up this mess as best you can. Then, bring our new friend here," he gestured at the undead elven mage, dressed in dark robes and impassively watching the proceedings, "to the fortress for indoctrination. Understood?"
"As you command," one of the clerics whispered, bowing stiffly.
Carver clapped the cleric's shoulder encouragingly and followed Faedal. As soon as he entered the room where the sacrifices were held, the screaming began.
* * * *
"Shouldn't we bring Elara in here?" Rhys asked, looking over Idunn's shoulder. "This looks serious."
"I'm glad you noticed," Idunn grumbled, nudging him with her elbow. "Without Elara's intervention, Celeste would already be dead. I'm just cleaning up after her."
"What the hell happened? She looks worse than Hagazz after a whole day of sparring with Borna!"
"Elara said something about a really bad case of Sorcerer's Burn, in addition to all this." Idunn lifted the cloth covering Celeste's lower body. Rhys took a hurried step backwards. There was a horrifying amount of red on the fabric.
"I'll fetch a healing potion or something," Rhys muttered and turned to leave.
"I have everything she could ever need. But trying to get an unconscious person to drink something is a little difficult," Idunn snarled. "All you can do now is wait until I have her stapled back together."
"Let me know, please," Rhys pleaded.
"Of course. Now shoo. I need to concentrate."
Rhys left the room, his heart pounding in his throat.
What happened to Celeste? Has something happened to the village?
There was no way he could simply sit in his room and wait until Celeste had recovered enough to tell him. He had to know now.
Rhys sprinted up the stairs and hammered against the closed door to Thurguz' room.
A moment later, the half-orc opened. He looked even more tired than usual. "Now is not a good time, lad."
"It's urgent, Master. I'm sorry if I'm barging in on something but I need you to use your far-seeing table for me. Please!"
Thurguz scowled, looking Rhys up and down. Eventually, he sighed. "Come in."
The half-orc pulled the door open, allowing Rhys to pass. Around the table, he recognized Hagazz, Chassari and Metili. A grim-looking elven male looked up as he entered. The right side of his face was covered with a bronze mask, the eye a glinting red crystal. Disgusting scar tissue meandered out from under the mask and his right hand was covered by a strange gauntlet made from clicking metal scales.
"Excuse the interruption," Thurguz said to the others. Chassari smiled and waved at Rhys. Hagazz made an encouraging hand gesture behind Thurguz' back and grinned at Rhys while Metili and the elven stranger eyed him with indifference. "Now, what has you so spooked, Rhys?"
"It's Celeste. She suddenly showed up in the tower, horribly injured. I'm afraid something might have happened back home. Can you have a look?"
Thurguz turned a pale shade of green. "Celeste wouldn't leave her post unless something dire has happened." He reached for the arms and levers above the table and manipulated them. Rhys knew it took only a few moments for the magic to work and an image to appear but the seconds ticked by like hours. Finally, the table lit up, showing the village.
"This looks... bad," Metili whispered.
Rhys grasped the rim of the table to keep from collapsing. The image, seen from a bird's eye view, showed a blackened wasteland. There were small nests of flames where buildings still burned. Thick clouds of smoke allowed only for small glimpses but they were much more unnerving than seeing the whole desolation at once. Rhys saw collapsed roofs, corpses lying in their own blood and that horrible scorched earth everywhere.
"You're sure you got the right village?" Hagazz asked.
"He did," Rhys croaked, pointing out the large structure of the inn. The facade had caved in as if a giant had smashed his fist into it. "I-... I have to..."
"You will do nothing, lad," Thurguz growled. "You will stay here, in safety, while I will send someone to investigate."
"You know how this will end," the elven stranger said. His voice was soft and melodious, a marked contrast to his grim appearance. "The boy goes anyway and you will furiously argue. Let him go and give him a decent escort instead."
"I can't believe you'd undermine my authority like this, Moril," Thurguz groaned. "Fine. If you have to go that badly, at least take Hilgrun with you. And for Mercy's sake, be careful."
"Thank you. You won't regret it," Rhys said, hugging Thurguz.
The old half-orc muttered something indistinct and gently pushed Rhys off him. "Just come back in one piece." He guided the young sorcerer to the door. "Now let us resume our strategy talk please." The door closed behind him.
Halfway down the stairs Rhys stopped.
And how am I supposed to get back home? I can't teleport!
He looked back up towards Thurguz' room.
Probably not a good idea. But wait. Maybe one of the others...?
He weighed his options. Lishaka was the only obvious choice. As a sorcerer herself, she might be able to cast the necessary Teleport spell. Without it, it would take weeks or months to cross half the Western Continent.
Rhys dashed back down to the students' quarters, skidding to a halt in front of Lishaka's door. He knocked.
"Come in!" the goblin cawed happily. Rhys pushed the door open. Lishaka sat cross-legged on the bed, three books open around her and a fourth on her lap. A dozen unfamiliar items - rings, belts, bracers and even a few wands - were scattered atop the duvet. "Oh, hello Rhys!"
She slithered off the bed without disturbing a single item and hugged herself against him, her small hands eagerly kneading his butt. "You won't believe how fantastic the battle in the cemetery was! I blew up so many skeletons and bad guys and..." Her voice trailed off when she realized he hadn't moved. "Did something happen? How was your mission?" She looked up, her red eyes full of worry.
